Long Meekly Poems
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The guide with his cheesy hat, and colorful umbrella
encourages us to: gather 'round.
His anecdotal spiel is by rote,
his shtick fact-slim and slick,
but it’s also my current gestalt
as I am dragged unwillingly
along by his ‘cliff-notes’ speech.
One ruined effigy catches my eye
Its a fair facsimile of myself.
He (a god/king of some minor something),
looks mildly disgusted,
as if a bothersome fly had landed on his crumbling nose.
My bored skeptical face
reflects perfectly that sour mien of his.
At last I am processed meekly back onto the tour bus,
where predictably,
my fellow passengers are already peering forward
into a new fancifully imagined future and past
an unrecorded ersatz history
and ad libitum supposition,
which is hard to take.
for I and that crumbling king
are not anyone’s theory.
You hold me in the palm of your hand like a bird,
but take heed, for I live in your poems, every word.
To you they're pages bound in glue, without a voice.
And yet, they speak of love to me, your veiled bride,
timidly asking, "Do you wish to change your mind?"
I wait for your answer, whispering, "This shall not be,"
holding my breath and hoping to make you see
that behind my smile, life is but a single word, "You..."
My flowers are withering; my eyes hold back tears,
while you hesitate to say, "Until death do we part."
You hover between truth and a lie as I meekly say,
"My heart knows it will always be you and I."
Here I stand, in a wedding dress, telling my story,
while your eyes search mine as I murmur our vows.
I know you can hear every solemn word I speak,
but I wonder... do you hear what I feel?
December 1, 2021
Inspired By A Translation Poem Contest
Sponsored by Malabika Ray Choudhury
Based on the translation by Henry A. Smith,
of 'The Poetess ' by German Poet, Gertrud Kolmar.
I sat patiently waiting for a fun time to come,
For my life to be happy, full of cheer.
Meekly living a life watching genuine fun pass me by,
From a day, to a month, to a year.
My life song routine was predictable, was easy,
No emotional yards to overcome.
The T.V. shows timetabled, and kid’s sports all planned,
Success made me hysterically numb.
Achieving was fake, meant zero… nothing at all,
Validating how I was living my life.
That’s when I discussed, with myself, things important to me,
That’s when I sat down and talked with my wife.
I needed to glide off a cliff, to wake on a beach,
To exit a plane on the other side of the Earth.
To sing, write poems, and paint all night long,
To find out what I think I am worth.
And now I don’t sit, I’m not patient nor quiet,
I don’t watch others feign happy and gay.
I have a life of too busy doing things that I love,
I saved myself, I’m the exonerated beach castaway.
You find yourself the master of a kingdom.
Sometimes you think it powerful.
Other times you feel its weakness.
But it is yours. Yours! Yours! Yours!
As soon as your consciousness crackled to life,
you began to trace its borders,
learn its features,
build its cottages, and its foundries ... and its walls.
A clear note sounds from a trumpet.
And a herald meekly approaches.
For there is a force beyond reckoning at your border.
A host of white.
A legion of angels.
And you are called to join it...
Your hand twitches.
Your heart shudders.
Your jealous eye wheels about.
It is yours; you cannot surrender it.
You cannot lose sovereignty.
It is yours. Yours! Yours! Yours!
If you flew the banner of light,
your kingdom would be absorbed into an unconquerable, eternal power.
All would be brighter. Better.
Better than it ever could be should you choose to remain alone.
But to fly another flag?
Submit to another will?
That's the last thing. The deepest key. The final card you have to play.
Can you really trust it to another?
Even if you know you stand to gain everything
by giving it away...
13 May 2024
I wish to write about what life does mean to me
Such is for me, a task not so easy
For Life, O Life, does be for me a very school of philosophy
See you, I see it not as being worthy of being given any meaning!
Yes, life is so strange, its ways, itself, life is but a mystery
Why, life does take birth, out of love, out of compulsion
Out of obligation, sometimes even without asking for permission
But life does end in a way oh so sudden, sometimes without even any predicting!
Life is supposed to be a blessing
Indeed such is what is considered by many
Yes, life is also a pain, a misery
See you those starving, those homeless, those dying!
Even those who did get a good birth, do get old
Do get diseased, some experiencing even the incurable
Some do live in emotional pain, experiencing it in manifold
Some of them never even do get to see life as being enjoyable!
Life, I believe is a prison
A prison for those fallen
Fallen from the Holy Garden
That known as the Eternal Eden
We do come here to serve a sentence
See you, Fate and Karma, in coalition, do lead the dance
If we do be good, following meekly the merciful rules
Why, we are sure to enjoy, someday, from this world, a final deliverance
Should we rebel, should we be religiously illegal
Why, we shall again suffer a fall
Again and again, with our past deciding on our future
Again and again, being propelled here in this world, oh so sour!
