Long Neighboring( Poems
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missing dog, Blackie. Besides the sound of our voices, the hymns playing softly in the
background, the noise made by the porcelain plates as Mama wiped and put them
away, the humming of the refrigerator’s motor, the house was quiet. No body knew
what had happened to Blackie. We were really concerned about the whereabouts
of the dog, even though Papa had assured us that he would return at some point.
Since the funeral, he had vanished. Even the old man who lived across the street
from us and who loved Blackie, had not seen him, nor had any of the other
neighbors. We had searched in all the usual places. He had never run away from
home before. As far as I remember, Blackie never did come back home.
As Papa sat in his usual chair, quietly playing with the food on his plate, the kitchen
door opened, and in walked Thomas, Brian’s best friend. They were the same age,
and were very close even though they did not attend the same school, or the same
church. The two had become friends since they met at a Junior Boys Scouts meeting
at the age of seven. Thomas lived some distance away but they maintained a
special friendship. Out of school, wherever Brian was, so Thomas would be. They’d
both turned fourteen last September. Throughout those years they still were active
members of the Boys Scout, and had risen together in rank. Thomas had been away
on the recent Scouting trip. They had traveled to a neighboring country for a Scouts’
Jamboree. Brian should have gone too but something to do with school exams came
up so he couldn’t go. Thomas had just returned from the Jamboree that Saturday
afternoon, the second week after Brian’s burial. Lena, Reggie and I got out of
our chairs and ran to greet him. It was like welcoming him and Brian home as the
two were always together. He picked Lena up as he greeted our parents. Mama
standing at the sink, turned around, took one look at him and walked briskly, almost
running out of the kitchen, with my other sister in tow.
Papa greeted Thomas, his voice almost inaudible. Thomas looked puzzled. I guess
he thought he had walked in during a family argument. He was about to turn back
and walk out because he felt a little intrusive, I guess. It was extremely quiet in the
room; very unusual when everyone was in Mama’s kitchen at the same time. And
Mama, walking
...Then working with the government,
who always liked more western cash,
they set up an agreement that
they hoped could contain this backlash.
Two scientists could see the arc,
and work to verify its age,
one from Harvard, and one Cambridge,
and to Axum both made their way.
The American, an old man,
Professor Hammond was name,
the Brit was a young grad student,
named Alice, with a genius brain.
As they settled into their work
neither of the scholars could know
that in neighboring Somalia
an evil man plotted a blow.
He went by the name Ibrahim,
whether it was real, no one knew,
established as a terrorist,
an Islamist, quite tried and true.
He’d built a name in civil wars,
the kind that always racked that place,
made a reputation with force,
he left death, and people displaced.
And though the man gained followers,
he was frustrated by his land,
ruined and lacking resources,
Ibrahim was an ambitious man.
When he heard the arc had been found,
an idea grew up in his mind,
Christians and Jews worshipped the thing,
a route to more money he found.
He took with him one hundred men,
slipped the border, went to Axum,
keeping his people outside town
until shadows of nightfall had come.
Then they attacked St. Mary’s Church,
stormed the building with guns blazing,
killing priests, security guards,
anyone they found resisting.
Quickly they sieved the old relic,
took Alice, Hammond, and four priests,
hostages until they got paid,
at which point they {might" be released.
Chased by police they all fled east,
back into the Somali state,
where they hid amongst the chaos,
where all involved did celebrate.
A scheme pulled on the infidel,
they would now pay to arm their foe!
They had no choice, if they did not
then to hell their relic would go!
Ibrahim put out a message,
a video, as such types do,
demanding millions for the arc,
it was seen by more than a few.
And there was a bunch of chatter,
amongst talking heads on TV,
talking of how such a relic
just found, could soon be history.
Religious types the world over
spoke of how it would be a crime
if such a thing would be destroyed,
the loss of a wonderous find.
All knew some action would come soon,
too many folks were up in arms,
talk of commandos, and or raids,
to Ibrahim it raised alarms...
