Long Harvesting Poems
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Thanks to you all
Thanks to those who come to
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me, avoid my poems, block
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Thanks to you all
I’ve no eternity here, all of me
from least to chest, best to edge,
sharpen blade of new paddy leaves
jeopardize my torn nib of ink
in the field of writings graph
Maybe I couldn’t write any word
for beauty and stunning young girl
in comprehension, in passion and
in my fashionable heart
Maybe I couldn’t write charming note
of flower’s petals, striking fragrance,
in my perpetuity lake of quills
Maybe I couldn’t draw the sexy body of
rose, lotus, tulip, sunflower, orchid,
lily, daffodil… etc in my vulnerable
reef of poetic expression
Maybe I couldn’t draw the colors magic
of rainbow in my infatuated fallen
soaked feathers with November rain
Maybe I couldn’t inscribe the nature
the cosmos, the solar system, the ocean,
the black hole, the space, the sky, the stars,
the planets, the galaxies, the meteors, the
gravitational power…etc in my slumbering
wings of writings
Maybe I couldn’t plant the meditational
tree into the pure heart of words, I couldn’t
select the seeds of immortality in my
ascetic madness and magma script
Maybe I couldn’t greet the autonomy flying
of Cockatiels, Parakeets, Canaries, Finches,
African Grey Parrots, Budgerigars, Cockatoos,
Conures, Macaws, Poicephalus…etc in my
unintelligible incarcerated language
Maybe I couldn’t hail the abode for Labrador,
Bulldog, German, Poodle, Beagle… etc and
Maine Coon, Egyptian Mau, American Bobtail,
Ragdoll…etc in my materialistic
harvesting terminology
Maybe I couldn’t sleep with power of poems,
dream to be a finest classic or modern poet
in my kingdom of pen, paper, ink, writing
table-chair and lamp
Notwithstanding all these, I thanks to those
who come here at least one time daily,
erratically and read, write, share own
thoughts and comment frankly
Thanks to you all a lot. Thanks and love you
all. From me always ready the rose without
thorns and love for you all, although you bleed
my heart by thorns stinging
-November 14, 2018 Chattogram
////
DEDICATED TO POETRYSOUP.COM and ALL POETS-POETESSES OF THIS ESTEEMED LITERARY SITE
Part Three
...swishing away with your sunshrivelled burgundy knotty arms with broad disdainful harvesting sweeps the cobras come out to water in the sweltering heat by the thatched fly-buzzed hole
your low under-the-breath warning tones a reminder of the will of your self-inflicted charge
you never ate until i gorged myself
like the dutiful wife given with a dowry
watching me all the time through the shield of the wisp of cloud of cheroot smoke in your sentinel corner against the far wall your eyes glinting fearing that i might take exception and even before my plate was half-empty you had already darted across the kitchen floor to bring me more fried brinjals mashed greens fried and sliced plantain the steaming rice lying bare by its metal cover hanging on the lip of the open pot-mouth in a clear aluminium pot by my side
now they say you are gone for some plotted and took your life in haste
even before you had time to ensure an heir
others say you were alone dismayed abandoned by your own
prey to enchanters coveting
the plot of land the house derelict forsaken by your absence
they say some one else caretakes it for himself
others no a forbidden son of your husband’s has raked it for himself
alas would you have known how landless nationless stateless i’d be
this dot of ancestral land clinging-clanging in memory
did you know then you might never see me again
nor probably ever hear of me
or if you had how might you have taken it all
did you believe the tales true and false they told
or only what you wanted to hear
of your precious prince you once served in silence and
who had gone to slave in other lands
Notes
eevaa peerankal muuvaa marunthu is a take on another well-known Tamil proverb: eevaa makkal muuvaa marunthu meaning “children who obey even before the order is given are a God-send”. Here, in lieu of children, the word “grandparents” is substituted
chembu: a small usually copper vessel shaped like a rounded vase with a tapering neck and open mouth, used for holding drinking water or milk
kuul: thick holdall gruel which may also be highly spiced
chemman: red soil
Vaithi: ayurvedic doctor, practising the traditional Indian homeopathic medicine
© T.Wignesan 1997 - Paris May 7, 1997 (from the Sequence/Collection: "Words for a Lost Sub-Continent")
Have you ever been in a musical show?
