Long Constitutes Poems
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Dusk dawns noticeably earlier each night in Schwenksville, Pennsylvania - yup
Which trend will continue some days before
winter solstice 2021 in Northern Hemisphere,
Tuesday, December 21 10:58 AM.
Yes, interestingly enough earliest sunset date(s)
along eastern United States
will occur December 7 and 8, 2021 at 4:28 pm EST.
Similar respective phenomena
takes place across globe.
Winter solstice constitutes
shortest day of the year in terms of daylight,
but does not have latest sunrise
nor earliest sunset of the year.
This prevails because discrepancy exists
between modern-day timekeeping methods
and how time is measured
using the Sun known as the equation of time.
The equation of time comprises
east or west component of the analemma,
a curve representing angular offset of the Sun
from its mean position on celestial sphere
as viewed from Earth.
I thoroughly enjoy onset of early darkness
unperturbed courtesy
seasonal affective disorder (SAD).
Alas and alack
matter of fact yours truly
optimally thrives when pitch black
skies immerse bookworm as impetus to crack
open a novel and/or read
one of my favorite (MAD) magazines
versus basking in sunshine which doth distract,
thus I while away hours appeasing
sixty plus shades of gray (cerebral) matter
processing criteria at greased lightning speed
considerably faster than once
venerably touted supreme ENIAC,
whereby mine figurative pistons
incalculably subvert additional
superfluous irrelevant flack
spurring me to burrow
deep inside invisible gunnysack
cause ordinary stress I could not hack
conveniently latched onto
ninety sixties counterculture mantra
"turn on, tune in, drop out"
popularized by Timothy Leary in 1966
essentially only in body not spirit
throughout academic foray,
I occupied space and time
paid dear price, cuz
submissive behavior heavily did impact
writer of these words a jejune Jack,
who during formative years
never dated, nor got jilted
cuz he possessed
unquestioned unhealthy uncanny
fealty and deadly eating disorder
body dysmorphia knack
positive image of self I lack,
an existence punctuated
by one after another panic attack.
The club recruits fresh people—in session plenary.
Of wealth, generosity, enthusiasm, and education.
Sang a Peppa Pig song when we looted the—treasury.
Bullingdon boys with elegant looks joined—damnation.
They still swag public funds with no hesitation.
Of their country, which has been—witness.
At Oxford's Riot Club, a posh eating location.
The Riot ring is akin to real life under—darkness.
Taking advantage of the current—situation.
As written, it might or might not come to pass.
This is the only logical reason for— inflation.
The large bulk now constitutes an—underclass.
Oxford club—solely for men—meant to foster cricket.
P.M David Cameron, Boris Johnson—both tied the club
A riot ring rated—R for voice, fear, and wee wicket.
By a ritzy dress of blue, gold, ivory, and skin scrub.
Young lords destroy restaurants—pay in cash.
It's how we teach the ruling class to sing and lead.
Chant Rah Rah—Bullingdon Boys were bred to clash.
Buller! Buller—Crime pays—Bullingdon lads ahead.
Rah, Rah, Rah! The Bullingdon Boys were born to reign.
Riches run wild, lawyers stay silent— Bullers remain.
Written: March 11, 2023
2nd place contest winner
Bullingdon boys Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Joe Maverick
I, (a bookish educated intelligent nerd,
albeit three score plus tres años)
constitutes a novel titled
The Virgin's Lover
by Philippa Gregory
another writer from England.
Not so much to boast
yours truly sunk trenchant figurative teeth
into material authored courtesy
aforementioned former renown British philosopher,
logician, and social critic.
As an academic, he worked
in philosophy, mathematics, and logic.
Just to reiterate
quite a couple plus years ago,
I plunged further into
trying to comprehend
(and did study every last page
birthed from said storied academic)
erudite epistemological philosophication
courtesy said renown British polymath,
philosopher, logician, mathematician,
historian, writer, social critic,
political activist, and Nobel laureate.
