Long Here and there Poems
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So I sit here and self reflect going through the lessons I was taught and forced to
spit out the right answers I disagreed with and now have the chance to say Hitler
was the victim
and in Vietnam there was no hero but a cleansing of getting rid of thousand of
serial killers desperate for the love of an abusive god they didn’t know how to
stand up against who wanted someone to blame
When we write the next history book of lies about today’s liars and propaganda
and confusion
And if I could sneak into the history pages
What lessons would I try to teach the students of a continent to say you don’t
have to have church in school for there to be a god
Look at me look at me
Figure out my riddle
If you’re that brave but write down the wrong answer or you’re in trouble
And then wait to find like-minded individuals
What lesson would I teach the world using all of the world’s actors?
Me as everybody’s fool
So the spiritually impoverished could study one chapter of history and walk away
with their hands full of gems and spiritual crowns and realize
they now have a test of psychology to figure out all the pieces of their world
to under stand the script we have written for them
and who amongst them are false and true prophets either playing along or who
knows what domino is going to catastrophically going to fall
What’s the perfect act for my actors with me to carry them into history?
If I could just sneak in
But how do I get in there?
How do I show them history doesn’t care if you’re skinny or fat?
Ugly or beautiful
Stupid or smart
Do I care what essays the might write about me in the future if I was to make it in
comparison to our politicians
Would there be a whole course in school called figuring out the world’s scripts
101
I could change the world if you let me
And in all honest as I protest some things here and there
You are another domino
and a piece of my claim to my fame
and maybe one day it will be someone else
but 27 years of serenading me and stealing my dreams
Id rather have lived my hell on earth for a reason of where vie cried for the world
and had the confusion as to why my names are songs to be for good
then to be jealous of a man who spent three days in my shoes and was crucified
for trying to live a lie
But ignorance is bliss
He was born with a bushy round follicle-free head
and walks with two legs, because
he is a Neanderthal(1) mutant,
for he is a mutational product,
he is an android(2) not found in the evolutionary tree,
and that’s why he was so sad; he began to roam the surface
of the earth, he climbed up the mountains, crossed the rivers
and traveled over the expansion of fields beyond the horizon;
to soothe the sorrow of being alien
he labored to find another android similar to him;
and if he finds one, he is forced to lay her down on the ground
and sow the seeds to establish a new genealogical table;
the seeds grown to Hominidae.(3)
As time goes by his hair on his head became thinner
because the roots of his hair decayed from no follicle
and at last, he became bald;
each time a sun-ray reflects on his head
his anguish grows in the valley of misery he is trapped in
and leading his poor life. He escapes from the valley and crawls
into a cave(4) peculiar from all the other caves he’d seen so far,
and he fixed a flag.
As the wind rises the flag streams,
when the flag flutters the sky roars to pierce the ears;
then the sky falls to the ground from a gap between
the roars gushing out ashes and fires. The fire heats
to burn the stones lying here and there by the water’s edge.
When sky, earth, fire and the stones intermingled in one
it tortures the Neanderthal with the red-hot iron of death,
then, *****Sapience survived from breathing the oxygen
that Neanderthal left behind; and as day grows taller and taller
*****Sapience finds the way to preserve oxygen;
thereupon, Hominidae mixes this excess oxygen to produce
black powder with the ratio of 10KNO3 + 3S + 8C,
and stuff it into a bamboo-tube;
tomorrow therefore explodes, time stops,
the sea swallows the earth. As things come this far,
though there may be worse things waiting in the future,
the crippled time, comes with quick steps winding a malfunctioning clock.
NOTE: 1. *****Neanderthalensis and *****Sapience are different *****species, therefore, though *****Sapience Sapience is not a mutated species, but just so regarded in this poem.. 2. Android: in this poem this phrase is synonymous to synthetic organism rather than electro/mechanical robot. 3. Hominidae: this term is used as existing modern Human. 4. Francis Bacon, Idra Specus.