CONTINUES IN PART III.
In ecstatic climaxing designs
for healthy multicultural communications
ecopolitically correcting
currently imbalanced
unhealthy
disempowering outcomes
Our most resiliently robust productions
derive from nonviolent communions,
compassion restoring cooperative
healthy EarthJustice
Resilient democracy
co-invested in green peace
repurposing relationships for mutual equity,
co-empathic integrity,
win/win cooperativity.
This NonZero HomeZone
is our most authentic open design
for health and safety systemic thrival,
composed of egocenter's integral survival,
Self/Other
Me/We extending primal family zones
of great regenerational transition,
safely within our primary shelter
for cooperative relationships
with neighboring boundary habitats.
Zone One,
furthers interdependently defined
loneliest shade of Othering neighborhood properties
since the number TwoZones
in co-passionate thriving re-membered relationship
within our municipal
eco-political
democratic communication,
designing unitarian green communities
with woke regional interreligious education
and nondualistic natural/spiritual
indigenous wisdom reformation
Sharing Zone Two
lived fully
gratefully
gracefully in our daily
sacred experienced community
conjoining double-bound interreligious cultural connections
to our eco-politically ego/eco-organizing
HealthCare Design Team
for Golden Ruled bioregional optimization
of wealthy co-invested atmosphere,
ecological soil,
cultural drinking water
interwoven in this robust economic climate
of cooperative design
for win/win multicultural compassion.
Completing this holonic Open System Fractal
is Zone Three,
Gaian EarthMother
still cooperatively rebirthing
healthy
resilient
spring climaxing climates
remediating rebirth
with all cooperatively designing
organic EarthTribe species,
Currently excluding anthrosupremacist Zone Four
LeftBrain dominant
dualistic commodified employment
of de-nihilistic CAPITAL-HEADED fundamentalists
worshiping anti-recreative professional consumer design
bowing to an autocratic StraightWhite militarized altar
of politically uncorrected Patriarchal Capitalism
suboptimal disassociations
settling for win/lose normativity
ZeroSum pathologically uncaring
lose/lose entropic absence
of regenerative health is trusted wealth
bicameral design.
In the narrow corridors of lost time,
where light seeks its shadows in dusty corners,
words sit like butterflies with heavy wings,
suffering under the weight of unspoken silences.
In the silent cells of a forgotten world,
my books traverse walls, like birds searching
for the sky in a windowless world,
trying to free thoughts trapped in chains of paper.
I wrote for those who bear invisible burdens,
for those who find solace in lines,
but literature, a mystery to the ordinary mind,
weaves into the soul like a forgotten melody,
a song even the rarest of us
cannot understand without feeling its pain.
Poetry, a labyrinth of emotions,
sheds complicated meanings,
leaving behind clear, human words,
like an honest gaze in a world of masks.
Williams called for clarity,
and I followed, seeking to open paths
for those who have forgotten how to see.
But writing is one thing, life another,
we improve the words, but our lives
remain stuck in the same patterns,
like birds repeatedly striking
the glass of painful transparency.
Perhaps, by writing better, living more beautifully,
we will make life ashamed of itself.
Maybe artists were never strong enough,
maybe those who rule the world were too strong,
and we, pale and precious,
let words flow like a river
never finding its sea.
But art, in its intimacy,
bears the same burden:
women, governments, God,
love, hate, poverty, slavery,
insomnias and roads without destination,
times and spouses, and all the rest…
A man in a cell dislikes how commas dance,
how words stray from their path
to capture the exact essence,
without knowing the intention is to relax, to humanize,
to make words like butter or avocado,
something you can grasp and taste,
like a simple and nourishing meal for the soul.
Art may wander, but it keeps the essential form,
like Dostoevsky or Bach,
who taught us to layer melodies
one over the other, creating a symphony
of hidden meanings.
I do not defend my work, but the right to create it
in a way that makes me feel alive.
A writer's boredom is the reader's boredom,
and perfection is just a myth,
an illusion keeping us away from the truth.