I have done some, so this is how I know.
They first hooked me when I was in high school,
but stage fright made me feel the fool.
So, I began on the backstage crew,
Oh the things we had to do.
Painting sets and handling props,
sometimes I wished I was a farmer harvesting crops.
Dressing all in black the day of the show
moving sets in the dark so no one would know.
We did some things that only a crew can do
I'll try to list a few here for you.
For example, during the "King and I",
There is a tearful scene with a Buddha to cry.
Since our Buddha was a person who spoke to Tuptim,
We did all in our power to get a laugh out of him.
Two of us moved his pedestal onstage,
his scene was to be all the rage.
We had to hide below his pedestal for his soliloquy,
So we tried to crack him up for all to see.
I worked behind the scenes again, for "My Fair Lady",
Some of the things we did there were also shady.
Professor Higgins takes a big drink in one scene
so we decided to pull one of our pranks on him.
The bottle he poured from was usually filled with ginger ale,
when we switched it to the real stuff he turned pale.
He could barely speak the next few lines
and was off key in his song the next time.
The classic we pulled was in "The Unsinkable Molly Brown",
our prank was the talk of the town.
If you don't know the story let me enlighten you
because then you may get a laugh or two.
Molly is aboard the Titanic's first trip
and the scene has to deal with the sinking of the ship.
We had a lifeboat with people on stage with waves across the floor,
she gets their attention by firing several shots in the air.
During the final dress rehearsal before show night
we knew this scene would be just right.
The Titanic sinking in the background, the waves, the lifeboat,
Molly pulls her pistol, raises it to the sky, and began to shoot.
The auditorium goes silent as the people raise their eyes to her to engage,
When a rubber duck came flying from the wings and landed on stage.
You never saw a director as mad as that
if she had a gun she would have blown off your hat.
"Who did that? Who did that?" was all she could say,
as the stage crew just laughed as we went on our way.
I finally got the nerve to perform in some shows later on,
But for now...this is just an introduction.
Studying history
tries to be objectively subjective,
at its best
when also a comparative study of Sacred Plantings and Harvests.
Not a coincidence,
unfortunately,
that when I studied Christian Church history,
we discovered a not-so-very-catholic co-arising GreatMen picture story
of historic and theological harvest,
but not necessarily ecological
because more anthropocentric objectives of Earth's history.
Yet studying historic development of SkyWoman-resourced Turtle Island
is still largely confined to specialists
in EcoFeminist EcoPolitical Ancient History Compartments
of WhoCares Sacred Plantings and Harvests,
still RightBrain Yin-nurture oppression,
suppression,
within this objective-subjective
How to best deep learn ecopolitical history
of Earth's sciences
and cultural GreatMen and SacredGoddess religions
and all things patriarchal-matriarchal enculturing
Left with Right
Yang with Yin, and not so much Yang v poor little dualdark Yin,
counter-balancing in-between
Tipping Points of Sacred Plantings and Harvest Networks,
CoOperative Investments and EarthTribe's ReInvestments
in (0)-Sum/Soul Sacred Seven ReGenerations
of MatriarchalEarth
historically studying objective-subjective
CoOperative BiCameral Tao-Networks.
In this alternative Left with Right ecofeminist universe,
it is immediately transparent
to all five co-empathic senses
why Donald Trump
would be much more GreatMen entertaining,
rather than PathologicalMan alarming,
as a Public CrossDresser,
trying to walk in his wife's stilettos,
right behind her,
neither too left nor right,
where he belongs
if he knows what's best for him
tonight.
And,
while I totally get it about not drinking alcohol,
I really do think Medical Marijuana
should be deeply and widely prescribed
within the District of Columbia
in response to our current epidemic
of Yang v Yin Oppositional Disorder.
Maybe we could at least cooperatively agree
on a health and climate care budget for
Balancing Sacred EgoPlantings with EcoHarvests.
