Long Limited Poems
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The people surrounding me keep asking “why are you going back and forth uneasily on the empty stage shedding crocodile tears, and telling the stories of negative effects on others, though you are not of a man of faculty who is even able to produce a theory comparable to 'Blind Will of Universe', one of worst hypothesizes a man can think of.
It’s because though,
when a worldly-minded snob shouts from a podium
“you should have a positive attitude,” while displaying
his resume proudly with the title that is little-to-do with his personality,
his limited academic background that barely conceals the lack of intelligence, and insignificant accomplishment with somewhat concocted experience hiding his real being and thought, he receives respect from the audience who fascinated by every movement the snob makes in the form of applaud with standing ovation, I was always treated badly from audience, fed only by unwelcome astringent fruits of rejection and drink bitter tasting water sprang from unwanted rotten roots to quench my desire…
And that’s why the course of my reasoning became negative,
and, as a natural consequence, no matter how often you may say
to the audience “you ought to be a person of positive attitude,”
since there are more negative aspects surrounding us than
the positive elements, and that’s why I was accepted by
others negatively. More importantly, I was treated negatively
from others simply because reality goes before me.
Although positive thinkers boast themselves as if their thoughts are
sound and healthy, by saying that the water in a cup is half full;
negative thinkers sigh with a defected air and say that a cup is
half empty. However, it doesn’t make any difference how you think,
men’s thoughts cannot surpass the physical phenomena
and, therefore, a half is a half, no more nor less than a half.
In the boundary and limit is as such, whether you like it or not,
men have to go on the path of their own destiny.
Then, why does everyone has to have a positive attitude? I suppose,
that is, not more than a writhe of the men who won’t admit reality
in desperate agony. That’s the self-gratification of men
who are not able to face the facts as they are.
[The irony is, nonetheless, man is able to bear and raise a baby
by an act of self-gratification. It’s amazing, the world is a place
full of wonders.]
IRONY
My joy that I wasn't born a Nigerian
Is that my parents are Yorubas
I would have been limited to Naira
Mo dúpé pé mo lókó nílé (All thanks, I have a hoe)
Mo láyò pé omo alápatà sá lèmi(I rejoice, I am the butcher's offspring)
Nigerians should say alhamduliLhai
That our legislators are not as corrupt as our president
The country would have met with a great recession
E wá womo alápatà bó ti n jàsán (behold, a butcher's meal begging for a piece of meat)
Eni tó lókó nílé tó tún fowó ó kómí kiri(and a shovel merchant handpicking wastes)
Nigeria is blessed
With green pastures
And various rich liquids
Láyé Olúgbón, mo dá borùn méje(in the reign of Olugbon I owned seven different brocades)
Láyé Arèsà, mo dá borùn méfà (in the reign of Areas I owned six different brocades)
Nigerians are blessed
With great leaders
And various 'politricks'
Láyé Olósèlú mo ra àrán, mo ra sányán baba aso( in the reign of politicians, I owned linen and silk)
Ení pé ilè yìí o dùn ení kó wá bòmíràn lo(who dare thus pasture is not green should please make an exit)
The rich no longer cry
They are the beneficiaries
Of the poorman's labour
Sisésisé wà lóòrùn tó n làágùn (the labourer are dripping with sweat)
Jeséjesé wà làbétè tó n jè 'gbádùn(the beneficiaries enjoy the clubs)
Oh God of creation
Guide our leaders right
Perhaps, to spend our labour well
Bámúbámú mo yo x2(My hunger is satisfied to the fullest)
Èmi ò mò pébi n pomo enì kankan(I doubt if there is any languishing in hunger)
...
Whenever I see a Nigerian
I see along the irony of a country
Where hunger is an offspring of plenty
Nìnú òpò ará ìlú n jòwón(despite the riches, inflation is at its peak)
Nínú oyé, èése táráyé tún n sunkún oru?( and though its winter, the masses sweat is still profuse)
I hope to change the condition
I wish I could turn this irony around
And make a great change of situations
Sùgbón níbo laó ti bèèrè?(But where hence do we start?)
Tani ká kókó gbá lówó mún gan an?(who should be our first suspect?)
