Long Make the grade Poems
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We celebrate Guy Fawkes although he did not quite make the grade
I know and understand rebellion threatens thus he met his fate
Could have been worse he could have blown of his incendiary hand
Less body parts to torture in the name of country and King of the land
Guido as they called him fighting for the Spanish before his foiled plot
Was fully aware that he could be exterminated for an unsavoury complot
Can violence in the name of debatable justice be ever condoned
The masters of power today might agree when Syria is droned
Crusades in the name of some cause or other belie religion and creed
When money meets oil geopolitical persuasion derived from greed
Black powder in Guy’s case blew up in his fierce revolutionary face
Unlike Nelson an eye for a blind spot got him nothing but disgrace
Dark power gloved fists velvet resolutions and orange insurrections
Should of course release white peace doves from resolute minds’ disaffection
Nena’s 99 red balloons and Banksy’s street art reveal a powerful message
No doubt they beat anthrax in envelops and letter bombs sent by expressage
Yet Mandela in his armed struggle days was deemed a vile terrorist
Fought for the cause in despair but was labelled a mean criminal errorist
Suppose that leaves us with religion and Jesus crossed bleeding nailed
Whereas Guy stored explosives in Westminster’s undercroft with little avail
A white robed Ghandi marched for salt freedom justice peaceful opposition
Before him the Buddha sat quietly under a Bodhi tree for untroubled transition
Fawkes received victor’s punishment but is said to have fallen from the scaffold
Before being hanged broke his neck probably mocked the crowd that was baffled
Avoided the agony of the punitive rope before drawn and divided into four parts
Outsmarted the executioner retribution erratically broken in fits and starts
Few of us know the real story only shoot fireworks remember November the 5th
Blow money miss the pith dispense judgement in blessed ignorance forthwith
A lesson to be learnt from the historical legend some possible moral from treason
Is that words are superior to gun powder and it’s better to die for a right reason
I sat down to watch the radio
There was nothing on TV
I have two hundred channels
But there was sweet F.A for me
I could have watched one channel
And learned to fricasse
A chicken raised on wild grains
By a woman chef named Bea
I started checking channels
But I decided in mid flick
That I was getting tired
And I was also feeling sick
So I sat and watched the radio
Since there was nothing on TV
I have two hundred channels
But there was sweet F.A for me
I worked on through the listings
English, French and some bad ****
There were movies on one station
That were made 'fore I was born
Out of all the things I saw on there
The best show I could see
Was something shown in black and white
Made in nineteen sixty three
My TV s high definition
With cables left and right
But to find a show I'd like to watch
Was taking half the night
So I sat and watched the radio
Watching nothing happen fast
But as I sat there watching
I travelled bckwards to my past
Still flicking through the channels
Trying to find something to see
I thought I'd found a hockey game
But it was all in Punjabi
So, I listened to the music
Watched the radio, passing time
Then I thought, why do I have this?
With what I paid, it was a crime
eleven channels showed the same
times 8 networks made
at least eighty eight tv stations
That didn't make the grade
Twenty two were pay for view
The French networks were ten
Then the networks there in Real HD
And so, it started once again
Pay for **** was fourteen strong
New shows added two
Weather, sports and info shows
Now I was at one eighty two.
I could have bought alot of stuff
On informercials through the night
I could have bought Pro Active
But instead I watched the light
I turned back to the radio
With the station light in green
It was better than the tv set
And all the crap I'd seen
So, Tonight I watched the radio
There was nothing on TV
But as I sat there bathed in that green light
The music showed me all I need to see.