And maybe think about
how our melting icecap and glacier harvesting issues
may be both related and unrelated to
planting 12 foot reptiles
hunting vulnerable prey on MainStreet Texas and Florida,
which seems not so good for national health care
or defense
or security,
or even anything resembling GreatMen global rationality.
In remembrance of a time
Myself, unknowingly was formless and empty
Darkness blocking out the light
Consumed of worldly chaos.
Then one day the light was revealed
Now being able to look back in my life seeing God
Was hovering around until that day
Revealing the darkness that holds one captive
In Christ promised spirit to set one ablaze
To destroy the land one has created on their own
Are received from mankinds deceitful planting
In seeing this world in a whole
Is everything going against God
As always, only to be revealed through
The quickening and manifesting of removing darkness
Not of own works but through the light
Seeing there is this battle within
But light shines out the darkness
That Christ might be the rising light into day
Harvesting in the morning glory of His work
Consumed of His newfound and inexpressible
Joy, peace, and love for all.
May , God bless, comfort, guide and fill you
With His peace, love, spirit and joy in abundance.
That one might be separated
From, night unto a newfound day
Old self unto New living being
Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters. And God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light. God saw that the light was good, and he separated the light from the darkness. God called the light “day,” and the darkness he called “night.” And there was evening, and there was morning—the first day.
Genesis 1:2?-?5 NIV
The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of deep darkness a light has dawned. You have enlarged the nation and increased their joy; they rejoice before you as people rejoice at the harvest, as warriors rejoice when dividing the plunder.
Isaiah 9:2?-?3 NIV
The sun will no more be your light by day, nor will the brightness of the moon shine on you, for the Lord will be your everlasting light, and your God will be your glory.
Isaiah 60:19 NIV
Your eye is the lamp of your body. When your eyes are healthy, your whole body also is full of light. But when they are unhealthy, your body also is full of darkness. See to it, then, that the light within you is not darkness. Therefore, if your whole body is full of light, and no part of it dark, it will be just as full of light as when a lamp shines its light on you.”
Luke 11:34?-?36 NIV
Form:
How can you say
with your not quite straight face
that you neither know nor care
anything of God, or gods,
or exotic goddesses
or ghosting holy spirits?
That's like saying you don't care for any love today,
or believe in rain during a drought,
yet feel gratitude for sacred Earth's holistic medicine,
all the grace-filled rain that came some other place and day,
even if not this dry and cracked today.
Like saying you don't believe in music
and dance
and sex
and pleasure
and passion
and red and purple and pink and yellow bruised violet sunsets.
How could you not care about creative becoming?
Regeneration of interdependent life?
The future peaceful home of our prospering grandchildren?
Health care and assurance?
Social and environmental securities?
Anti-social anti-ecological irreligious insecurities?
AnthroObscene LoseAnthroMinds/LoseEarthBodies
mutually assured destroying war games
and re-creative multicultural sacred/organic gardens
pantheistically loving
peace-thriving fragrant and beautiful Beloving Communities.
How can you pretend
with that half-smirk
that this Earth Goddess
we democratically garden together
is no one you could wisely know
or deeply care about?
To co-redeem a master gardener's wildest dreams?
To love into integrity's holy nature/spirit wealth
by divesting of manmade hypocrisy,
thinking we could sufficiently name,
much less commodify, God
without re-creating passions
and pleasures of organic Paradise.
Why would you take a pass
on digging into Earth's co-passionate
fully humane mind/body divinity?
This could not be true
not really you
not the Self with polyculturing Others
past and future right now within
and without your own,
but never owned, passion
to prefer sacred cooperative pleasure's
indigenously natural wisdom.
How can you know
we're not gods and goddesses
in our health-gardening integrity?
in our potential for harvesting regenerativity?
economic and politically fertile
sync-tensegrity,
love of full-stretch multi-colored jazzy soul livity.
You know you want to dance in cornrows
and sing with bird choirs
as god and goddess
within and on,
for and of Mother Gorgeous Gaia's
embryonic wounded womb
elationally awaiting Golden Ruling garden bliss
Or, did I miss something
in that twinkling
of your somewhat straight-faced lie?
7 Ravens
In a terrible time of famine, war, pest and inquisition,
a master Wicca giving homeless boys a apprentice permission.