You, in the neighboring cell,
receive this letter as a gift,
as a whisper of hope and freedom,
for art needs only the freedom
to be itself, imperfect and real,
in a world that forgets to listen.
Dedicated to my neighboring Agri. University Lawn, Kanpur India.
My Grass Daffodils
The Sun was trying to hide away,
The Stars were yet to shine on way,
The trees were silent,
But the breeze was a little violent.
In the fading golden light of Sun,
I was lost in simply watching,
The spreading beauty of Yours in abundance,
The ravishing beauty, was trying to stop me to leave,
To hear and to feel, the music of winds and Daffodils,
Coming from the swinging and singing grasses,
From which every year comes out, my yellow daffodils.
Every year I wait for them to come out,
Every year they wait for the raindrops to shower,
To show their short but enchanting appearance
On the neighboring grassland.
In those memorable moments,
Which sometimes I have spent,
In the alluring company of my sweet Daffodils,
I have tried to take away with me,
The swinging and singing splashes of my grass Daffodils.
They come out every year,
In several hundred thousands of numbers,
When ever the rains start showering its love,
Only on the grass lawn of Agri. University.
I often try to understand, how even a thing like grass,
Can be so beautiful and so fascinating,
That, any one can get lost,
In the eternal joyous singing and
Swinging of these Grass Daffodils.
In mild rains they bloom, without rains they died away,
Like humans, who gets faded and dull without love
And one day fades away or become jealous or cruel,
Without the tender care and love.
Every year you fascinate me, every year I get lost in you,
O my childhood friend from where you have come,
And to where you would go like a mystery of life, I do not know.
Once the rains are over,
You vanish like the diminishing light,
Like me you also seem to love,
The rains and its mild showers, as a blessing on us.
I know like humans,
You also do not like too much of rains,
And too much of showers,
Which can spoil the beauty of your petals,
And the beauty of you, my amazing Daffodils.
But like the Grecian Urn, you will continue
To bloom and smile,
On the grass lawn of Agri. University during rains,
And after that on the pages of my mind, heart and soul,
You would shine like the Sunshine,
Till I am living and dreaming on this earth.
Ravindra
Kanpur India 26th July 2010
On this peaceful land where we live comfortably
with the neighboring villagers sharing the sun and moon,
stars and clouds, winds and waters, rains and snows;
we sow the seeds on the field, wander in the wilderness
to spot the games to hunt in the changing colors of the flowers
in the time of bloom and fruit and revolving seasons
One day, from the east, crossing over the great sea,
the white feathered gluttonous bird flew into this peaceful land
and took our land by force; the bird cruelly pecked us with his avaricious beak, cold-heartedly tore us with his sharp talons, kept pushing and shoving us eastward, and this vicious cycle drove us into tribal wars and at last, Illini
to extinct.
And this moaning butte throwing its shadow on the water
atop of encircling cliffs is the Starved Rock, the site where
the great tragedy took place, all Illini tribesmen lost their lives.
The water of the Illinois River mixed with the tears of the people
who lost everything in the east via this legion for further west,
now moans to ease the spirit of Illini wandering around
the Staved Rock, which is still hungry, in the evening glow
as a soundless requiem.
The water flows embracing sorrowful Rock where:
the mother jumped into the water holding her beloved child,
the village elders who collapsed while upholding tribal pride
followed by the war cry of the warriors who grabbed tomahawk and fought but, alas, fell to enemy’s hand, now is telling the story of their last day
it becomes whirlpool in the very middle of the water.
When the streams small and large come together the following paths
meet and form a pool on the top of this lonely butte on the other side of the river, and dashes into the basin of the waterfall;
some of them fall rapidly into the steep ravine with heartrending cries
some of them drift like slow moving time in deep sorrow
some of them descend to the rocks of level stratum one by one
singing a funeral dirge.
