Long Sighted Poems
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There is, in the Los Angeles area, a well-known brand of milk, called Alta Dena. Near also,
is the city named Alta Dena, and my grandson lives there. I asked him if he had seen the dairy there, and he told me that it does not exist. I then asked him if he had seen herds of milk cattle there and he said that he had not, and doubted that there were any. Of course I wondered why the milk had such a name, and jokingly asked him to look for at least one cow in the city, since it was well built-up, and there were no obvious open pastures at all. I told him that we could only conclude that it this had to b a very famous and rare cow that could supply all the milk needed by a large urban dairy, and thus must be insured, protected from the idle public, and secreted in some private home where she would not be disturbed. The whole story and speculation grew into a riotous family "search" for this wondrous animal. I, of course, ask my grandson each week when I see him, for a progress report on the search. Finally, I have decided to turn it into a poem:
A Search Continues
Something very hush-hush is going on
and Alta Dena folk aren't going to tell.
All cowdom secreted within its bovine lair
yet Bo would stare contentedly at us
with no incursive moo directed at the hellish
vine that she must eat, in lieu of meadow grass.
That ever-present cud must still
be masticated; yea, her celebrated udder
must be filled.
Yet none admit to having sighted her.
Beastiana though she be, no Altadenian
will dare so much as low on her behalf,
no bull, Eden-bound, is ready to exchange
his bold, testicular desire
to service mewling ruminants
who merely run away.
Nay, uncowed are they, though cowed they be,
and cowards not--and if you do not see
their wisdom, chalk it up to power,
Bo's mammary magnificence, so easily
in jeopardy before a single squeeze,
not of a nipple but a trigger
thus applied, and speeding out of sight.
Challenge, indeed, our quest to find
this noble and prolific queen
who dominates with graceful quietude
her milky empire slurping quite
without a care, lush liquid destined
not to slosh within her, rather
in those tumescent tummies
ever crying out for more.
Would I betray them for a share?
Of course. Away with those content
to sour the milk of human kindness
with deception. Let the search go on!
~
A Poem for You
By Michael J. Falotico & Dinda Minardi
(Finished in August 14, 2011)
~Dinda~
Same like yesterday of yesterdays,
I sit under this three
He sits on the woodenbench
Before, he just him in the same ways
Then unique him set free
Tastes like dewy meets thirsty to drenched
I’ve sighted his eyes, down to nose, slide onto his lips
How come a stranger makes me beat my heart faster?
I can’t imagine if he talks to me, can I bear the shock waves?
I wonder, when will I get that eager to see his face closer?
My underestimation has been impressed wider
I used to be a talker.
With him around, I’m only an observer
What can I say, I am now an admirer
Atleast this park provides me air that's clearer
So I can still be sober
~Michael~
A day in the park seems to take a change..
I try to write words but they spill out strange..
This blank page is being played with by the sun..
Shadows crawl up and down but none with fun..
My eyes travel past the wishing well to a tree..
A smile that shines but I only wonder is it for me..
All these words I write she can't see or hear...
My legs are frozen from this beauty I fear...
~Dinda~
Who is he? He robbed my breath and blocked my sanity
Could he be? The one who’ll keep me from uncertainty
Or it’s just my brain mutiny because I want him too badly?
How should I know?
My self-esteem suddenly low
Should I start it first, or would it only make out worse?
What a perfection he has, I can only gasp
By his all I sigh, while my hands sweating on my lap
~ Michael~
Well she is moving closer, what should I say?
I will tell her I'm drawing a picture of today..
When she see's there is no paint only words and letters..
I answer "I have drawn a poem of you" which I feel is better..
With no words we kissed and smiled for hours..
I flipped the page over and drew you a flower...
*I had fun in this collaboration. It was my first collaboration and I feel honored to collaborate with such sweet poet like Mr. Falotico.
I hope you enjoy! :)
Now gather around, ye lusty lads, a tale I'll tell to thee
Of jealous Gods, monsters and ill-fated men who sailed the sea.
My tale is set in hoary times when fickle fate was by divine decree.