Sájépo lájà ni àbí eni tó báa gbà á sílè? (The looters or their abets?)
Where from should one start
Rewriting the story of this country?
Àbí e ò rórò bí? (Can you see?)
Òrò n bá rò ma ròfó, èfó n bá rò ma mún jèko (that this issue begets another)
Irony nlá leyii je, it is a big kàyééfì (this is a big kayeefi, irony nla leyii je)
Our beauty is hidden in our words!
Rumi (M. Mafi, trans.)
Our content in contentment
hides within commitment toward integrity.
Our beauty is hidden in our words
said only toward ourselves.
Barometers of mental health
for how we are and are not feeling
beautiful,
good,
fair,
balanced,
just,
harmonious,
confluent,
content,
graceful,
like good mentors without external hypocrisy,
and sometimes not such good mentors.
Mentors with words redolent of harmonic peace,
or maybe sometimes too much non-violent peace,
passive aggressive surfing, searching back and forth,
or even violently imagining unworded diverse futures
of yourself,
those around you,
generalized economic and sociopathological
and therapeutic
States and Species of thrive or demise,
and planet Earth,
and our Universe,
sometimes a metaphysically closing system,
sometimes more beautifully opening
although with considerable stress
tipping points,
trimming tabs and scissors,
adjusting balance, halves of ecologic,
within our internal voices of environ-mental health
as hope for cultural beauty.
Humaned nature adds economic
and cultural
and psychological freedom to evolve
kindness of mutual subsidiary intention,
an active love of peaceful mind.
Nature is only limited by absence
of regenerative orthopraxis,
caring and nurturing,
economically and politically powerful values
exercised within the classroom of each day.
Ecotherapeutic voices in our nights
and days of reconnecting consciousness
create our daily practice
of natural systemic design,
this song of synergy,
creative universal intelligence.
Cooperative kindness and competitive unkindness
are capacities coincident to all of nature,
a polar range from regeneration through decomposition,
from synergy through negentropy,
Kindness and love self-optimize as "Truths of Beauty"
when we freely choose sufficiency of contentment,
with full will and ecojustice intent.
My words surf my beauty and hope and synergy,
in and out,
back and forth,
listening for my listening gracefilling bicameral heart
and comprehensive consciousness,
discovering contentment within my content,
form within my information,
ecobalancing function within form,
fractal frequencies within bioregenerative
self-optimizing function.
Surfing echo frequencies,
Earth's words of microwaving grace.
Eminem Protege 2
Don't care what you think
I need Ten Shrinks an Ten Pens Full Of Ink
To Let my Inner Wisdom Tink
Colder Than Ten Penguins In A Rink
My Spirit Fitness & Physique at it's Peak
Adrenaline Obese
Extinguished to Concrete
Out the Pyramids Extinct
Into this Physical Dimension as A Sphinx
Face of a Beast of a Lynx
Idiot Beliefs placing limited reach
on my limitless fatigue
My Old Image Obsolete
I stole Potion from Ten Witches An Ten Wishes
from Ten Genies an Ancient Magicians
an Buried the lamps in the Ditches
while I summoned Ten Fighting Spirits
of Venegance as My Apprentices
I Opened my Sealed Syllabus
to Reveal my Ventriloquists
Just left Hells Kitchen with Skin Itching
with Skin Blisters open Skin Pigments
Stealing Lucifers Instruments
to Use them Against Him
To appear as Glitches
against the System
I cook Hot Meals with Mittens
an make him taste the Illness
I'm Inventing
But only an Sample for Interest
for His Taste Senses
cause Hells angels can Sensor the Sizzling
I'm Fly like Ten Twin Pigeons
with Eagles Precision
I'm a Scientist but I ain't writing Science Fiction
with Knowledge that would leave Einstein Winded
I been Fighting for Living
100 percent Percentage
an no less than a Percent difference
Still Power in my Engine
to keep the Ignition Driven
You can't Compare to these Rare Characteristics
the Judgements from your Conscious
is InTolerant to my Unresponsive
Mental Doctrines
Im use to Antagonist
Real Hebrew who's a Zionist
False Prophets who Diabolic an Jewish