They had to maintain a household in an isolated place,
working very hard to earn some recognition to face.
Collecting woods, herbs and edibles to survive
building a garden, harvesting some fields to strive.
When the moon was new the master summonsed the boys,
teaching them the art of magic, using dark power like toys.
The very same power was keeping those young men imprisoned,
some tried to run away, but got lost and ended up same place wrested.
He turned them into ravens, spying on innocent prey,
and gave them that illusion of freedom that they can fly.
The deeds of darkness had its toll and innocent hearts rebel,
they could not take the viciousness by mental means able.
The Wicca promised them the virtue of ultimate power,
focusing only onto the abuse by tragic endower.
The ravens tried to work together against the masters will,
but could not fit his evil visions to conquer the needed bill.
In disguise of 7 Ravens they had to visited villages,
creating distractions for the dark master to take advantages.
One Raven got injured during some chaotic rage,
a maiden of gentle touch, nursed the captured creature in a cage.
Not knowing that a boy is in this disguise of a bird,
and the young man was in awe of all he heard.
She was talking about a charming prince she dreamed to meet,
giving her the stillness for the loving longing as a deed.
The raven recovered and the boy’s heart was enchanted,
flying back to the brothers and the master will granted.
He told his fellows about the beauty he is feeling,
and knew it is the way to conquer all fears and controlled stealing.
They decided to fly to those villages to find some maidens of charm,
exchanging bodies to create loving features with no harm.
Soon they hearts where all full of joy and virtues abilities,
much against the masters witching capabilities.
His own manipulation fell against him by circumstance,
leaving nothing left to do, giving those young men the advance.
They swore an ode, never to use the art of dark power,
living a life with the meaning of celebrated love in any hour.
Still hearing from time to time the voice of a Crow,
sounding like the croaking noise of…. nevermore, nevermore.
Inspired by Edgar Allen Poe
Permaculture Design
is the opposite of Agriculture Resigned
to unacceptable short-term financial risks
and long-term health and nutrition disasters.
Permaculture Design
is a hybrid of Agriculturally resilient health-climates
and Landscape Architecture,
Design and Engineering
Planting and Harvesting economic cycles
to create not only beautifully interdependent properties
but also nutrition optimizing systems
for human proprietors, ZeroZones,
and also for healing exhausted soil
and water,
air quality
and fire management,
cooperative enlightenment
of ego/eco
left/right nondualistic
health/wealth systems,
Perpetual networks of nutritional
nurturing
nature-enspiriting
polypathic
and metaphoric
Golden Rule
and Golden Yin/Yang Ratio
double-binding non-zero sum emergent
polyculturing resilient outcomes.
As such,
Permaculture Design,
like Restorative Peace through EarthJustice,
invests in Elitist claims
for Truth/Beauty optimizing outcomes,
AND equally co-invests,
Left with cooperative Right-hemispheric,
in radically inclusive feeling-thoughts,
Win/Win experiences and bicameral aspirations
for optimal health/wealth-care outcomes
through compassionate ego/eco-therapeutic intention
for universally integral care-giving and EarthTribe-receiving
between individual proprietary creatures
and interdependent EarthHabitats,
seeking equivalent win/win NonZero-Sum CoPassions,
emergent, yet already integral
synergetically co-developing.
Permaculture Design experiential
prime relational
bilateral mathematic calculations
for Golden Health Ratio output
abstracts from Win-EliteYang /[OVER]
Lose-NonElite Yin
power analysis to grab hold of
NonElite-RightBrain Yin is co-operatively win/win integral awareness
through double-binding
co-arising relationships with
Elite-LeftBrain Yang,
So Yin=Yang
because YinSquared=Yang
(both Left and Right co-equal neurologically dia-logical consciousness)
as ZoneZero=ZoneOne within ZoneTwo within ZoneThree.,..
An interdependent
intersectional
poly-metaphoric Ego-EcoHabitat multiculturing history
Where and if and when
Permaculture Design brings healing neuro-psychological experience
of Left OneZone identity
co-arising Right integral cooperative individuation
for and of Earth's Win/Win
bilateral thought/felt
ZeroZone.
