Long Father son Poems
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Deshbhushan – my father’s name given on
Entrance of a temple where grandma in yawn
Sitting with twins – my father and uncle yon
Hilltop – crying were both – grandpa gone.
Buying some milk when came on lawn
He saw our saint named Shantisagar icon
Underneath a sacred tree praying at dawn.
She worried at weeping of children and bon.
Hurriedly came grandpa with water from Huron
Aiming to quench thirst of three since eon.
Now Shantisagarji Maharaj did withdrawn –
Jain munies never change in mediation
Any position – but for them came in agitation
Informing grandma the names in clarion,
None than Deshanbhushan and Kulbhushan.
"the heavens were opened . . . and the spirit descended like a dove "
(Based on Matthew 3:16, New Testament)
_____________________________
The Holy Trinity,
Father, Son and- the Holy Spirit;
coming as a dove for infinity.
To hold this spirit within will give you merit,
you will be filled with wisdom and understanding;
knowledge and fortitude, piety and faith demanding.
And the Holy Spirit will glow outstanding
for you will feel sanguinity.
"and a voice came from heaven, which said, thou are my beloved "
(Based on Luke 3:22, New Testament)
____________________________
November 29, 2019
Poetry/Rhyme/The Dove
Copyright Protected, ID 19-`1204-055-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Sanguinity is optimism, cheerfulness, happiness, hopefulness, etc.
Written for the contest, Holy Spirit
sponsor, Chantelle Anne Cooke
Third Place
Spare the rod
You’ll come to hate the child
King Solomon wrote in Ecclesiastes
Isn’t that wild
Commentators cite Abraham the Patriarch
who constantly pampered Ishmael
Abraham watched his undisciplined son go off the rails
Not to mention Isaac, who loved Esau, let him do what he wanted
which led Esau to rape women, whom ‘for sport’ he hunted
So, Solomon really meant what he said
Abraham came to hate Ishmael; Isaac, Esau to dread
Yet if you still consider King Solomon an irrelevant old head
Know that his advice came with one proviso
A father must never – ever – strike a child when he is riled!
My father told me, "Dana:
In the kitchen is a banana
It's meant for your mother
Not for you, nor any other.
But I was a kid of ruthless ways
A throwback to hunter gatherer days
To those harsh days on the Savannah
When finding a banana was nirvana.
I snuck into the kitchen, I'm sorry to say
I munched the banana, my ethics gave way.
In hindsight there wasn't much hope
I had started down a slippery slope.
Years later I ran an outlaw clan
If you got in our way, you were a dead man
I'd sit there smoking a cheap Havana
Wearing a cowboy hat plus a bandana.
I got rich by taking other people's cash
Until one day an old man told me I was trash
I pulled out my gun, I was real mad
Then I froze; he was my dad.
"Son," he said, "you're plain no good
You took that banana, just because you could
It got worse from there, you slid down the slope
Hannah and I are at the end of our rope."
I thought he was right, I had strayed
So I made amends, a price I paid
Took my ill-gotten gains, gave to my mother Hannah
A lifetime's supply of Chiquita banana!
I went to a priest, confessed to all
Explained my repentance, told of my fall.
But the priest said I didn't understand
Too many past victims, across the land
For what profit it a woman named Hannah
If she gains every single banana
But loses her soul.
I had lost sight of the goal.
You stick to the right no matter how small
The only way to keep standing tall.
My Son, Far Away
In the sunny gloom of this
ocean of burning Earth,
the scythe of time hovers like
a hungry vulture above us
men of "honorable" duty, but thankfully,
for my weary heart, this
graveyard of sand is never too far
from my son, far away.
We are but men, not Gods,
for every death my hands effect
I kneel closer to my own.
Only the bespoke hands that
signed neat, dotted lines can
explain this infernal farce that
donned in warrior's attire the
father of my son, far away.
He's a fine gentleman for sure,
in him I see the man I never got to be,
I fear now I may never see
again that little boy whose big feet
long outgrew his father's shoes.
If my death blocks an evil bullet, be it so.
Let no bullet fly past me,
and reach my son, far away.
So when I die, oh brother,
rest me not amid these sinners,
in this bed of metal thorns and
aged blood.
I beseech you to, instead,
lay me to rest in
the soil that sculpted me, and
take me home to my son, far away.
War Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Kai Michael Neumann
Date: November 12, 2021
ONCE HAD IS NOT A PROPERTY
Few are looking for what many got that I had
Much effort is a necessity as success is a work hard
Some few are looking for a shortcut; heard failure is a bad
Some rather than stress themselves beyond limit they hope on dad
First class became a requisite to get on the bench of elites; we read so mad
Struggling to make the best of results to get on that bench; 4.5 up is not hard
Two years on of great tidings; and our levels was busy beefing up to the points
On that very long awaited day of reckoning; we listened for the benchmark points
To our dismay; our cumulative grade points accumulations was no longer on point
It became so obvious to all that we had it before is no longer a property on point.
All men are born equal but not a guarantee to be the same
She chose son over father; the shrink said mother is insane
Now the confession; you are the son of your brother that is my son
What a calamity! If am the son of my brother, my father is whose son?
Sometimes lie can be better than the very truth that will stare at us
Let someone break the mirror for the truth it carries mockingly hurt us
This family once had a moment they thought will sustain them forever
Now in chaos and family havoc; incest with a curse they hope won’t last forever
As of the beginning from the family diary there was peace and understanding
Walls closed in now; they had it before is no longer a property of understanding.
