Long School days Poems
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He was the kid with the squint who we heckled all day,
at school, in the class, then again at play.
We would call him Cyclopes, hold up fingers, ‘how many?’
He had a miserable time and his name was Keith Spenny.
I can’t say I am proud, the fact is I'm not,
there are memories lodged, I wish I had forgot.
He never complained, he took all the skit,
never argued back, no never, one bit!
That was back in the day, forty years have now past,
school days long gone, I’d moved on at last.
A wife and two kids, three grand kids and all,
who were all shopping, that fateful day, at the mall.
The gunman appeared, shooting crazy at folk,
shot a woman, two kids and an elderly bloke.
He stood there and laughed, pointing the gun straight at me,
and my grandchildren too, nowhere could we flee.
He took aim and the grand kids held on for dear life,
as did my hysterical, petrified wife,
when a man launched himself, blocking his sight,
and took the full force of the gunman’s might.
We all fled as the cops finished off the task,
that the brave man has started; but who we should ask?
‘‘twas the squint in his eye, when they turned him around,
as I sobbed in my heart, for lay Keith on the ground.
By Phan Tan Hai
Fifty years—sitting and remembering
a youth shattered by turmoil;
dreams still stunned with disbelief—
marching in the streets, burning cars, protesting.
Seeing my father hanging from a bridge,
seeing myself with a torn hat, begging;
seeing my mother weeping through a century,
seeing the sky emptied of a thousand birds.
Fifty years—never truly sleeping,
staring at history, eyes wide;
Nha Trang, Pleiku, Ðà N?ng—
night after night my hair turned white in the mirror.
Sunlight still falls on the old schoolyard,
dust dimming the faces of friends;
why should beauty grieve in storm season—
midnight, counting drops of rain.
Fifty years—dream or reality,
reading books by a flickering lamp;
touching life and feeling it break,
shaping a statue that never becomes whole.
Reading books, dreaming of peace for the world,
calling for gentle winds and kind clouds;
the monochord from school days—
blood still oozing from my fingertips.
Fifty years—friends from the Philosophy Group
carrying a mother’s lullaby into life;
writing verses of horses crying in the night,
mourning a history deaf, mute, and blind.
The midnight horn of the seventh lunar month,
pouring wine to send off wandering souls;
waiting for dawn in repentance,
vowing my life to be a tower of incense.
Fifty years—looking back,
sutras copied, tears blurring the page;
a thousand lifetimes drifting, still grateful to the Buddha,
sending all sorrow away with the falling rain.
History passes—its tragic river,
the conch shell’s call, the wandering troupe;
I kneel before the Buddhas of three times,
vowing my life to shine like a mirror.
--- This poem is dedicated to the writer Le Lac Giao and the members of the Philosophy Study Group at the Saigon Faculty of Letters, commemorating the 50th anniversary of their first meeting (1970–2020). Most of the group members have since devoted themselves to the study of the Dharma under the guidance of the Tibetan Temple in Binh Duong, Vietnam. This piece also serves as the Afterword for Le Lac Giao’s short story collection, "The Sad Smile of Summer".
Every time I see a handicapped youth,
My heart cries tears of thankfulness.
Reflecting on my high school days,
That could’ve been me in a wheelchair.
I have challenges like anyone else,
Yet abundantly blessed to be mobile.
Taking medication is so universal,
It seems absurd if you take nothing.
I don’t want to review my past,
I only want to establish my future.
Lessons are learned reflecting the past,
Goals are reached when I plan and attack.
I was put on earth for a purpose,
Don’t discard me like daily garbage.
As I progress with every atomic step,
I praise God for my every breath.
I can recall vivid memories of my life, which is beautifully woven & treasured in the locket of my heart:
I can recall my school life where there were lots of fun & learning..
~No disrespect for teachers & disobedience.
I wish could travel back to school days possessing pure age of innocence....
I can recall my childhood days when there were no introduction of computer's and smart phones...
~No crimes due to social media.
I can recall those times when there were lots of love among family members ...
~No issues of sibling rivalry and domestic violence.
I can remember those times when people were caring for animals by being less selfish...
~No thoughts of encroachment,No business ideas.
I can remember those wonderful days where family members sat together and chit-chatted face to face..
~No influence of technologies.
I can remember those days where we all played outdoor & indoor games with friends & families..
~No passing time with strangers online.
I can remember those days where we loved savouring delicious home made foods.
~No craze for fancy foods ,No complaints.
I can reminisce those times where we listened to parents & elders with lots of patience.
~No hatred,No cross- questions,less arguments.
I can reminisce those days where there were elated arranged marriages as well as love marriages.
~No conviction of extra-marital affairs & less cases of divorce.
I reminisce those days when everyone felt to appreciate each other talents & skills.
~No discrimination ,No cunningness.
I reminisce those days when people were empathizing without any expectations.
~No greed ,No fake perceptions.
2-5-2020
~DEEPA~
*Pick-A-Title, Vol 16 - Free Verse 2 - Poetry Contest*
Title chosen:The Last Good days of Innocence
Sponsor-Edward Ibeh
Oh, the memories of school days from the past,
Those high school days I will never forget;
Happy to recall those gym dances, oh what a blast !
All of us girls loved those dances with no regrets,
Crowding into the restrooms to fix hair and makeup;
Those high school days- I will never forget !
Oh, for days, new dance steps we would dream up,
Then the day arrives and girls and boys fill the gym;
Crowding- in the restrooms fixing hair and makeup !
Boys on one side, girls on the other, then I saw HIM,
Madonna was doing the Vogue and we did not move;
Then the day arrives- and girls and boys fill the gym !
I was ready to show off my attire and my groove,
Then, it happened, Jennifer was singing, Lets Get Loud,
Madonna was doing the Vogue- and we did not move !
