Long Mistakenly Poems
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Bone-drained, there is no respite, no split second of peace. The “sundowner”, a hyper-active toddler in a man’s vehicle, never sleeps nor sits.
When I succumb to that one precious moment of rest; I am awakened to a furnace running full blast in a freezing cold house and on a nineteen degree night. A butter knife has removed a window; the culprit and dementia-mind panics; he’s terrified of being trapped in a fire. There’s no arguing with dementia-mind; it’s best to play along with the his ideas.
Another day of madness and I awake to a frantically screeching doorbell; it’s his nurse. I've revived in the floor. A migraine faint pulled me down; I’ve had no sleep for eight nights, you see. Sweet respite…she says she’ll, “sit with him”, so I can lie down a bit; a pleasant miracle; such happenstance is a rarity.
Dementia-mind has no solutions, only hallucinations, delusions; absence of mind and aggression for the “sundowners”. I watch at breakfast, as he pours his milk upon the floor; he has no clue of what he is doing or why;
he stares, mindless. When the eyes go blank it’s obvious; he’s not in there. A robot gone haywire, used to be my Father. The last thing to go, were his mathematical skills. Dementia-mind has forgotten so many people; how to swallow, but recalls numbers…
“Who is that man?” he demands, pointing at himself in the mirror. My exhausted mind briefly forgets and I mistakenly reply, “You dad.” The firestorm is initiated; he calls me a, “liar”. Self recognition has failed him now; the flame of his mind is burning low; soon to extinguish.
He’s fed and dressed, but I’ve no time to eat; if he should sleep an hour today; I must cook for the week. It’s the only opportunity I have…when and if he sleeps. I must not go to the bathroom; he’ll break something or fall. I must hold myself until my sister arrives.
The “passives” are painful to watch, as they deteriorate, but the “sundowners” are constant exhaustion. I was in the ER, almost as much as, he. You see, there’s no one to care for the caregiver, but themselves and when they can’t, exhaustion and malnutrition escalate. Dementia-mind is round-the-clock work and two doing the work of six people, takes its’ toll. The disease never discriminates; it destroys everyone.
(My Father died with dementia, a form of Alzheimer's in 2003, after a 15 year battle.)
I can never comply with fastidious hygiene
Try as thee most persuasive person might,
he/him, she/her,
they, them... can never wean
yours truly always objected
being told when to bathe/shower
particularly when puberty
found yours truly a tween
and my mother (deceased eighteen
plus years - sess her bowl),
she exerted authority
and told her "take a bath,
or no supper"
analogous to a queen,
strict disciplinarian to boot
who wedded her king
(my late father) at age nineteen
the latter (day saint) quite keen
nevertheless both experienced
love towards each other
and tricked out their progeny
(myself included) with halloween
getup, I vaguely recall Amelie Beth
(their eldest daughter -
older sister of mine)
donned as an angel
lighting up night sky, an empyrean
permanent heavenly fixture
popular through Byzantine
epoch, which blinded
her brother (me),
cuz yours truly, the devil in disguise.
Here I sit scores of decades
now edging closer to the edge of night,
and approaching those twilight years
remembering protesting vehemently
(way past the bewitching hour)
not wanting to wash myself
in the tub (water frigid cold), I write
how mother dearest,
whose presence I wanted to smite
this puny progeny
grappling as a neophyte
whose Lilliputian stature
(when a prepubescent)
a over five feet in height
who when constantly
teased courtesy bullies
ran back to ma mommy
whose son totally affright.
If employed in social services field, why
the above might justifiably
smack of insubordination
hashtagging me as Pigpen thereby
wharf fare prompting me
to cleanse myself diving off a Quai
in an effort for Peanuts gallery
to accept yours truly well nigh
but unfortunately
getting mistakenly captured
as a prisoner of war
forced by Japanese to construct
two parallel bridges spanning
the river Kwai
as part of Burma Railway,
also called the Death Railway,
for the many lives
lost in its construction,
but my daring do,
(and boyish good looks)
found yours truly
whisked away to the island of Hawaii,
where hula dancers
choreographed, entranced, and finessed
their seductive routines
a native lass smitten courtesy
one wily word wizard
whose courage bucked up
after munching powder milk biscuits
taken as mistress
helped beget our daughter,
who became apple of mine eye.
I used to be an archaeologist,
and minored in paleontology,
had a job at a college and tenure,
Dr. Bascomb was what students called me.
I specialized much in the early years,
the emergence of civilization,
in summer I’d go and oversee digs,
usually at work in foreign nations.
But the strongest dig I even went on
was right here in the good ol’ USA,
we were working in South Indiana,
the repercussions echo to this day.
