Long Scampered Poems
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The sonorous voice of God woke Jonah from his siesta one fine day,
Saying, "Arise! Get ye to Nineveh and I'll brook no delay!
I've volunteered you to go there and preach in that wicked town,
The people are very unruly - they need a good dressing down!"
"No way!", said Jonah, astraddle his ass to Joppa, fleeing from the Lord!
"If I can find a ship sailing for Tarshish, I'll try to get aboard!"
He paid his fare, went below and promptly went to sleep,
Just as the Lord caused a great tempest to come upon the deep!
The ship was in great peril - the captain shook Jonah awake.
"Hey, dude, call upon your God - see if He will calm this lake!"
Lots were cast to sort out their plight - Jonah drew the short straw.
The crew heaved him overboard and he landed in a whale's maw!
For three days and three nights he cruised about in this condition,
Praying, "Lord, I'll do anything! Deliver me from this perdition!"
The Lord heard him and brought his misery to a pleasant end,
Commanding the whale to regurgitate and deposit him on dry land!
Now this "whale" of an experience converted old Jonah,
And he vowed to the Lord he'd assume a new persona.
He scampered to Nineveh to offer a choice vis-a-vis heaven or hell!
The Lord blessed him, saying, "My boy, you did extremely well!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
At this very moment coolies screamed, ‘train',
We scampered, packing up our bags and bales;
A long-awaited train’s at times a bane,
But this one turned a boon, such were the tales.
An English gentleman hailed our hero
From his carriage, and we parted to go
Our diverse ways—to our cattle-class seats.
There was no chance to know who that man was,
Nor could more light upon his tale be lit;
Indeed, never-ending may prove some pause.
Some truths, some lies of life lie ever so;
Maybe, he took us as credulous fools.
A painful nerve, if anxious, seldom cools,
Some truths and lies forever curious grow.
Perchance the man minted fun at our cost,
And damsels in distress lay buried, lost.
_____________________________________________
Narrative |01.04.2024|
Note: A poetic translation of Rabindranath Tagore’s story in Bengali: Kshudhaarto Paashaana, divided in I to XIV parts, largely in blank verse that lapses into rhymes along with its twists and turns. The story is known to have happened during Tagore’s stay at Shaahibaug palace in Ahmadabad, the nearby river Sabarmati becoming river Suista in the story.
October vortexes
summer
scampered
with steam
auburn haze
Keats poetized
musings of
darkness
In windswept
mardy
asteroid
blizzard unruffled
booms
merciless
along
October shore
what creates
glitter within
probe
craves
from
beyond&
rose petals
adorn
floor
loosed in
whirling breeze
& cotyledons
perishing
prophylactic's not
persuasive to
everything&
pay tribute to
petals
precariousness
during
periods
of upheaval
discover
snug scope
within
Equinoctial point
where
you settle
&yet steadfast
suppleness
soften
fruitfulness
as
diehard Poets
&devotees of
dimnesses
deepening
autumn's
sublumic
deepness
Written: October 04, 2022
A Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand
Under the moonlight, the voices chant.
Young voices, and nearby, the old men rant
Over kegs of fresh palm wine and kola nuts
Spitting out proverbs and some, with coconuts.
The locust chirps purifies the atmosphere
Mingling with the scent of fresh brewed corn beer
For which my pals and I salivate while skipping
On the "Tabala" conscious, there was none for tasting.
The Village "ngong" beats it's music,
As the maidens shake their waists and tunic
Exciting the lads who gaped in ecstasy
Rubbing their hands in frenzy
Grandpa, in solemnity poured libation,
With proverbs, rumbled out incantation
While creating a link with our ancestors
Who sat side by side with our predecessors.
As the Moon weaned, we scampered homeward.
Accompanied by drums beating skyward,
Jostling lads, professing feelings with gifts of groundnuts
Many of them shy and without guts.
A score later,
With bowed head under the moon I sit.
The yard void of kids with just a seat,
Reminiscing the good all days
Now so altered in many ways.
The "ngong" shed lay besieged by dust
The drums reside in frost,
And while from afar, Don Moen does chant,
I realised our kids no longer play "tabala" and rant.
Such longing for the past brought into me, fear
while down, I let go a tear.
© Temajung Michael T.
Wicked whispers, like hisses,
slithered throughout the office
when the disliked departed for the day.
Rotten hysteria blared
like beastly blasts.
Louder their voices leaped
as they could see that she was gone.
Like following lost sheep,
on and on they'd bleep
about her crazy ways,
her annoying voice,
her ogre odor,
her misfit outfits and
a myriad of mindless ramblings.
My conscience wanted to stop them,
to stomp on their every word,
but my speech was stilled
in impactful silence.
