Long Editorial Poems
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When I appear there Nature seems to
Dance and dance and dance,
When I disappear she is prone to
Weep and weep and weep.
Withdraws all clouds from sky to set a
Splendid scenery,
So that me rising from the river
Afresh may there espy.
Whether it sun or shower or snow or
Storm, when I arise
To set my arms, the setting Sun
Certainly will be there.
Women who go to the river for bathing
Choose my choicy time,
So that there they may bathe in warm and
Yellow sunshine time.
Now here a plant blossoms and blooms and
Soon another there,
Here Spring is reappearing, with her
Bring all beauties back.
Nature is dancing with her rhythmic
Steps and divine smile,
Why can't I row a boat here swaying
To and fro on waves?
The valleys wear their flowery carpets,
And the mountains are
Once again clad in colours, such this
Sylvan scene is set.
White cranes are there always on serene
Haunted islets sit,
Or stand by whiter cows there grazing
O'er the lushy green.
Suppose some Beauty glance and dance in
This wild atmosphere,
Then surely that's a dance to see, when
Mother Nature dance.
So Nature takes the pen out of my
Hands and writes for me,
May that there me, the clouds and cranes and
Cows and waves witness.
On cloudy days, practically there will be no sun to see. But it was my insistence that when I rise up after bathing in the river and look up to the sky, the sun should be there in the western horizon for me to worship. If it is a heavy raining day, I will select the time to go to the river according to when the rain will have a possibility of abating. Even on the heaviest raining days in the east, nature is benevolent enough to uncover sun at least for a few seconds. I will select this time to rise up from the river with my eyes closed and fervently wishing for father sun to be there when I open my eyes. With closed eyes when we look westward, standing river fresh, I don't know what makes it happen but the sun will always be there though sometimes be for only a few seconds. It is like this life-giver listens to fervent wishes of his off-springs and grants them.
A Poem By P.S.Remesh Chandran. Editor, Sahyadri Books & Bloom Books. Trivandrum.
Read more about our views on poetry and about our various poetry editorial services, kindly visit http://poetryeditservice.blogspot.in/
Today I had a strange experience,
Not in this group but in another group.
‘Poetry and Lit'rature' it is not,
In ‘Written or Revealed Poetry' thread.
Asked, have I written poems in my life?
I found it fit to answer it this way:
I'm writing this in reply to a miss,
I have never written poems in my life.
Have wondered where these poems all come from,
From human intellect or nature's store,
To be picked up at moments of revelation;
Or synthesized in rotten human brain!
I was inspired to write these wicked lines,
By those whose verses written were in sand:
Let us debate poetry in poems,
I hope she'll someday answer me in kind.
I 'am not doing anything again,
But asking questions all have answers for.
I have my answers, you can have yours,
This not an illiterate arena,
Where someone asks questions and another from,
Some academic circle answers them.
Some anxious are, to questions throw around,
Some eagerly waits there to answer them;
This not such school or college where one can,
En'tertain answers not from others too.
I know I'm Alexander Pope's close kin,
I stop here, to read Temple of Fame again.
I regularly take part in discussions in a famous social site of experts and writes in two special groups Poetry and Literature and Language, Literature & Criticism. A discussion on ‘Whether Poetry Has To Keep Form' became heated and I had to remain at the receiving end of severe but very polished criticism for some of my view points insisting on form for poetry.
At last I was asked, ‘You do not seem to have understood the mechanics of poetry like many of us; have you ever read a poem or at least try to write one'? I decided to write my reply in the poetical form and invited the others to respond in the like manner and continue the discussion on poetry. In my native land, in Malayalam literature, there has been a long history of poets writing letters to each other in the poetical form, creating a rich branch of literature in itself. In truth, almost all Indian languages had this kind of a branch of literature, and it had become an interesting and rich feature of Indian literature. I replied as shown here.
A Poem By P.S.Remesh Chandran. Editor, Sahyadri Books & Bloom Books. Trivandrum.
