Long In full Poems
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In Kew Gardens I feast on
daffodils and swans and honk-
ing geese in turf protection mode
and one spectacular show
from a strutting peacock’s tail,
its color chart exploding
against the day’s gray weather.
On warmer days Kew is packed
with mums and dads and kiddies
running about or being pushed
in prams. Today’s marginal
weather has cut the numbers.
I am drawn to a park’s promises
in crowd depleting weather. .
In youth I’d sit on a bench
beneath a chestnut tree and feel
fully protected from rain
by the natural umbrella
of thick leaves above my head
or, barefooted, tramp through wet
grass after the midday storm.
In the misted gray of not
quite Spring Kew Garden isn’t
in full bloom but I can feel
the promise of warmer days and,
with luck, the persistent need
of a peacock to impress
his ladies with the full bloom
of his magnificent tail.
Just beyond the azure sea, sun reflects
Hues in tangerine and blushing effects
Breathing joy through the clear, cool night
Holding a guitar built from songs so bright
Inspirations in soothing praises and psalms
Graceful images, a beautiful that ever calms
Wonders erase darkness with love’s splendor
With hearts of hope and faith, fear will surrender
Like a glistening star way up high in the sky
Happiness unheard of inspires, cannot deny
Roses in full bloom imagine shining such grace
Attracting bees and birds, nature’s gentle embrace
It is the miracle of life, the amazing in His sacrifice
That will always suffice - He paid the ultimate price
Couplet Poetry Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Sotto Poet
May 7, 2023
It comes to us all this thing called age
insidiously creeping up over the decades
surprisingly catching us unaware
we all know it is coming, its just when?
When do we realise our joints are stiff
and that we have grown so tediously slow?
looking back it seems like yesterday
when I was in full bloom of sweet youth
It is not the aches that I find hardest
it is the infernal time it takes
to complete the simplest task
hours doing what was done in a hour or so
Yes with age comes wisdom, sure, fine
I prefer flexibility instead of seizure.
Yet for us poets the greatest fear of all
is what if we lose our minds? Our Soul?
Would we know but be locked behind bars?
able to understand all that is happening
but be unable to articulate our thoughts?
if so the doctor saying "est La Morte"
Would for me be the greatest release
how could I live in a world locked away
unable to comprehend the written word
that so inspires and stimulates my mind.
Faustus was an inquisitive man
Obsessed with a burning desire
To feel see and understand
The secrets of God’s universe
He was not afraid to make a deal
With the power that can make him feel
Omnipotent standing on the mountaintop
With the whole world under his feet
In the Himalayan highest hidden spot
Enveloped in eerie silence sinking
In the clouds in full moons shine
He saw the universe widespread
In a plain pattern in front of his sight
Like a canvas of a primitive artist
Expressing the longings of his heart
In a few simple strokes of a brush
And hectic colors swiftly layered
On top of each other in a way
He could see the pattern
Slowly and painfully emerging
Through the surface of abstract
Landscape of shapes and forms
Intertwining in emerging storm
Created by his racing mind
He can feel his heart beating
In this colorful pulsating pattern
That was brought to being
The night he made a fatal deal
For the price, he could not afford
His suffering soul became homeless
And lost forever in the outskirts
Of the abandoned world forever lonely
He desired to reduce the unbearable
Complexity of the world around
To the simplicity of a human mind
So, he could savor it and understand
In his lonely cell inaccessible to the world
And open only to his racing mind
Not even his heart was allowed
To enter the forbidden realm
Of unknown scary threatening world
That he was discovering slowly
Inside his incognito psyche
Faustus desperately wanted to know
And understand the mysteries
Of the infinite timeless world
Imprisoning it in his mind
Like a butterfly flying away
Locking it in the darkness
Of his lonely cold ascetic cell
With glassy eyes staring
The magnificent pattern of the wings
Of the monarch butterfly
Getting lost in his own drunken
Desire that made him high
Like an addict who can’t stop
Just a thought that he is the one
Can savor the secrets hidden from men
In thick darkness protecting him
From anyone else glancing at them
By the morning with light reaching
The window and squeezing inside
Through the metal rusted bars
Of his soul’s prison that he built
For himself the moment when
He invited dark powers to come
Mephistopheles stepped inside
In white angels' alluring disguise
And collected his ultimate prize
I was sleeping with my childhood
friend in the loosed cot.
The weak boy was recovering from
two months long typhoid's knot.
November night not so hot
But pleasant time stayed a lot.
The nightmare began with
Running and shouting of villagers
From hill side to their nests.
Unfortunately It was the daily routine
From home to hill after a night's rest.
A roaring tiger with red eyes
Was chasing them to get more cries.
Villagers were healthy and strong
So they can run fast to save their lives.
Feeble can't compete them in race
So it was me who was going to be prey.
The real chase in false world
I ran as fast as i could
But damn tiger had more power
If trees can hide they certainty try
Perhaps the devil's eyes forgot to blink
So i have to climb up
But the damn followed me.
When I saw danger without think
Jumped from the thin boughs
And ran towards the high wall.
The clear warning was written there
' Be aware of dogs ' but who read and care
By hook and cook i climbed on wall
Seeing the dogs i recognised my fault
The danger was on both sides
So without thinking i turned back twice.
Trembling and sweating in cold night
i was neither living nor dying
Silently pray my lord to save my life
Got blessed very soon
Opened eyes in full moon
Relaxed when found in the cot
Lying beside the buddy as ice hot.
That horrible night
Me and the tiger
Played hide and seek
Closed eyes the tiger chase
Opened eyes friend beside
But thank the Almighty
Who saved me with all priority.