Then men were men who faced all odds, much sturdier than you or me.
It was the time when the Trozans fell, King Priam's pride was turned to dust,
Odysseus' ruse of Trozan Horse, made him of the God's accursed;
For Apollo's faith was crushed by heel of Grecian fleet,
And rape and pillage, with lust and greed, was rampant on the street
But fair Odysseus, with wanton fill, mindful of the weep and wail
With his Grecian hordes and a dozen ships to Ithaca did set sail
With hope-filled heart, with fair Penelope and Telemachus in mind
His course to fair Ithaca was charted and well and truly defined.
But fate, I did say, was most fickle-minded, and had deviously contrived
A fate which would try their grit and test how they fought, and survived.
And so the ships driven willy-nilly by the North Westers and South Easters
Drove them by predetermined chance to the Land of the Lotus Eaters.
The Lotus Eaters were a race which the world forgot in their drugged state
With food of the Nelumbo, of a species time forgot, but did their hunger sate,
And drugged their minds to exclusion of world, to family, and other cares.
Odysseus , abstinent was he,, dragged them back on board, with crew unawares.
Thence post-haste did the ships set sail and sighted fair isle with fatted cattle,
Fair game for stocking provisions, but first a Titan Cyclops they had to battle.
Odysseus, full of guile knew that force would lead to hapless naught,
So crept he in, midst cattle din, and there sleeping Polyphemus sought.
And there as the Cyclops soundly slept, blinded his eye, which was but one.
Polyphemus, Titan, unbeknownst to Odysseus, was Poseidon's beloved son.
With prideful boast Ithacan King, in derision his name did daringly decree.
Wild with rage, and dreadful pain, did Polyphemus call his father from the sea.
Deeply hurt at deceit and guile by which the Grecians blinded his offspring,
Poseidon did curse and said, " May stormy seas and whirly winds calamity bring"
So tossed about were the dozen ships, windblown and tossed on heaving seas.
With heavy heart and tired limb went they to Aeolus, the Wind God there to please.
~11 Jun 2016~
It all began as my wife and I were attending a
state fair. My wife had joined with a friend,
and the two of them sought their interest and
fantasies. I simply wandered about from one booth
to another until I came upon a gentleman painting
on a canvas. It caught my interest when he sighted
and made eye contact with me about 8 feet away.
Suddenly, I was taken aback as it would appear that
He began painting a picture of me. From a blank canvas,
he proceeded to paint at a pace I had never seen and began
with a FOREHEAD covered with aging lines and sweat.
The sheer sight of that forehead brought drops of
sweat to my forehead.
There seems to have been a prophetic link between
the painter, the canvas, and myself, uniting us like
the confluence of rivers.
Little did I expect that he would be painting a picture
of me. As he proceeded with great brevity and skill,
every aspect of the painting created a like-effect
on myself. As he continued, with watery EYES, he said
such eyes portrayed my own, filled with cares and burdens
of hurting people.
The EARS he painted were larger than normal and embraced
with signs seen only by those needing to speak in confidence
to a trusted one. The tired, weary, and lonely souls knew
that the ears were special and designed to listen to their
cries of neglect and pain; to their disappointment, mistakes,
and misfortunes.
As the painter began with a normal-looking NOSE, he assured me
that the nose was lightyears from normality because it was equipped,
not to pass judgment on the sins of mankind, but to filter what came
through it. And like a tree taking in carbon dioxide and giving out oxygen, such was the nose of my own that he painted.
Lastly, the talented and prophetic painter paused and stared at me
just before starting on the MOUTH. There were no critical words of
caution from him or the mouth he painted. Notwithstanding, unspoken
words flowed into my heart and soul, igniting a change in the way and
tone of my speech. I was therefore informed that my lips of dust must henceforth release more words of divine love.
Not all of our lives are like a box of chocolate, never knowing what we
are going to get. Sometimes, God unveils the essence of our lives in mysterious ways. In my case, it is a 'never-ending story'. But it started
with a blank canvas.
