Long Innocence Poems
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We the victim's of incompetence
We the pawns of vain experiments
Imprisoned by oligarchic, social engine.
Our pains, reflected by gluttonous pride.
Fermenting in black boil bubbling greed
Modern slavery in it's prime, glistening
like polished diamond shine.
All pretentious, phoney entrapment,
lurking through time, the ideal system,
for a criminal eye, the perfect crook,
filtered on a system it built, it impressed,
and we undertook, now just mere
puppets,
Upon the ladder of fingers,
The shadow composer casting the melody
of subjugated illusion, laughing at ease,
gazing upon their resolution.
A famine of needs and desires, tortured
by the selected lot, who mock as we rot,
in the mould around the bars of our cot.
The misleading consequence of
innocence, of ignorance, of vulnerability.
The digital web of deception, ripples in
shuddered glee, it's next victim
screaming, and then hushed silently
among those chambers of conformity, an
commodity given a number and then
freed, for some years.
Next it's taught to adhere to the
requirement of 'our' society,
Pushed through any resistance,
Your ADD, labeled and branded for all to
see, your defunct from a higher form, an
acceptable sense of reality, the easier
chores of slavery,
and less material distraction, an extra
penalty.
In the sinister sweating perversion,
The passive exodus that moves in night
and day excursions, fossiled in a lava of
weary confusion.
We are the lost Generation on a path we
cannot see, in a destiny that isn't you and
isn't me.
Through the portals of life, I must pass a bridge
beyond which dawn beckons to ward off darkness.
The hazy silhouette of trees is an ethereal glow
from the night sky - a negative nirvana.
Floating on an ether of dark and haggard images
like a vagrant in a sea of feckless innocence
I hold on to the serenity of accepting a naked hope
I will thrive in the eye of impending storms.
I have diminished myself by wallowing on past mistakes,
as I stand here on a quicksand, poised among the shadows
I sense a precipice lurking before me.
As someone in the dark, I know not where it is.
So I cling to the coming of dawn,
a mirror image of a sanctuary in my awakened mind,
a resolution landing like a chariot from the heavens
giving symmetry and rational design to my existence.
jjote020824
Quilts and woollies of winter all folded,
From February’s fold chill when escaped,
In March, when all ready to welcome spring,
Sun seems in hurry to wear red turban,
Few morning walkers wear woollen mufflers,
Sugarcane seems to have ripened early,
Mango, Neem, GulMohor show darker shades,
No longer the spring’s usual tender green,
Spring if at all looks like an unsure bride,
And summer rather like an aged groom.
Sun’s ripe old fervour may add to his charm,
The nature may look keen to dance with him,
All’s not well with sun’s too sharp a grimace—
To wear in early spring a red hot face,
Which, with his red turban looks burning red,
The green robes of spring fail to soothe like balm.
The red rage of forest fire adds to heat,
The flowers that blossom wilt by the eve,
A stray koel coos in a mating call,
Her Fifth Note sounds more than usual poignant.
Seasons, the Nature’s clock sound an alarm,
The all awake man refuses to wake,
Designed to be the school to say something,
Fails to teach man, he no more a student,
Nature no more a temple where man prays.
The seasons have forgotten their old ways,
No wonder they follow no fair cycle,
Winters wilts as summer seems in hurry,
Spring has no time to spread old charm to cheer,
And summer, left alone, reigns through the year.
_________________________________________
Blank verse: | 07.03.2023 | spring
Poet’s note: Spring in India comes on Vasant Panchami, the fifth day of waxing moon. But this year summer seemed too eager to hoist its reign. Winter was never so harsh nor spring so pleasant thanks to global warming. Holi, the festival of colours that welcomes spring seemed to come in a hurry. This blank verse wonders if spring has lost her innocence.
God
1 “whom he hath appointed heir of all things”,
2 “by whom also he made the worlds“,
3 ”Who being the brightness of his glory”,
4 “and the express image of his person”,
5 ”upholding all things by the word of his power”,
6 ”by himself purged our sins”,
7 ”sat down on the right hand of the Majesty on high“,
Hebrew 1;2-3
When you come to the inference by time,
where innocence marks its own maturity,
as questions seeks for answers,
when curiosity tantalizes obscurity,
with chronicles of gone bye years,
when reflections sends the beams to the mind,
and sparks congregates as reasons,
when conjectures forms a void within,
As you drift to that realm of confusion,
When the mind cannot withstand the torrents of thoughts,
When the world cannot find the compass of your being,
and to all you are dispirited in the ocean of life,
when petulant mutates to unseen rebellion,
when ominous canker and contortion hatched on vision
when you demystify evolution by superior argument,
and find the flaws of imposed science,
When you reach the borders of earth's vain.
Where mortality mocks your toils.
Sink your ship at His Cross,
The moment I saw her, I began to forget the world,
With her, I started dreaming of promises across lifetimes.
When I saw her for the very first time,
I began imagining a whole new world with her by my side.
She was dressed in the simplest of clothes,
No kohl, no bindi—just a smile adorning her face.
She kept talking, and I kept listening,
Yet somewhere within, I longed to meet her eyes.
I looked at her with all my heart,
As much as these eyes could possibly hold,
But how much can just two eyes ever capture?
Even that felt nowhere near enough for me.
And again, my gaze returned to her,
As if time had paused,
As if everything within me had stilled,
Wanting just a little more time with her—
That thought alone took over my world.
I wanted to live within her,
I wanted to call her mine,
And just then, she smiled—
And I was ready to forget my entire world.
Life is for the living,
Do we have a choice?
What about the afflicted,
Those who are unable to use their voice,
To shout about
The unfairness of it all.
Why don't people listen,
To the underdogs frantic call.
