Long Inebriate Poems
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My epitaph writ large...
courtesy third person singular.
Mise en scène pour décès
pardon his feeble attempt at French,
a unilingual English language
quibbling, and scribbling mensch
strongly advises applying
left handed monkey wrench,
which custom designed tool
assigned impossible mission
to discern sense and sensibility
regarding following poetic thread
subject of a fool's errand.
Mein kampf witnessed, punctuated,
and evinced courtesy final breath
automatically triggering (tumblr
to activate) final curtain call
and unremarkable death.
As stipulated in the living will
cremation of his lifeless body
cremated into soft gray powder.
A prerecorded hashtagged obituary
downloaded to individual smartphones
and simultaneously appeared on
the following poetry websites:
COSMOFUNNEL, Hello Poetry,
Neopoet, My Poetic Side, Poetry Soup,
PoetryNook, PoetryVibe, Prose|
A community of readers and writers,
and All Poetry.
He hesitated and lost out
on game of life big time
even fumbling crafting reasonable rhyme
noshing, spending, and whiling
inordinate amount of hours
squirreled away in his bedroom
surrounding himself with reading material.
He amassed fountainhead of knowledge
quietly engorging cerebral gray matter
whereat noggin swelled up
rivaling globe, but Atlas shrugged
at him, whose head
resembled the first Chinese brother
who swallowed the sea.
Odd his voracious appetite
to buzzfeed with one
after another binary byte
zealous precocity to engross himself
with storied reading material
that does extremely excite
(at the expense of healthy socialization)
where his imagination took flight,
nevertheless myopic eyes of his
did glean insight
keeping his cute button nose
between pages of choice morsels
to appease hunger
keeping himself awake
drinking high test coffee
during darkness aided by jacklight
processing meaty material with might
experiencing abundant, exultant,
intoxicant, over-extravagant
joie de vivre day or night,
a balm, elixir, inebriate... quite
the panacea to abet emotional incapacitation
which entails crafting poems
oftimes spending efforts
with efforts undertaking rewrite
unwittingly garnering a fanbase
courtesy ideology doth unite.
Scathing these miscoloured orbs of sight, with incised rocks carved beneath
Concretionaries jagged edges of contagiums....
Painted upon the predominating canvas of perceptions dank, pasteled times!
So what has changed, this mosaic of histories collective collage?
As one way or another many, infused, inebriate their thoughts to inertia
Binding and bound; within these thicker links of connotations chains....
While they bury their bleeding nails into walls; immersed within darker days
Wherein few lives withdraw completely these claws, of concourses contaminating
Which extends itself polymorphously, deeper....
This unknowing muted muse amongst, everbearings, everyway?!
Unto the very core within, bleaksomes mangled maze, of, adapted art....
This abstract and blurried shadow of vagues, prolific presentations
How to pound the hearts into tears, of burnings coffins, set ablaze
Amid the dawning of insanities decrying of decrepits, decores, so displayed....
Within these assylums waiting for their fills
Beyond, the ghostly bars of Baals, notes, now played
By this 'Phantom of The Operas' corpse; deceivings decay, exhumed....
These flaming embers of ashes; fortiums pins of pain!
The crows casting within corners; like shackles upon most; the guiles, of guildeds shame?
This sifting of flour to find the implosion of caverns
Crashing, upon themselves to the suffocating truths, of, their often buried alive....
Subsisting encased within the cages like creatures, placed on exhibit?
An example, of the modern day creations, lifted from the poisoned palettes, of Palladians ways
Swirling within these inversions; smoke upon the rise....
Black splashings, atop the pavement of profounds
Sculptors, with their crucifying knives!
More concise within their uncompromising; binding the bound, within these thicker links of
chains
While they bury their bleeding touch, into the walls of this darklings darkest haze
Wherein few souls escape such palindromic brushings
These, emdedded pigments, of the palinodes days of daze....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Contemporary Art!?
Form:
LANDSCAPE
Noon time, the star in the sky burning at zenith
The deep azure, was radiant with fiery heat
Laid on the skyline, its dome calm and serene
The yonder river, slowly ran on the grey scene
From hillsides to dales and back from dales to hillsides
Green fields or pale extend their furrows long and wide
And on the shady slopes of the plains that lay near
The forest cast its oaks and beeches in sight clear
O Spring ! alas, 'tis not of your joyful hues
It is Summer's ripe time smiling with fertile news
Beneath August sun blazing with such glowing hue
In the thick green foliage, tree turns the shade blue*
It's time for cold to give way to power; Summer
Ignited with burning flames; virile and stronger
Fruits, the joys instead of flowers; sacred richness
That man has got,--- nature has fulfilled its promise
It's noon day, time floating in still serenity
And the star pours down his flame with tranquility
The wind now dozing, the forest lies peacefully
At times, in the branches, heard; the birds sings gaily
Then his voice dies away in the sunlight to sleep
Bees, forest bugs, and flies beneath the bushes deep
Inebriate with sun rays piercing the branches
Send their whispers onto the mild cool grass to quench
Light and silence, merging in virgin mystery
Mating within woods and heaven's duality
Sacred peace of the woods,! sacred skies ablaze
Happy !happy ! he who in his soul and his gaze
Without tears, without sorrow ; without sharp regrets
In heaven's peace, he will get your most sacred scents !