Sire she's been sighted
two miles south of Sinai,
our sentinels say she has brought a river,
her baggage train stretches into the ancient sands,
the envoys of her retinue spoke of marvelous gifts,
beasts and creatures of the Orient
gems that glitter like the eyes of children
summer baskets of gold bullion
and satchels of spice from Siam,
our men said they could smell the barrels of balsam Sire...
To travel with such unmistakable wealth
the Queen must have brought a war machine along,
have desert brigands been spotted near the route...
No my King, no raider encampments have been observed,
just the regular rabble and agape villagers,
it's been confirmed that her associates
are passing to the people pouches of cinnamon...
I don't trust the Egyptians,
they may try to incite the Bedouins to foolhardy thievery,
our Nation's honor demands
that not even the dust of the devil's danger
deign to dry upon the clothes of her most distant servants,
if the House of Zion can secure a partnership
with the trading powerhouse of Sheba
our supremacy over the Babylonians will be indomitable...
I pledge my life, and that of my family's
to her caravan's safety Sire...
So mote it be General,
your loyalty is my blessing,
may it be as strong as the staff of Moses,
dispatch 333 of the Lion's Legion
to reinforce the Queen's guard
and send a circuit of 15 water wagons...
What does a Queen dream of
in the calm desert nights...
I dream of roses melting
into snake bitten hearts,
I've dreamt of citadels broken
by the grips of greed,
I've seen a child walking out of a tomb,
what does a King dream of
in the shadow of paradise...
I dream of thorned stars,
the division of labor and wages,
of priests and Judges
whom wish to rule quietly without blame...
Do you know what thrilled me the most
about the Court reception...
Tell me, my cinnamon Queen...
The seduction of your Servants' silence
as I entered your meticulous throne room...
I understood their awe,
you moved so gracefully,
your body like an ancient lust
your face a flame of royalty...
I think I fell in love with your eyes,
there is something rough about you Solomon,
but your eyes and lips
relay a sweet mercy to me...
Mercy is never free Veronica...
I will pay the price...
We will pay the love cost together...
J.A.B.
for no fault of mine, congenital blindness has been my lot
i never fail to wonder how i look
mum said i'm blond and beautiful
till date what blonde means still beats me
i can only imagine the meaning of beauty
i've learnt to endure the ridicule of people
who only add pain to an already wounded soul
it also hurts when i'm pitied
with my sister-in-law a constant culprit
the clergyman said my handicap is a blessing
that it's good i can’t see a world so sinful
but he failed to reply when i harmlessly asked
if he had ever prayed to lose his vision
my family even consider me a burden
complains and excuses trail my request for whom to guide me
to put an end to my inconsiderate disruption of their movies
they did me the favour of buying a guide dog
the sighted make much fuss over trivialities
can you imagine crying over a missed movie
or threatening suicide if not allowed access to the television
sometimes i itch to know the big deal about television
but television is strictly for those that are blessed with vision
so is tourism, movies and countless others
i long to be a medical doctor
and also to get married and have my own children
but understandably, men refuse to look my way
i'm now used to the bitter truth
dreams and wishes are not for the sightless
my thumbs are always sore ‘cos i love to read
and it hurts too when my siblings yell excitedly
'bout the scenic sights they behold
oh, how i wish for a day of sight
to behold the rainbow, flowers and mother
to see myself and my dear Stevie Wonder
music is therapeutic to my soul
oh, its the best gift to mankind
though the deaf will definitely disagree
have you ever wondered how life will be without hope
but i live without a hope of regaining my sight
while people sleep, i wish for death
but of course wishes are not for the blind
and unlike those cowards i'll never kill myself
i laugh when the sighted complain of penury
or when they make much fuss over needing a wheelchair
i'll gladly exchange conditions with them if given a choice
'cos the sun never rises in the world of the blind
the need for air differentiates the blind from a corpse
however i've got a few consolations
i'll never get to see an ugly sight or a dead man
i'll never see my husband cheat on me
sadly though, that's if i ever get one
Mosquitoes Please Beware
With an audible snort of disgust,
I pushed back this chair of mine...