Deliberately inching its way toward break of day,
The morning sun begins to emblazon the barley field.
Relaxing and watching the orb find its way,
The lady of the house waits for night to yield.
Like every morning, she is seated there,
Enjoying the dew scented breeze on her veranda.
Feeling its coolness on her scalp while combing her hair,
And the warmth of the rising sun becoming grander.
Her mind wanders back to the city of her birth,
Just over the rise, beyond the barley field’s treasure,
Lies the city with the most famous name on earth,
Where, in her youth, she was a lady of pleasure.
To Rachab went all of Jericho’s possession,
By decree of God, for which Achan was stoned.
For this soldier could not control his obsession,
Though aware the city’s riches were God’s own.
With God’s grace, Rachab’s wisdom grew,
And she made the city’s outskirts her spread.
Her land into a field of grain did accrue,
A breadbasket from which hordes were fed.
Her hires were the finest laborers in the land
And were busy harvesting barley all spring.
She paid the very best wage to every man,
Cause her crop was the best early rains could bring.
The fields and glades, that gave her pasture form,
Seemed sensuous in every contour and rise.
At daybreak, contrasting tones were the norm,
Painted artfully by the brightening skies.
Mounds appeared convexly round breasts,
Lovingly sculpted over a span of human girth,
Whose beauty was able to put the heart to a test,
As the machinery of memory rotates the earth.
Babbling brooks flowed from shady nooks,
Giving refreshment to denizens of land and sky,
Producing a scene of green worthy of picture books,
That not one skilled artist would dare deny.
Gingerly she rose the doorway torch to quench,
Watching the shrinking darkness become shadows.
Rachab calmly returns to her veranda bench,
To observe butterflies dance above the meadows.
In her dreams, she envisions a more golden age,
When royalty would be attributed to her seed.
A zephyr flows over her mind turning the page,
But she still aspires the prospect of the throne to accede.
What a lovely story to behold just beginning to dawn,
Rising out yonder, just beyond the horizon of time.
How we yearn to see that age return, now long forgone,
So our hearts may once again be joyous and sublime.
3
Pay attention!
Important chicken poetry coming up,
though no binary fantasies shall deconstruct
into raucous biddy enjambment.
4
Grandfatber always kicked Grandmother's chickens away
while he sat whittling under the Oak,
Those ruddy, Cherokee cheeks sweating even in the shade
as sweltering Carolina summers and bifocaled
old women melted him away in his seventies;
(Nothing heard by telephone,
cackling when he put the speaker to his mouth
or laid down to rest from the planting or harvesting,
On the flowered sofa
fussing with him to take off this boots,
putting The Liberty News under his feet);
But watching was Grandma's joy,
Haystack Calhoun and the Nature Boy,
wrestling on Saturday night
on the Philco black and white,
jumping up and jumping down
fists flying with each takedown;
Her fussing when he kicked her chickens--
He was a man of the Land not of the Leghorn;
Course he still cut off their heads for
Sunday dinners
with a whistle of his axe,
quick and clean;
So much better than Grandmother's
Flung blood and feathers,
The live body's flight
After wringing its neck.
(You really
Must take chickens seriously.)
5
Jesus,
my brother and I hated that rooster!
Mean!
I'll give you Mean!
Why that Leghorn from hell,
with the perfidious, featherless rear,
That wily old bastard,
laid for us kids from under the porch
flying at us spurs first
when we snuck out to play.
You had to admire his fierce
Protecting his brood
or just plain crazed for children's blood
maybe.
Therefore, I must insist
That you take chickens seriously.
6
The greatest chicken lit will not be televised,
but written by neurotic poultry
flirting with free verse
or thrown helplessly into concrete idioms,
wallowing in dirt-poor sentience;
Dissertations
on the identity crises of Rhode Island Reds
and the propensity of White Leghorns
to transfer insecurities of undifferentiated
consciousness
as violence enacted on certain small children
will be written but will probably not help chicken poetry endure.
7
Yet,
I pledge allegiance to the celebration of chicken poetry,
And the underappreciated poultry for which it stands,
One species, flightless but enduring,
With free range and corn for all.