Long Exhibited Poems
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It was one of the red-eye flights I got,
Everything went dark as we started to depart.
He seemed pleasant in his appearance,
I exhibited my great scholarly brilliance.
In matters of poetry, science, finance…
I found him maintaining innocent silence.
I switched on my subject to travel by flight,
Ticket prices, I said, are touching the height.
I swore at the system and the owners,
That often they behaved as though loaners.
The comforts they give is sheer meager,
And in mere business they are eager.
Take any owner, I said, for instance,
Rich, richer and richest is their existence…
The business they perform just one percent,
The profit they earn as though cent percent.
Well, the system has fully gone to dogs,
Will it possible for dogs to become gods?
Thus I poured out my entire grievance,
As though with him I had great vengeance…
He seemed not to criticize my comment,
Nor did he ever my statements amend.
As the trip was almost coming to an end
And the crew started the announcement
I introduced myself very elaborately
And seemed response from him generously…
I saw him taking a card from his pocket
That resembled an artistic locket
I read the details and fell silent
As though all my vanities came to an end…
Alas! He’s the proprietor of many a such flight
Which I was criticizing with all my might…
I woke up ashamed, shocked from my deep sleep,
To find none nearby but the lights loudly beep…
My neighbor on the flight was my red-eye dream,
The Questioner and the question were me, the same.
19 June 2021
Surprise Me Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: charles messina
I am innocent.
I will never plead guilty
For all the crimes against humanity that France and its colonialist accomplices
Have committed in the cradle of my ancestors for centuries.
The color of my skin is neither a crime nor a tragedy.
I do not have to justify being a human being.
I am a Sub-Saharan African.
I am a Bantu from Equatorial Africa,
Like all those Pygmies exhibited in wooden cages by this Christian and supposedly humanistic West.
What have I done to inherit the nightmares of Françafrique?
What have I done to flee misery on a land so rich, chained to the voracity of Western predators?
I will never sing the symphonies of submission
Upon the altar of servitude
To sanctify my humanity.
I do not have to submit to the Negrophobia of these supremacist savages.
I was born free on a land devastated by Western imperialism.
I grew up in one of the colonial wastelands
Of a France that is still slave-minded.
I built myself amid the savagery of a banana republic,
Worshipping the tyranny of alienated natives of Françafrique.
I have never feared death.
I lived in a dilapidated cemetery, lined with the living dead.
The scourges of misery shaped the coldness of my lucid soul.
I am the product of the colonial massacres
Of the slave-trading France of the Enlightenment in Africa.
I am the proof that the Republic of Human Rights
Has never treated Sub-Saharan Africans as free human beings.
I bear the indelible scars left by the independence fighters of Cameroon.
I will never be ashamed of being an African with melanin-filled skin,
Even if Marianne’s Negrophobic children call me a parasite,
While French multinationals brutally plunder the wealth of my continent.
I am an ambitious migrant,
An honorable undocumented immigrant,
A humanist Pan-Africanist,
A preacher of the saving values of liberty, equality, and fraternity.
I do not believe that democracy is the paradigm
Of Africa’s colonial trading posts.
I did not cross the Mediterranean
To become a prostitute for the criminal capitalism of the West.
The fascists of the Republic mock the thousands of African women
Who end up swallowed
By the deadly waters of the Mediterranean.
Disposition tilts dogma of poetaster
elicits, nevertheless adopting role jester
trending toward vagueness exhibited
by Addams family uncle Fester.
Yours truly makes exception to his
preference for law and order, viz
sanctioning upheaval particularly
avast mayhem curried kindled, biz
zee ness linkedin courtesy divine whiz
hard re: coronavirus (COVID-19).
Oh...just a slight digression duration
approximately no longer than left
middle, or... right third eye blind blink
a show of hands via augmented and/or
virtual reality who recall children's pink
cuss Zuckerman lyrics, I roundly think
nonsense verse skidda marinky dinky dink
though a curmudgeonly fella, a catchy tune
me and the boys (at taproom) sing up drink
dated to more apropos synchronize Asia chink
lets the sunshine, thru trumpeting don vizier
touting America upon self destructive brink
allowing, enabling, and providing participation
within convenience er... rather forced lockdown
yet safely and soundly sequestered blame ratfink
microscopic organism (alluded 17) lines above
pitching capitalistic qua Laissez faire economy.
