Long Jaws Poems
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I am flung against the drab ashen phonon sky, weighted with ghostly iron clad jaws of bitter winter's grip, biting the feather-flared Doves gravid with fatigue from the ill-laden onerous air. The rough-coated dog with ice-tipped ears had surrendered to the corridor of gutters in the toilsome cold, a fugitive of neglect of his own demise. In this empiric city, a shrine of humankind, vespers of frozen conflict rose up from its bowels, like sweat from otherworldly gargoyle watchmen of stone and mortar atop the surrounding spires of fortune. Beneath the steeples of holy crosses and frozen muted lights, faceless, heavily cloaked phantom transients trudged through half stacked drifts of dirty snow moving farther away from hazard, blinded in their apathy. The grimy yellow cab bedraggled on its mucky, viscous boulevard strained and bellowed as a labored oxen. Desperate, surreal sirens blaring from a distant byway echoed and purged from the back alley resort of homeless, despondent souls, laying like pale-blue corpses in garbage bins that sheltered their weakness - interred in their obscure tombs chasing their fate in a bottle of booze. And I stood frozen in the moment, displaced with the cold reality in my icebound, paralytic soul, shuddering with hurt.
ice laments silence
cloaked in bitter winter's grip
trapped in bitter spires
December 17, 2019
December or January Haibun Poetry Contest
Moments of Reflection - Haibun Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Malabika Ray Choudhury
In the heart of the forest, where shadows creep,
Where whispers of darkness bind all in sleep,
A tale unfolds, of a much-feared witch,
With eyes like the void and a malevolent twitch.
By the edge of the village, where children dare not play,
The elders recall what the old tomes say:
"To catch a witch, you must be brave,
And venture where the lost souls wave."
Gather 'round, young hearts of night,
With flickering candles that hold back the fright,
Listen closely to the words that bind,
For the witch, dear friends, is not far behind.
First, find a mirror, cracked and worn,
Reflects all your fears, where shadows are born.
At midnight's stroke, let your courage ignite,
For it's said she appears, in the pale silver light.
Mix salt with the ashes from last summer's fire,
Sprinkle it gently, let courage inspire.
For witches are drawn by the scent of despair,
But salt binds the spirits, keeps evil aware.
Next, weave a wreath of thorny vines,
Crimson and tangled, with signs of the times.
Place it upon your door with care,
For only the foolish would dare to compare.
Gather some friends, with hearts full of thrill,
For the witch feasts on fear, on dread, and on chill.
Hold hands in a circle, chant low and slow,
"Come forth from the darkness, oh spirit of woe."
If the air turns thick, if the shadows conspire,
If the howl of the wind begins to grow higher,
Know that she's coming, you'll sense her near,
With a laugh that could chill even the bravest of deer.
But do not be frightened, stand firm, stand tall,
For you’ve called her forth, now heed to the call.
With courage entwined and a dappled fright,
Face the dark force with all of your might.
And if you should glimpse her, with warts and with claws,
With a grin sharp as knives and a rancid breath’s jaws,
Do not look away, hold your gaze steady and true,
For witches can vanish, if they see fear in you.
As dawn paints the sky with a whisper of gold,
Wrap her in silver, let her secrets unfold.
In shadows she lingers, but power you'll find,
For wits and the brave can leave her behind.
So, heed this advice, young hearts of the night,
For the witch is a puzzle wrapped tight in your fright.
With a mixture of courage and wisdom so bright,
You'll catch her but remember: never leave out the light.
The Majestic Banyan
Standing alone in the village outskirts
With branches protruding to the other end
Always makes me feel from two discrete lenses
The exhausted cattle rest under it ruminating and shooing
The shouts of merry boys while playing with marbles,
Climbing, swinging and running around
How nice the day is!
But nothing finds close at hand when dark diffuses gradually
The mighty banyan appears as a dilapidated fort
And frightens me on a full moon night
Its silhouette comes off as
A strutting demon with hair torn off on a no moon night
The hanging roots like serpents swinging upside down
The sprawling and intertwined roots like matted hair of a yogi
When there is a gale, it sways forward
And it resembles a python with stretched jaws to swallow the village
Scary silence pervades around at times
A busy den for the nocturnal world!