They’d found something buried deep in the ground,
and it had been there for millions of years,
what shocked the world, it was made of metal,
all sorts of theories ran, all sorts of weird.
It seemed to be a bunker of some sort,
with big rooms twice as tall as they should be,
and strangers still, based on the soil depth
it had been built just before the K-T!
Who was building things in the Cretaceous?
This was the question that boggled our minds,
but this way only the beginning of
the weirdness, yes, so much more did we find.
On the walls we saw strange, claw-like markings,
in a vertical pattern that was clear,
all figured it was a form or writing,
deciphering it took us two whole years.
And when people could read what was written,
the authorities clamped down rather fast,
they threatened our jobs, all our livelihoods,
but I will speak the truth of this, at last.
You see some Dinosaurs were sentients,
born of the Deinonychus family,
the ones mistakenly called ‘raptors,’
because of that damn blockbuster movie!
Anyway, if this was all that we’d found,
we would’ve said so and it would be great,
the type of find that could make a career,
something to explore and investigate.
But the real world isn’t that simple,
amidst the claw-mark writing we’d find
how advanced these dinosaurs truly were,
that they had developed a real A.I.!
In fact the writing was only up there
because the A.I. had written the words,
to make sure the truth of things would live on
despite the hellish K-T disaster.
We thought they might have seen it coming then,
that great asteroid that slammed into Earth,
maybe they had tried to hide in this place,
Tt make sure some dinos escaped the hurt.
But things got stranger as we kept reading,
see the dinos had used biology,
instead of circuits, they used DNA,
engineered organic thinking machines...
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
To My Children
Love is just energy forever changing form, but indestructible.
The force determines the beloved from the lovers, mistakenly interchangeable.
Whereas the latter are the bones of thy ribs, you the beloved are the
blood of my soul, the fruit of my loins.
Be mindful my children of the difference,
lest you stray into a field that even angels avoid.
With the constancy of a love that feels neither highs nor lows,
Be assured my beloved that such feeling with no limits and no end, forever flows,
The rustle of breath from a gentle breeze will caress your face,
A reminder that the sensation may ebb but the warmth of my love is etched in its place.
My lovers I have loved so deep and true, often when desires are expended love also is consumed
Feelings of love in extremes doped most men;
with no exception, the highs thereof drove me till the end.
They say it was natural so love was never the issue but passion run rampant,
Like an eruption of hot lava, it fires, sizzles and falters then hardens when dampened.
Do not sit in judgment of the stirrings of my heart and the errors of my ways.
Indiscretion is mine and the right to stray yet earned I will, eventually pay.
Forgiveness I seek from she whom I vowed to keep,
But ‘Till death do us part’ a pledge I gave then, is an eternity outside my reach.
In the dying embers of that which is left in me, I strain to remember the sound of yesteryears.
From the mischievous toes, paces of woes, lows and swells till your wedding bells.
Of this life, have no fear my child, for to stand tall you know well,
to stand alone, only time will tell.
You were raised hard; the rod was not spared for to survive you were prepared.
The hurt in your young eyes then, was noted with pain and sadly put aside.
But the tears I cried you never saw, only hoping that someday you will realise;
I struggled to ensure you never meet hunger and ignorance, two very dear friends of mine.
I have loved you well the only way I know how; I have loved you good.
When my time is done only one-thing matters so do not let me be misunderstood.
Did I love deeply and was I loved truly in return?
I say yes to both and in doing so, I say yes to God.
I bless you my children and to yours, fare thee well.
T M Ioane
You have to Go..
Yes, You have to Go Corona Just like you came abruptly
and ruined our life
we will soon for sure eradicate you quickly
Yes, You have to Go Corona Just like you came abruptly
Never ever test the human brain and it survival capability
and the quality life
disconnection and distance with others will re-bind us more tightly
Yes, You have to Go Corona Just like you came abruptly
You got invented by experimenting mistakenly
and your fragile life
with our blowing intelligence will finish you completely
Yes, You have to Go Corona Just like you came abruptly
We respect and love all the almighty and its co creation deeply
and its gifted life
with our warming love for everything will escape you magically
Yes, You have to Go Corona Just like you came abruptly
There is havoc got created in the world, will be just there temporarily
and the chaotic life
will soon end and will bounce back to our routine very rapidly
Yes, You have to Go Corona Just like you came abruptly
There are losses everywhere due to you to every business sadly
and the depressing life
will be more refreshing with the new learnings and togetherness with family
Yes, You have to Go Corona Just like you came abruptly
Gone are the days when the family of you had destroyed many of us greatly
and the diseased life
has expanded the ability to save future of ours by creating the ‘Anti you’ each time perfectly
Yes, You have to Go Corona Just like you came abruptly
It is a matter of just a month now, everyone must be alert and take the oath not to take it lightly
and the cherishing life
will bloom again with more humanity in and the terror out from the earth and love full heartedly
Yes, You have to Go Corona Just like you came abruptly
No worries, all Humanity, we have got our learnings with this though very lately
and the teacher life
will always teach us the laws and love we forgot by destroying the balance of nature sinfully
Yes, You have to Go Corona Just like you came abruptly
and ruined our life
we will soon for sure eradicate you quickly
London, Translation of Paul Verlaine’s poem : Londres
…a serious and well-behaved Englishman, well-attired, handsome clothes (Victor Hugo)
(In this poem, I didn’t feel adhering strictly to the rhyme scheme would have served a higher purpose. T. Wignesan)
One summer Sunday when everything’s bathed in sunshine
London turns into a real feast for délicate souls tuned in :
Trees strong and rotund from frail lawns sprouting
Tender green, an air far from mists and gases grows fine.