Whew! His Hume among us treatise
A History of Western Philosophy Quite profound
gleaned material eyes surmised
and into cerebral cortex his notions did drill
offering grist for intellectual mill
yours truly, a johnny come lately (me)
doth thirstily swill.
Though challenging material
to comprehend without shadow of doubt,
yours truly disciplines himself
to utter words out loud
in an effort accentuate, enunciate, inculcate...
No matter said storied author
among grateful dead fifty plus years,
I experience a communion
integrating esprit de corps
of one garden variety
beetle browed foo fighter (me)
linkedin courtesy immortality of soul.
Although yours truly modest,
the only personal issue
I will lightly boast about
constitutes lingering
self worthlessness bred
if not prior to first grade,
than most definitely incipient,
academic deadlines
loomed large with dread
and exacerbated by procrastination
quickly adopted as linchpin
damned obsessive compulsive
currents (i.e. thoughts) fed
modus operandi, which intricate
schema writ over lifetime invisible
within this talking head
who ironically enough
never uttered a beep
engendered from lack
of confidence, esteem,
somehow worthlessness,
insignificance,
emasculation, et cetera
took root, and didst leap
(axon to neuron)
and said mindset did seep
percolating into every nook,
and cranny comprising
aging shades, transformed
gray matter, sans this
beatle browed bummer, a deep
purple, though easily mistaken
for minuscule Uriah Heap,
or perhaps, ewe might notice,
(albeit while in a sheep
push disposition) similarities
between mine fist
sized thinker, and another creep
pee totally tubular Charles Dickens
character, or maybe
even a commercial
for nano bot sized jeep
grand Cherokee keep
up a moderate clip despite,
and/or because I
oft times feel a light
buzz sensation within me quite
average gummed up noggin
jammed numb skull,
(essentially barren aged
teenage wasteland recently
undergoing gentrification),
(yeah how really) excite
ting, a no brainer fright
fully glommed with peevish
gobbledygook plus worthless,
obsolete, and crammed academic right
hand busily twiddling, scribbling,
and sloppily drafting
error riddled assignments
deliberately failing heavily
marked with bright
colors adding oomph
to mental blight
punctuated by
attaining puny height
(...oh, about seventy inches),
nonetheless, my slight
physique and mute quiet
as a mouse, I might
as well hove been a stand in
for Charlie Brown right
down to the tree eating kite
good grief - never an ending fight
with Lucy, hence now this knight
in rusty armor forever
disparaged his might
and attests to
20/20 hind sight!
You may find it empty mirth,
Or some meaningless chatter,
But for how so vague its worth,
I choose to write this letter.
Let me tell you, my old man,
What ‘tis that makes one human.
I scarce know if it’s better
To talk, or write a letter,
But as is self, puffed with pelf,
Rare, it listens to the Self.
To me it’s such a pity
That we humans should know not
What constitutes humanity!
Minus money, its colour,
Prestige or be it power,
Caste or community,
And whatso else and any,
Save, O man your dharma
And born of it your karma,
Then take what’s left as balance—
Which, still is quite so immense,
That is man’s humanity.
____________________________
Monologue |02.09.2021| Free verse
Poet’s note: The true self always tries to be in touch with the pretender self, call it one’s ego, but as it happens it hardly listens. And out of frustration it chooses to write a letter. Yes, it is only a monologue, for I think, no meaningful dialogue is possible with a pretender.
For Letter to your Future Self Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Silent One
Buzzfeeding sustenance (eating/drinking) beyond point of satiation
Bloated swollen cheeks
analogous to first Chinese Brother,
who swallowed the sea,
now non sequitur
off beaten track i.e.
less apropos re: guarding
par for race course as if
ace driver won Grand Prix
latter referencing international
horse race for three-year-olds,
founded in eighteen sixty three
931 + 932 = above number
satisfying ghost of Fibonacci.
