Long Hundred Poems
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Wyatt
by Edmund Siejka
We were in London
Dining in a four-hundred-year-old pub
Dark wood paneling
Beams carved from tree trunks
History and privilege
In medieval England
For us it was a family vacation
And everyone came.
My grandson Wyatt sat next to me
And I turned my attention to him
Letting the other adults talk
Among themselves.
Eyeing the beer in front of me
He asked
Grandpa can I have a sip?
Looking at this round-faced cherub
Sitting next to me
I couldn’t refuse
After all it was oatmeal beer
Easy on the stomach
And fairly bland
Taking a small sip
He simply said
It’s OK Gramps.
His mother saw everything
Reaching over
She tapped me on the shoulder
You shouldn’t be giving him beer
Turning to her son
And you Wyatt, you can’t do everything Grandpa does.
And then the food came
Sausage and Mash
Meat Pie with Mashed Potatoes
Fish and Chips
And dessert, Lemon Tart Pudding.
While we ate
I asked Wyatt
How were things in school?
Fine Gramps. And I have lots of friends.
Leaning towards me
He whispered
And you’re on my list.
List, I asked?
Yeah, a list of people I can always talk to
And who are my best pals
I’m honored Wyatt
I really am I said.
I didn’t say much after that
Afterwards when we got back to the hotel
My wife went to bed
And I stayed up for awhile
Thinking about this and thinking about that
But I couldn’t hold back the pride
When my ten-year-old grandson told me
I was on his list.
fame,
you *****
it was you who taunted us
we walked
on razor sharp blades
of grass
gras
p
ed
at straws
covered in white dust
inside
on the surface
on the surface
we used the word art
and crapped on it
like so much hay
hey
we did it every day
in every way
without a kiss
we fornicated
on the carpet
where we rehearsed
our play
that was when
well
that was when
we jumped
from the edge
from the cliff
when our bodies
crashed into the rocks
and even a rock garden
punctures
through
the
layers and layers
of skin
of flesh
of tributaries
of bone
layers and layers
of blood
of platelets
of cells
of liquid…life
landed from a hundred yards up.
it was you on my mind
and you know we didn’t die
when we jumped
from our school
from the edge
when our bodies
transcended
matter
like
spirits
and
spirits
was our addiction
the smoke
the pills
the blotters
the powder
you caught my eye
and we
let our schooling
get in the way
of our love
what we loosely
called our art
but i did
fall
i fell hard
the day i spiralled
quickly
d
o
w
n
from the rock
where i stood
and you know
you were
you are
the edge
and you know
it’s you
the day
i fell
you
i fell for
and me who took the fall
from
my
my
my
oh
my
we buried our beating hearts in sordid soil of this urban wasteland
while the acid rain burnt holes in them quickly
one hundred factories blew sick green clouds out and you took me by the hand
through forests of chimneys breathing deeply
diving in cities of decay and filthiness there's no need for futile words to speak
our countless phobias are just burlesque of pain
dazed we walk down the streets of distant memories through days so bleak
and wish naively that we could run away
staring into the howling voids of desolate warehouses makes our minds hurt
that's why we ramble along the cold rails
and dream about sea air instead of smoke and dream about concrete jungles that burn
burn burn burn alone in their sinful ways
POTD 6th August 2019
The clock ticks down the passing day
Tedious seconds count down my existence
Time for my pills ~ Time to call the nurse
Time ~ taunting my resistance
Soft haunting strains of a violin float
sweetly liquid, melodiously unchained
freeing my mind from weariness faced
No barriers ~ it flows ~ unrestrained
My world of music I lived it ~ breathed it
In whispers ~ it spoke to my Soul
bringing with it, adoration and glory
and a passion beyond my control
I glance at the painting on the wall
pondering this feeling of déjà vu
Memories of this glade from before
Triggers mentation I need to pursue
Memories flood ~ a vision in the distance
an Angel dancing in its midst
who had danced with wild abandon
lucent skin the sun had kissed
How I had yearned to dance with her
with that angel who made me sigh
she had come to shine her own pure light
prompting my spirit to fly
But there’s no girl there ~ awry is my mind
And I’m but a frail old man
I must erase thoughts from my life bygone
And prevail however best I can
~ Every great dream starts with the dreamer
who ventures where mortals dare not tread
And laughs with mirth and cares not for
unfinished rhapsodies playing in his head ~
What’s this? I’m suddenly in the glade?