The train, halted under the shade of sacred hill
They flowed out, and, wandered here and there
holding big, small, colorful, old and new packs of belongings
To, find comfortable chests and knees
some carelessly slept on un-desiring places,
but many there stood still
to face the misty, white clouded sky beyond the ridge,
Perceived their feet had reached
the starting point of adventurous tramp
Men, women, young and old with little ones
crept forward Just like a bunchy row of ants
filled with amazement; some stood, and watched
the vivid green forest canopy and flowering ferns
swinging in the frosty breeze!!
The minds filled with compassion, harmony
and respect each other
By murmurous chanting, that oozed into their veins
in the morning twilight
Tenderness of beams brighten the white dresses
of devotees
Time passed slowly
And the far valley down, a string of people moving upwards
on the zigzagged narrow path
Surrounded by thick green vegetation which
being the habitat of bees, birds, butterflies and
variety of big and small animals
Oozy willows dropping pearl like cold water drops
But few of moving people put a glance
at the phenomenon!
What a peregrination, having a cool gust thrill
which each body and its soul begird
The strenuous walk will bring to a halt at the noble foot print
Some managed to reach the desired end
but some could not attain the will
they stopped hopelessly, stepped down
with forsaken aspiration
those who topped the hill, huddle together
engaged customary rituals,
The eco of the ringing bell spread over the chilled atmosphere
through hill tops, forest, and the moving folks
Excitement broke out
Devotees squeezed catch a glimpse of sunshine!
The sun appeared slowly with a trembling smile
through the glistening horizon
Sunshine! Miraculously radiated across the mountain range,
forest canopy and everything
open to tender beams of light
What a huge strength,
Noble hopes and wishes
fulfilled the pilgrimage!
J.Weerakkody
(This poem is about pilgrims who climb the summit of breezy sacred mountain of Sripada, the holy mountain of Sri Lanka, where suppose to be emblematized the footprint of Lord Buddha. After worshiping the sacred footprints the devotees anxiously watch the panoramic maiden sun rise over the sacred mountain. The poem is vividly realized descriptions of nature.)
Deep within Earthen bowels
immensely distant from sheltering sky
amidst a thick fog enveloped landscape
with here and there a projected
craggy, derelict chasm
precipitously crooked
rocky claws pointing toward
an infinitely wide yawning abyss
dwelt kindred spirits
comprising soul asylum
where grateful dead (albeit marked,
via weathered tomb stones)
hermetically sealed
once vibrant corporeal mortals
betook their eternal slumber.
One among their number
included a misanthrope
who sported long straggly hair
bushy eyebrows shield
ding cold eyes of steel
straggly bearded clammy chin
in tandem with a hairy body
which when alive (long time ago)
upheld upon unshod feet, a severely
hunchbacked cretin
Within dense pitch-black terrain
(Mother Nature enlisting
a menagerie of life forms
accustomed to hellish environment)
awash with unrecognizable
alien sights and sounds
mollycoddling bewitching warlocks,
mailer daemons, trolling trojan horses
imps of the pervert chieftains, fiery
long and fostered Golems
who called underworld
their private demesne
also alluded to Marcy's playground
holding hostage Alice in Chains
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles,
The Beastie Boys, Culture Club
The Human League, and
Village People a Crowded House
Emitting wisps of ethereal matter
appearing a small medium at large
chat snap ping, flickr ring
indeed joyus minions
exalting piety good and plenti.
Prone ounce sing proud purgatory
promoting protean phantasmagoria
hideous hulu hoop dancing holograms
highly distorted grotesque
silent 10,000 maniacs screaming
sinister semblance to banshees
slithering across escarpment.
Echoing one end of universe to the other
putting to shame initial big bang
ranking as a mere whimper
that original primordial blast
which cosmological exploits
generated heavenly sphere instantaneously
comparison viz Krakatoa times Googleplex
essentially reduced to insignificance
albeit on the analogous tinker toy
premised conjectures of brilliant minds
could gander feeble educated guesses
asper extraordinary natural phenomena
mortal mankind could never approximate
as belligerent threats punctuated,
via nuclear warfare
merely rates as a flickr
amidst uber kindle snap chat ting
tinder blinks, extinguishes,
snuffs out one lowly
Beatle browed bipedal simian.
