Long Handing over Poems
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A rhetorical question finds me ask
king (to no one in particular) why I bask
with recollection the names of blank
exclamatory staid grade school crank
key teachers approximately
42,0480,000 breaths aye drank
fifty years ago (most whose names frank
lee listed below),
when the need to access
and retrieve
immediate necessary information
analogously interleaved
among coaxial bracts
during examinations relegated
as hopelessly lost
into interstitial invisible cranial cracks
irretrievably buried
during examinations, which age
(feels like a million years ago)
often found me seized and caged
with sudden inability to remember
any vital answers as gauged
evidenced by nothing writ
ten on paper (even including my name),
thus loosely similar as aye sit
to compose poetry,
and/or prose tempted to quit
asper defeated by resignation,
and sinking sensation in the pit
of my stomach (more so regarding orbit
ting like an unsound garden
black hole son around cold (mit
ten necessary) awful days grudgingly
handing over like a lit
till insignificant being,
a test paper devoid of academic grit
analogously surrendering
(while feeling fit
tubby tied, sense internally emit
ting abnegation sans chafing at the bit,
yet no sooner did buzzer indicated test
time over, then (of course),
an instantaneous pest
that blocked chunk dramatically
flowered gloriously invoking nest
head treasured mother lode
of learned information invest
ment accounting for principle ball lanced
formerly figuratively barricaded facts
suddenly at my behest
ironically retaining to this day
dogged details amazingly,
now gracing lix spittle fist size gray
dictating academic failure
forcing laying down pen hay
for ma forgotten requisite thoughts may
king skepticism about self thrive, ray
zing mailer demons impossible to slay,
Perhaps
Maybe
It just might be
Time to consider
The possibility
Of handing over
The planet
To the animals
I mean realistically
They could no worse than we have done
At least we know they would live in harmony with nature
Instead of trying to force it to their will
They wouldn’t be arrogant
Or petty, bitter or greedy
Or disloyal or betray each other
Or kill for no reason or torture each other
Or go to war
Or rape each other
Or lie to each other
Do I need to keep going?
Really there’s no argument here
The decision is quite clear
We need to simply
Step aside my dear
There’s nothing to fear
Our ugliness is reflected in the worlds mirror
We are not what we appear
Just fallen from grace
At an accelerated pace
Our arrogance is a slap
In our creator’s face
More ashamed I could not be
Of how we act to the one
Who gave life to me
It’s simply the reality
Of our frivolity
Eric (and sometimes not)
The blazing warlord in rage
Stares upon the face of the earth
The uneasy earth in haste
Emits glazy smokes trapped underground
To take some fresh air
Cool breeze blows gently by
Tired trees wave for joy
Rustling in praise and delight
The idle cloud is busy traversing the sky
Wrapping the whole earth in a moment
Into a horrible darkness
Gentle breeze changes over to rainstorm
The flood overwhelm the gutters
Flashing lightning and rumbling
The storm soon shed some strength
Handing over to a gentle misty breeze
The cloud is cleared
I see some paintings of God
In the sky of a scanty cloud
That shows afterwards
B Bewildered the Little Prince landed on Earth
S Surveyed the drought amongst plentiful riches
I Ignored the facades and gave earthlings a rose
X Xenial embrace warm welcoming and hospitable
O On the surface he seemed to be an outlandish soul
N Native of a foreign Universe that was called Love
E Enigmatic mysterious with a Three Petalled Flower
T The Turkish Astronomer married the Lamplighter
W Wedded they were under a Baobab Tree’s canopy
O Oblivious of haters they tied hands and good fortune
F From now on luminescent like Aladdin the cave gave way
O On its way to handing over the torch of naked freedom
R Relieved from oppression of thoughts action and feelings
E Elephant doffed his hat to applause of Boa Constrictor
V Vigorous in his passion he pulled the mask from our eyes
E Enter at you own peril if you dare to see the light of the truth
R Risk is not for the faint hearted but darkness not a good choice
22nd May 2021
B 6 1 2 is the name of Little Prince’s planet
May it live Forever in our hearts and narration
Xenial stands for the ancient Greek concept of hospitality
between hosts and guests from different cultures
(Read “Interview with an Alien.” This is a continuation of the story)
Last thing Jim remembers is blowing his nose. Now
he sits. Where is he? What does he remember last?
“I’m here to interview you, Jim.”
“Who are you? Where am I?
“You seem a bit confused. Should I call for the doc?”
“No.”
“You seem nervous, Jim. Can I have that cloth in your hand?”
(Oh no! He starts to remember. What did Al do to him!)
After handing over the cloth, “Okay, that’s all we have for you today.”
(The interviewer walks away and Jim realizes he’s in a very white room.
He tries to rise from his chair…is it a chair…he’s very confused)
Many days later, “You comfortable, Jim? We wouldn’t want you
feeling uncomfortable, would we now.” He tilts him into a sleeping
position. “Back soon.”
(Jim stares up at the very white ceiling for many days. Somehow
he’s restrained. He’s angry and nervous.)
“Well…well…well, my friend!” his favorite martian has entered the room.
“I suppose we can finish our interview, at least part 2. Any questions?”
“Where am I, Al?”
“Hold onto that thought. I’ll be right back. Wait, let me make you more
comfortable.” (Now, Jim faces the floor)
“Noooo!” yells Jim. Don’t leave me. But, though he can’t see it
a door slams S H U T.
(One year later, back on earth, Jim is quite afraid of white spaces,
blank canvases, evasive conversation. He walks crowded streets
mumbling to himself, never asking any questions, warning earthlings
not to be inquisitive. “Just keep walking,” he says.)
