Long Small world Poems
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This elegy set in a trimester anapaest breaks the pattern at times when the memories filled with emotion rush. The last line of the quatrain is deliberately kept a foot shorter.
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Thou wert frail, frailer still was thy fate,
And had reasons to feel a bit riled,
Thy sad eyes must have looked out for me,
O my ill-fated child.
For I failed, be there to welcome thee,
Thou had too little time left to wait,
To be held in a father’s fond arms,
And left me rue my fate.
How it hurts not to hold thee to heart,
Nor welcome thee into my small world,
Let me offer this grief of a rose—
A bit frail, feeble, curled.
Now amidst a dark pile of sad thoughts
In a time-warped fast vanishing wave,
I am left to reflect how thy soul
Must have felt, till my grave.
Ye had come to our life long ago,
A bit wan, pallid infant so pale,
Even then cruel fate served a punch,
A gust turned to a gale!
As I hold out to thee this frail rose,
I do wonder wide-eyed, a bit wild,
Can a page turn in time to feel good?
No, my guilt’s piled my child.
To confess and admit to my guilt,
In my plight, having failed a dad’s due,
Let me wish thy new life rosy pink,
The wretched me whilst rue.
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Musings |03.05.2024| child, daughter, missing you, remember, rose, Elegy
A long journey lingering on the barren path,
turned out in the end to be worthy of waiting,
when the signs she had longed for to feel for years,
amidst the fading expectation were confirmed.
In the kingdom of dreams carved out of future,
we had made prime of the slice of our small world,
set an ornate cradle befitting of the crowned fairy,
for we knew a cherubic princess was arriving.
When I saw on mother’s lap our smiling princess
my mind flew over time beyond the realm of reality,
found our little princess turning to a dazzling damsel,
luring the prince charming with regal beauty.
Holding her soft satin fingers of curling cuteness
with a gentle hand I felt heavenly exultant,
for I sensed cradling the pristine translucent dawn,
promising to bloom as a beautiful charming day.
Just a soft touch of nascent skin it wasn’t for me,
it was the lilting lyric of emotion without words,
a mesmeric music of love and trust mutely resonating
the sense of connection I felt in her delicate pulse.
I made a nurturing nest for her to grow up secure,
kept it warm in the days of winter frost and chill.
No blasting blizzard could ever blow her away,
for I held her in the protected fold of my wings.
The effort lasted till the time she flew away,
turning the first touch of bond to strands of memory.
I keep the few feathers she left for me as a treasure
to weave the tapestry of fulfillment in my residual time.
Carolina wren lifts fluted song
skyward
in a forest spotlight
breezily pitched
like an opera worth staging
a sentiment of joy
its cheeky self
when measuring reserve
a song, over-stuffed
poised cliffhanger
from a winged vagabond
its agile volley of survival
wren
of brisk longing
that peeks through green
that breaks our corset-like indifference
buoyant chatter
that inhabits a small world detachment
choral company to dappled light
diva-like
bound
to the heated stillness of summer
Poem composed July 26/2022
Revised November 11/2022
In our universe so vast, life and death is an interpretation.
In our life, we hold dear sadness, and joy is an imagination.
Our life is full of colors, or so we assume,
But there are no colours — just the product of our brains.
Reality is beyond what we imagine.
What we see around is just an illusion.
Nothing is ours, but we paint some as immigrants.
Ego clouds our minds; we live in artificial possessions.
We feel the loss of lives when a plane crashes,
But ignore the plight of children who die every day of hunger.
We drink for pleasure; the poor drink out of misery,
The ones who die are sad, while the ones who survive are sad to live the next day.
And yet we keep moving in our blind beliefs,
We keep chasing dreams, trying to keep away from grief.
The day we see reality, we ask, “Why only me?”
We live in a small world, and fail to see the larger picture.
By
Suresh Iyer
While we live inside our small bubbles, we ignore looking beyond to see the larger picture, for it would shatter our ego and cause us pain.
A long journey lingering on the barren path,
turned out in the end to be worthy of waiting,
when the signs she had longed to feel for years,
amidst the fading expectation was confirmed.
In the kingdom of dreams carved out in the future,
we had made prime of the slice of our small world,
set an ornate regal cradle befitting of crowned fairy,
for we knew a cherubic princess was arriving.
Gazing at the star studded majestic sky yonder,
we envisioned the sparkling face of our own princess
that the angels up there were gaily configuring,
as astral gift for the royalty of our beguiled hearts.
When I saw on the mother’s lap our smiling princess
my mind flew over time beyond realm of our empire,
found our little princess turning to a dazzling damsel,
a princess luring prince charming with imperial beauty.
May 16, 2020
Contest : Sarah
Sponsor : Julia Ward
When I was a kid on the bus,
I looked at all that surrounded us,
out the window I always gazed
seeing old fields, half-trees, half-hay,
beyond them rose a forest wall,
maples and pines, stately and tall,
past that rose a line of low hills,
I could never really get my fill.
My mind imagined trekking there,
discover mysteries if I dare,
what awaited in that country
always had an allure to me.
But as I grew it became clear,
for centuries folks had been here,
the forest and hills were settled long,
to other people they belonged.