My Poem on Christmas
‘The Ringing Bells’
NOTE:
I have yet to shape this Poem as a Christmas Song. To do so I may have to make some changes here and there, but I am hopeful to make it later on.
If at all I get success in converting it into a Song I will let all my PS friends know about it. With Best & Warm Wishes
For a Merry Christmas & a Very Happy New Year 2015
to all poetry soup members and the team of Poetry Soup.
Ravindra K Kapoor
The Ringing Bells
I love to hear the Music
Which comes
From the ringing Bells.
When the sounds
Of Songs are sent
With each rising prayers
To Heaven.
When words travel
From Earth to Heaven
Arising from different parts of Earth
When faces blooms with happiness
And joys are celebrated.
While listening
These beautiful words like Songs
My heart began to throb
With an unknown
Joy and happiness.
I love to watch
A big Bell
Hanging in the air
When I began to imagine
The circles of its sounds
Floating and rising in the air
Where it gets mingled
With words coming from prayers
And it creates a magic
In my Music thirsty ears
And then my heart
Began to feel a thrill
Even before these sounds
Reaches high in the air.
I believe
These sounds
Coming from the ringing bells
Which floats in the air
They first try
To clean their surroundings
And the whole air
Before they reach
In the ears of God.
Even they try to clean and purify
The idle corners
Of the listener’s heart too
Which often remains empty
In want of Music and Prayers.
And then these ringing sounds
Rise high in the air
To get mixed
With the voices
From the Earth
Which comes from
The heart and soul
Of the singers and men in prayers
When they open their hearts
In the form of words
Or Prayers.
The impact of these
Mixed voices and sounds
Which comes from the rising prayers
Are often very different and deep
As it moves the God
To listen to these Songs and tunes
Coming in the form of Prayers.
Blessed are all those
Who creates such wonderful
Songs, Sounds, Tunes and Prayers
Which take the messages
Of a simple common man and women
To God
To quench the thirst
Of every
Music & God Lovers.
Ravindra K Kapoor
Kanpur India 24th Dec. 2014
Protected under the copyrights provisions of Poetry Soup.
One normal winter afternoon, Yehoshua went with the other kids to play,
They played in the garden's playground like they do everyday,
Nothing odd seemed to get in their way,
Until they heard a deafening shriek of dismay,
The shriek was coming from a house buried under tall beautiful trees,
Yehoshua and his friends ran to the house swiftly and with ease,
When they got there they looked through the window and got on their knees,
To be able to watch without getting caught and for as long as they please,
Behind the glass was a dead man placed on a table of wood,
That scene frightened Yehoshua, he couldn't believe what he was starting to see,
Yehoshua got life's cycle all misunderstood,
He decided to never grow up, he wanted to be a child eternally,
So he pushed his friends away, with his eyes full of tears,
And ran back to the playground while his heart was pounding with fear,
Life to him was too dear,
Than to end after a few years,
He ran and played everywhere,
And moved the swings so fast and without a care,
He even scraped his knee and was unaware,
He picked the pieces of his shattered childhood that were spread here and there,
Years later Yehoshua became a man,
With a lot of work and responsibilities in his hands,
And everyday he promised himself that he'd go back to see,
His garden of Eden, where he was once happy,
But poor Yehoshua never seemed to be,
Able to get to his serenity,
And when he retired he finally got the chance,
To give his garden of Eden one last glance,
And as he slowly moved the swings,
He enjoyed life, and its simplest things,
Moments felt like hours while he played alone,
Until Yehoshua heard that same shriek that has once blown,
At him pain so deep it cut him to the bone,
He didn't know what to do, for his spirit was so forlorn,
Suddenly came a chilly breeze,
That quaked the ground, demolished the trees,
And roared the tides of all the 7 seas,
Yehoshua cried and begged on his knees,
In a second, Yehoshua found himself placed on table of wood made of fine trees,
He could feel and he could see, yet every time he tried, he failed to speak,
And as he looked to his right he could see,
Little kids that started to squeeze,
Their shocked faces to the glass, for they found that childhood isn't until eternity,
And that Yehoshua was dead, and dead was he…
My Handicap Beach
As I lay here and look out the window from our hotel at the absolutely amazing view..