So much so they appear to be planted in pastoral country
Limpid sunshine feathery in the fine sky, though blue-ish
Hardly. One feels as if in a bath where wafts
The perfume of a lingering infusion of tea.
Ten-thirty, the hour of interminable services
Divine. Thousands of melodious bells toll through the air
Sonorous and volatile as though seized by strange caprices,
The psalms of David come snorting through clear fog.
Such silvery tintinnabulation that one hears not in France,
The country of intensely tolling bells of bitter bronze
Strike up a concert that’s most sweet, instilling of hope and joyous
Though perhaps a little too sweet, one must there fear Hell.
Tolling bells again greet the afternoon. Men in queues
Well-dressed women and children glide rather
Than walk, hold to their silence in a selfish manner
With their voices reserved instead for exclaiming amen.
All this people look pleased in their stiffening posture
Clasping, even if mistakenly, to their profession of faith
And their Protestantism being alike rough and spineless
Makes some look even set right above the reach of the law.
Hopes of the true christian, Peter’s ever-widening fish-pond,
Fish ready for the Fisher who may count on catching them ;
Holy-Ghost, God Almighty, let pour Thy light on them
So that Jesus’ worth they might at last come to understand.
Six o’clock. The drinkers find their way to the refreshment room,
The family its «home » and the street’s abandoned to God :
And in the dirty-looking sky a few stars look quite lonesome
Foreshadowing rain over homeless beggars out in the cold.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
When urinating into the toilet bowl...
yours truly (me) could not help but notice
while living social at various residences
within Montgomery County, Pennsylvania
the following described phenomena
actually observed quite some time ago
maybe back during
my carefree boyhood days of yore
that the uncontrollable spurt
analogous to a golden arch
of micturition arcing
toward parts unknown
(frequently missing the target altogether,
and wetting the seat
subsequently displeasing the next person
more often than not the missus,
who sits upon wet porcelain goddess)
initially issuing from out
my diminutive male member,
(even when fully erect,
no longer than
a small walking stick
for a lucky leprechaun),
when said jet stream
makes splashy contact
affecting fountainhead into pissoir,
whereby a bathroom
tchotchke of Atlas shrugged,
which non verbal reaction spoke volumes,
the direction water got flushed within potty
subsequently clearly described
a clockwise pattern
whooshing within the labyrinth
eventually getting routed
to wastewater treatment plant
at least here within the bowels
of Schwenksville, Pennsylvania.
Actually even after flushing,
or using the sink to wash hands,
the water also drained
mimicking rotation of second
or minute hands of analog time pieces.
After finding myself
flush with excitement
presuming I discovered
some great earth shaking revelation,
a Google search quickly
and immediately chastened
premature ejaculation of excitement
that yours truly stumbled
upon magnificent phenomena
and matter of factly explained
the direction a toilet flushes,
whether clockwise or counterclockwise,
primarily determined
by the design of the toilet bowl
and the water jet's direction,
not by the Earth's rotation
(Coriolis force), which often mistakenly
believed to be the cause;
meaning the flush direction
can vary even within the same hemisphere
due to different toilet designs,
not necessarily consistent
with the "clockwise
in the Northern Hemisphere" myth.