Judaism Created with Iron Fist
in A Luciferian Science
of Enlightenment
Jewish Hybrids Of Pirates
Stolen Israels Environment
I ain't Racist
Just apart of a Nation
Created
Created Generations to Generations
Heritage Invaded
an Culture Undertaken
Perpetrated
by The Synagogue of Satanist
my fire been Penetrated
the fire in the eye of the Tiger formulated
stripes on the tiger Blazing
I'm Judahs Inspiration
an Judas Envy Craving
But I'm not Babylons Patriot
Bablyonion Doom Waiting
Doomsday
when the Moon Change
The Wolf Rage
Waging Spiritual Shade
against Ravenous Wolves in Sheeps Wools
is Game
Sharpened Tools
my Sword is Shaped
Cut open the Wolves
an Bathe in the Pool
of Blood til It's Drained
I'm a Prophet in the Apocalypse
"mathew" 6: 12-13
“and forgive us our debts”
(not only does a sheep get 3 squares a day,
but it is also believed that if one begs the
sky enough, one’s problems will just
wash away---this is to be the subsequent
consequence of ALL humans following
suit & getting down on four legs, growing
their thick coats & chewing grass)
“as we forgive our debtors”
(as the sheep thinking that their problems
are solved by an imaginary listener in
an imaginary trailer park in the sky,
so do the sheep continue grazing with a
sort of “live and let live” mentality,
until they are picked off by hunters)
“and do not lead us into temptation”
(so, the same imaginary listener who resides
in that imaginary trailer park, who seemed
to be the one that all the sheep were
comfortably baaaaa-ing to, now is
something to be feared as well? perhaps
that which one feels the need to submit
the whole of their will to is the same
corrupted core inside that would come up
with such a ridiculous hoax to begin with,
as found in the schizophrenic comment
here in the command to oneself (a baaaaa
into the mirror, if you will)
“but deliver us from the evil one”
(the EVIL ONE? is not the concept of
evil just that which goes against the
simultaneous baaaaa of the herd in the
grassy field? was not the GOOD ONE
just told in the last line to “not lead us
into temptation,” thereby being the only
“one” which can do so? make sure when
getting the ladle of kool-aid dumped into
your dixie cup, that you ask if said
dumper is EVIL or GOOD…certainly at
that point it will make all the difference in
the world)
“for yours is the kingdom and the power
and the glory forever”
(there is no other imaginary listener, whose
two-faced multiple personalities, residing in
an imaginary trailer park in the sky, handing
out its ladles of kool-aid, whose overwhelming
passion could be heard any louder than that
which dwells within the very heads of the
already brainwashed sheep baaaaa-ing out
the rest of their days, dissatisfied with the
actual physical world around them &
waiting for the end of what they deem as
a great big thorn in their side---that is,
the rest of us who are not convinced, and
who are not baaaaa-ing with the rest of
em’)
“amen”
(right there, in a nutshell, the whole lie
itself was conjured up by “a man,” or
a few men---all who had way too much
time on their hands & a rather limited
imagination).
Her eyes a sapphire blue,
An awesome sight to view,
Her nose aristocratic,
She was so charismatic,
Her lips a rosy petal pink,
One had to blink,
Or been seen as staring,
Her nature a sheer blessing.
Her hair pure black like coal,
Her ears so dainty as if she stole
Them from a pretty fairy,
Her friendly attitude quite flirty,
Her peeking bosoms such a tease,
Begging for a squeeze,
Her tantalizing always alluring waistline,
Her demure look whilst sipping wine,
Her legs, toned and smooth,
The actual truth,
Those legs were the best in town,
Caire lived in a cottage down
The hill, her ankles slim and slender,
Her speaking tone ever so tender,
Her teeth pearly white,
Her nails and toe-nails bright
Red, wrists strong, fingers slight.
She was betrothed to the mayor,
Was this beautiful girl Caire,
To be married next week,
By a sandy beach near a sheltered creek,
Excitement was mounting,
Two days to go, she was counting,
Claire had ordered a Dior designed dress,
This was the perfect wedding, oh yes!