In my head, I angrily exclaimed...
Oh, no! Mosquitoes, they are at it again..
Dreaded mosquitoes, they make my life miserable..
Incessant buzzing and painful bites are inseparable...
I bent forward and low in this chair,
Swept my eagle eyes left and right...
Hoping to sight that obnoxious insect...
Daring it to fly into my area of sight...
Both my palms are opened and poised for action,
Eyes radar sighted onto the insect's flying position...
With the patience of Job from the Old Testament...
I waited patiently, eyes peeled and ears well tuned..
Where is that buzz, the flying sounds I know so well...
There! Out of the corner of my eye, I spied its flight...
I trained beady eyes hungrily on its ziggedy flight...
There is no way it is getting out of my sight...
In my mind I relish the thought of squishing this insect...
Slapping it dead within my palms is only the first step...
Mentally I drool as I imagined my feelings when I get to crush...
This nasty insect which is about to meet its doom in a rush...
A little closer, my lovely six legged friend with gossamer wings...
I'm sorry but I am the Maker your trouble making brings you in...
Smash! What an almighty clap of my palms in your honour...
My palms, they sting, they smart but that does not matter....
I opened my palms in jubilation, I have taken drastic action...
But what is this, both my open palms they are in spotless condition...
Woe is me! My almighty slap, that mother of all slaps, was in vain...
By some miscarriage of justice, this mosquito escapes to torment again...
Here it comes, gossamer wings blurring as it flies shrilly into sight...
Daring me, challenging me, inviting me to again kill it in its merry flight...
Involuntarily, my nostrils flared as again I snorted my disgust...
Bent over in my chair, crouched low as once again I lay in wait...
Fervently I uttered a silent prayer of deliverance from this flying evil...
As once again with the patience of Job I waited to pulverish this evil...
Fly hither, fly thither, fly merrily, fly unerringly into my sight if your dare...
Better warn your brethen, bloodthirsty fiends they are, please BEWARE!
I’m hating myself for the person I’ve become
I’m different to all And not just some
I swear a chimp would succeed more than me
isolation my best friend I believe
Intelligence is there but I live like I’m dumb
progression always stalls
I guess I’m a chump
I left it to fate when I went for suicide
it was chance pure chance
I really should’ve died
there’s no reason at all
that I would be found
I thought I’d be placed
6 foot underground
So I live with this hate that I have for myself
I will never have a family with this mental health
I must have been Hitler in my last life
Cus nothing good occurs just misery and strife
Left-handed right handed ADHD
depression self loathing and anxiety,
I’m sick to death of how I be it keeps me inside
every day I say I’ll fight then I just hide,
I haven’t got a drive
I haven’t got pride
How can I fight
with desire to die
how can you make life
when you ain’t really alive
then I ask,
If I feel like this I should be proud I survive
Trying to finish me off but can’t stop my stride,
And if I ever meet depression in the physical form
I will inflict more damage than a biblical storm,
I think the anger hands me an angle
but unsighted what good is a candle
senses blind and the brain sits tangled
but the body fresh able not mank or mangled,
in a fight I fight if I can coordinate
if you move and think you can harness strength
Sighted unsighted you ain’t damned or too late
If you can move and think you must operate
change your world if it’s bringing you down
climb up it laugh and clown around
Cus everybody is destined for the ground
when everyone stays no thoughts sight or sound
so taste the air the nectar and flair
allow the dreams that are not there
smell the roses get caught on the nettles
And if life is bad refuse to settle
I’m not thinking of the person I’ve become
but what I can build what can be done
I miss the people the scenes and sun
why am I sitting when the option is run
why am I thinking of what is and has been
wiped the hate and mean clear so the knocker is clean
set out and enjoy the dreams achievable
always be positive because the air is breathable
Reach for the impossible however unbelievable
I stand unbeaten and therefore unbeatable
She’s dead
But will always stay alive