The spirit of Illini drifting along the river
carrying so many sad stories touches the tourists’
heart; stepping on the site of the tragedy
makes tears stand to casual sightseers;
the grief-stricken stories raise the ripples in the river
and leaves a lingering imagery in the eyes and ears of the travelers
Radio free State of Deseret 3 July 2118, 6 PM Salt Lake Time
International news first.
27 Zionist terrorists leaders were beheaded in the Caliphat of Palestine yesterday after their failed attempt to establish a third state of Israel in Jerusalem during Rhamadan.
One of the last two remaining members of the European Union, France, decided to secede after the other remaining member, Germany, forcibly annexed neighboring Austria after a surprise attack last night. Experts think the attack on Austria was to gain thousands of hectares of undepleted uncontaminated topsoil, and to find a place to deport all the refugees Germany has taken in from the Kurdistan-Turkey-Syria conflict.
After six months of street fighting, Anglo-Canadian forces finally captured the last of the Quebec Libre forces in Montreal. Surviving members of the Libre forces offered only token resistance, as most were near starvation from the blockades.
Several promising oil fields have been identified in the Amazon River Valley of Brazil. Indigent natives had already left the area after the last of the rain forests had been plowed-under to grow sugar crops to make ethanol for fuel.
Venezuela and the Latino Free State of Texas are competing for contracts to drill.
Regional news.
Tomorrow marks what would have been the 342nd anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence of the former United States of America. It also marks the 42nd anniversary of the simultaneous nuclear attack by North Korea and Iran on 7 major coastal cities of the USA during America's tricentennial celebrations, which precipitated the schisms in North America today.
The Deseret Volunteer Guard and Air Force successfully defended the kingdom against a new wave of attacks by gangs, pirates, and sexual deviants that tried to infiltrate via Las Vegas into what used to be Zion National Park.
The Prophet's Safety Council wants to remind all faithful member-citizens to avoid exposure to direct sunlight, to always carry your portable water decontamination kits and air filter masks with you, and to compost all plant materials and use your compost in your sheltered Victory Greenhouses.
Keep the Faith. Radio free State of Deseret signing off.
In One Hundred Years poetry contest
3 June 2018.
What if we make it in time
Took my eldest brother of heart
I was age eight
Routing me through different foster homes
I could turn to nothing other than art
Script my life to a page, my newly designed faceplate
Registered me in school with hillbillies
Rednecks lurking behind oak trees
plotting to noose and conceal me
Troubles away from home
It’s all my fault, I’ll withstand the punishment
Take a recess, filter out the problems
Let you know how much fun it’s been
Street thugs want to beat; I’m no ones fool to beat
Pressure me and in my possession I acquire the tools to beef
As Lustful individuals we relaxed in our own deceit
Situations come to a stand still
I take shelter beneath the neighboring bridge
I’m grown and on my feet
Who could criticize my passion for success?
Here lately it’s become a fashion to stress
In these heated hours of liaison with we nest
I believe in me, myself, and nothing else
I’m out late in the night
I’ve got to get the rent
Trying to lead of life toward luxury
Another flaw in torment I resent
Plus I got issues with the police
The mayor and the presiding judges
So many scoundrels to enlighten my grudge
No one to stand beside this perched individual
Therefore I believe me, only myself
Wishing hard times upon me
Brush them off, time to study for my clinicals
The dirt shoveled, equals the nonsense I’ve been dealt
Put an out cast to ease
A touch somewhat seldom felt
Trailing my steps,
As I expire, you may have what’s left
And who knows, we might actually make in time
Peering through my blackened mirror in scenes
I witness the incessant struggles of individuals in spleen
Mortar over my nemesis as seen
The tower I build in an effortless climb
A have-not in time, this leprosy of mine
But you and I we have history in reply
Rest your thoughts next to this Charismatic character
On whom else could you simply rely?