A strong young lad once more
She has come for me, my Angel love
I leap - I twirl - I soar
We dance with wild abandon
We dance without a care
sun kissed skin our arms entwined
Wild flowers everywhere
It seems I’ve left the world behind
And unshackled my attachments of
A hundred birds do sing out loud
To watch us Dance to Love
by Maria Williams
Thank you for listening and watching this video.
Video arrangement, production, direction
and compilation:
Ron Williams
Video editing, sound mixing, graphics:
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Part 1 and Part 2
Narrated by Kelvin C
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Copyright © August 2019 Maria Williams
POTD 6th August 2019
“This is love: to fly toward a secret Sky, to cause a hundred veils to fall each moment. First to let go of life.
Finally, to take a step without feet.” ~ Rumi
Life can be a pilgrimage through rainless moors
and solemn seascapes draped
in mists of soundless mayhem,
where bleeding butterflies reflect
the fading stars etched with broken promises~
that time has abandoned.
I am a corpse of a firefly suspended
in a maroon mirage,
chained with petunias and pearls,
while my heart seeks a celestial chorus
to recite a harmonious hymn.
I yearn to write a compassionate chord,
ricocheting with empathetic embers,
silencing the fiendish
drumbeats of the devious leeches,
searing the fragile curves
of my cinnamon skin,
as I’ve long been a victim
of the vindictive voices of Satan
and his spellbound followers.
Yet nestled between temptation and torment,
a garden of miracles blooms
with lavender lakeshores,
its sweet scents of honey-rose petals
infusing the aching air,
unveiling a sky adorned with lily wings
and sapphire serenity.
O how I long to be the
silhouette of moon fairies
revising and rearranging
kismet melodies shaped in sorcery~
for I draw salt-kissed sunsets
in acrylic eloquence,
to eliminate black magic violations
still running beneath my trembling toes.
I will dance to the alliterative rhythm of
adjectives and assonance,
flowing in sync with the viking violin
within my soul.
So listen to the unlocked
tunes of restricted rhymes;
you’ll hear my name unchained from
the maleficent mantras~
weaving metaphors
screaming between resilient lines of
highlighted healing,
rephrasing the art of letting go
tattooed in raven jewels,
flipping porcelain pages of hope,
flowing within
the anthology of sprouting orchids.
So much soil of various types
but only one produces good fruit
for the seed to fall real deep
then it’ll produce from the root
This needs to be spiritually thought
God’s word being the true seed
which falls upon the human heart
so this need be fertile ground indeed
Jesus speaks here in this parable
to show nature of true living faith
one that produces real true fruit
such show multiplied crop as Jesus saith
Remind yourself more than often
Matthew thirteen verse eight
believing God’s word all so true
to produce real fruit real great
("Still other seed fell on good soil, where it produced a crop--a hundred, sixty or thirty times what was sown."
MATT 13:8)
A sleeping dragon
Beneath the ground there lives a beast.
For aeon’s it has lain asleep,
Upon the bones of those it defeats.
The hopeless slain in graves so deep beneath.
The firelight in only darkness.
The ghost of old, it’s only witness.
A beast so foul, so pitiless,
Has killed a thousand men in a thousand feet deep pit.
It waits in slumber, further under,
The kingdom beneath which it constantly plunders.
A fire in the sky at midnight,
Alerts the keepers of the last kings keep.
The beast has been awoken after a hundred years’ sleep
And although it cannot be seen, it screams through the air,
Breathing fear, which destroys the hope of every man,
Who still has a care.
Now none will fight or lend a hand
And all but one are stood in silence.
The king listens to the chosen, his guards his only violence,
Against a demon which strikes such fear;
It has done so for many years.
But now at last there stands the hero.
Never more will he hold a purse of zero,
For riches have been promised by the King,
To any man who may slay the thing which sleeps beneath.
The curse upon the peaceful land,
For many a moon, but now this man,
Shall lead his band of many men to slay the beast,
Or until they are deceased.