Blissful is the carefree spirit, happy his eye
To be drunken with silence, lulled to sleep by light
When the pleasure comes from such a fine stainless day
That still shines despite cloudy memories decay
*****************
Paysage by ''Auguste Lacaussade''
*TRANSLATED POEM-TWELVE SYLLABLES IN EACH LINE. French and English/
CHECKED WITH SYLLABLE COUNTER
When a fetus or baby, I then could have been:
Born to mother who died, or with father unknown
Into poverty born in a nation not free
With impairments or problems I've never outgrown
Or by parents aborted if she, not a he.
I was lucky
When a child and teenager, I could have been:
A delinquent or orphan or war refugee
Or abandoned or crippled, for child labor used
Without friends, joy, or future or dead from OD
Or unschooled or deprived or unloved or abused.
I was lucky
When full-grown in my prime, I could also have been:
An inebriate, parasite, vagrant, or jailed
Or been killed in a war or had not met my wife
Unemployed or an entrepreneur who had failed
Or severely depressed or had taken my life.
I was lucky
And I could in the decades that followed have been:
Unexpectedly fired, into bankruptcy forced
By an accident maimed, watching children go bad
Or a victim of crime or been sued or divorced
Or betrayed by a friend, or gone stark, raving mad.
I was lucky
With retirement approaching, I then could have been:
From my children estranged, mourning death of my wife
Or investing unwisely or homeless or broke
Having manic disorders or bored with my life
Or in hospital bed with a cancer or stroke.
I was lucky
Over eighty, like many my age I could be:
With no pension or savings or family left
Or dependent on charity, begging, or theft
In a nursing home languishing, sad and confined
All alone and an invalid, witless, or blind.
I am lucky (or blessed)
Arrived is now Spring,
The scents of flowers
scattered in the fields
Awaken feelings of sleeping children.
Here, the breeze that goes
Between flowering almonds.
There, weeping of poplars
Are spreading like white snow.
Far away, along the path,
White magnolias
Inebriate us with their essences.
Children around
Are preparing to weave
Tales born of their dreams
And entrusted to the wind
Like their joys.
In the shadow of the willows, I can hear
The babbling of rascal brooks,
While, at the crossroads of the country path,
I spot the magpies
Chasing each other in spiteful carousels.
Little girls seated on the steps of the Church
Comb their dolls while trying gestures
Learned from their mothers.
As a child, I would flee to gallop
Towards distant shores of hope,
Towards the sun reclining on hilly roundness.
The joy that awakens
From the lazy winter gorges
Soothes us all to sing heartfelt praises
In our throbbing hearts.
The enchantment overwhelms
The gaze of an infant
Who reposes at the slowness of the wind
While caressing his hair.
Lizards and reptiles
Overlook the boulders
Admiring undeterred sunny rocks.
Far away, messy clouds caress
Still and blue horizons
While the cliffs reverberate
With the squawk of opaline seagulls.
And when the heat of the yellow planet
Falls behind the last hills,
There appears the moon
To inspire gipsy guitars,
Love plots of
Young peasants,
And the fantasies and amusements
Of children in the courtyards
Of the yellow farmhouses.
A Self-Tutoring Translation of RIMBAUD's " The Vowels " in Contemporary Terms
(" The Vowels " in the Paul Verlaine (first version) copy in RIMBAUD Œuvres complètes. Ed. by Pierre Brunel. Paris : Livres de Poche/La Pochethèque, 1999, pp. 279-280. Please see notes following the translation. T. Wignesan)
A, black ; E, white ; I, red ; U, green ; O, blue ; vowels,
I'll invoke true to day how your latent forms take shape
A, velvety black corset shiny bluebottles armour-plate ape
Pullule hovering over putrefying carrion stench gruels
By leeway gulfs. E, shimmering of vapours and tents,
Icy surges prideful, white grapes*, fluttering parasols umbellate,
I, purple, spat-out blood, laughter from Synchrotron** lips ondulate
Through anger or from inebriate benumbing of penitents.
U, cycles, the divine vibrations of emerald-green seas
Peaceful grazing grounds teeming with animals, reposeful furrowed pleats
Some alchemically concocted hand imprints on great foreheads studious ;
O ! stentorian Bugle ! the laden strident shriek deranges,
The calmness pierced by disrupting Worlds and Angels…
--- O ! the ultimate Omega, the violet tincture of her eyes !