The love letters I receive in kind
My colleague wants to know dearly
If you have a friend in mind
Paper makes misery worth living
Mother says her rapper insist I owe in him thanks in given
The humor in my latest statement
“By my ambitions only I’m driven”
I believe in me, myself and nothing else
But who knows, we might actually make it in time
I have an internally repetitious desire,
need,
want,
to seek reassurance
Not so much about,
Am I the fairest/ugliest of Them all?
But, lately,
more maturely,
rationally,
calmly and yet curiously,
compassionately,
Am I healthy?
How am I healthy/unhealthy?
spiritually/mentally
naturally/physically
politically/personally
Meanwhile,
nonverbal rightbrain gut-felt instincts
follow a similar light toward healthy purpose,
but more intuitively systemic
than leftbrain verbal analysis.
If healthy consciousness,
then when,
where,
and why are we most safe
and least unsafe?
An appreciation/depreciation question
of healthy rational purpose,
or not
Logical, yes
but also,
more deeply ecological,
a felt personal theological curiosity quest
for safe compassionate meaning
in relationship to
and from
EarthTribal
drawn-to-the-light
progenitors
Our indigenously wise
felt fellow
hearty
hardy
hale anthro-familials,
co-passionate organic environmentals,
edibles
and ornamentals
Mountain forest transcendent spaces
and river valleyed mellow
intimate meadows,
neighboring animals,
hospitably animated delicious insects,
singing birds
and fat and happy
yet clearly athletic
beasts
Bisexual flowers
and bilateral branch and root
universal health
and unitarian safety enlivened systems
Bipartisan public health enlightening
and safety empowering servants
Bilateral co-passionate
personal and systemically political
co-intelligence
Binomially resonant
resilient
repetitive
Left-secular-health/Right-sacred-wealth
feelings
of why conjoining MeWe
needs ego/ecosystemically win/win
safe thrival
and endless curiosity
about win/lose survivalist
unsafe risks
compromises
monoculturing egocentric
anthro-divine win/win values
and win/lose misvalues
and lose/lose nthrosupremacist disvalues
Predicting how lefthemisphere thinks
autonomously notices
individually processes NonZero Zone
is never ego-apartheid healthy
and always win/lose compromised,
potentially lose/lose traumatized
for lack of abundantly democratic compassion
autocratically virulent;
not more democratically vital
than narcissistic LeftBrain
anthrosupremacist
StraightWhiteCapitalistMale
rabidity.
All around the fortified town all the systems were down, and a heavyset man took all the money and left the town in a hurry. I couldn’t understand why but he chartered a helicopter and took off to the skies and the last time I heard of him he was seen working out at the gym.
Why was he in such a hurry, I still cannot contemplate this mystery, he was here again in a jiffy, doing population census and riding on the bus.
He went drinking at the bar, and was gallivanting in the mall, with lots of shopping bags and a picturesque, tucked underneath his arm.
Heaven knows what that he was stirring up a storm. And when the day was done, he was seen with two pretty girls held close by his side dressed in tight jeans going into a night club.
The cops kept a close eye on him and they watched you watching me watching him, at midnight he came out of the club stumbling in the street and shouting above the sky about the love of his life.
The women weren’t with him; they were singing a different hymn, they went off with another man to the pool to take a swim. The waitress brought out drinks and food and placed it on a decorated table positioned at the side of the pool. It was a perfect scene for lovers locked into a dream and the furry of the night saw tension raging in the sky.
I had a funny feelings that something peculiar was about to happen and so I kept denying this terrible feeling and search for deeper meaning.
They began dining with hugs and smile as if they had known him for many years but the privacy was suddenly interrupted by a man shooting in the air. The women escaped through a tunnel that joined club and a neighboring wall and just as they made to the other side the drunken man started a brawl.
He shot the man and he fell into the pool and I watched the bleeding man suffering from gunshot wounds floating.l
He went through the back door to start up a fire storm but two bouncer’s wrestle him to the ground and slit his throat, then hurry to rescue the bleeding man floating in the pool.
I watched from a distance as the women crawled out of the tunnel and the spectacle of light shine into their faces as they made that narrow escape.