Long Mustering Poems
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I jumped on my bike as fast as i could
but not fast enough, it did me no good
The bully kid was big and mean and acted very tough
laughing all the while he quickly knocked me on my duff
Rubbing grass in my mouth, slapping me in the face
him laughing at me, me feeling so disgraced
He punched me so hard then left me crying on the ground
I slowly stood up, was there no one else around?
I gathered up my books and jumped on my bike
and pedaled straight home mustering all of my might
"What happened to you, son?" Mom was the first to see
I cried as I replied "i got beat by a bully!"
"I'm so sorry for you son, I'm so sad that you were harmed"
just then my dad walked in and immediately looked alarmed
Dad quickly asked me "Son, did you give him back the same?"
I sheepishly said "no" re-experiencing the shame.
Dad just stared awhile then said "I don't like what you're becoming.
Next time you better fight, give the bully what he's got coming!
First you punch him in the stomach then you hit him in the face
He won't hurt you any more, when you put him in his place!"
i slowly nodded as he left, Mom quickly gave my cheek a kiss
"I'm so proud of you son for not fighting with your fists
The Lord's servant doesn’t fight but should be gentle instead"
"Yes ma'am" i quickly said as conflicting counsel twirled round my head
The next 5 years when tensions flared i was a gentle talker
but as a bully approached my sophomore year i threw him against his locker!
Thank you Mom and Dad!
***
October 26, 2019
F T I series 9 childhood
Brian Strand, sponsor
One group of activists decided to fight.
To see family lose their sense of might.
Three people involved in each battle.
For the patients each feeling like cattle.
Five days of care each week is not enough.
Sixty year olds help their moms with the stuff.
Seven days a week is the demand on staff.
Eighty year olds represent patients by half.
Nineteen is the century the fighting were born.
On the fence hoping for repairs of minds worn.
Eleven is the hour at the end of a tough day.
Twelve is a base caregiver hourly rate of pay.
Thirteen is their grandkid’s bar mitzvah year.
For the teenagers, ending up like that is a fear.
Fifteen is the age they get behind the wheel.
Six teens riding grandpa’s car, so easy to steal.
Seventeen is the number we aim to complete.
Of our daily ground pushing of hands and feet.
If you wonder why I wrote this special rhyme.
It’s the memory of lost family, taken by time.
Pushups are the weapon that this army fires.
These bodies strengthen when the mind tires.
Challenging muscles with full body tension.
Using Facebook to get supportive attention.
We grind out numbers daily, big and small.
Uplifting strugglers when they trip and fall.
Getting our hands dirty just like caregivers.
Seeing the decompensation brings on shivers.
I’m mustering the strength from palms to toes.
To push back and hit the disease in the nose.
It may take over many of us when we get old.
But for now I push back and will never fold.
Birth
To Puberty;
A sudden crave for Pie
Couldn't tell you what kind of Pie
My conscious only told me to search for this Pie
From young adult to adult, yet, I haven't found this Pie
I've traveled the distance going to several restaurants, and yet, no Pie
I stumbled across a stranger, and somehow we started talking about this Pie
He stated, "whatever your needs, wants, or desires, just pray, even if its Pie
Shaking my head in disbelief, I walked away, still thinking about this Pie
Starving; at home willing to do something different about this Pie
I kneeled down beside my bed; my eyes were closed to this Pie
Thinking back to the conversation I had in regards to this Pie
Finally mustering up words, I prayed and asked for this Pie
I received a voice saying, " You have now found the PIE,
Now, my son, eat of this Pie
For I'AM
YOUR ONLY
PIE."