Accordance to crude Dickensian nostrildamus
whose predictions noted for reference to nose
everything about hmm... sax and violins crows
excitedly (pretend ye did not read orgasmically)
as United States of America pushed to breaking
into bajillion pieces metaphorically, aye suppose
though avast percentage
of Stone Temple Pilots, she push peep pulls
viz vernacular speaking population
to most pious take as gospel
every word in religious tomes
their collective soul asylum polestar,
and doth decree important doctrines
with especial accord
equal insignificance applied toward
Judeo-Christian holidays across the board
thus easter tis no exception to the golden rule,
where santa claus reached an a chord
follow auspicious signs alit in the night sky
shaped like a drinking gourd
perhaps amassing plentiful harvests
upon hamlets strewn
across scantily populated Earth
asper cornucopia exhibited secret hoard
sharing plentiful Horn
(and Hard art learned lesson)
to stave off barren ness, ignored
going forward seeding nascent
March Madness with help from Lord
and Tailor as midwife hoot
tended Ville Nova moored
by Wildcat fanatics, who unbelievably
espied heavens cleft asunder
and golden rays poured
while collective spectators loudly screamed
akin to the soundgarden
of ferocious cats roared
witnessed history scored
earning players knighted
with Excalibur sword
thence entire team handed
Taj Mahal shaped award
which aforementioned ass hide lacks, cuz zit
happens tubby April Fool's joke
thus above iterated verses somehow
needs just a little bit of relevance to yoke
thine admitted ambivalent reaction to sports,
yea aye pay figurative toke
hen to Rabbinic, generic fanatic primal
tribal village people clan destine woke
and swinging focus of this poem
back toward Religious perp ported berth
when (sans antiquity) trumpet signaled
thus, any superstitions blew away dearth
when distant shofar heard
in every home and hearth
anticipating arrival of the Easter Bunny,
who brings mirth
and hop poly distributes sweet treats,
which children as grown adults,
no matter necessity for teeth to be removed
the sugary over indulgence wool worth
today thee American Dental Association chastises candy
manufacturers bandying more weight
gaining deadly, debauched, and decadent, trait
then adultery verboten fruit to sate
hash-tagged reprobate.
Nature’s most fearsome orchestration
of sights, sounds and terrific movements
can feel like the very air we breathe
is being turned against us
as it manifests itself
in many forms of storms.
When earth becomes ungrounded,
it quakes inside its ancient bones,
filling souls with dread
as Mother Nature joins in,
birthing storm quakes
in large bodies of water.
As water fills earth’s veins,
it’s as if the planet bleeds from oceanic wounds,
which tumble over anything and anyone
standing in Mother Nature’s path,
showing those wounds as tsunamis.
Under certain conditions,
Mother Nature unleashes her fickle fury
as hurricanes that sweep over
coastal areas,
and in many other parts of the world,
tornadoes touch down just as unpredictably,
ravaging homes and entire cities,
whirling violently over the land -
claiming innocent lives in the wake
of great devastation.
Throughout all history,
Mother Nature, along with earth,
has exhibited her capricious disposition,
often at the most random of places and times.
Recently, however, humans have contributed
more and more to their own demise
as Mother Nature takes a deep breath
and then vehemently
exhales.
When I write
my goal is to be
impersonal as possible --
giving all credit
or defeat
to the Muse, Devil or
God of a partner.
To my mind,
Poetry, must speak independent of
the author, using a schizoid sort of
logic --
there must be a life
exhibited, that upon completion
the author, reads back with as
much interest as any foreign tourist or explorer
thinking: "where did that come from?"
Then I know, in my own humble way,
though not having touched the face of greater
creation, I have at least seen a small feature, moving on
with better sense of future direction, what to strive for
while in further pursuit of the art. Poetry, like everything else one does
in life, should be viewed through a sacred lens --
in order to do one's best, and for best results.... As I cloudily
ascertain. My method. I know nothing.
No matter the country you were born in
We're all inhabitants of earth
Maybe ashamed to admit it sometimes
Our much treasured place of birth
Since time began, we've battled each other
For what... I haven't a clue
Just look around at the beauty you see
An astounding vista we view
Is there something this old guy is missing
Am I alone in my love of living
Am I a lonely voice in the wilderness
This land is so forgiving
We abuse it and misuse it every damn day
This God given paradise we share
Disgusting behaviour is being exhibited
Destroying our planet without care
Certainly not fair for us peace loving souls
Our cries for love go unheeded
But surely we shouldn't give up the fight
Some common decency is needed
Maybe before my day is finally done
Paradise will finally be at hand
When all good people of our dear planet earth
Will as one, each treasure this land
Sometimes a simple question
needs a simple answer,
other times, a lecture.