The name
mistakenly saintly,
the other one
a rite-of-life,
a gauche passage
for some, for most
the contract costly,
imprints its meaning
post firey baptismal dive
to rise again somehow
from each our own
calamities, the personal
cataclysm we confront
or shun in a parallel life
of optimism, there each one
observes what was and lingers
to kiss the font of the child
within every one, each their own
version of the meaning
of catechism,
forgotten by most,
yet a lingering malaise
swims in their waking,
a sense of de je vu,
these are the incorrigible
pushing the envelope,
the timestamp licked
and mailed off
to other voices
that do not speak,
that do not arrive
through lips, yet
open sleeping minds
and hold the eyelids
to peer directly into
and through to meet
that thing that powers
the brain within,
to shine its glistening
luminescence, one
senses that thing
which is forgotten within,
is commissioned
to win the race of life,
and lose and then,
win again -
the losses mailed off
in worldly corrupted
creative ways, didactic,
where one revisits
as a dark shadow,
standing with all
those other
dark shadows,
frankly contemplating
conversion, and the
salt-strewn stinging
many paths of logic
through those
illogical clues
breadcrumbed
by all those
other shadows,
the eternal puzzle
of understanding
the life viewed standing
under lamplight;
in the disillusioned
poetic world,
we must forever
cultivate our garden,
that never-ending dream;
all is for the best, romantic
cliches and adventures,
falls and risings;
for those who think
they are normal
and above it all,
above the others -
all is never normal,
all is as it should be,
all is for the best,
we stumble and we fall,
some stay where they are,
others get up again and again;
all is as it should be,
all is for the best,
ou l'Optimisme,
Candide
a muse
amused
Candide,
all is as it should be
all is for the best
Candide Diderot. ‘24
A team of adventurers? A group of friends?
They are a family and that will never change.
Hurtling through space on a mission on the Marvel I spaceship, Reed his buddy Ben along with Reed’s girlfriend Sue and her brother Johnny, were accidentally exposed to cosmic radiation, and each gained remarkable superhuman powers.
The FF as they became known, The Fantastic Four became some of their world’s greatest Superheroes.
The group have had many adventures together exploring new realms of the universe and become protectors stopping villains and other threats.
They are Mister Fantastic, The Thing, The Invisible Girl and The Human Torch and will always be the ‘F.F.’
My favorite of their adventures that I remember is when Doctor Doom captures the Invisible Girl. He takes her hostage, and as ransom he makes the FF go back in time to steal magic treasure using her as a hostage so the Fantastic Four will travel back in time to steal the Blackbeard’s enchanted treasure Doctor Doom tells them that he will use the treasure to conquer the world and rule it in peace. The others don’t believe him, so Mr. Fantastic tricks him by swapping the real treasure with cheap chains. Dr. Doom then joins forces with the Sub-Mariner, who puts a magnetic device in the Baxter Building. Dr. Doom uses this magnet to pull him and the Fantastic Four with the building into space.
The Sub Mariner tries to get rid of them so they can’t stop him taking control of the world’s leaders and brings the building back to its rightful position on earth. Dr. Doom is stranded in space on an asteroid. He comes back to earth and there is a lot of switching of minds via berry juice and hallucinogenic juices (Probably LSD and Galactic Shrooms) and Dr. Doom eventually leaves the Fan Four in peace (for now) to go on with other wild adventures, because he mistakenly thinks he had killed Mr. Fantastic, with his superiority. Dr. Doom is a cool character in the Marvel Comics, and the Fantastic Four are all cool Superheroes.
Immortal and undecaying these poems, I know, shall die one day;
one day all fame and immortality shall fall flat among the debris.
The Himalayas, the Twin Tower and the Great Wall of China
shall be flying in the air like the light dry skins of onions.
The eyes of Newton and Einstein shall be upturned;
upon those eyes, the blue ashes of the utterly destroyed stars
shall be falling down ceaselessly.
Alas! where will be lost for ever science, technology, art, literature,
music and paintings earned through thousand years?
When these poems will die one day;
when all fame and immortality shall fall flat one day among the debris;
when the Himalayas, the Twin Tower and the Great Wall of China
will be flying in the air like the light dry skins of onions;
when the eyes of Newton and Einstein will be upturned;
when upon those eyes, the blue ashes of the utterly destroyed stars
will be falling down ceaselessly;
alas, when where will be lost for ever science, technology, art, literature,
music and paintings earned through thousand years; that day, o God,
pour down those poems into my soul, listening to which, all the nymphs
and inhabitants of Paradise will start dancing in joy.
I walk bearing such a soul which plays like a flute,
sings like a cuckoo,
runs stirring murmuring sounds like a spring
and dances unfolding its feathers like a pea-cock.
If I were not submerged utterly into the darkness of the worldy life,
my soul would play such a way, your sky would start trembling;
it would sing such a way, the passers-by would remain standing by speechless;
it would run stirring murmuring sound such a way, poems after poems
would fall down into the souls of the poets;
and it would dance unfolding its feathers such a way, the eyes of the beauty-lovers
would be dazzled in wonder.
My soul is, as it were, a cuckoo who has mistakenly entered a city;
he sings songs but the outcry of the machine-monsters does not let them enter
the ears of lords and ladies.