Label
In this world, everyone is given a singular label at birth
Though it's just the first of many we may receive in life
The first ever label anyone gets is either boy or girl
But many choose to trade it for one better suited for them
Unfortunately, people choose to bully others just for fun
That is the type of world we live in, sadly
Next comes an unfortunate act for almost everyone: school
Here, if you aren't careful of your actions, the consequences are dire
You could be stuck with deplorable ones such as **** and many more
The children here attempt to imitate their parents because they don't know better
So often they are cruel to one another just because they can
Either that or they enjoy it too much
And telling anyone your struggle is futile, as they don't care
Their sympathy is fake, with hollow words
The final part of the play of our lives is approaching: Adulthood
Though some aren’t lucky to make it this far
Few consider them blessed, escaping this life
Here, we face the true cruelty of this world without any shield
Our only item is our labels gathered over the years
Where everyone will always be your enemies despite their honeyed words
Betrayal is a common theme here, with everyone aiming for the top
This is the world we live in: Full of labels
On wings of twilight her hopes flew away
As day eagerly swam into night
Simply had not been a wonderful day
Stars in the sky were a glorious sight
Filling ethereal heavens completely
Showing her optimism so sweetly
Feelings of pure love were in the air
Could she forgive herself? Would she dare?
Evil doubts within her soul began to ring.
Her emotions were not easy to share
Contemplation is a heartfelt thing.
She sat by river on the south side bay
Figuring out how to make angry thoughts right
Gentle ideas escaping for sighs far away
Glowing in her dendrites, bits but so bright.
Plugging in gaps ever so casual and neatly,
In a manner as to not defeat thee,
Yes she had been betrayed, flayed full bare.
Could she release this anger now? Could she dare?
She had been the victim of a masochist’s fling
This humiliation she was not ready to share.
Contemplation is a heartfelt thing.
Gathered sorrowful ideas in a unique new way.
Determined to obliterate the blight.
Exploded with truth, mighty pen had its say.
She wrote down sad feelings into the night.
Enjoying her perch down by the sea,
And shade of a tiny bonsai tree,
Self feelings smiled, she remembered to care.
She had been lured to an evil one’s lair.
Feelings of worthlessness began to sing.
Forgiveness of self is now parading in air.
Contemplation is a heartfelt thing.
Joined momentarily by a fat hopping blue jay,
She knew what she had penned was amazingly right.
She reveled in daylight sun’s prettiest ray.
Watching the jay ‘til he flew out of sight.
Feeling this instant she was at long last free.
Absolved of blame by God’s glorious sea.
As she wrote it down and began to share,
Her heart was lifted by daybreak’s hopeful air.
Doubts flung out by a David’s giant sling,
Writing was cathartic, easy to bear.
Contemplation is a heartfelt thing.
With a hidey ho and a hey, hey, hey,
She followed her bliss with all of its might.
Her words of truth were now in full display.
She knew she would sleep better that night.
Feelings of relief had overcome thee.
She recovered her soul life down by the sea.
The rest of her life seemed more than a bit fair.
For herself, she again started to truly care.
Warm heart full of hope began to sing.
Possibility of true love now in the air.
Contemplation is a heartfelt thing.
It's a fantasy-fair; great games in thread
Some in merry-go-rounds flow in full swing
He stands, smiling and laughing, eyes wide spread
Some, in hope-doubt smiles, to shoot balloons, ding
Some ride on camels as on a true war
Some in merry-go-rounds flow in full swing
Some seeing lions in pretty-cases, roar
Some, around tentative pools, feed penguins
Some ride on camels as on a true war
Some in bird-fly-fairy costumes spread wings
Some, cuisines in mouth, color spittle bleed
Some, around tentative pools, feed penguins
What shakes! What sips! What hot-cold drinks, indeed
To him, a poor boy, these tell wild tales
Some, cuisines in mouth, color spittle bleed
Fun and frolic mixed cocktails and mock-tails
It's a fantasy-fair; great games in thread
To him, a poor boy, these tell wild tales
He stands, smiling and laughing, eyes wide spread
12 November 2022
There’s a sign right on the wall,
In case you’re feeling nervous,
That payment is expected at
The time you’re getting service.
You’re possibly distracted
‘Cause they’re x-raying your head.
They want your money right up front
In case you end up dead.
The sign is a reminder
Lest you maybe will forget.
This test is just a gamble
And they’re counting on your bet.
So whether you’re a winner
Or, unluckily, you lose,
The house accumulates the chips
And you cannot refuse.
And so you cough the payment up
By cash or card or check,
And sit around and wait
As they are shuffling the deck.
You’ve anted up, you’re in the game;
You’re in the dealer’s pull.
No matter if you win or lose,
You’ve paid your debt in full.
STRUGGLE AND SURVIVAL
I have learnt to struggle on my own,
venturing to explore journey of life in full freedom.
Seldom allowed any intervention or interference.
Lone fighter on endeavor.
Sometimes success to access,
sometimes failure to endure.
Made blunder, made mistakes,
Experienced betrayal and malice.
Had to fight with menace, confronted
with nasty lies but never collapsed,
always pessimistic
Ready to proceed enthusiastic
with new zest and zeal.
I marched head erect
facing any challenge in thrill.
Yet ardent amour also showered
ethereal bliss
when seven heavens stepped in
illuminating my life in serenity.
Passion and compassion cascaded in opulence
reaching me on perfection.
With inevitable ups and downs
Life runs for all.
But every fall
made me more sturdy to struggle.
Every uplift gave me boost
to gain more confidence.
I honour life with a challenge,
making myself stronger
and more competent.
11/ 19/ 22
A Brian Strand Premier No.53
Contest by Brian Strand