Then, I was Livin La Vida Loca, I was on a cloud,
Oh, the memories of school days- from the past;
Then it happened Jennifer was singing, Lets Get Loud,
Happy to recall those gyms dances, oh what a blast !
___________________________
February 4, 2016
Poetry/Terzanelle/Livin La Vida Loca
Copyright Protected, ID 16-752-332-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
For the contest, Lets Hear It,
sponsor, Judy Konos
First Place
People say, it’s very difficult to reach out to their fathers,
But my father adds to the count of my cap’s feathers.
More than a father-daughter,
My relation with him has been more of honor.
He would stand for me against anyone who would try to bother.
With all his decisions for my life turning positive,
Sometimes I doubt: With GOD, is my father my life’s fellow author?
During our high school days,
his day would start at 4 in the mornings,
giving us the first wakeup call,
and thereafter some tactical warnings.
Preparing us morning tea,
Then drive us to tuition daily with a mission
Of giving us a future that was trouble free
Right from ironing the uniforms of his daughters number one, two and three
To growing them into girls who were allowed to argue and make their father
agree
To making sure that he gave us values that would be as strong as roots of a
banyan tree,
Working selflessly all knowing that he would have to let go
and set his money making kids very soon free
Bright future of his kids is what my father always believed in
and could foresee.
What my father did for us,
I can never forget,
I've got the best father on Mother Earth,
This is what I can bet.
Dear Budding Poet,
Modern poetry to me is the reflection of the chaos and
declining intolerance of modern times. It expresses the pent-up
emotions writhing in complexity trying to embrace our beautiful lives.
I know you’re a budding poet pining to express yourself and
aspiring to make a mark. My advice to you would
be to listen to your heart and transcribe in your own way what
it says. It’ll become a poem because your heart is the window
on the world through which you perceive the human values taking
intricate shapes, yarns of emotions weaving tapestry of joy
and grief, and the beauty of life designing ecstasy in your mind.
Don't ever close this window. You look out at the pristine
nature and absorb the elegance it frames. You would reach
the realm of exaltation when your mind would swim on
imagination. Let it flow in its own course meandering through
the landscape of your times. Wake up the muse in you and
let it float. You’ll then find formless blocks of words appear
as imagery. You need to use your pen to sculpt from these
the piece of art, your poetry.
Poetry in my life is like a perennial fountain drenching my
parched mind, drowning my sorrow, draining my tears
and satiating me with joy of creation.
My favorite themes : nature, love, emotions, fantasy,
introspection, desire, dream.
My favorite reference sources : www. howmanysyllables.com,
Cliché Finder, Thesaurus, www.rhymezone.com.
Titles of my favorite poems I’ve written (in order of preference) :
Atmospheric Pressure, Your Lacustrine Beauty, Through
The Opaque Night, Flowing Silence, As I was Walking In The Snow,
Searching You, Sign of Times, Kite Flies Away From Concrete
Jungle, Opening The Mind’s Petals, Embrace of Quietus.
My literary background : I’m an Earth Scientist having a doctorate
degree, published many scientific papers , received national
awards for research. My parents who were teachers of
literature infused in me the love for poetry. I started writing poetry
from high school days, published 4 books of poems.
Suggestion for book title : “The making of a poet”,
“Poems in search of a poet”.
May, 23, 2018.
Writing poetry is my passion
It always has been
Right from my school days
Back then, it was just a hobby
Pursued after school time and study time
Back then, I never dreamt of anything bigger
I was content with writing in my diary
During my college days, my interest grew
I learnt about various forms
And was always keen to explore them
I used to write during my journey
To and from the college
Seeing my interest in English poesy
My grandpa suggested publishing them
And thus a dream was sowed in my mind ~
To have my own book of penned words
Since my grandpa is in literature ministry
It seemed within easy reach at that time
I selected few of my poems
And sent them to my grandpa
Then came editing and formatting
It took three full years
To bring it to a suitable format
Then came the issue of budget
So again, my dream got halted
For another two years
During this time, I continued writing more and more
By God’s grace, I found Poetry Soup
Which helped me grow in my writing process
Meanwhile, I kept my dream book in prayers
A little disappointed with the delay
But, remember, God does everything in His own time
And His time is the best
And my dream book got published this year – 2021
It is titled, “Penned for His Praise”
And I am extremely grateful to the Lord.
11.11.2021
For Regina McIntosh's "Thanksgiving Blessings" contest
To bring back the years gone by
those years of my early childhood
growing up in the early sixties
wishing that time had still stood
everything then seemed so cool
living in time free of present pace
none of the fastness of today
just a stillness that filled your space
There was contentment and real peace
with friendship and unity did abound
you knew those you could trust
real friends were to be found
Your house could be left unlocked
make up your time easy to do
oh to have these days again
that would be a dream to come true
(I have written this poem to recollect my favourite days of growing up in my pre school days when life seemed so contented and peaceful then, living in the countryside having real freedom before lifes trials came upon us.)
What makes one to write verse?
especially when school days was zero
english classes were complete bore
always at bottom so was no hero
This so well describes me then
couldn't wait to get away from school
didn't know what my future would hold
letter writing I loved pen was fav tool
Now looking back maybe just not right time
needing encouragement for ink to flow
time was on my side for to develop
best things in life sometimes come slow
Even reading poetry didn't really excite
as Ayrshire lad wasn't drawn to Robert Burns
it took holidays down in Lake district area
view Wordsworth house for mind take turns
Now finally things coming together
the inner ink gradually dripping out
admit I'm not that great so far
such pleasure to write without doubt
God has filled me with His truth
so I need to faithfully tell it forth
seeking to give God all the glory
inspired from one divine source
(My coming together to write poetry was a slow long trip but it now comes as a great joy to do. )