Nay, despite failing to make the grade,
this bluesy well red, duff mute
average white band hit,
hard knock school alumnus
jack of all trades master of none bumped along
pot hole cratered steep pitch
while riding the bus
bullies skewered kosher me all, cannibalized
carte blanche timid ego
brandishing exacto knife
threatening jugular, cuss
sing maniacally pulling out all stops
going headstrong for this doofuss
Embracing premonition making me mincemeat
vis a vis via, Atilla the Hun plus
Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore
after diet of worms
as hors d'oeuvre hug guess
if given a choice, would prefer Loch Ness
monster, or the whale that swallowed Jonah,
either t'would be a quite im press
heave feted feat, versus being poached,
roasted, skewered burnt alive
perhaps sautéed to feed additionally,
the Gothic (Jacks sin) five
the latter adorned with
Bandolier prototype, whence they would jive
to Vandals mess sigh ya,
these last yet another contra band
to play on command, or risk not being
he gee beegee bing a live
all thee above iterated blather spluttered
as punishment against revive
ving human sacrifice by pence hoove lee donning
a new jersey wordlessly trumpeting, and strive
ving assiduously as a one man lobbyist,
and aye willingly negotiate
to take more'n one wive
even though that would be big o' me decor,
thus a last minute reprieve given
without axing por favor
and black keys handed over
to Holy Roman Empire in hoar
rubble ruins (over the Weeknd), thus brutish nasty,
and short tempered surprisingly
(boot not prematurely) ejaculating bon jour
foo fighters actually (grand
aery an nah - did a three sixty)
feting me guest of hun or,
boosting self esteem, the first time
since being a kid in a candy store
which poetic digression
did make quite a dee tour,
and bringing detente amidst marauding
village people hoop reef furred war.
I cannot forget Trayvon Martin - slain teen
no matter manifold more young people
unthinkingly killed, who spirits aspire
to ascend higher than a steeple.
revisited and slightly revised today
March 14th, 2021.
One deliberate shameful death,
whose demise linkedin
violent cessation of breath
thank heavy gun wielding hand
innocuous thug disguised
as armed neighborhood watch
firearm brandished
as weapon of choice.
Once again rifling thru outdated drafts,
I unwittingly repost grievous bulletin
that made headlines nine plus years ago,
an innocent lad received fatal shot
into said unarmed teenager's chest
according to testimony
courtesy Doctor Vincent Di Maio.
Memory of aforementioned crime
relegated to dustbin of criminal minds
whereby dime a dozen killings
(nowadays barely register shock)
countless young persons
genetically bequeathed with
healthy dose of melanin
gunned down during their prime.
George Zimmerman (then age 28)
ought to be pitched into the
alligator and crocodile infested Everglade
for his senseless killing (outright murder)
of Trayvon Martin slammed
as involved some illicit wick kid trade
(a slender African American
more precisely youth flush with color
only 17 years young -
(birthdate - February 5th, 1995
death date - February 26th, 2012),
whose martyrdom grows
as days/weeks fade
an exemplary gregarious helpmate
swimming against the tide
to make the grade
now slain while just a youth -
the unfounded killing
by a neighborhood watch volunteer,
who felt afraid
that this dark skinned young man
appeared suspicious pulled the trigger
with comeuppance to be paid
though -- no retribution can restore
lifeless body, still
agitated waters nor offer shade
from the justifiable media frenzy
sparked from Geraldo Rivera made
even with unanimous
approval of guillotine blade
for violence cannot only rejuvenate
a promising future
evinced by Trayvon Martin
reincarnated into tree or leaf blade
but only serves to beget subsequent
violence now unto his grave
said teenager laid!
Another holiday has come to pass and I am no prouder to be an American than when it started.
What are these holidays for I ask myself?
Are they designed for the little man to feel like he’s getting a break from the monotony of
a humdrum workday. Rest him up and throw him back to the dogs or is it about big money. Seems everyone is having a sale or going out of business sale. These furniture stores go out of business more that a nickel bag crack seller on a Wednesday night on the Jersey Shore. Can you imagine working for one for these slime ball opertions? One day you got a job, the next day who knows. How does that conversation go?
“Hey listen Margaret, we are having another sale.”
“Oh no not another sale, is this a going out of business or and everything must go sale?
I haven’t seen my daughter in 5 years since that last everything must go sale. She wasn’t even suppose to be here for the love of Pete.”
“No, no nothing like that we are going out of business but will open again Monday. That thing with your daughter, well those Chinese’s people made us and offer we just couldn’t refuse, you understand.”
My other favorite is the 5 years no interest financing on everything in the store. They know you aren’t going to pay and that one day you’ll get hit up for 36% interest.