Pace, G
04-19-2012
Sometimes keeping your tongue straight
is hard when what you got to say is plain
simple and from the heart; not always easy
mustering words that feel the abyss of
living the way fingers know the touch of
life from the skin of death. I figure one way
might’n be shoot’n the tin can right off the
fence and talkin’ all funny; another would be
jus’ to sit there, elbow on knee, and thinkin’
some until the sun sets down. Can git up in
the morning an keep sittin there; sumfin bound
to happen fore or later. I don’t want to preach
just wanna say whats I gotsa say. Get a load
off these bent shoulders so I can git myself
some rest. What I gots on my mind even yer
dog an’ cat oughta git. Why, when we all get
yonder down that there road we all gonna get it
any how so might us well start talkin’ bout it
now ‘fore its too late. I ain’t invitin’ no one
to no roast supper; ain’t telling nobody what
t’do. I ain’t bent on raising no hell nor got
my mind on kickin’ up no dust. I’m just try’n
t’ say that there’s sum plain decency out there
gone missin’ an I think us folks oughta start
standin’ up for what’s right fro’ wrong. Ain’t
talkin’ bout the rules either; jus talkin’ bout
the basic boot straps of how we all’s goin’
bout our business like nobody else matters.
That ain’t doin’ nobody no good no more, maybe
we oughta stop ’n learn take care of eachotha.
Sure not the fashion t’do that kind of thing
these days but I reckon’ somebody gotta
begin. So when ya see some feller walkin’
down the street carry’n a heavy load give’im
a hand an’ a shoulder to lean on ‘cus he’s
your brother. An’ when y’all see some ol’
lady too proud to bother no one with nothin’
you just get right down there an’ press yer
ear up’n to her soul an’ listen good ‘cus she
might got sumfin’ to tell ya ‘bout livin’ an’ how
to treat folks like they be yer own kin. Never
hurt nobody jus’ t’stop an’ think a bit; sort out
the important words from what ain’t important.
We all gonna perish one day, best to learn how’t
do it right; ain’t hard when ya think ‘bout it, git it?
In skies of gray I dwell
inside of clouds,
keeping company with mugginess
and sweltering heat.
People who labor underneath me
perspire profusely; some curse.
Others pray for me
to cut their labor short.
Yes, they pray for rain.
I hear their cries,
for I’ve been mustering steam
during days and days of dreadful drought.
Pitter patter pitter patter
Their plaintive pleas I answer teasingly.
Starting slow. I dole out droplets
drop by drop by tiny drop
The droplets increase . . . plop plop plop.
Wind joins in - wailing.
Trees tremble as I splatter them
with wonderful wetness for the prayerful.
Swoosh! Ker-plunk!
I’m drumming and drumming,
pouring myself down
on thirsting flowers with heads bowed
to reverently receive me.
Umbrellas appear all over the streets.
Gleefully, I pound them, hammering away.
I pounce on the heads of uncovered people.
Soaking grass and soil,
filling rain gutters, and
sliding joyously off many hard surfaces,
I saturate every place that I’m able to outside.
I am rain, and unceasingly
this summer day,
I reign
supreme.
Heaven help
The unfortunate bloke
Who got caught
By a big Jim joke
I heard laughing voices and wondered why
Then surfaced from gonk under open sky
Didn’t take very long to understand it
In the cookhouse queue still in my pit
Now in those days I slept in the raw
(Not these days, not any more)
Grabbed a blanket grabbed a sheet
Scooted off on my bare feet
Mustering any the dignity I could find
And showing all my bare behind
The girls all laughed for weeks and weeks
With jokes about my dimpled cheeks
And nobody knew how I got there
And by and by I didn’t care
And when Big Jim shook my hand
I forgot any revenge that I had planned
For I could see the funny side
Of my embarrassing sleepy ride
And I drank his beer in its stead
And ever after wore keks in bed
Heaven help
The unfortunate bloke
Who got caught
By a Big Jim joke
Lost in gravity’s pull, unleashing are iniquitous racing rot,
obscure entities rush through, connecting the dots
pilfering, extracting inventory, my intestines in knots
distant incense fumes a conscious canopy, petals wafting open-air,
I sense an antediluvian forest, aflame, circling there
Gazebo’s trapezoid holds captive, naked, probed and jarred