I wished for a flood
Because it is easier to throw away wet things.
But it did not happen.
A fire flicked across my mind, but was quickly discarded.
I hoped that God did not even sense this in my mind.
I dared not even let the whole thought in,
For fear it would be realized. A fire destroys everything.
Why is completely entertaining to go through other people’s piles,
When we are notoriously reluctant to go through our own?
Because it is such drudgery.
I was handing over the last of the things
I felt I could comfortably discard today.
It should have felt like a relief.
It could have been,
If I had been more cutthroat.
I have kept at least twice as many things as I should have kept.
Maybe when you get older and you have to pare down to a room
Full of stuff for a small apartment it is a relief.
Maybe it forces you to really look at everything in
A whole new way.
Here I sit, surrounded by my own maniacal idiocy, in the midst
Of things that no one else will want for any reason when I am gone.
It would be so handy to know your end date.
Right?
18.7
“Seeing everything is imagination,
knowing the Self as timelessly free,
the sage lives as a child”
18.8
“Knowing himself as Absolute,
knowing existence and non-existence
to be imagination only,
what is there for the desireless one
to learn, say or do?”
Employing conscious thought to choose meditation
Then handing over the baton of awareness to intuition
Intuition resting in the stream flowing Divine connection
Rests allowing manifestation of ineffable blissful elation
If the point we miss
The learning is this
Just be to become
With Divine Love one
In childlike innocence
Without resistance
(23-August-2019)
~~~
Verse 18.7 to 18.8 revisited on 12-January-2022
What is the underlying noumena
Birthing all manifest phenomena
Self-hypnosis in the hall of mirrors
Fears and desires giving us shivers
Being but illusions we did manifest
Akin to a lucid dream playful jest
At day’s end we slip into deep sleep
Thoughts fade, bliss sinks in deep
We awake each morn sans memory
In stupor continuing our life journey
Yet while awake if we opt for silence
We reclaim divinity of our innocence
Oh worthy lama, cessation the way
Fearless, desireless, given to play
In monk mode embrace and release
Free flowing like the morning breeze
Presence within but not of the world
Sees with each breath, joy unfurled
Mind-body that hitherto was subject
Shifts into the void, thus an object
Pristine awareness free from thought
Devoid of thought, is not fear fraught
That that remains our soul presence
Blissful love and light luminescence
My knowledge of bankers is limited and esoteric.
They have a virtuosity of keeping a poker face no matter what.
Even during a robbery, they are to act as nonchalant charlatans.
Handing over vast amounts of loot, stereotypically including dye lot.
I did not realize how banks operate when I arrived as a newbie.
My inexperience and ineffectiveness was measureable.
I had not planned to land a bank job at all; I wanted to be a ballerina.
But having never danced or even worn a tutu, what are the odds?
I am on auditory alert this morning at my teller’s cage.
The guy behind the old lady I am serving has a stony glare.
I ask her about her son’s new plane’s rollout, to stretch time.
Justifying nothing, she explains about his psychological problems.
Prevention is better than waiting for a shot in the knee right?
The second the stony-faced soldier comes closer I pepper spray him.
In the eyes; he yelps like a surprised puppy!
The bank manager comes running over. And my job is over.
No worries. I have hated all four hours of this job any way.
One day he found himself at the rock bottom of a cliff
shattered from descent but
the tides had been kind
had revealed a chance
to rest on sandy retreat
He gathered sea shells memories temptations and shelter
pebbles of time
corpse of a starfish
skeleton dreams
an octopus’ eye
Floating in surrender he soon drifted on strands of sea weed
searched tranquility
joined the dolphins
inhaled the ocean
mocked by the gulls
Hidden among pieces of debris he reached out for redemption
in the twilight of doubts
flooding transgressions
receding convictions
malignant sharks
On closer inspection a heap of driftwood revealed a small box
intricate inlay
mother of pearl
covered in crust
sealed with a kiss
Pandora was calling from within and without further delay
he knew nothing
lasts forever
prayed and prized
opened the cover
As he arrived at a point of no return worms sprang upon him
questioned faith
requested belief
confused his spirits
and licked his wounds
Submerged under a dazzling collection of misleading truth
a tiny hobgoblin
cradled a mermaid
the shape of an anchor
embracing all hope
God had spoken and he released his soul into an ocean of love
Goldfish stumble upon a princess
Ruby of the sea? Charlie guesses.
They swim to get old Tom
Who is floating close to a gaggle of mermaids.
Come quickly! Charlie says to their wisest resident.
He is an alarmist, so Tom moves not a whit
Besides, these mermaids are tasty and beautiful.
Charlie looks to see what is captivating Tom
Come take your turn Tom says, handing over binoculars.
Those sirens are poison! Charlie says saucily.
One turns and winks at him, proving his point.
If they are gone when I get back it will be tragic for you Tom warns.
But never the less they head to whatever wanderlust
Charlie and his cousins have in mind today.
What is the humanoid leaning on? Charlie asks.
Clocks I think, Tom says. I think they call them that.
What do they do? They make time whisk away
Before you know what has happened.
Is it Ruby of the sea? Charlie asks, remembering the premonition.
Mystify me once, shame on you, thinks Tom.
Mystify me twice, shame on me.
Unsure, Tom says. But she could be.
It is a she? Charlie asks. He has not heard this word before.
Or it is a clock, Tom says. Maybe it is the clock.
Maybe the other things are the she.