Suddenly she scampered back,
secretly weaving toward
her forgotten sweatshirt,
draped upon her rolling chair
where whispers
gnawed like moths.
She grabbed it with a snap
then whisked away.
I wondered, with
empathic embarrassment,
how much damaging slander
she had overheard.
12-13-19
In one short day, the weather changed
From dark to bright and rearranged
Our attitudes and clothes we wear
To fit the hours, foul or fair.
It started out with quite a storm
But temps unusually warm,
As rain ran riot ‘cross the road
And lawns turned into puddle mode.
The winds whipped wildly; from each tree
The squirrels scampered crazily.
Umbrellas, often such a perk,
On days like this, don’t really work.
As hours passed by, with me inside,
The rain decided to subside
And then the wind slowed down, as well,
For good, as far as I could tell.
The sun peeked out, for just a while.
I got my walk in, with a smile,
But heading back, dark clouds appeared,
This fickle weather really weird.
And now tonight, some thunder struck
And raindrops we will have to duck.
Tomorrow, I can just surmise,
Will bring another new surprise.
The new season did just start at last
slowly crept shedding its past outer
winter integument. Displaying
proudly attracting meticulous
attention with its graceful stylish
semblance. Scent of delicious greener
with elegant chromaticity,
art gallery of nature's sailcloth.
A wheelbarrow, pruning shears, shovel
and hoe parked in the backyard near a
blooming fuchsia bougainvillea
needing a trim. It frames a bedroom
window drawing attention as it
stalks up the red concrete brick tangled
with a lolled white sweet-scented jasmine
vine as it scans the highest rooftop.
A flicker of movement behind the
spiky thorns and fuchsia blooms a green
lizard scampered up the wall and vanished.
3/26/2019
Poetry Contest: Bougainvillea
Sponsored by: Craig Cornish
A hundred yellow butterflies transmuted into a hundred states all gone chaotic. They no longer fluttered in happiness but dropped bombs like rain for oil. Geckos scampered around attempting to bring messages of transformation, but these were duly shoved underground, geckos with their messages.
Ravens blacker than black descended with croaks so loud, it was deafening. Poets sleeping with Bibles under their floral pillowcases ignored Rays of Light in favour of word manipulation, presented by Roman desecrators in history becoming herstory.
A hundred years times a hundred years panthers and tigers from Lyra stalked the continent, followed by a hundred yellow butterflies. The Lyrans attempted to open lids of the sleeping continent, with its hundred states. Stars and Stripes blew higher and louder, trying to gleam. Citizens made creamy puddings, roasted salmon and strawberry parcels, blindfolded. The animal kingdom wept. Still they slept, demanding subscriptions, allegiance, life.
Crimson was the sky, with skyscrapers about to topple. In bleaching bellies of dustbin scratchers, flies settled their veined wings. Phantoms descended weird and wonderful, some with whispy arms, some with goggle eyes, large as saucers. They painted yellow butterflies across bakery windows, subsequently writing ekphrasis on their paintings.
Timelines and grids collapsed. Every clock burnt itself in candle flames that citizens lit in Tarot rooms. Autumn leaves fluttered in springtime with snowdrops falling when summer walking became stalking. Beloveds were circles of colour sending texts to connect, retaining nebulous links. These confused Time too, calling past the present, and the future, the past. Colour was quietly expanding itself underground.
one kaleidoscope turned another
yellow butterflies between pages
destruction turning movie reels ~
Below, a serene garden of flowers,
Above a vast expanse towers.
Cascaded by effervescent scents with permeable powers,
Sat I on earth's foot stool whiling away the hours.
Suddenly, pelted by thrashing shower,
Scampered to nearest, shielded bower.
Between nook and cranny did cower,
As nearby brook o'er parched earth did scour.
Around noon, clouds no more moisture did share,
All around, trees glistened in sun's bright glare;
Sprung I forth from my lonely, wooded lair,
From veiled thickets did I pare.
Across the gleaming fields did I tear,
Grasshoppers under my feet did scare,
Back to my fawning meadow laid bare,
Contented there to meditate without care.
"I was running hard and displaced afraid in solace. Caught in prison humanity solace embrace casualties of my own sins. Forlorn disrupted and aborted running and heard it. Run, run away from your manatees bulls. Hurting and this made me displayed my fears. I was running from the hordes of humanity's lures. I am ashamed and in balance trident unchallenged. Good morning life and embrace me the more always. Run Run away from your manatees bull. I ran away from them I was careless I wouldn't commit nor submit. A man running for my life tripped and fell like in a marathon. I'm surrounded running along it was crowded. Run, running away from the Humanity bulls. It was all my fault it's in all of this premise I was lost. Falling down I tried to get up and scampered open up my eyes as I realized I just been trampled?"
11/5/21
Written by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021