Yes, such is what I believe is the meaning of life
Apart from this, I see nothing else
Apart from this, I see no clarification that can I give to it
Indeed, apart from this, I would see life as being a mere accident of merging atomic cells!
The guide with his cheesy hat, and colorful umbrella
encourages us to: gather 'round.
His anecdotal spiel is by rote. His shtick is fact-slim
and slick, but it’s also my current gestalt as I am dragged
unwillingly along by his CliffsNotes speech.
What catches my wandering eye is that this one ruined effigy
is a fair facsimile of myself. He (a god/king
of some minor something), looks mildly disgusted, as if
a bothersome fly had landed on his crumbling nose.
My world-weary face reflects perfectly that sour mien.
At last I am processed meekly back onto the tour bus,
where predictably, my fellow passengers are already
peering forward into a new fancifully imagined past
from an equally fanciful present.
"Happiness? The color of it must be spring green." - Frances Mayes
Soft sun embraces souls, sentimental,
Shimmering stars sing through the silence,
While a heavy moon glows gently,
Graceful as winds who ease moods,
Skies alive with shadows,
Drifting through heaven,
Spring’s wavering,
Like music,
Soothing,
Dreams.
Calm,
Pretty,
Flowers bloom,
Delighting songs,
Played by lissome wings,
As dewdrops flow meekly,
New petals praise their Maker,
While the morning groans, still hopeful,
Melodies stir deep feelings, flowing,
Across the hearts who know Spring’s song of love.
(alternately titled -
today's lesson iz
addressing categorical imperative)
Courtesy of unpleasant he
ping diatribes visited me
from eldest offspring ugh gree
guss vituperations, doth force me
to admit (and take key
lock, stock, and barrel
lamentations to heart), that she
(Eden Liat) didst
perceive (hence nee),
interpret as her reality
regarding my actions,
intents, words, et
cetera men knee
instances of objectionable
dealing with situations
of mine mien to thyself
(lamely, meekly, and nervously
pleading being oblivious),
nonetheless purportedly untoward
fatherly behavior, said kin recoils
in reaction to extremely re:
pulse sieve, no matter,
whether paternal behavior
of mine unintentional (see
ming lee) find
ding total unawareness
as poor excuse, which does not
hold candle box
three doors down, nor
bankable, dutiful guarantee
hence this papa, heed decree,
his displeasing, now accepting
onerous task of child rearing
inflicted hurtful affects asper,
mismanaging challenges
as legal guardian,
and thus grievously, honestly,
and readily attests averse
to hold a mirror be
fore my person as
proof positive aware
ness, and accept,
how I usurped carte blanche
(parental role, no
matter honest intentions,
sans welfare of daughters)
unknowingly shamefacedly interpreted
as unflattering about me
whom willy nilly
bandied authoritarian free
reign (and/or rein)
recounting mine foibles, viz
despite my best intentions,
impressions, and iterations
as even handed sues err un tee
I mint jewel
lip succoring (suzerainty)
spurring the conundrum,
que who, what,
and how does one pre
sent lee define
true intentions, and whether
neutral stance can be cree
jewel less lee codifies, si?
You will see me alone, dining.
Always near a window
Watching people hurrying outside,
Or well-dressed patrons
Frequenting the five-star diner,
My favourite eating place.
Alas always alone.
Still one lady, impeccably dressed
Always visited the place every Saturday.
And always with a different escort.
I wondered who she was,
But I could hardly ask her, could I?
Her escorts seemed rich and elegant.
Not that I was shabbily dressed.
But I was not the handsome type.
Then one day she came in alone.
She had no escort as she ordered her food.
What could I do? I approached her meekly
And asked for her company.
"Finally, you came," she smiled.
We never dined alone from then on.
FICTION
Veiled beauty so homely, so chaste
Purging-black your crown doth baste
Cloistered mantle throttles your solemn waste
Erudite cloak exhibits subtle, stolid taste
Sensual nature appealingly encased
Your virtue, fealty cannot be effaced
All pageantry and style have been erased
Remaining, intrinsic qualities meekly showcased
Outwardly modest; inwardly circumspect
Physical qualities restrained, derelict
Bearing your social stigma without respect
For the fashion police; who your sublimity reject
Bridled maiden so simple, so plain
Retract your temporal, flowing mane
Reveal your fair, pale grain
Your passion, honor no longer restrain