Long Drawing room Poems
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"Be like a flower ... gentle, quiet and humble."
Quote _ Constance La France
Their blossoms faded to shades of amber filagree
Now, withered remnants of what they used to be
Sweet scent that once perfumed a drawing room
On stems cut from my garden, each humble bloom
is spent, past prime; ready to be pressed in a book
or drying in bunches, quietly hanging upon a hook
Recently snipped, arranged in a Lalique crystal vase
are their progeny, who have taken their elders' place.
How beautiful they are, dressed in cobalt blue gowns
eliciting smiles of adoration, never woebegone frowns.
Their beauty gentles my mood when they stand proud
until they too, will wither and fade, their stems bowed.
Oh, to be like a flower ~ gentle, quiet and humble,
happy to entice the pollen seekers, a bee who bumbles
or butterflies who flutter fragile wings, flying so free.
How I wish sometimes that a tiny creature I could be,
with delicate wings spread, I'd travel without a sound
grateful to be alive, without setting foot on the ground.
May 22, 2023
Writing Challenge ~ B Quotes Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France
The enclosed porch framed a weather-beaten door.
The door was slightly opened when I knocked on it.
I slowly set foot inside the musty dark drawing room;
little light shown through from the stained-glass window.
I reach and slowly move my fingers over the flower rosette
carved into the old elegant red oak staircase railing.
I do walk up the stairs to see the same as on the door frames.
Passing through in the nostalgic silence of the empty house
I could hear the echo whispers of life of its past.
4/8/2023
Writing Challenge - 'S' Words, Poetry Contest 10. staircase
Sponsored by: Constance La France
1.
observing the ardent eagerness of the wind
it is clearly understood
that nascent pollens are overflowing
the niche of her heart
in response to the signals of the river
she keeps on ringing
all long the month of earth-quakes
the bench of the rail-station
wants to hug her
the medicine-counter of the ***-end of the day
beckons her with the hand to come nearer
in the assembly-hall for musical demonstration
adorned with ash-trays
going on the rehearsal of her dancing and singing
she also distributes some life
to the meticulous dressing
of the magnolia
2.
let the swimming pool be fully absorbed
with its dark-room
when the feather of your fore-finger
becomes green
the merchant of venice
will leave his business of photo-coping machine
to start walking directly
in search of new earnings
evening sets in
on the boiler of the delta
putting on yellow-dress comes
the water-vessel of the paper-balloon
there is no singing bird
shivering with cold
in the fold of the dear bed-sheet
it is possible that the boldness of the metro-railway
may give some wood of tamarisk
on the expanded palms
yet oh the western page of night
do tell today
why so much tamed polythene
are here in our cohabitation
3.
after so many days
published in the wind
painted in wings
the recent heart’s desire
of the doors and windows
they have rolled up their fairy-tales
from the ignorant drawing-room that wanted
to set her mind to the hill slanting downward
they did not want to know
how much rheumatism is there
in the hands and legs of the bark
to whom is delegated
the control of the mason-made bus-journey
sleep hugs the eye-lids of the rivers
though there is no postage-stamp
within the reaching-point
then what magic is there
in the hill slanting downward
why the wall does not learn
how to swim like a fish
truly it is he from whom
those negligible moments of man-ism
itch for blue candle-stand
an angry man with a knife
ran after another man
to stab after tussle
after running to a certain distance
that man hided behind a sofa
of a drawing room
where two people were talking
they knew nothing about the tussle
seen a man with heavy respiration hided
before he's asked anything
angry man came and asked them
have have you seen a man
who has come to this side just now?
they saw a knife he's holding
they replied gently
that they have seen no one
then the angry man gone away
after that he became safe
by giving thanks to them gone away
Is is that telling lie's always vice?
Is it that telling truth's always virtue?
They do not chase me, which is scary if you think about it.
Maybe if they would chase or tackle, it would be less eerie.
They wait for me in the drawing room, where I create art.
It’s a studio, some say but it is more than that.
It was my sanctuary until they arrived.
I tiptoe through the house when I return from work
A job that holds little interest, but pays my bills
because I have never found a patron or a king
I am holding my shoes, so I do not alert them.
Don’t open the door! My inner voices shriek.
I do though, because I want to be terrified
And terrorized, but alas, they are not here
Too early, my inner voice says. You can stop tiptoeing
Feeling foolish, I put my groceries down.
And get myself a little supper.
The ghosts are familiar, I saw their faces in the newspaper
About forty years ago, when their car plunged over a cliff
We were murdered! A voice screams from my studio
I wish now that I had taken a canvas out of there.
I could ran with it to my room and draw until the voices stop.
Maniacal laughter in my head reminds me. The voices never stop.
During my morning strolls along country paths
The world comes alive in all its gleam n’ glitter
What lovely vistas unfurl and pass me by
What miracles of creation, what wonders of life
What variety, what fantastic medley
What serene peace, what easeful tranquility
Sights and scenes that hold one’s breaths
Sounds and songs that chase away the moody aches
A bird twittering on a tree, a squirrel jumping from branch to branch
A flower here, a flower there, on the hedge and over the bower
Flirting with dandy butterflies on iridescent wings
Bunches of blooms nestled in the foliage of silken green
The early sun golden and glowing, dispersing radiant rays
The cotton clouds spreading a woolly carpet on his way
The puff of air intoxicant with heady fragrance
And doused with the chill of early morning mist
Herds of cattle grazing on far away meads
Avian chatter blended with the music of leaping cataracts
Their echoes sent out by tall rocks and giant boulders
All that pleases the eye and ear in euphoric delight
Had I been a Raphael or Rembrandt
I would have transferred those scenes onto a canvas
Which one would never get tired of gazing at
And kept in the drawing room for everyone to see
Or a Wordsworth to have composed those immortal
Tintern Abbey lines, inspired by these ‘beauteous forms’
To be recalled and recited by men of all ages and climes
That they ever ring resonant in their private closets!