A beacon for everyone with a gripe
Thatcher snatcher was their war cry
When with apparent vigour
She tore asunder all society held dear
A divisive strong willed fighter
With femininity covering a steely frame
She moved gracefully among men
A force of reckoning
In a world sphere where enemies are held dear
She finally met her maker
But will never die
Her legacy outlives her presence
A formidable opponent now in a grave
With glee they gloat
Ding dong the wicked witch is finally dead
Praises and condemnation come from all over the globe
Some will assess her on her overall impact
Both then and until now
Others will always remember wrongs
That were brutally inflicted
On an apparently obedient society and country
Dragging us away from our empire building
Death always calls
He will not be out smarted
No matter the heights in politics one reaches
An end of a life
Often brings a renewed interest in the past
The bandwagon has catapulted her
Back into The limelight
When she was almost forgotten
To divide and rule seemed to have been her best skill
Her un-bending no alternative mantra
Caused much ill-will
Yet the country prospered
The right to buy scheme made
Home ownership possible
A vote buying scheme
That made the middle class grow
Pity the milk tokens are what condemns her so
She hammered a few who with
Entrenched special interest
Mangled the country
Stagnating both the economy
And society
The belief in individuality
Coupled with free market economics
Set up a house of cards that blew over
Long before she breathed her last
Virulent machismo
Where the sharks circled
Even when they smelt no blood
Overcame her eventually
She was of course partly to blame
But no one has ruled since as she did
A woman in a man’s world was she
Wielding much power
Over the men that surrounded her
Over Her party and ultimately a short sighted country
To the pinnacle of both party
And country she rose
Her handbag swung far and wide
Her three times victory
A testimony to her longevity
And he ability to play the system
She didn't invent
Rest In peace
Or pieces Maggie
You came
You Conquered and
Have now left the stage
Your legacy will be fought over incessantly
OUR TIN POT NAVY so THEY SAID in 1914 Sydney in the first World War 1
In 1914 German cruisers were cut loose
and Emden she was one…………….…(fired 38lb shells)
the Indian ocean she did for hunting choose
and 9 ships were sunk by gun…….
Then she sailed and shelled Madras , I say
captured 10 more ships, when off Ceylon…
Penang harbour a night visit,… hey!
sank Frog and Ruski warships, and was gone ….(Emden was daring!)
November 8, morse code it said… strange ship a passing there,
out near Cocos island, the German raider caused a stir
Cruiser Sydney she raced west at 25 knots or more
And sighted wily Emden who opened fire for sure
Sydney took 15 hits before, she then hit back …..(with 100lb shells)
blew away her steering gear and knocked her funnels flat (Emden)
.. ………..demise………..
The Scrap Iron Flotilla they said in 1940
Light Cruiser Sydney in World War 2
Light Cruiser Sydney had some 6 inch guns
she met Italians in the med.
sank destroyer Espero not for fun
in nineteen forty, yes its said
17th july Sydney was on patrol, when,
she was called into a fight
2 Italian cruisers waited, then,
sprung some pommy destroyers in flight....(pommy English)
Yes Sydney came to even up
the poms out gunned for sure
when she arrived with blazing guns
the Italians run for shore
Bande Nere and Colleoni rushed a bit
made smoke to get away
Band Nere then she took a funnel hit
as Sydney passed her way
Collenoni then she wore the brunt
stopped dead by Sydney's shell
so Band Nere escaped the hunt
Sydney's out of ammo… well?.:)
But if you live by the sword you die by the sword
cunning German's had their day
Sydney met a ship with hidden guns aboard
Raider Kormoran made her play
Kormoran she hid behind a Dutch flag
and when Sydney came in range ………a sitting duck ... 1000 yards
she fired first, jerked down the rag……...old navy trick
two equals did exchange………………….similar guns…
Though mortally wounded Sydney, still,
had some guns to fire,
x turret still fired with a bitter will
burnt Kornoran …'the liar'…….Don Johnson
……….demise of both……….
No trace of the Sydney sailors ...Kormoran sailors made it to the barren west coast of
Australia
and were interned as P.O.Ws....Almost seems like Karma with payback by the German navy...