So until the beasts’ heart beats no more,
The day has come…
To victory!
Or…
(C)2018 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Form:
One hundred years since the end
No veterans left to befriend
A war that saw many losses
We now remember with poppy crosses
They fought in trenches side by side
Even fought as their comrades died
Over the top when the whistle blew
Hoping today, God was with you!
Through wire and craters and exploding shell
No man's land must have been hell
Keep marching on showing true grit
Hoping that you were not hit
A British Tommy with a gun
Fighting for freedom against the hun
Some were only in their teens
Seeing things that shouldn't be seen
Death and the use of mustard gas
How long did this war last
4 years 3 months and 14 days
Many soldiers learnt to pray
Over 8 million soldiers met their end
21 million injured or round the bend
250000 were too young too serve
This is not what children deserve
Fight for freedom they did delve
The youngest being a mere twelve
28 june nineteen fourteen
Catalyst for a war to begin
The assassination of Archduke Ferdinand
Creating unrest on this fair land
28 July war was declared
Between other countries but Britain cared
The Great War or World War One
This war in Europe would be long
From tannenberg to cambrai
Lots more battles I cannot lie
Many other battles during these years
Lots of fatalities and thousands of tears
I doth my hat to those that fell
For the younger generation this I tell
They gave their lives so you could live
For the poppy appeal spare change please give
The money goes to those who've served in need
No matter what colour, Religion or creed
Many wars have happened in the last 100 years
Millions and millions of people's tears
The poppy fund was created for this cause
To help every serviceman/women returning from wars
So in November on the eleventh day
At 11 A M bow your head and say
One simple word it's easy to do
That simple word is "THANKYOU"
On this path again this evening, I return
watching golden rays fall
on the beloved grassy banks-
and my soul feels gently lifted
by the scent of lotus,
my heart unfolding
like a hundred golden chrysanthemums.
I hear, somewhere,
the river’s loving murmur,
whispering through yearning stones.
I hear, somewhere,
a bird’s sweet song
carried on the soft breeze,
and buffalo hooves returning-
chewing the same dew-drenched grass
from that very first dawn.
On this village road,
this evening, yellow leaves fall in abundance,
and my soul rejoices
like a laughing child.
Outside someone’s fence,
bougainvillea blossoms wildly—
like the smile of a nine-year-old sister,
like the gleam of joy
in an old mother’s eyes upon her porch.
In someone’s garden,
a young girl hangs her clothes in the twilight,
dreamily gazing toward the far horizon.
Let me send my greetings.
Let me come close to her.
Let me come close, dear soul.
At the foot of this bridge,
this evening I lean in thought,
my heart stirred
by distant memories-
of waiting in shyness,
of the breeze flowing through silky hair,
of a tilted hat hiding a springtime smile-
and somewhere, still,
the rhythm of oars
awakens the heart of a wanderer far from home.
In this roadside teashop,
this evening, I sit and light a cigarette,
my mind adrift
like it’s drunk on old wine.
Why does this marketplace feel so lonely, dear one?
Where have our loved ones scattered to?
Why do I feel my tears rising,
choking behind the walls of my heart?
Around these old haunts,
I stand stunned this evening.
This old, faded shirt
to whom shall I return it?
O passerby-
please, let me come near.
Please pull me close.
Please pull me close.
Deacon Joe Hung Nguyen
(khe Kinh-Kha)
Oft resting under wooded trees
Roams she, hides head behind bent knees,
Adjusts her scant bosom rag, tries
To foil peering moon’s prying eyes.
___________________________
Translation (quatrain) | 30.08.2025 | woman, moon
Note: Here is a verse (in Upajati meter) from Bhartrihari’s Shringaara Shatakam (hundred verses on love and romance). A woman is separated from her husband and roams looking for him, hiding in shadows of woods, adjusting her meagre bosom cloth, sparing it as if from peering moon’s prying eyes. Here is the transliteration of the Sanskrit verse:
Vishramya vishramya vana-drumaanaam
Chaayaasu tanvi vichachaar kaachit |
Stana-uttareeyena karot dhrtena
Nivaarayanti shashinah mayookhaan || 56 ||