During my morning strolls along country paths
The world comes alive in all its gleam n’ glitter
What lovely autumn vistas unfurl and pass me by
What miracles of creation, what wonders of life
What variety, what fantastic medley
What serene peace, what easeful tranquility
Sights and scenes that hold one’s breaths
Sounds and songs that chase away the moody aches
Autumn leaves of crimson red, lemon yellow
And rusty orange, as they drop, they swirl and whirl
Fly in the wind, some landing on my body and tickling me-
A rare feel that this special season alone can give!
Avian chatter of birds migrating to the south,
Blended with the music of leaping cataracts,
And their echoes sent out by tall rocks and giant boulders.
All that pleases the eye and ear in euphoric delight!
Had I been a Raphael or Rembrandt,
I would have transferred those scenes onto a canvas,
Which one would never get tired of gazing at,
And kept in the drawing room for everyone to see
Or a Wordsworth to have composed those immortal
Tintern Abbey lines, inspired by these ‘beauteous forms’
To be recalled and recited by men of all ages and climes
That they ever ring resonant in their private closets!
Dec. 14.2022
~Placed Third~
Brian's Contest- You Choose
~Placed Second ~
Still Life of Autumn Scene Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Eve Roper
A most remarkable parish spire! and, widely acknowledged as
Just such...constantly commented upon being seen for the
Very first time.
Pressed into the church's soft sandstone walls, the shallow
Indentations from ball and shot left over from when the
Roundheads had came this way;
The Royalists did determine to fight to the last man...
Or so it was, reportedly, thus contendend.
The sky above as hollow as a cathedral's resounding dome; and
Possessing a sort of wild, uncharted immensity...
And not a bird singing...not a single bird in flight.
A strangely discomforting sunshine began to gently filter
Through the moitionless leaves on the already limp branches
Of the pale trees;
Spots of sunlight dappling the pavements and roadway,
Lying patiently underneath, with a hesitancy akin to
Reluctant rain.
Pausing in Sainsbury's carpark, I half turned:-
The slow, dulled, monotonous clanging of the grieving bell
As it relentlessly mourned the passing of it's beloved Queen.
People moving about me with measured deliberation as if on
Stage acting a part in a Victorian Drawing-room play.
Cars and vans drove more slowly...perhaps they were compelled
To do so by sudden divine intervention? ...or an inexplicable
Sense of spiritual duty?
Some great, unseen, all-powerful white God who had visted
Each of them in their dreams and threatened one and all with
Terrible retribution...and quite rightly so to my way of
Thinking.
And still the sobbing bell tolled...for it was determined to
Command this sombre day.
Grace
is not the rather loose reputed love of choice
after natural laws of Earth's justice have been primally satisfied.
Nor is Mercy,
her sister,
a gratuitous co-passionate remainder,
icing on the after thought of justice cake,
after having had Her revengeful way
for sins of our enslaving Fathers.
Rather,
Earth's nature-spirit laws
for protecting nutritional rights and equity
are the evolving justice of last resort
when intrinsic co-empathic trusting grace
has been rejected too often already
within some connecting string of incarnation,
some sacred identity we might and could love
as organically transcendent life itself.
The primary health role of nature's nutritional law,
protection against ecocidal toxins,
security from anthroprivileged injustice,
absence of co-empathic therapeutic trust
as presence of community co-immunity,
is to support effective deep meaningful anticipation,
and not over-reactive wide purposeless anxiety,
toward full development of richly resonant transgenerational relationships,
political and economic musecology.
As a materialistic, yet healthy-social, song and dance species,
we have spent far too much energy
on advocating the triumph of just political relations,
rather than justly cooperative and inclusive economic co-ownership,
rooted in co-empathic gratitude
through listening to and with suffering oppressed fractured species,
stories speaking to our own compassionate voices within,
advocating for future generations of EarthTribe peace.
When our relationship with EarthTribe's Commons
is more about protection from material harm
than loving sustained healthy relationships
rooted in natural-physical
organically inter-religioning
co-infested gratitude for compassion
and outraged attitude against Othering dispassion,
then we are significantly inside and outside the comfort range
of thermodynamic balance,
co-arising trust,
where Grace deteriorates into BadKarma
and restores into GoodKarma
as decomposition informs gratitude's re-incarnate potential
Grace's wealthy step-sister room
for Mercy's further transgenerational
trans generational
transgene rational healthy growth.
One day after returning from the moon,
Jerry found a Raccoon in his drawing room.
He was surprised to see it watching TV,
enjoying'Tom and Jerry' show with much glee.
An idea crept into Jerry's mind soon
why not teach Tom a lesson by the Raccoon!
So Jerry told him about all his plights,
how Tom was harassing him day and night.
'OK,I'll teach him a lesson',was Raccoon's vow,
'but see that I act with you in cartoon show'.
Hearing this Jerry smiled,'sure,it will be soon
changed to a show of Jerry and Raccoon'.
Then he guided him to nearby Tom's house
stealthily big Raccoon followed little mouse.
At that time Tom was having a sound nap,
the big Raccoon easily took him in his lap.
'I will throw him over there to the moon',
smilingly murmured the big Raccoon.
What happened after this I don't know, sorry
can't tell you the end of this little story.
There may be a change in the cartoon show soon,
Tom may be missing,Jerry will act with that Raccoon!
© kashinath karmakar
=====================================
By:kashinath karmakar (30th March 2011,photo based)