Original idea predicated whereby
all Americans heartily feast
(stuff themselves to the gills)
salivating cornucopia dime
a dozen lonely people
bemoaning holiday re:
traditional Thanksgiving time,
celebrating joie de vivre chime
wine glasses clink full house,
where ushers pantomime
proffer gobbledygook and
motion rapidly hungry guests
toward smorgasboard prime
tables for gluttonous
to commit punishing crime.
Tentative arrangement made,
whereby oldest sister, and husband,
(who live a jaunt away from Maple Shade
more precisely Woodbury New Jersey)
would swing by Schwenksville
comprising one car motorcade,
thence to shuttle 31.5 miles southeast
our mutual (of Omaha) friend,
I met when counted orbitz
during late 30/early thirtieth decade.
Offer to drive out of their way
presented, since our 2009
Hyundai Sonata did betray
accountability, dependability...
reliability oy vey
woolworth no more than
couple/few Benjamins
yet real challenge constitutes
yours truly, née
theme underlying mein
kampf pennilessness pray
I did (despite being orthodox
atheist) to no avail
relying upon social security
regarding disability (mine) Mayday
forthrightly, feebly, faintly...
calling before men
donned with white coats
came to take me away
to the happy home with trees
and flowers and chirping birds
and basket weavers who sit,
smile, twiddle their thumbs and toes.
Communication break down
compromised eating humble pie
regarding this ole man
upended above mentioned plan
whereby attending
hosted by: Gail la Dorfman
afforded rubber express
thus with Forrest Gump I ran
all the way across
Ocean thru to Japan.
I'm living my life,
Like a John Coltrane song,
Melodious dissonance,
All right and all wrong,
Sweet, structured chaos,
Each part takes a solo,
Then fades and steps back,
To play much more mellow,
Some think there's genius,
Others ask, 'What's the point',
Yearning for answers,
To resolve and anoint,
It goes and it goes,
My tapestry of travel,
Ideas, emotions,
With more to unravel,
And like most recordings,
It must come to a halt,
Imposing your thoughts,
To search for gesalt,
Let's listen again,
The one you just heard,
Focus attention,
To each note and each word,
Something vaguely familiar,
A known quantity,
Our entire existence,
Pure humanity,
Could be your song, not mine,
That plays on the waves,
With frequency and amplitude,
That everyone raves,
No song's more important,
The one before, or the next,
We all have our moment,
Our sacred context,
Each valued and special,
To contribute and play,
Influence and impression,
With joy and dismay,
So, put on the headphones,
Immerse the senses,
Close your eyes and depart,
To a world without fences,
This malleable melody,
Still constitutes form,
At times, rather chilly,
And others, lukewarm,
But, listen and listen,
Stop and rewind,
Messages rampant,
Cause to remind,
This is my purpose,
This is my song,
Don't know where I going,
But know where I belong.
(6/18/98)
Inferiority complex viz mine (mien)
Although yours truly modest,
the only personal issue
I will lightly boast about
constitutes lingering
self worthlessness bred
if not prior to first grade,
than most definitely incipient,
academic deadlines
loomed large with dread
and exacerbated by procrastination
quickly adopted as linchpin
damned obsessive compulsive
currents (i.e. thoughts) fed
modus operandi, which intricate
schema writ over lifetime invisible
within this talking head
who ironically enough
never uttered a beep
engendered from lack
of confidence, esteem,
somehow worthlessness,
insignificance,
emasculation, et cetera
took root, and didst leap
(axon to neuron)
and said mindset did seep
percolating into every nook,
and cranny comprising
aging shades, transformed
gray matter, sans this
beatle browed bummer, a deep
purple, though easily mistaken
for minuscule Uriah Heep,
or perhaps, ewe might notice,
(albeit while in a sheep
push disposition) similarities
between mine fist
sized thinker, and another creep
pee totally tubular Charles Dickens
character, or maybe
even a commercial
for nanobot sized jeep
grand Cherokee keep
up a moderate clip despite,
and/or because I
oft times feel a light
buzz sensation within me quite
average gummed up noggin
jammed numb skull,
(essentially barren aged
teenage wasteland recently
undergoing gentrification),
(yeah how really) excite
ting, a no brainer fright
fully glommed with peevish
gobbledygook plus worthless,
obsolete, and crammed academic right
hand busily twiddling, scribbling,
and sloppily drafting
error riddled assignments
deliberately failing heavily
marked with bright
colors adding oomph
to mental blight
punctuated by
attaining puny height
(...oh, about seventy inches,
nonetheless, my slight
physique and mute quiet
as a mouse, I might
as well hove been a stand in
for Charlie Brown right
down to tree eating kite
good grief - never an ending fight
with Lucy, hence now this knight
in rusty armor forever
disparaged his might
and attests to
20/20 hindsight
analogous to Snoop doggy dog.