Read more about our views on poetry and about our various poetry editorial services in http://poetryeditservice.blogspot.in/
Ole to yon poet writer of words
Yet engaging tarring rhythmically graphics
As all four corners images edging
I have dreamed of these those sketches
I heard an endearing, developing edging
That moment my soul grew Polaroid™
Much I marveled this irresistible press release
Extra-extra read all about it
I remember I was benefiting, computer buffering
By the grave I saw the waded balled up papers
I awoke and flung the printing ink everywhere
Deep into that darkness tattooing covering my skin
When I thought of the art
I remember I was drawing
But in the fact that it was growling
I discovered the sections
The cartographic cartoon classing
Back into my memories enticing
Disciplining and disciplining with my article
And the images never titillating
I crave the pleasurable, palatable poster
Deep into that darkness paragraphing
The deleted drawing diagraming
That moment my soul grew 7th
Much I marveled the exciting blurb text unreadable
While I crave the surprising, scrumptious spelling
For my editorial essay entrancing picture that
Fingering writing on this old Royal™ typewriter, tap-tap-tap-tapping
1/27/22
Written words by James Edward Lee ©2022
It takes a thousand words or less
Before going to press
A story to be told
Quick read message needing to be sold
True an author can build on things
Planting more tree rings
Staying away from being a short article fling
Longer the life
Hundred page paperback can be a husband or wife
At times the small order
May have the proper impact wanted by the recorder
Beginning, middle and end
A quick scene written by the pen
Conflict to resolution moves real quickly
Displaying artistic trickery
Keeping it simple as a stage spotlighting a chair
Concentrating on the dancer who has flair
Flash fiction is a formula to know
Distributing information pathway to go
When seeding a literary show
Goal being clear and concise
A journalist may say ‘that is nice’
Since the reporter is caught up in opinion and facts
Editorial columnists obsessed with personal attacks
A fantasy trip
Screaming ‘get a grip’
Could right the communication ship
When the audience is one
Relaxing interest continues until done
Sitting all alone
Gnawing on the creative bone
Seeing their own inner peace in sight
After being entertained as a witness to a dramatic plight
During the protagonist antagonist traditional fight
As always when in the initial throes
of writing what I strive to concoct viz
pièce de ré·sis·tance,
which grandiose whim fizz
hills with utter futility, nonetheless this
nondescript husband under
scores comment, while pulling his
grizzled hair of chinny chin chin,
and emphasizing that mine
literary effort ain't no whiz,
whether expressing an insatiable hunger
for factual national world events,
weird news i.e. geico liz
heard eats dog,
(who swallowed homework) quiz
sic hull varying from opinion/editorial,
geopolitical related or showbiz,
but breathe deep, while setting loose
quiet riot of ideas,
which profuse accursed
process usually incorporates an overwhelming
growing exponentially cerebral burst
whereat impossible task
looms large, asper how to
zero on most agreeable needling
threadbare notion to come first
amidst the plethora of rampant analogous
to horde of infants
clamoring tubby nursed
bajillion ideas touting joyfulness
(re: l'chaim), or...mine
envisioned sorrowfully immersed
demise as select small group
of family and friends accompany
glassy transparent hearst
(which...shh... keep on the Q.T.
as figuratively utter by pursed
lips), of course no corps
(habeas corpus cited for no reason),
but liver worst
poisoning wrought unexpected demise,
AND cremation (in a free nation)
means body double
coffin before your eyes
doppelganger paid in blood
money and french fries
(duet to a solo salt craving) no lies,
hence an none nee moose penniless chap dies
in short shrift within schema of mortal guise
ashes scattered all points on the compass
one bitcoin player in the blockchain of life wise
lee subsumed within world
wide web, this fate hain't no surprize!
A battlefront benefactress,
She has her fortress, a fortified Princess, inside the dungeon of distress,
Tiled with the bone chips of ingratitude colored in pigments of black bright & rugid red,
An arrowhead chandelier illuminated by wicked tears, wet with woe,
Everybody saw her wedding dress, they all knew the warfield wardrobe,
But how many cared to touch her sorrow gown, how it hung on those exhausted shoulders,
The lilac one piece she wore for private pain,
Gain gauged by perseverence of self defense, vengence on Victory's tombstone,
How many visit that ceremony, where love is isolated amidst jealousy's cackle,
Do any of them frown with sympathy for the debt of her crown,
For every jewel in the tierra there exists a bruise upon her beautiful body,
An assault levied by the 'learned', the rape of a writer wrought by the wretchedly wanton,
Honors earned ransomed by pitiful rivalry, kindness taken in the grip of disingenuous delight,
Some say her very name is a curse, an anethema from some God foresaken moon,
Poet Destroyer, 'Too much nerve, too much passion' they exclaim,
Its only natural for her ingrown throne to be a thorn
In the fingertip of the editorial 'elite',
They know we will bleed for her grace like the children of wild sport,
The Poet Destroyer shall not hurt us as educators of deformity do,
She will not impose false limits on our brows,
She will not strike our eyes with rotten ink,
And look now you vultures of vice, we are Legion,
We are Brothers and Sisters of the Quill, raise your sight and behold our Worshipful Queen,
She rests not long in the sanctuary of her inner star, here we are,
Leading the war march towards you with captured & dried quills
Of imposter poets lashed to her sheild of cauterized parchment
Imprinted with the blessings of all literary Titans who have warred before,
We step forward While chanting in crazed concentration,
Oh woe to you,
Victors of vanity, victims of sanity!!!
This composition has been made in honor of the Poet Destroyer, aka. Linda,
A beautiful woman, a guiding Light, a warrior of liberated and Divine Art.
J.A.B.
