Long Hook or by crook Poems
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"I'm not afraid of storms, for I'm learning how to sail my ship." — Louisa May Alcott.
The rain and sleet mingle together.
Wayward winds weigh me down,
Wetting my poor old clothes thoroughly.
I walk alone through deep pools,
How can I not be shivering in the storm?
The wraithlike winds increase the wetness of my face,
Water seeps down my tattered clothes.
I curse the closed shops and unsheltered houses.
How can I survive this miserable downpour?
Dark Cimmerian clouds cover the whole city.
The forces of weather mingle thoroughly.
I find no respite in such a mingle of a cyclone.
Let thunder wreak havoc in the hurricane,
I’ll find my strength by hook or by crook.
I’ve learned there is a shelter I’ll find,
A change of clothes, a purge of soul:
A mingle of hope, survival, and resilience
That somehow will cleanse my heart and teach it love.
Placed 1
Joyful rainy night, rhythmic outside of the solo mind,
Drunkard glass on the table of grey-eyed stars and
I’m looking for the rising poetry to row moonlight
The moon on the dark candle fire, a moth flying to the
Death of splendid sadness, colorful the timely life
Invites the expiration date of the cycling breath line
Line by line, slowly I realize that the empty stomach
Human lives in one problem but in full of this machine
Thousands of problems alert dogmas in earthly rhyme
Rhymes produce some truths within mighty-power
Is the power truth or truth the power?- who knows
But, all-mighty always becomes truth on this earth
So, what the truth is- no need to know its inside fact
Be mighty by hook or by crook to sell “I’m Truth” tact
31.08.2020 Chattogram
***Note***
What’s the truth of life, belief, death- I do not know
But since the birth of my understanding I’ve got that mighty is the truth!
Almighty is the truth because of all undefeatable power! OR
Truth is all-mighty though sometimes beatable on the earth!
I left home feeling very satisfied
Meting me on the sreet with a friend.
He waved me down, called me over.
He said:
-Let's go dancing at the Day Center
It's having a party
And I heard that some mustachioed women are coming
That they're really hot
And they're offering themselves cheap on Black Friday
Both standing and lying down.
We walked behind two women
Hearing one of them say:
-For money, my honor won't be tarnished
By any gentleman.
Now, if he treats me to a seafood feast
I'll give him my whole chestnut.
To the other one saying:
-The other day I was amazed
Looking at two bearded gentlemen
Who had faces like our asses.
I'm sure I don't mind
Giving myself completely to one of them
Because when his hair sucks my chestnut
It tickles me and I come with pleasure.
One of them replied:
-Well, bearded men disgust me.
They're two-faced gentlemen
Who, at any moment
Will pull out their dicks and take you to the garden
By hook or by crook.
They disgust me when they eat noodle soup
Or spaghetti
And some of it gets stuck in their beards.
One day I found my brother-in-law
Leaving a brothel
And in his beard there were traces of colostrum or tartar
From so much sucking on a after the Act.
The other one replied:
-Well, I love bearded men
When they lick my lips
Placing hair against hair
At the beginning of the Act.
When they realized we were following them
We stopped following them
And we didn't go into the Day Center
Going to a phone booth
To see in the newspaper women advertising
To sell their honor for a while.
When the doors to their room opened
Two creatures crawled across the floor
To the bedroom bed.
What a surprise we had!
For the women who offered themselves to us
Legs spread
Both in the same bed
Were the same ones we had met.
How happy they were to see us!
Although I'm not bearded
But my friend is.
I put mine’s on my body and broke her.
My friend went down on her hairy
She laughing with pleasure until she peed on his face.
This was the event that took place with them
For twenty euros each
With a five-euro discount.
I came to walk and sit beside a gentle babbling brook.
Every nook and cranny deserves a closer prod and look.
It was uncanny where secrets hid unseen from the naked eye.
Until a gentle nudge uncovered treasures waiting nearby.
I probed to look far beyond the smooth stone faces.
Into the spaces between the cobbles, into their hidden places.
For canny people know that gold is found where fractures part.
They follow the cracks that lead onward to a broken heart.
So, by hook or by crook, every crack deserves its chance.
Every flaw needs far more than a quick sideways glance.
For gold dust never gathers in the nook of a perfect thing.
It waits until brokenness, finds its voice, and learns to sing.
The crannies and cracks let the daylight gleam through.
They ask to not be hidden away, nor discarded from view.
With patient hands, each fracture is traced with gold—
Until the cracked and broken become precious and bold.
Yes, you came last night as I had wished
Normally reader, if you are after it that you desire
Your soul by hook or by crook is going to be the complier
When dear reader, you are lost into nothingness adrift and keep up as such
Be sure what you wished, a part of your mind would, insist on piecing it together.
So, exactly so it happened with me
It was a charming moonlight flooding outside
To my great delight a flower of that soft radiance I saw seated
In my chair in front of my computer table with the room in rhythmic dance
And then the flower shaping into a slim human figure looking a woman in trance
I felt a mild tremor within my anatomy
There were micro waves inside my hemoglobin
It was not the perfumed woman I had been daydreaming
Then came people walking along with the now familiar figure moving leisurely
Very affectionate peaceful slender composed friendly arisen from the moonlight
Initially I felt confused with the easy gait
A soft and serene smile with a little bit of frivolity
The head half-covered with a veil of soft and silky drape, that is, Shari
Sort of gesturing with her beautiful eyes asking me to come close to her side
Then confusion gave way to the joy of a child looking at his mother wide-eyed
I felt exceedingly happy and kept looking at my mom
I felt the hugs the scolding the tears the smiles and the flavours
I wanted to rush towards her and to hug her tight as I did when a child
But the film faded fast as the world was coming back with its dawning sounds mild
I thanked the ruler replacing the desired woman with my mom in the colored void
Amazed I could not settle for a while in the day thanks to the great Sigmund Freud
I am that lone wolf
Coming by with that look
My inner mind in a shelf
That horrid stare I took
I must save myself
By hook or by crook
I am that one alien
With an eye for detail
Lost in the Mediterranean
Alive in the form of a male
Boiling the ocean
I would never fail
By hook or by crook
I am that lonely eagle
Waiting for my target
Is it to love or is it to kill?