“Kill a man, and you are a murderer. Kill millions of men, and you are a conqueror. Kill everyone, and you are a god.”
- Jean Rostand
Behold, when the old woman woke up
Then all around are filled with ruinous world,
With blood-stained body watching the procession of death scene
Seeing the child crying, it is understood that he has lost everything
Postmodern ravenous robotic vultures are flying on the sky
Gulping voraciously all altruistic groaning as if enjoyable pie
For the hideous sound of hostile war between home land and abroad soldiers
Now all become deaf, dumb and blind in fearing of cold-blooded superpowers
The old in traumatized and impaired speech
With devastated eyes moans – Where, O Peace!
Yes
The world is engaged in demonstrations of the best scientific energy
Who cares about the costly meaningless war of the imperialist’s key!
If the soldier dies become great martyr,
If he survives become godly warrior!
Public - the meaningless fat of a democratic constitutional body;
Increasing-decreasing them, is miracle of superpower leader’s fee!
Valiant hero-just for warrior of homeland but traitor for the conflicting country
War-elite merchant scheme; extreme revolution - just destruction, clash worldly
In these inhumane sense who listens to whom, who understands whose language
The one who has power is also the ruler, is also constitutional creator of all smash!
If the war destruction unveils any new creation; if this constitutes any peace
Why so delay? Kill, kill mass, be a hero; kill all, be God; be a war prayer beast!
© Mahtab Bangalee
March 03, 2022
Chattogram
Acquainted with desuetude-
it seems my short-lived era
were all alike.
Chambered by family,
bounded by marriage
there was no getting out
of these links unscathed.
Perhaps,
picking the lessor poison
constitutes some sort of freedom.
I saw the way he looked at me,
perceived me, repulsed me-
There was no mystery
to his gaze. Though he thought he was
deceiving me- No, no!
I was just tired
of living confined
and starved.
I had a love for life,
and I thought life
had a love for me,
until I encountered him-
Is this what fate feels like?
Maybe life did love me
and gifted me access
to another realm,
so I did not have to suffer
by this life any longer. Te Medici
my mother use to say-
“You Medici
have a duty to this family,
freedom
does not know our name.”
He was betrothed
to my eldest sister,
who’d fallen to illness.
Shortly after,
I was to take her place
to be promised
to the Duke of Ferrara-
I still find her
to be the lucky one.
He was a collector;
he had a sight for beauty,
for particular pieces,
and I,
I was just another piece
on his board.
Every move I made
was carefully observed, curved
into his own obsessive narrative
of how he wanted to render me.
I was the act-less villain
in his life,
and yet
I am somehow still
the villain to his guilt.
Even
In
Death
I can’t escape
his loathing
for me.
Shadows lurking
used to accompany me
when I walked the halls,
so I started to spend
more and more time in my room-
loneliness became
my closest companion.
I had no way out
once I was in–
waiting was like a predator
stalking its prey.
The waiting was excruciating,
the act was release.
I wrote this
to nurture credence
into my existence,
and before my fate
was sealed by him.
I wonder now if my death
frees me from my duty?
The best thing now
about being a spirit
roaming freely
in the shadows,
is seeing the Duke
haunted by his own guilt,
and cursed by his own shame–
How self-infliction
checked mate,
his entire
boardgame.