And for Christ Sakes where do they get the “actors” for these TV ads? Are they washed up **** stars that couldn’t make the grade or just some fat cats concubine that thinks she’s in the movies now? Look Elsie I am on TV…does that belt make me look fat? It ain’t the belt honey.
So goes another Labor Day/Memorial Day/Fourth of July/Presidents Day/ Martin Luther King Day/….it really cheapens America and what we stand for, and I for one am ready to end this downward slide into the bowels of America and say we combine them all into one big week, yeah Garage Sale Week. Now that’s an American tradition that has stood the test of time!
A judgement has been made, now the verdict is out.
From the beginning, my winning was beyond a shadow of doubt.
Do not waste your time shouting or pouting about my clout,
Just go ahead and get used to your well deserved drought.
Since day one, you were constantly in contempt of court.
You should have given up, and tried to be a good sport.
But, for some reason, you would not abort this territorial port,
Even though your slams always seemed to fall "a bit short!"
As a result, I am forced to sentence you to life
As the Pathetic Whorelock, full of "poetic" strife.
Go ahead and enjoy your role as another man's wife,
Avoiding the words that cut you deep like a knife.
You talk about fighting to survive. I can talk that talk too.
I faced poverty and homelessness, and fought my way through.
So, now there are no limits to the things that I can do,
Because I made it through the clouds with the sun within view.
How fortunate for you that no one wants to judge this contest,
Because even your biggest fan would proudly confess
That DOC the Poet is the best...better than all of the rest,
And that you are nothing more than an unwelcomed guest.
Anyone who calls you a winner would say so just to be nice,
And anyone who thinks that you can beat me better think twice.
I just put you on ice, and my words have way too much spice,
Which is why your weak little stomach continues to get spliced.
Like I said before, my final judgement has already been made.
Your status as a poet has been measured and weighed.
And, to be perfectly honest, you did not make the grade,
So right about now it is time for you to just fade!
This is the fact that you keep trying to fight,
Because, for some reason, you can not see the light.
So, once and for all just recognize my might,
Or I will have to have you removed from my sight!
Form:
Villanelle : If you haven't had that, what have you had*
If you haven't had your life, what have you had
In fear of what lies beyond the locked safe-door
Live you now the moment, not for what's ahead
Fear of what others may think, nothing's more sad
Yet if you abandoned all care, who'll forbear
If you haven't had your life, what have you had
Since James*, Mottram*, Barrau* live not a day dead
Yet don't they live safe as Confucian State's heir
Live you now the moment, not for what's ahead
Or do they live safe to be thought Reason-bred
The best of all the Worlds where Time's a mere snare
If you haven't had your life, what have you had
Walk Eternity back to Big-Bang zero-bed
What has no Beginning cannot End-fruit bear
Live you now the moment, not for what's ahead
No Future's secret the Yi Jing* has not read
Don't ephemeral hordes breed the Jün Tzu* to bear
If you haven't had your life, what have you had
Live you now the moment, not for what's ahead
Resources/Notes
" Quotation from Henry James' Ambassadors : " If you haven't had that (your life), what have you had "
" Henry James (American novelist), Eric Mottram (British poet, professor, critic), Aurélien Barrau (French astro-physicist, philosopher, poet)
" Yi Jing : the ancient Chinese Classic of Change
" Jün Tzu : the Noble or Superior Man, the advice given in the Yi Jing is meant primarily to distinguish the Superior Being, all the rest are mutatis mutandi " ephemeral beings " which makes one wonder if Life on Earth is not a mere breeding-ground experiment to produce the " Superior Being ", the rest - if you believe in " samsara " or reincarnation - condemned to be born again and again until they make the grade.
© T. Wignesan - Paris, May 14, 2019
Bloody knuckles
Are all that remain
Of what I use to be.
Torn skin,
Scars and scabs,
Memories and
Reminders.
Of a time when I was young
And without ambition
Or caution.
Running through green forests
With friends chasing behind.
A root,
I trip,
And my fingers collide with the dirt.
The soil stings my
Bloody knuckles.
Bloody knuckles
Are all that remain
Of what I use to be.