‘No Trespassing’ posted everywhere,
made my young mind feel despair,
I thought I was a pioneer,
but my small world had no frontiers.
Of course then I became a teen,
travelled often with a ski team,
to the Catskills, Adirondacks,
upstate New York, it does not lack
wilderness to tempt outdoors souls,
whether summer warm or winter cold
it seemed an endless, vast expanse,
evergreens that held me entranced,
I trampled mountains, ancient stone,
walked America’s rocky bones,
and though it seemed ever empty,
things started to appear to me
that though it was a wild place,
humans had long known this space.
I saw names carved on mountain’s high,
chiseled in eighteen sixty-five!
I trampled down old logging roads
that my great grandpa must’ve known,
though I felt like a pioneer,
this no longer was a frontier.
As an adult it just got worst,
though I traveled and saw the world,
the wild west where cowboys play,
Scottish Highland’s misty days,
northern taiga filled with big bears,
but human sign was everywhere.
No hidden lands, no unknown stretch,
no place for people who feel best
away from laws, rules, and permits,
there’s nowhere left for us hermits.
Some say we’ll find it in the stars,
but the cost of that can stop the heart,
you can’t just walk to Mars freely,
and if you could, you couldn’t breathe.
With nowhere left to roam on Earth,
yet still burned by the wandering urge,
it’s hard for us poor pioneers
stuck on a world with no frontiers.
Total passivity
Seems to me a relevant strategy
To confront the humiliation that is offered to the large
But some would say small world of askers
All kinds of believers in their right to demand something
Who can’t stop asking and expect hoping
Don't ask, don’t beg and don't ingratiate
This is what they expect from you
To bring you down forever
At best case scenario
Applicants are put in line
For a bowl of mushroom soup with crackers
Do what they don't expect
Don't do anything, don't ask
And I promise you the time will come
When it will be their turn to ask
Let them ask and they’ll answer themselves
Gradually there’ll be more questions
But the answers will be fewer and simpler
The sunrises and sunsets will come and go
Silence will produce the most pleasant of problems
You can share it on facebook
How to make the neat little bin
For the used tea bags.
As a tiny tot from pastural Tennessee
My warm world consisted of all things green.
Forests and valleys, rivers and lakes,
Beautiful and flourishing, were all I had seen.
Then my small world expanded. I travelled far
With my parents to an enchanted place.
Asleep in the car’s back seat, I was aroused
By Mother’s shocked voice, amazement on her face.
Outside, only whiteness piled high as could be,
Were mountains of snow as tall as the trees.
A blizzard of snow stormed all around us,
Engulfed in the cold of a subzero freeze.
The hotel was warm and welcoming, but I was not fazed.
I only wanted to go outside and play in the snow.
My father finally gave in and wrapped me up warmly.
We dove into a wet whiteness as the wind slowed its flow.
We threw snowballs at each other, and I missed them all.
We built my very first snowman, so handsome and tall.
Daddy showed me how to make an angel in the pristine snow,
Shaping her beautiful wings with a silvery diamond glow.
I will always remember how my view of the world changed.
The happy memories we shared that snowy day will never fade.
In the white vastness of a winter wonderland, beautiful but daunting,
Holding Daddy’s strong hand,
I was warm and safe; precious memories made.
Copyright Chula Schlesinger-Fleming © Sept 27, 2024
at the tavern in the darkening hours
a drunkard swallows the small world reflected in his glass
at one gulp, emboldened, he dances with inflamed eyes
brandishing the ornamental sword taken down from the wall
and yells “I conquered the world, I unified the country”
“wow, be careful! you may hurt the others”
when the sword, however, fails to find the sworn enemy
to thrust or to slash
the aimless point of the sword flashes through the air
and each time he wields the sword sparks fly
when the sword dance becomes wilder, the world
under the drunkard’s feet staggers; the drunkard
pours the unbalanced world into his glass
and shares out his spoils looted while dancing the wild sword dance
“hey, you! haven’t you heard of Hess’ Law before?”
it’s pitiful to watch the defeated ones lying on the floor
bleeding from their wounds, the horrors heaped up all day
turn into darkness, and as darkness thickens
a stray glimmering star appears in the sky above the horizon
the star looking at its own image
reflecting in the little world in the glass
falls from the sky intoxicated by the smell of hard liquor
becomes a drop of dew and sleeps lying on a street lamp
I lie prone beneath the October sky
Embraced by the night, and cool damp grass
The heavens above, loom dark and wide
I ponder to make sense of my finite self
My own small world, filled with a million demands
How foolish they seem in the scheme of all this
What lies there beyond...in this vast universe
To blame anyone else for the earth and it's pain
I look to myself, and see there is no gain
One shooting star...then another comes close
Like fireworks...the sky is a canvas, predisposed
Burning a hole in the blackness of space
Reminders to me that this earth is a gift
A gift to each one, a gift for each day
Another star falls, in a firestorm so bright
Leaving an imprint within my insight
Of the endless wonders we usually ignore
I will look to the sky where my answers now lie
The heavenly comfort that is standing by
Oh, the mystery that lies in the Milky Way
And the planets we see, and the ones that we can't
Again all reminders that we aren't mere ants
The white ice that blazes all over the sky
Leaves a trail that has purpose, ...............and so do I