I imagine relief while feeling comfortably numb...
anesthetized courtesy central air
analogous to gulping down
a tall glass of ice cold water,
which equals ultimate thirst quencher,
especially for those
experiencing onset dehydration,
the following poetic opinion/editorial
shared by yours truly, a former consumer
who quaffed truckloads sugary and sports drinks
found mine once sculpted baby boomer body
undergoing gender reorientation, particularly
nondescript breasts incrementally found
busting (rivaling playboy bunny chest)
necessitated this garden variety
NON GMO gluten free husband
"papa," an endearment
addressed by the missus
puzzled when her
brassieres went missing
loathe to believe what sounded
like cock and bull story
embarrassed, yet finally
relented into pestiferous
inquisitiveness hen pecking wife,
she stood agape, after I dare bare
unclothed upper torso revealed
floppy, limp biscuit sagging
sorry excuse for bosom
hence necessitating yours truly
to resort as partial crossdresser,
yet never foreseeing
anatomical morphology transforming
(analogous to mushroom popping up
following bucketloads of rain)
thus went cold turkey,
(as attested by this gobbledygook)
to swear off high caloric non nutritious
popular beverages
(generating bajillions dollars),
and additionally forced non chipper infowar
i.e. internal three ring circuits
uncivil insurrection
(a tad more'n eighteen months ago)
as weeks elapsed months
(this unplanned resolution
dated June seventeenth
two thousand twenty two),
discarded over the shoulder boulder holder
in tandem with exercise
few times per week
alternating plying twenty pound dumbbells
and exercising viz pedaling
(quasi bicycle) machine
a pronounced reduction
saved me big bucks
undergoing cosmetic (Liposuction) surgery!
Him fountain of eternal joy from
Where life is renewed,
Ageing and life to be drained out, exit
From the world is nigh,
When suddenly comes a call from him
Above, who regulates
The flow of life through cycles of many
Births and deaths, to stop.
Suddenly sounds the drum from sky for the
Second act of play,
Life really awakens, drooping life
Joyfully responds to the call;
The wintry night desolate soon turns
Into a joyous spring day,
Undoing death, His rhythm and dance
Rejuvenates life force.
The flow of life from star to star
Follows the rhythm of his dance,
Freed from the confinement of matters
Th'Earth finds salvation;
With multitudinous fruits and grains and
Flowers of myriad hues
Her baskets of seasons are filled to the
Till and brim and all.
Thus she attains the fulfillment at the
Touch of his dancing feet,
The flow of life gushes up from death
Following incessantly
The pattern of his rhythm and dance, to the
Tune of his golden flute;
In the tornado of this violent dance,
All that is withered falls.
The triumphal arch of life is erected
Midst the joyful tunes,
And the journey of this spring meanders
Towards the fountain again.
This poem was originally written in Bengali Language by Rabeendranath Tagore. Its Bengali Title was Udbodhan. It was then translated into English by Mr. Rabeendranath Choudhury who expressed his wish that somebody from some other generation may attempt the rest so that all the English-speaking people may enjoy India's Pride. And here it is, slightly edited and recast in the true poetic form by P.S. Remesh Chandran, Editor, Sahyadri Books & Bloom Books, Trivandrum.
Read more about our views on poetry and about our various poetry editorial services, kindly visit http://poetryeditservice.blogspot.in/
Parades are festive
They send a celebratory message
Protests have an evil look
Like they were run by a crook
Ranting
Chanting
Yelling and screaming
Confused definition lacking structure meaning
Anger released in this one way
“We are going to make the issue pay”
Strong voice overs sound really cool
But in reality the visual is a self-destructive tool
Sacrificial lamb
An interesting plan
Using the young at heart
Tell them to play the moral part
Only a for a few seconds will it be heard
Not caring how it will be talked about when referred
Money could start a revolution
That is not the solution
Study the subject matter
Accept the pitch as a well prepared batter
Answer the call
To strengthen understanding the law
Many sides a debate may contain
Simply put it is easy to complain
Take pen and paper in hand
And make the editorial stand
Words are a powerful device
An intellectual platform that is nice
When someone sits down and reads
They are relaxed thinking about the information feed
Unlike a theatric demonstrator
Displaying havoc in the tradition of a raider
Society needs creative communication as a lighter
Getting into situations being a fighter
After a published piece has run
Noting a philosophical pondering job is done
Police handcuffs are not the result
In bringing the argument to a halt
Conversation could have chatter
Escalating up a healthy ladder
Allowing the writer
To walk away sounding intelligent by making the guilt party’s noose tighter
Presenting on a stage where one shines brighter
By George P. Lumayag
https://georgelumayag.weebly.com/
Users learn English grammar when ICT is used.
Microsoft Word can check the misspelled words,
It even reminds the users' choppy words,
Google Doc can detect the wrong structure of words,
And Grammarly.com can recommend suitable words.
Writer's original composition can be justified when Turnitin is used.
They can not publish their journals if such papers violate the rule.
The online creation tools offer young minds become prolific writers,
SketchBook provides creative students to become digital editorial cartoonists,
Photoshop enhances student-users to become digital pic lovers,
And Weebly.com offers them to become online digital layout artists.
Learners can improve their speech when Youtube.com is accessed.
Learners can enunciate English accent through parroting the Youtube channel,
They can learn tenses of verbs on Youtube Language tutorials,
Therefore, they can learn English on Youtube.com
Artificial Intelligence can be the English teacher,
So, ICT is very much related to English teaching.