Torn skin,
Scars and scabs,
Memories and
Reminders.
I majored in Political Science,
But couldn't make the grade.
My effort fell short
And I fell into bad habits.
Days and nights
Spent alone.
Helpless
And at the same time
Overwhelmed.
Too much to drink,
I throw a punch
And the soft cheek of a stranger runs into my
Bloody knuckles
Bloody knuckles
Are all that remain
Of what I use to be.
Torn skin,
Scars and scabs,
Memories and
Reminders.
I changed
My ways,
My life.
I was better,
But not much.
A few local fights
For local cash
And local bragging rights.
Then a few local wins
And a few wins
Far from home.
Oh how things had changed.
No longer did my fist collide with the face of
The poor and angry;
Now the skin of champions
Caressed and slammed my
Bloody knuckles.
Bloody knuckles
Are all that remain
Of what I use to be.
Torn skin,
Scars and scabs,
Memories and
Reminders.
Now I sit
In a creaking chair
Alone once again.
If I had family they would visit me,
If I had friends they would call.
But I remain shut out
And fading fast.
No longer can I remember my girlfriends
Or the places I went
And the things I did.
The only things I hold on to
Is the memories tied onto
My wrinkly old hands
And my
Bloody knuckles
Bloody knuckles
Are all that remain
Of me.
New Cars and cameras
New places to go
Another man to comfort you
When you’re feeling low
Remember all the times we spent
Sharing everything as one
Watching sunsets on the beach
Kissing n the fading sun
I thought we were rock solid
I thought that we would never part
I trusted you with everything
My dreams, my hopes, my heart.
New cars and cameras
New horizons to explore
Another man to hold your hand
But this man loves you more
I feel broken and alone
My life’s come off the tracks
I can’t restore the love we had
I can’t fill in the cracks
Our bodies once they merged as one
Our souls were intertwined
I thought we’d found the perfect love
But you left me behind
New cars and cameras
New stories to trade
A love left on the back burner
Cos it didn’t make the grade
Don’t want to join the broken
The beaten and the lost,
Don’t want to be a memory,
Don’t want to count the cost.
I opened up my heart to you
Now I can’t take this pain Love that blossomed in the sun
Now washed up in the rain
I gave you all I had to give
But thats not enough it seems
You traded love for money
You shattered all my dreams
New cars , new cameras
Did I come up that short ?
Can love that seemed so precious
IBe so easily bought ?
The colours have all seeped now
Rainbows fade to grey
If we can’t be together
I can’t face each passing day
New Cars and Cameras
I will never understand
How “bling” would be your thing
And undo all we had planned
I cannot say goodbye
To my soulmate, my best friend
I can’t put out the fire we lit
So I’ll love you to the end.
U N~ BE L I(e)VE
What if I told you to u n b e l i e v e?
O p e n the doors and let all your t r u t h s leave.
Take what you think means your good,
dump it at the curb,
throw it out and tell it NEVER to RETURN!
“Be polite and fair and be honest, too.”
How many times has someone said this to you??!
Now for your convictions about what you think is bad,
behaviors and betrayals, getting much too mad,
tell them to find some other place to dwell
housing these truths makes my body unwell.
Believing like that leaves me no wiggle room;
no place to smash down without feeling doom.
While we sit and condemn our beacon of light,
for making choices were told are not right,
we also judge others around us for actions they’ve made,
which our limits decide just don’t make the grade.
So maybe set free from this tight little place we can nurture all sides of us, every last face!
Just think about how you’d love if you knew
those dark secrets you hide, are not really you!
Just because you did something we know as BAD
does not mean that this label is all you now have.
What if what is, really is not,
and what we thinks not, is 10 times more than a lot!?
How about deciding, we don’t have to decide, we don’t have to fight
and we don’t have to hide.
For a moment let’s think of how it would feel
to release the need to know... and just kneel.
Can you release the things you say make you, you?
And embrace the ones you did, but said you never do?
If you can muster the courage to give it a try
you and your self just may see eye to eye.
Your unburdened spirit will thank you in ways you never dreamed true.
Its abundance flows freely, no force or mistakes, just the love that is you.