I adhere to the principle of truthfulness, irrespective of the consequences. He asked if I had any affection for him, which reminded me of a mathematical question posed by my second-grade teacher. Maintaining a composed manner, I replied in the negative. His response exhibited a noticeable change in demeanor. I firmly believe that honesty holds significant value, regardless of potential outcomes. The inquiry, "Do you love me?" has been addressed to me on numerous occasions, more than I am inclined to mention; I interpret it as a politically charged statement. (Increase in social security benefits)
Sometimes a simple question
Needs a simple answer
Other times, a lecture.
And as for me, I hate having long, drawn-out lectures
Today I am celebrating my 69th Sunday, 2026
It is well with my soul.
My sister Annick fixed me, locked me in, with cold, blue eyes as she sat down slowly next to me at the table. “I’m a surgeon,” she said, not quite casually, “a board certified surgeon.”
I give her a questioning look.
“I could take your steak knife,” she says, eyeing it, “plunge it into your neck - and oh, sure, there’d be a question or two but in the end - I’d walk away clean.”
“I don’t think,” I start saying…
Tears well to near overflowing in her turquoise eyes. “I came in - officer” she says, sounding stunned and surreal. “She was having a convulsion, she exhibited severe cyanosis, I couldn’t clear her airway, it was a classic tonic-clonic seizure.” she goes on, her voice rising to near panic with the diagnosis.
“You’d never…” I start to interrupt but she gently covers my mouth with her left hand while gathering the handle of the serrated silver steak knife, expertly, into her right hand.
“I attempted to perform a tracheostomy,” she continues in a traumatized but professional voice. “but as I began a transverse incision above the sternal notch,” *a tear rolls down her cheek*, “Anais suffered a severe generalized-onset seizure and convulsed, forcefully into the knife”
“IT WAS AN ACCIDENT!” I confess suddenly, as if under oath, in court.
There’s a moment of still silence.
“And when,” she asked, wiping away the tear and turning the knife for a downward thrust. “Were you going to mention it?!”
“NOW! - before dinner!” I look around the empty room - for help - for a sympathetic jury. “It was an ACCIDENT! - I’m SORRRRYYYY!” I plead.
My sister slowly sets down the knife and says deliberately, purposefully - like a death sentence: “My Valentino sheer floral-lace top is STAINED.”
”I can Fix it!” I insist in a rush.
“Keep out of my room - and my stuff.” she grumbles, “And REMEMBER what I said,” she adds as she pats the knife before getting up and leaving the room.
“I WILL’” I promise to her back.
A second later, my mom sweeps in from the opposite direction.
“What’s up” she asks.
“Nothing” I almost whisper, head down.
Yours truly an unfortunate hostage
within *****sapien zoo
looking for unwitting subject(s) to woo,
and albeit impossible mission) to free me,
where within human bondage I stew
more specifically mine personally
custom designed invisible prison self made,
thus wishing to don persona
of such an éminence grise
as Jawaharlal Nehru,
and trumpet courteous helloo
before bidding kith and kin
and fellow humans permanent adieu.
When out of the blue
methinks I hear a voice which intones do
please try a healthy dose - Mister Fitzhugh,
a Louisiana creole speciality touted
as psychological cureall within Hangzhou
capital of Zhejiang sheng (province), China
where amidst bustling businesses as usual
happens to live animated cartoon
caricature, whose modesty peddling
holistic and homeopathic
(interestingly enough) Asian Jew,
who many neighboring residents
thought said long in the tooth occupant loo
duck criss cause he exhibited inhibition,
hence nonestablishmentarian fella
in their (others) netview
hashtagged snake oil salesman
buzzfeeding gullible poo
courtesy legendary secret formula
comprising his mumbo jumbo
chicken gumbo soup,
our mutual friend Dumbo
doth heartily broker
entrancing kickstaring rendezvous
panacea as genuinely true
but aforenamed solitary wordsmith
also incorporates voodoo
to scare away mailer daemons
all the way to Xanadu
located (courtesy Google)
in the modern-day Zhenglan Banner
in inner Mongolia on southeastern edge
of the Mongolian plateau
The city founded as first capital
of Kublai Khan, the leader
of Mongol Borjigin clan
who founded Yuan dynasty that ruled
most of modern-day China,
Korea, and its surrounding areas.