Her parents arrived the day before,
They were excited wanted to explore,
Mark’s parents acted a little strange,
There was never any form of exchange,
Of phone calls, no answer to a wedding invitation,
Future husband gave Clair limited information,
She looked radiant as she walked down the aisle,
She turned everybody’s head, unique was her style.
Happy as a lark to be her beloved’s wife,
She looked forward to her future role in life,
Suddenly, police sirens heard,
The noise moving closer, how weird,
Two cars arrived and, four or five policemen,
Walked towards the couple, in fact ten,
Cuffed her future husband, read him his rights,
Clair fainted, Mark was a criminal, many nights
She often thought he was too secretive,
Which made her sad, certainly not appreciative,
Claire dear girl, you forgot, habits are difficult to re-arrange,
Mark was set in his ways, so hard for you to have him change.
Mark was wanted for fraud, millions of pounds
Involved, had cooked the books, so out of bounds,
Claire's mom and dad put her gently into their car,
And took her to their home which was far,
Claire took some time to get past this catastrophe,
Over a man she loved and about to relinquish her chastity,
Ralph a divorced writer was her parent’s neighbour,
Who soon stole Clare’s heart and her chamber!
chester sat in the second row
every day at his school
no one asked, no one knows
but yet the kids were cruel
Ms. Jenny had a simple task
to teach by the book
but chester never seem to pass
so she took a deeper look
his momma died with little sign
he only had rags to wear
for daddy worked at the five and dime
with no money left to spare
at christmas in the classroom
what pretty gifts they gave her
chester found his mom's perfume
and wrapped it in toilet paper
the bottle wasn't full its true
her heart just couldn't believe
but chester smiled, because he knew
it was the best Ms. Jenny recieved
days went by and Ms. Jenny tried
to come up with a clue
and many nights she sat and cried
she knew what she had to do
after school she took the time
to teach him life is tough
that he could be God's best design
if he applied himself enough
years went by and things got better
than they ever were before
Ms. Jenny found a special note
slipped under her classroom door
"thank you for the faith you gave
when my life was dark and sad
I told my mother at her grave
your the best teacher i ever had"
As the tears streamed down her face
Ms. Jenny already knew
that showing love could not replace
what the books in school teach you
years went by and things still better
than they ever were before
Ms. Jenny found another note
slipped under her classroom door
"I'm getting married to this girl, you see
somehow I know you'd care
please come and sit where my mother can't be
I know she'd want you there"
The day arrived, the crowd was set
as chester paced the floor
and then a sight he'll never forget
when Ms. Jenny walked through the door
her simple smell filled the room
a fragrance like no other
chester was the proudest groom
to see his "stand in" mother
it was never easy to understand
the steps we all should trace
but Ms. Jenny knew this young man
had finally found his place
so much time she gave in tears
encouragement that made him strong
but time is limited on earth by years
and now Ms. Jenny is gone
before they closed the casket he cried
then on the pillow by her head
one final note he left inside
and this is what it said
"God sent you here to rescue me
from a life that was doomed and sad
and though I'll miss you terribly
you were the best teacher I ever had".
Written by: sharlett lamb
Form:
Tell all the worlds about the treasures found
Renaissance trace spellbound in the ancient form,
Tender and haunting; an era of time curves around
Past the present to a future beset with tech charm.
Historical pages cling romantically to our eyes,
Each epoch defines a sparkling gem of surprise,
Their fluttered rebirth is like stars changing sizes
Release by time flown from the damp demise.
That dip their limbs to bow unto gloss modernity
Like the artist and sculpture, they paint a world.
Of aesthetic peculiarities and lofty discovery,
Longing to find a place soaring free in the soul.
A vault of citadels says much; then said no more
Deep within, ancient wonders rise from the ashes
Talented beauty weaves from centuries we adore,
The time and place asleep in a waste wilderness.
The plague of colors survives in medieval triumph,
England, a literary monument of architect literature.
Finds the noble heart to express cherished breath
Creating the etiquette claimed by French culture.