Some birds accept while some regret
Better keep my wings still
This I would never forget
By hook or by crook
By hook or by crook
I will starve to death
I will leave planet Earth
I will fly from the cove
To the heav’ns above
By hook or by crook
On the south-western side of the old mission school,
near the corner of First Street, where blackberries grew
a field claimed by youngsters was crosshatched with tracks.
It was riddled by gophers and, nettled with fox-tails
and the children's bare feet had constructed thin trails,
cupping deep paths that were littered with smiles,
deep in the amber of tall weeds and dry grass.
It wasn't too far from the patched wire fence
that hemmed the backyard of my Grandmother's house.
Westerly whirlwinds would rattle the ragweed,
while seeds of the bull-thorns, that prickled our toes,
would spread with the tumbleweeds, now tossed into rows
like last winter's snowmen, worn to the bone
There were traces of honeysuckle mixed with wild rose
from Grandma's old arbor, that loomed in the distance
A rusty old weather vane like a merry-go round
would spin like a top that might never stop
The ivy was overgrown, and a sleepy old hound
would snooze by the clothesline, in shade he had found
But, deep in the field, was a land of our own
A place we called 'Neverland', a loft in this poem
In the yoke of one tree, with the help of our dad
was a fort built of scrap wood, from piles by the shed.
And by hook or by crook, I would take all commands
While my brother's brewed brainstorms, and his black plastic hook,
assigned him the Captain, while I was the crew
of a ramshackle galleon, brought to life from our books
While I dangled in air, from a tired old swing
"Tinker", my name...in this masculine game..
I would push off, while he pulled me, right up to the sky
and into the branches, with leaves in my eyes......
I would fly to the depth's of a steel gray-blue sky
I would grovel, and shovel, to have his approval........
for he was much older, much wiser than me
I would play like a tomboy,.....shove doll-drums away
Such sweet summer days,......while bright splintered rays
of hot summer sun, would spotlight our play.
We would stay until twilight, to watch the sun die
Defying all gravity.......I could see to eternity
Tootsie Pops clung to the tip of our tongues
while the sun of the twilight, dipped over the dunes
and the call of our mother, slipped over the moon
____________________________________________________________
The world's number one
killer
I wonder why it hasn't
yet made its way
Into a horror movie
thriller
Why, though it could beat
Even the serial killer!
Oh it gets even past
locked doors
Through the tiniest of
holes and pores
And however tiny
It bodes fatality
For to many its bites
Have been lethal, fatal
And it sings freely in
your ears
But like a teeny weeny
vampire
Don't you undermine the
miniscule, the minute
For tis a real-life
miniature vampire
Tis a blood sucking
brute!
And they come in hordes
Without guns or swords
This major yet tiny killer
of humans
Though you might kill
with a flick of your
hands
Yet you could never
wipe out the whole band
From the face of the
earth
What with its prolific
birth!
As this is one flying
army here to stay
And by hook or by crook
In each and every nook
It shall share our land!
How terrible that our
blood is on its main menu
My and your blood its
main staple diet
So I warn you fellow
humans
Save yourselves from
the anopheles's bite.
Call it mosquito or agent
of malaria
Plasmodiums are far
worse than any bacteria
And they aren't just
doing their job
They're doing their
bloody feeding
We ain't in paradise yet:
thus both the harmful
and harmless are
breeding!
Have you ever seen the satanic snake?
A fierce cheetah hunting with no mistake
A bloodthirsty wolf in the black sheep's clothes
How would it be if you find all in close?
Richard the third, the most villainous Duke
Known as a treacherous and selfish kook
Holds the status of the Duke of Gloucester
A saboteur, schemes as an imposter
Possess an ugly build with a hunchback
Hides his flaws as a professional flack
Feels menial for his deformity
Handles things with extreme enormity
A power monger and it's very clear
Cares not even to kill his near and dear
Strategically waits for chance and grabs
With his honeyed words, he always backstabs
By hook or by crook, wants to seize the throne
Cheats Lady Anne with his convincing tone
Spreads rumours to showcase the heirs unfit
Executes those who thwart with his outwit
When the battle at Bosworth in full swing
Stanley takes a U-turn and quits the ring
Unhorsed Richard cries out losing the source
'A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse"
A ruthless tyrant with no repentance
For him, there isn't any moral sentence
The Bard's 'wicked uncle' gets the title role
Invites the crowds' interest on the whole
When you plan something spur of the moment,
At first you feel proud and in charge,
But the longer you think,
It will end in a blink;
Then the doubts stumble in and loom large.
I need time to mull over my choices,
Possibilities I can assess,
Weighing good points and bad,
What will make me feel glad
And eliminate what might cause stress.
Sometimes, though, I can’t make a decision
And the plans do not ever get made,
So perhaps if I pounce
I might get to renounce
Hesitations that make me afraid.
If the scale tips one way or another,
Either method can end up with doubt,
But at least if you book,
Then by hook or by crook,
An adventure you won’t do without.