Trying to understand each other
It is a duty we all should perform,
Not out of pity
Because others can't conform,
To our regulations and rules
Left to their devices, treated like useless fools.
Those of us "classified" as normal,
Who's life is for the living?
Taking everything for granted,
Expecting all and seldom giving,
To those in need
Through no fault of their own,
No living the high life for them,
Left sad and alone.
Their disabilities give them an innocence,
And they are vulnerable, too,
I am not sure that given a choice,
They would want to lose their innocence,
To be well enough,
To find their voice.
Because there is little to rejoice,
In this troubled world today.
War and corruption have paved the way,
For all to fester and common sense to stray.
If this is a life worth living,
This life is not the life for me.
I would instead have kept my innocence,
And the freedom to be me.
Before you I stand free, on rolling hills
crevices, oceans, deserts, floods, laughter
failures, victories stencilled on skin
wringing luminous blood from
heaving soils where justice fountains glisten
a Presence, your reflection in sacred dialogue
Glorious in guilt and innocence ~ rebirthing, anchoring light into a Planet learning to receive
peacock feathers on crown, lion claws
at ankles, sunflower seeds dissolving in Love for Africa’s ebony longings blossoming
Woman of South, walking portal raw in
Peace I come, wisdom embraced
all encompassing enigmatic questing Heart !
scattering mielies, proteas along footprints
drawing down power from liquid Sun
sharpening truth in resonant Oneness shelled
Caped in empathic Forgiveness
my liberty leaves floating with
silver trout in Orange River rippling
equalising dualities in moonlight breaths
daisy petals softly blow purpose in lullaby winds
Bones now strong, fibres stretched
cabbage leaves open as abundance unfolds
see pitfalls, pebbles sinking, voids unleash
Violet Flames untying ancestral knots
as wheels disciplined turn in pirouette
feminine arteries intuition bled
Steadfast I stand, no stumbling, nurturing
graduated from crawl to gurgling toddler
gawky teen to Gaia-Goddess serene
within my African continent drum-beating
where Roses and Thorns garland to
ripple for more than Sum Total to unfurl in
A W A R E F O R G I V I N G P E A C E
Sat on a park bench
She exposes her heavy breasts;
Offers him a teat.
Lewd men inwardly applaud
This conformability.
--------------------------------------
Young shoji fixers
In Edo are in demand;
And well rewarded.
Their longest ladders can reach
A widows highest window.
--------------------------------------
The stylish long sleeves
Declare she is virtuous;
A pure innocence!
But impatient for the day
When she picks up the Scissors.
--------------------------------------
Desiring to know the totem guiding me,
I fell to sleep and dreamed, and in my dream,
a creature brightly painted crept its way toward me.
It spoke in the voice of a female,
but the voice I heard was coming from its soul as
it spoke to my heart, blinking at me with large yellow eyes:
I am your spirit guide, dear.
From whence did you think had come
your peaceful, patient nature?
You strive for success with constancy and determination.
Grounded to this earth -
you are, in fact, in tune with all its elements and its creatures,
for your energy is one of innocence and harmony.
Did you think I would appear to you as the speedy tiger
with big bold stripes of black and yellow-orange?
No, I come to you as the lowly turtle
with lovely olive skin, smooth shell, and beautiful pattern underneath.
However, like the tiger, I have stripes too - yellow, black, and orange -
and I too am a survivor!
You rarely react with anger like the tiger, which shows long sharp claws.
No, you are like me, mild-mannered, and you have adaptability.
If you get turned over, you are able to right yourself.
Like me, you get right back up and simply move along.
You make peace whenever you can, so your foes are few!
Also like me, you withdraw into your own protective shell.
That beautiful shell is the world that you carry on your back.
You accept what is and still you keep going,
ever - ever going, for wisely you know what wins the race!
Finally, like me, you love the water and the sun as well as land.
This is because you are at home in any place.
Spread your arms and fly through crystal ripples.
You can be faster and more carefree in the fluidity of water.
You may not be a tiger, but your stripes are just as beautiful and vibrant.
Blessings on you, dear, and last of all,
always remember to take the time to bask, as I do,
in the light of the radiant sun!
Written June 16, 2017 for White Wolf's Spirit Guide Animal Poetry contest
"Road Kill and the 3 Fates"
Daughters of Nyx
the sisters
Stand strong together
when darkness
feigns innocence
next to the forgotten
Road Kill
Nyx becomes Themis
a memory
infiltrates the mind
prompting the true law
and order of things
Backwards towards
a beginning
Inside resides
the female Titan
somewhere winning
Collecting the threads
of each life enlightening
the golden chords copacetic
the beginning chapters
come in far too late
back to front
Road Kill and the
3 Fates
Empathetic
(LadyLabyrinth / 2020)
llb-klb-mlb
“Gold” / Chet Faker
https://youtu.be/hi4pzKvuEQM
“At the instant of drowning
he invoked the three sisters
It was a mistake, an aberration,
to cry out for Life everlasting"
"He suffered the enormous agonies of passion
Writing poems from the end backwards,
Brushing away tears that had not yet fallen."
Rosemary Dobson, Poet. Sydney, Australia
(extract The Three Fates)
1. Moirae (Moirai)
https://greekgodsandgoddesses.net/goddesses/the-morai/
2.a
Themis
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Themis
2.b
Nyx
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nyx
3.a
“The Three Fates” by Rosemary Dobson, Poet. / Analysis
https://poetryprof.com/the-three-fates/
3.b
Rosemary Dobson, Poet. Sydney/Australia.
(18 June 1920 – 27 June 2012)
https://www.poetrylibrary.edu.au/poets/dobson-rosemary
Anthology of Poems/Rosemary Dobson.
https://www.poetrylibrary.edu.au/poets/dobson-rosemary/poems
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rosemary_Dobson