The spying owl with its locked eyes
The thrumming camp of flying foxes
Pecks of a distressed bird
Chirps of crickets and beetles
Croaks and hoarse voices as macabre music
Unsettling leaves as elephant’s ears producing susurration sounds
The swarming fireflies around like lights of spirits
The hiss of a snake
And the crackling when it crawls on the dried leaves
Some mysterious chants
And the glowing blood red fire in its enclosed space
Perhaps, the diabolic acts of a sorcerer
For evoking spirits and ghosts hidden in the tree
The raising smoke out from it as a subtle body
Registered as a gruesome tree in my childhood cognitive domain
The bricks were sweating, nervous. Icy slime
had soaked his coat-sleeve, much to his disgust.
Tall baulks of formless timber seemed to climb
towards the bulbous shadows. Guido, trussed
and pinioned, tried to scratch the saline rime
that nagged his upper lip (for scratch he must),
using his shoulder. Someone’s hand-held lamp
was scouring crazy patterns on the damp.
As Fisc officials fidgeted and fussed,
Count Guido, motionless, gouged free of Time,
stared at the torture implements. Nonplussed,
unravelled, unaware of glare or grime,
he saw steel jaws, unsoftened by stale dust.
The hanging chains, when brushed, gave up a chime
as sinister as that serrated clamp
which dominated all the waiting ramp.
The irony was utterly sublime.
They’ll “put him to the question”, as discussed.
As fitted the prevailing paradigm,
They’d tear his vitals, gouge him, drill him, thrust
their white-hot spikes quite through him, till his crime
was suitably admitted, as was “just”.
Some may withstand the pincers’ chew and champ,
but Guido knew he wasn’t of that stamp.
His eyes had hardly started to adjust.
Prolonging this perverted pantomime
would only satisfy the sadists’ lust.
If necessary, he’d recant in rhyme.
His knuckles scraped the carapace of rust
of some utensil, which this fetid clime
so soon engendered. Turning to decamp,
he felt no pain beyond necrotic cramp.
A Fallen Soldier’s Plea
Do not grieve
I ask you to believe
I went over there to fight
For what was right
I answered the call
And gave it my all
For all of you who do not believe
I gave you the right to disbelieve
I ask that you pray
For the day
When hatred and bloodshed cease
And there will be peace
For some of us to Arlington we will go
For me, I don’t know
But I do know where I went
And I went where I was sent
I gave my life
For my country, my children, and my wife
I am at heaven’s gate
And there I shall wait
When that wreath is placed for the soldier unknown
You are not alone
I am with you
Ready to do it again anew
We shall go into the jaws of death
Until our last breath
Conquer what is wrong
And come out strong
This I ask of all of you
OF COSMIC TERRESTRIAL HUMANITY
We were born
Creatures of love,
And for a while
We remained so;
Unaware of knowing
And learning
Anything else:-
Then, as if
By a human-like
Summer solstice,
We tilted
Towards becoming
Creatures of hate:-
Now, we find ourselves,
Being confused, vacillating
Creatures of life, caught
In human-like equinoxes
Of love and hate,
On the terrestrial equator
Of human suffering:
Caught between earthly
Jaws of justice and injustice:-
Here, in the cosmic
Terrestrial nature
Of our humanity,
So much is taught
And learned
In our life’s seasons,
As we bloom and grow
From the womb to the tomb:-
Love is a writhing mass of tentacles.
Its immense and undulating form sits deep in the depths of my core.
It constricts me, so everything I am
and all that I feel gets pulled back and transmuted into more.
It all becomes love.
When you're near, I can feel it rising.
Hungry arms reach-
shoot up into my chest, and move up my throat.
It wraps itself around- BECOMES my tongue.
I keep my jaws clenched.
I bite down for us both,
If I try to speak, It will burst forth and grab you- entangle you.