Looked everywhere; even the very intellectual four walls of the dictionary
For the meaning of what happened that wasn’t fore-told by the visionary
Father wrote his last will and gave it to our family lawyer the other week
This week; he is dead and my name was nowhere to be found even in one sheet
This amazes everyone; mother couldn’t believe it for there was only one me
Let there be heaven for next time; I rather go to hell now than let this injustice be
As the son and the only child of his father I could only give the best I could give
The very sand in our house will testify if none would that it was exactly what I did
Didn’t get a judgement in court; the judge said it is my right but now was my right
Unfortunate; I was supposed to have it all is not at all a property that is my right.
Lordvip...
“Souls and Bodies We’ll Lay Down”
Ominous clouds have
Invaded my soul;
Thrust swords into my heart.
Darker than the midnight air.
Stars gone forever more.
Bloodied hands in my dreams.
I dream not of tranquility
But of lightning and thunder
Pain and hunger.
I pray for your peace
Your hope and honor.
For blue skies and golden wheat.
I pray that your Trident,
Strikes the heart of evil
Bringing this aberration to its knees
Father, Son and Holy Ghost,
I beseech thee please
Save them from this hell.
May your anthem be sung
By all the peoples,
Of all the nations,
Of this world.
I leave you with this heart felt anthem of the Ukraine Nation
Ukraine has not yet perished, nor her glory, nor her freedom,
Upon us, fellow Ukrainians, fate shall smile once more.
Our enemies shall vanish, like the dew in the sun,
And we too shall rule, brothers, in a free land of our own.
Chorus:
Souls and bodies we'll lay down, all for our freedom,
And we'll show that we, brothers, are of the Cossack nation!
II
We'll stand, brothers, in bloody battle, from the Sian to the Don,
We shall not let others rule in our motherland
The Black Sea will smile and grandfather Dnipro will rejoice,
For in our own Ukraine fortune shall shine again.
Chorus
Souls and bodies we'll lay down, all for our freedom,
And we'll show that we, brothers, are of the Cossack nation!
III
Our persistence and sincere toils shall be rewarded,
And freedom's song will throughout all of Ukraine resound.
Echoing off the Carpathians, and across the steppes rumbling,
Ukraine's fame and glory shall be known 'mong all nations.
Chorus
Souls and bodies we'll lay down, all for our freedom,
And we'll show that we, brothers, are of the Cossack nation!
The lyrics of the anthem were written in 1862 by Pavlo Chubynsky – Ukrainian ethnografist, folklorist and poet
They say ...
That babies don't smile
You were SO big when you were born - 11lbs 3ozs
And being VBAC, you had been through a lot in the birth canal
So you looked like a prize fighter after a heavyweight bout
Red and purple and bruised-looking, eyes squinted
You made no sounds, though ...
No crying or newborn complaints of any kind
You were as calm and peaceful as if you'd done it a hundred times
Like it was just another "first day of life"
They weighed you, cleaned you up
And then gave you to me to hold for the first time
They say babies don't smile
But you did ... oh, you certainly did
You opened your eyes and looked in mine
And smiled ... a lasting smile
Not a twisted cry or gas or mistaken expression
A true smile ... handsome, sweet, rugged
And I knew then you were special, very special
I knew then that I had witnessed ...
A miracle.
The triad assumes deep significance,
the reality of each vibration,
subject, object and the means for parlance;
inward and outward breath plus cessation.
Creation, preservation, destruction,
threefold function of Holy Trinity.
Tantra Trika and Christianity,
The father, Son and the Holy Spirit,
affirming this truth as a certainty,
of love within each heart, we may ferret.
The Gunas three, waking, dreaming, deep sleep,
we see the threefold play, in and around,
enabling movement, alive in void deep,
objects orbiting centre to which bound,
being God Himself, in every heart found.
Go there, oh hermit, in void of silence,
where pure of heart, enter in innocence,
cognising instantly, life’s mysteries,
fulcrum of love, holding all in balance,
in and within, each entities entrée.
10-February-2021
‘3 poetry contest’
Sponsor: Anthony Biaanco
I see you sitting in that chair
Your place of retirement
Your slave ship
I see the despair in your eyes
Once ruled with an iron fist
Now unable to care for yourself
You are a man
You are my father
But when I look upon you
I see a broken boy
Created by parents that weren't quite right
I see your demons emerge from time to time
I watched you fight them all my life
I saw what they would allow and wouldn't allow you to do
You are not past hope
You are not broken fully
GET UP!
You went to that place everyday to make a life for us
Now worry about you
Take Care of you
All your things won't fix what's broken
They are things
All those books you've read
Go to those places
This is your time
Your work is done
Start living and Stop dying
Do you realize the hypocrisy
Of the man who preached mental toughness
Now to weak to even put down the food
To big to leave the house
It is hard to watch the man that calloused me to damage
From the outside world
We are not impervious
You are that broken boy
I thank you for not breaking me the way they broke you
All you've ever wanted is their approval
You will not get it
Thank you for letting me know things I have done made you proud
That is what you wanted from them
I tell you now, I am proud to be part of you
I am proud you are part of me
I am proud at who you made me
I am not a broken boy
Because the broken boy made sure the cycle did not repeat itself