Notes
* " rais blanc " (" raisin blanc " ?, hence : " raisiné " : blood, claret) ;
** " belles " (" beautiful " is hackneyed and meaningless ; by contrast, the CERN Synchrotron is the most daring, infinitesimally elegant and awe-inspiring human creation) ;
© T. Wignesan - Paris, March 21, 2019
Who would have known,
your roots were hidden, deep,
beyond the shadows that would keep you,
dancin'in the street?
Being just a bum when it all began,
when you were very young.
And who knew the circumstances...
of your own poverty?
From a mother
who couldn't cope,
and left you all alone...
and abandoned?
And you found yourself,
sleeping...
on those park benches
in Kennington.
But then, you met the organ man,
there in East Street,
where you tapped into the lightness...
of your own dance.
Creating that special place
in your imagination,
and you would escape...
and become the vaudeville man.
Living with a plan,
that would bring you fame and fortune!
With cane and hat, strutting your stuff,
along some promenade.
Yet being so afraid,inside,
you couldn't hide that sadness...
on your sleeve.
But it would all appear in your dress,
what a mess!
And there, along some tavern street,
you would meet and greet the ladies,
and find yourself again,
tapping into your own ballet...
With a glimmer in your eye.
and driven to succeed,
who knew the suffering you would face...
from your loneliness melancholy ways?
On stage,
you were on...
never ceasing
to play a part.
But off stage,
was a tale of a whole different guy,
being lonely and shy, and rather
reserved.
And you became the comedian in your time,
when mine struck the ultimate chord for your success,
and you imitated...
the inebriate!
Villanelle: Dare you stain the portals of your deity’s sacrosanct citadel
Dare you stain the portals of your deity’s sacrosanct citadel
Which mortal mammal’s primal address the rapists desecrate
Be not taken aback the yoni passage leads astray linga infidel
Seeds of life ever come tumbling from out the sacred temple
There to greet in meiosis and in secret reverence gestate
Dare you stain the portals of your deity’s sacrosanct citadel
Do heathen women toiling in the dark draw the blinds on hell
And Gorgon heads of demons deep in them shudder vibrate
Be not taken aback the yoni passage leads astray linga infidel
Yet deafening tunnel shrieks of the human species’ s carousel
Re-winds obsessive tinnitus ear-pounding thuds to celebrate
Dare you stain the portals of your deity’s sacrosanct citadel
Who keeps the sanctum sanctorum well-cleansed spiritual
But the defiant procreator linga tireless distending inebriate
Be not taken aback the yoni passage leads astray linga infidel
He who bestial disembowels the temple in a frenzied spell
His own mother disowns and hysteric squats on life’s dictates
Dare you stain the portals of your deity’s sacrosanct citadel
Be not taken aback the yoni passage leads astray linga infidel
© T. Wignesan – Pars, 2014
Damnation to our Generation..
Ageing ghosting in anguish..
Youth yield to boorishness...
Devilish deed with drugs on a daily..
Daily routine on intoxication...
Inebriate on a highway..
Damned Generation!!..
Veneration to worldly pleasures....
Pleasure seekers surround our surroundings
Our souls succumb to sexual immorality
Girls resort to strippers...
Abortion is a normal routine.....
Boys to ritualist and fraudsters..
Graduates gradually wild smoking weed..
Damned Generation!!....
Wealthy men wield the Church...
Members full of ungodliness......
Preachers exhibit favouritism...
Hypocrisy abounded the Church...
Wickedness and witchcraft is the new doctrine...
Demons derailed to doom our doctrine..
Damned Generation!!.
Barrooms is the based for the married men..
They merry to stupor and go home messy..
They married to divorce..
They dance to infidelity...
No devotion to wedlock...
Damned Generation
Daddy's donate their daughters to demons..
To access wealth and worthiness...
To induce indubitably the young ladies..
To trade their wealth with pleasures...
Damned Generation..
David sang songs of redemption..
Our Generation conform to damnation..
Damnation to this Generation.....
For quite a while we were cursing our almost ice age days and nights
Though we got our dear Santa, merry Christmas and fluid delight
Tasty chocolate before the fireplace and the warmth nestling in nightshirt
Still we were waiting when the sun would tilt to us and hug, - in fresh love
Gradually there is green affection playing along with rustling wind
Green is playground bubbly with the children in their green of breath
A mildly inebriate ease we fill in from the nips of breezy pines
A breath of life, ah, in your green hug amidst the vigorous birch and oak
Over the distant blue and green hills, scarlet tanagers at play with clouds
Cows and lambs graze soft grass sitting in hill side fields of sprawling green
Rising from the dewy greenery rapture at play on your chin
Scented air from the lilacs call us to an unknown dance
In silent steps, in a dim blue light, comes up full moon over the hill
In moonlit night all are wild in denial about their disease and death
The wild animals have come out too in order to be into each other's heat
Spring in life is as transient as a water bubble on a lotus leaf __________________________________________________________________
March 20, 2016