It makes me wonder how something so simple creates such beauty and always seems so new..
I feel sadness for those who pass by every day and don’t think another thought about..
The beauty that surrounds them from the beach and the water with the waves washing in and out..
The lighthouse that stands unintentionally stoic and tall and lights the way for those out at sea..
And the sand that finally runs across my toes which has been a dream for so long for me…
This was only possible with the help of a loving person who got me where I needed to go…
And to whom I really hope does realize how much they have helped me in many ways to grow..
And there are always a few people that have to make a spectacle of a girl in a wheelchair..
As they walk by me and say things in a whisper as if they think I can’t hear along with a stare here and there..
If they only knew that It was one of the best days of my life and that I am feeling so relaxed and at ease..
I will take all of their comments and let them go over my head along with the beautiful breeze..
Because this morning I may have been the disabled girl on the beach which was a wonderful thing to me..
And until you learn to see the view from down in a wheelchair every day I don’t care what you think you see...
Because today my view was from the warm sand on a beach towel that was laid down just for me and was the best..
Day I have had in so long because I was no longer that poor gilt in the wheelchair and felt almost like all of the rest..
Of beach goers and comers to the new jersey shore in Atlantic City and right on the pier that is very well known..
For gambling and partying but for me it was just to feel the sand on my toes and feel like I was not handicapped if even for a few moments alone..
Coming home with my stuff in disarray the way it always is along with a few souvenirs because they are from my very first trip away from home..
I loved it so much and want to thank those who took me long on a short but awesome vacation to start me going more which I really hope..
Because it’s nice sometimes to go to places that make you feel different than the usual girl in the wheelchair always needing help from what I call in my head my proverbial rope..
Buffy Sammons
Begin at the beginning is a good place to start
It makes this poem less tart
sliding from oozed cocoon box
the lions have dens, the holes for fox
screaming is the first noise issued
followed by the orchestra, snap of tissued
help, first comfort, live source
growing, crawling, helped by guiding force
noise, turns to speech of understanding
running with friends, heart finding new palpating
severed from Mother, put into class
many hours of sunshine day passed by glass
innocence and imagination creeping
in Mind, sponge of perpetual learning
Ten, innocence flirting with early romance
ending child-like state, maturity dominance
father gone, replaced by foreign rule
never seen someone so cruel
Middle and High, progress to Schools
thrown into pens with some fools
many friends, smorgasbord variety
some try maintaining sense of piety
learn more about self but not all from schooling
secret meetings of passion, extreme heat, then cooling
growing both physically/mentally
stress where to go, what possibly
JC, CSU, UC?
sometimes they don't let you see
more to life then this madness
never seem to reveal or confess
Robe, with tassel hat and gown
some stand up and some go down
scattered pearls among swine
some go far, some stay close, all fine
some going here and there
some make it with bruises, some skin fair
becoming adults, transitional line
hardships or smooth sailing we will fine
working and schooling
but who are we fooling
it can be hard, stressful for sure
sickness, flu season, try to find a cure
death, taken without warning
all of these memories consuming
had to get this out to you all
before my brain-kept fall
seeing life and all its glory
all its pitfalls, sometimes gory
side, summarizing here
shell-shocked there and there
flowers all in a row
my mind will grow and grow
internal struggle through Academia and depression
the world, external, reflecting recession
we will pull through, hope
Don't let them simply say, "Nope"
life, roller-coaster up 'n' down
spin, spin, Dervish gown
everything turns this way and that
skinny, bloated and fat
but Joseph crawled from the well
after being pushed and fell
light returns after cycle, night
sometimes we must throw-done, fight
don't give up, keep going
keep doing what your doing
Brittany is a little girl,
who's starving for attention.