A sceptic- doubting Thomas vanishing, broken in shards
fragments of glass banishing, misfit mosaic alters as prey
Trembling colors my core stripping to bone greys,
stumbling over intercranial eddies, whispering “This is not an SOS fortess”
I lift my listless body from off the whitened Kalli bench rest,
mustering up brawn to leave this camouflaged spaceship
gaining is the exotic and final trip
escaping shades of jade and eschewing a repetitive rot
at last, rejoining the existing world’s ongoing ellipsis—living dot dot dot
Let me share with you a shrilling moment, one I dreaded most. 'Twas another beautiful summer day, and a visiting day, at the beach steps away, the Lake Shrine. The layout an inexplicable charm, monks in saffron and garnet tinted robes draping each body, had welcomed me. I must have been aligned with the stratospheric, a nefarious nebula inside the meditation gazebo, I thought inviting and safe. Past mistakes had laid heavy in this dome, this world a jungle, pent up nerves generated, nerves stretched taut. The line inked about intercranial eddies who seemed to have spoken to me, was most difficult to pen. As a child hungry for the opaque curtains of mystery to be drawn, in which 'lamplights strange to these eyes', within my late-night shadowy bedroom, appeared. As an adult I seek answers, therefore removing the line. I’ve always been entertained by mind's photograph, I reflect upon.
The Gazebo
I Am Anaya
2/22/26
A child’s fabulous place on the earth
Mustering energy, lovely kids rush to the ground.
With sublime skills each moves with a lot of mirth
Granted license to break the solemn silence around
The ground enjoys the pounding of their little feet
Some gentle; some naughty and behave harshly
Relishes their heavy breaths as backdrop drumbeat
Hugs and cuddles with a loving heart cheerfully
Little angles budge as the swaying blossoms
Sparkling faces with the glow of breaking petals
All are champions and there are no bosses
Immense joy makes them stride with all mettles
No sorrows, tensions and narrow impressions
Chuckling, squealing, climbing with infinite bliss
Next to a mother’s lap, teaches life lessons
The heaven of joy one should never miss.
PLAYGROUND Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Shreya LN
Date: 19-06-2021
The other day I was lighting a candle,
When a raven peeked my casements,
My envious eyes were buring flame,
Human mouth had to reciprocate.
I wish I had your wings for once,
To fly through the cages of lockdown,
Look O bird how miserable I am,
Clipped by strange disease.
A bird so kind I never knew,
Shred her wings to please my soul,
Asked me to tour the entire globe,
And judge my grief from the eyes of god.
Flapping my golden boughs of pride,
I marched beyond infinity,
On my way were vacant roads,
Armed gentlemen guarding the folks.
So far I thought I was the victim,
Stucked at home devoid of friends,
Bored till end of existence,
To follow a so called social distance.
Perching on a stray tree,
The scene triggered the human in me,
Hundereds of medics frazzled around,
Patients piled up beyond my reach.
Thousands of faces mourning aloud,
Yet mustering up to carry the shrouds,
I never departed a dear one,
That explains why I'm so adamant.
My grief has lost before these idols,
How brave must be their mother's?
Departing their heart every dawn,
Knowing that fate can be unjust.
I dare to spit on my selfish thoughts,
Could not understand the value of life,
The lockdown gave me precious time,
To be the knight of my country.
Prepare your mind to stay at home,
Ease the worries you're strong,
Spend your life with those who deserve,
Let's not lose it being absurd.
Eyes open, Mouth yarns,
Arm stretched.
Yet, my feet haven't touched the ground.
Heart beats, Ears itch.
Still mustering up the energy to put my feet on the ground.
Sun shines in between the lines of the blinds
Feeling refreshed
Another strong day,
So, get up!
Another day alive
Get up!
No more yarning and stretching.
Now my eyes are open wide
One foot on the floor
The second foot soon falls behind
Reach up to give thanks to
The ability to still rise...
So wake up and stand up
No matter the stress
Get up and stand up
Walk strong and continue to
Do your best.
Even when it gets hard
Remember to get up and stand up,
And let god do the rest..