Such dept alone could not be paid by metamorphism
Humanism fading in a mist has its place in society,
Heightened with extreme lust and erotic mannerism,
Italy removes the conscious veil from bizarre reality.
Ceiling significant through music strings serenade,
Renaissance dazed; allusion lay dreaming half awake
The inquisition of fate went on pilgrimage made,
German sentence commute through the classical gate.
The Netherlands explore and navigate all the distances
Byzantine adherence goes beyond impregnable walls,
depict faces of the Tsars persist in the military hypothesis,
And labyrinths take refuge in Russian banqueting halls.
The richest measured proportion of distilled beverage,
Vodka values more than all the dull limited senses,
Spanish religion repository of the myths and rage
Set the path where new western experience commences.
Portugal selfie, the pinnacle piece that thirsts for commerce
Lisbon flourished paints and medicines with Flemish.
Poland concept and conflict gain border land dominance,
Spice trade rises high and makes indiscreet allusion flourish.
We travel far beyond renaissance to the greatest monument,
When the transition of culture from the middle age evolved
Mesmerized art is a rediscovery of an enduring cultural movement,
The monarch of the Roman Empire renaissance man inspired.
The cactus hoovers like a bully daring to be touched. Another cactus of a different type blossoms briefly.
The vegetable garden lies bare this year and wonders why. She doesn't understand that when I sometime grow weary, weak, and worn reaping such small tomatoes, I take a break.
The roses stand erect longing to be photographed. The Iris has had their say and returned for the season. The lawn was beautifully green a few weeks ago, but she looks at me now as she slowly turns brown and pleads for water, forgetting that in summer, I prefer brown, not green. I promised that I would keep her cut and trimmed, but not green.
The fruitless mulberry waves her leaves, standing ready for summer shade. The peony, who doesn't care for high temperatures, is feeling the May heat. I will inform her in a day or two that she will soon join her sister in a more desirous, suitable, and shady place and be transplanted into a large flower pot. She is thriving so well. I must not fail her as I did last year by not being dutiful and prompt enough to provide her a new home.
In back, the Rose of Sharon tree is begging to be noticed. Underneath the tall palms, the plums, peaches, and nectarines are showing signs of a bumper crop this year. Water is limited and scarce; but trees and plants are thriving, and life is shouting!
050521PSCtest, All Yours, Brian Stran
"We chase unreachable heights, in the hope to find happiness,
Only to find we are still the same, because in fact we are chasing ourselves."
(Triggered and inspired by a conversation this morning between Arthur Vaso and myself)
I have crashed many times over the past five years. Many, many times before realising I was chasing my own tail.
Does this mean that I don't crash anymore? On the contrary. I came back last week from a three-week stay in a mental hospital. Oh, I crash and when I do, I do it good and hard. Rock bottom, here I come.
Then what?
Realization is just a first step. It can also be the first hurdle, the one you never get over, that one that you will see in the distance and that becomes so BIG when you come near it, that it seems it will swallow you whole.
It's a first baby step.
What is unreachable? That is a first question everyone needs to answer for themselves. It's different for everyone, but we all share this: if we don't realize we are chasing a phantom, or our own tail, we will end up bitter and frustrated.
Unreachable for me (to make it less abstract) is:
- walking;
- playing the violin again;
- dancing again;
- speaking fluently;
- not feeling lonely;
- setting goals that jeopardize my mental and physical health.
Up until recently I tried to achieve the impossible by trying to reach every one of these goals. Seeing this list I think that everyone who knows me realizes that it's a list that is setting me up for failure. And I finally agree.
I used to try and aim for the impossible. And I admit it still feels a little like defeat by admitting I can never reach these goals. It made me deeply depressed at first, almost suicidal. But I am slowly learning to set new goals, little steps, small things that make me not only happy, but also proud of myself.
Like writing poems, alone or together with the marvellous poets I met here in Soup and among my other friends. Or finding out what fun sports are available in a wheelchair when you also have limited use of your arms. Or finding friends, even though my loneliness is innate (also something I needed to learn to accept.)
I still chase myself. But I set the reachable goal now that I finally found the truth: I am aiming for acceptance of self.
Comments and discussion greatly appreciated.
***
January 22, 2017