So many things are wrong,
and only few she can mention.
She would go to school,
just trying to et out.
but it never failed cuz every night,
her parents would scream and shout.
her dad barried alot of hatred,
he always had a closed fist.
i guess that's how expressed love.
to his oldest kid.
the house was full of chaos,
arguments,and fights
i have know idea,
how she made it through a night.
her dad was always drunk,
and mother wouldn't listen.
a few years go by.
and there is still no attention.
Brittany is a teen now,
who's getting out of control
if only she was disaplined
then maybe she would know
she really didn't want
to turn down this path
she never had direction though
from the hauntings of her past.
all she ever wanted,
was to be a normal kid
but instead she kept the hurt,
all bottled in.
what really lies beneath,
i guess she'll only know.
but as she got older,
the more she lost control.
her mothers popping pills,
every single day.
Brittany is just asking,
why does it have to be this way.
Does mom love her any,
does she remember that she's there.
why wont she look her in the eye's,
and just tell her that she cares.
So Brittany only assumes,
it'll be this way till the end
so she starts taking pills,
just trying to fit in.
not very many just a few,
here and there
but now her mom noticed her,
and she acted like she cared.
but did she really care,
or just wanting Brittany's drug.
cuz to my recolection,
there wasn't ever a hug.
now another thing was bothering her,
and it drove her half insane.
so she started taking handfuls
just trying to ease the pain.
she spent her whole life trying,
to gain her mothers love
well it gradually got worse
cuz she started shooting up.
but that's what she did,
cuz she thought it'd be best.
then a year later
it lead to her arrest.
Brittanys etting better now,
with a baby on the way.
she still fights addiction though,
every single day.
often she felt empty,
and even all alone
but how can she feel that now,
with her precious son at home.
That little boys an angel,
he has saved her life
Brittany is happy now,
and you can see it in her eye's.
she has made alot of mistakes,
but now she right on track,
this is her step of moving forward,
and never turning back.
Form:
The Master Artist Pt 1 --Pt 2--the ending, is the next posting
The artist’s tray was loaded with colors, each pastel waiting for its turn:
Hues of indigo blues lie impatiently, sparks of carmine seemed to burn.
While English chrome colors lay in anticipation for the Master’s touch.
The yellow ochre pansies readied to fill the void on the painter’s scene.
Each hue was waiting for its turn but chosen first was the yellow green.
Winds blew lightly against the canvas and upon each color that he lay
Each sound had a melodic lilt as the grass seemed to grow and sway
Under a fountain of colors, each strike radiant upon the colored field.
Cerulean blue skies lightly painted waited for a stray, pearl-grey cloud
To float above the lively meadow, yet no spring rain would be allowed.
The artist was tired, yet couldn’t wait to return quickly the next day.
Morning came and his fervent fingers reached for the pastels that lay
Undiscovered upon the palette—more hues waiting for their chance.
He painted a sapphire blue creek moving snake-like up then down.
The artist smiled wisely, painting groves of trees of Van Dyke brown.
Afternoon came and pastel shades were glazed upon the flowing water
As the creek rippled over the violet stones painted on by the Master.
He seemed to lose all sense of night and day as each hue told a story.
Colors flew from left to right and the meadow seemed to come alive
Ruby hues were topped upon the phlox as fragrant flowers did thrive.
His hand would not cease until he had painted the bluebird at its song.
The misty meadow was melodious as he painted crickets to sing along.
The artist looked upon his growing scene and knew what it still needed
But his hand was weary and the pastel scene would wait another day
For colors that still lay brightly unused upon the Master Artist’s tray.
The next day he painted against the sky purple hills gently sun-kissed.
His hands worked with great passion as twisting trees seemed to tryst.
Pastel colors floated upon the land as pink butterflies flew here and there.
Sounds of songbirds were singing as his meadow seemed to nearly burst
With every color and every hue that the great artist had fervently dispersed.
Part Two has the Master Artist poem ending that I posted after this one--
(PoetrySoup doesn't allow enough space)