It will draw you close,
and in,
and down.
till "us"
becomes "I".
Until we are both at the center of all-consuming love.
The night slowly unveiled its meek presence,
One final call from nature its essence;
When lullabies awaken some from sleep,
While others conjure softer naps to reap.
The moon and stars had just chased out the sun,
Their twinkles the clouds could no longer shun.
The sky now dons an airglow-twined garment—
Its twilight robe left sombrely dormant.
The chirps and croaks were hymns for that silence,
Both friend and foe in ruly defiance,
They thrilled the dark as they all soared and flew,
Unbothered, though their seasoned songs weren't new.
Sharp jaws filled stomachs yearning to be dared,
Yet weaker grasps let certain grubs be spared,
All in the race to beat the sunlight scare,
Before the night leaves nothing left to share.
It is so true that good mothers are rare.
In the furious face of hunger,
And in the ferocious jaws of sickness
You have always been near.
Mami Owon,
This verse could have been a salutation,
Expressing my love for you,
Or to seek help from you,
But it is not.
O! My dear mother,
I am penning this down in your absence
Now that death has snatched you from us.
I wish this was in your hands
And not in the hands of some strangers
Reading through this poetic letter,
Making meaning of my poetic intents,
Scanning through carved words-
Expressing human futility.
Now that your sleep
When November was just five days old
Has caused us to weep
The thought of you
Reminds me of my promise
My dear mother
Iya mi Owon
I have never written you words
To express how much I appreciated you,
The confidence I had in you
And how strong you had been in times of adversity.
I am left with no options
But to pen this at your demise.
I remember that market place,
I remember that Night
And I still remember that day,
But all these good I cannot pay you back.
I remember that puddle
Even though you thought I was far too young to recollect.
All that pains and trauma
My mind still replays the drama.
Omo Olumo
Omo Lisabi
One when angry
Scolds you with prayers,
One who beats with her right hand,
And draws you nearer with her left.
Mami Owon
I have tried in my little way
To be the best that I can,
I have come to realise,
That all the debts I owe you
None I was able to repay
And even in our differences,
And in the moments of pain
Your courage, and your kind heart
And your hope in God
Were your last breath.
Here we are moving on
Knowing not when we shall pay our final price,
Here we are still hoping,
Hoping for a cure,
And hoping for the winds of success
To take us from here to there.
But the truth remains,
We were helpless
To save you from the cruel hands of death
But God alone knows better.
A crazed, dazed unexplained side show that freaks. What did we just do? Who knew, the few true, would prove to be me; and you? In shape we fit to form; like the shoe. In step we go toe to toe. As we set sail off the dock we began to row. From here to Tim buck two, the news has been spread. A wire fed buzz, music stuck inside your head. Without reason or cause. Lost in frenzy of locked jaws. The channel is the change. No home out on the range. Supernatural reaction of self satisfaction. It's dog eat dog in this life form contraption. Unable to define the infinite. The string cheese is an incident. Leaving a lasting impression as people come and go. Fair is the weather my friend, I'll see you at the show. It's no holds bar, a fight to the death. If your waiting for the miracle, I wouldn't waste a breath. I creep on stealth; I'm light on my feet. To avoid the contact, with the stranger on streets. A taco truck drives by and the fire engine sounds. I light up a smoke and out come the hounds. The city is the life and this is how we live. Another day another dollar, homeless asking us to give. The sites that we see, as we tour this. We are just visiting this life like a tourist. An excursion; short lived like a fur-low. It's suggested that we go with the flow. We make the most of the little things we appreciate. Make room for the love and weed out the hate. A master of disaster in this episode or chapter. Another piece to the puzzle that ends happily ever after. We flock towards the it crowd. To be a somebody who's proud. Egotistical tendencies close the mind. Open your hearts and who knows what you'll find. As the world turns, our wheels keep spinning. We learn from our mistakes. This is only the beginning. It's not easy to explain; this may last day or even weeks. It's a crazed, dazed, unexplained side show that freaks.