Long Solicitous Poems
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Hello Friend!
You are welcome!
Don’t underrate that we are boasting about ourselves.
Don’t treat us as the suppliers of the basic needs only.
Try to reach our inner voice.
When you get disturbed,
You can come and roam under this canopy.
You certainly feel the ambience pious and solicitous
The green cover soothes and cheers your heart.
You can regain your energy and confidence.
You know, your forefathers roamed happily in these glades.
Fairies often came down and rested here.
Knowing this, they used to worship us.
Their cultures and festivals were tied with us.
Believe it or not, still we can hear their voices lingering on in this air.
During autumn, we shed our leaves
And in spring we get the lost glory back.
We never get demoralized.
We know Life and its secrets.
“Service” is our motto.
You sit on chairs;
Sleep on cots;
Eat our fruits and nuts
Everything is being used - hides, herbs, roots, leaves and what not...
Store your valuables in the wooden boxes;
We die and transform into coffins to safeguard your corpse. Why?
We know the purpose of living.
Living or dying doesn’t matter.
Serving others gives the bliss of heaven.
Look at the age- old Oak trees
Standing like staunch pillars
They are symbols for strong determination and invincible spirit.
Our strength lies in our roots.
They are hidden in this soil.
The inner strength is superior to all.
Look at the mighty trees. How humble they are!
The calamities sometimes cause severe damage to us.
But we can withstand and revamp this pristine nature..
Is it not the sign of our perseverance?
Hundreds of creatures find their dwellings in us.
Are we not protecting them like a mother?
Dear friend,
Recall the moral of the story that you read in your childhood.
“Enjoy the egg but not be greedy and try not to cut open the hen.”
Remember,
Protecting trees means you are building a heaven for your grandchildren.
PLACED : 1ST
Wisdom from Trees Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
Date: 19-05-2022
A few Minutes, a few hours, in just a few days;
You have beguiled me with your wisdom and your astute ways.
I get absorbed in these feelings, basking in your glow.
You ease my solicitous mind with your amatory flow.
Curiosity is blazing with the questions I posses.
The wonder of your breath on me, and your vehement caress.
The distance bears no mercy, when I'm longing for your embrace.
You have altruistic tendencies, I see it in your face.
The addiction of your presence, shows no clemency to my mind.
Searching for solace, in your eyes; I hope to find.
The future is unforeseen, yet rushed by all this obtrusive time.
Making each moment so valued, making each moment mine.
We had breakfast on the Champs-Élysées this morning at Café Joyeux. Their croquet monsieur (a breakfast sandwich) was to die for - one bite can cure a hangover. They also serve a deep, rich Yirgacheffee coffee (€15 a cup) that I think God stirs with his little pinkie finger - it’s THAT good.
We took up most of the little outdoor, oval tables on the right side (there are 10 of us) and our little sorority was noisy with chatter - earning us looks. Our European vacation culminates today. We’re flying back to Georgia in a couple of hours. June seemed to drain away like water.
The minion my Grandmère charged with coordinating our vacation, François, breakfasted with us. He’s one of the flock of Sorbonne Université MBAs she recruits each year to infuse new energy into her conglomerates.
He briefed us on our departure and flight. His imposition of definitive order and advance planning allowed us a casual and carefree sense of travel. In an ideal world, he’d coordinate my entire life.
He’s been on-call all month but joined us, off and on - like when we arrived in Doublin, at customs, to smoothly guide us through and again, similarly, in Paris.
He’s 26, very handsome and model looking. He’s perfectly tailored, with an elegant yet minimalist style. He wears dark shirts of admiral and yale blue with long black jackets and gray slacks with no tie. His hair is a hipster straight, blonde fringe.
He’s so perfect that I wouldn’t put it past my Grandmère to have placed him in front of me, like bait, to see if something with us sparked-off.
He’s Frenchly brisk and yet dryly solicitous - as if I have the power to sanction his position, which, in a way I suppose I do.
“How’s François doing?” Grandmère would ask, each time we talked.
“He’s wonderful,” I said, “I think he’s a keeper.”
“Good, good for him.” she would reply - making the comment sound almost sly.
POTD 6 Mar 2020
Oh, where are those waves
of bygone days
that caressed and rocked
on hearing you cry?
‘Sleep little ship’ I'd murmur low
while ocean crooned her soft lullaby
Turbulent change wrought by tempestuous winds
Fresh cravings to taste the salted breeze
In foam and spray twixt the now lashing waves
Illusions waft to tempt and tease
Resounding thunder heralds a storm
Streaks of lightning split the skies
Your torch burning bright to take the helm
for selfish reasons my love denies
Indecisions vacillate crucial visions
cavernous chasms far withdrawn
The deeper I think the lower I sink
The wind howls forth a cry forlorn
No delusion with love ~ high the price
In this icy realm my resistance will take
a solicitous change of a Mother’s heart
Look not the shattered glass in your wake
The impulses of the over protective mother and keeping her child sheltered in a bubble away from the real world is just not feasible anymore. The ‘Breaking Point’ is, when she must weigh up her own feelings - either relinquishing her relationship with her offspring by forcing it to stay, or breaking her heart if she lets it go.
Ultimately, as in the ‘Story of Life’…. Love conquers all.
~Happy International Women's Day to those celebrating on Sunday 8th ~
POTD 6 Mar 2020
Haven where solicitous parents hover
over sick little ones and dispense advice to
mature ones; an emotional stronghold, not merely an
edifice one enters for physical shelter.
Sanctuary whose personality changes
with time, paralleling inhabitants' metamorphoses,
embellished with evidences of the pride and sentimentality
each possesses, those preferences each
thrives on as part and parcel of existence.
Houses become homes when those within love them and
one another--nurturing, respecting, mending,
maintaining that rapport and awareness
essential in relationships within and beyond walls.
July 5, 2017, entered in Brian Strand's Early July Premiere Contest
In this lifetime full of yearning;
through which came wishing and dreaming;
within many splendid, unquiet flairs;
a voice murmured the word, ‘prayer!’
I was needy and you were solicitous,
my mind strayed to the felonious.
Instead I uncovered brazen devotion,
a perkiness brought such an inner commotion.
I screamed out in misery, 'Is that a blessing?'
Mattering, assaultive and mindful distressing;
Urging and purging within my slyness,
my shyness, my outright otherness.
My mind could not or would not awaken.
Tossing the ghost into all forsaken,
'It's that barrenness,' I muttered.
Queryingly back into memories, now cluttered
I craved an eclectic, or electric luminescence
the yearning, was an essential evanescence
the evolutionists laughed at us in retort.
'It's that piety,' I whispered before the court.
The Judge looked on, a bit beguiled,
as the Saintliness beamed and simply smiled.
Written: October 1st 2023
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In the ocean of silence, I’m stunned
Astonish by its grandeur as I descend.
A comely curtain of conciliatory calm
Elapse the chaos, surreptitious and warm.
In the hushed embrace of the twilight sky,
A silence plummets, ambrosial all nearby.
Astonied hearts stand in solicitous awe.
A comely night implies her ethereal flaw.
Emollient whispers waft into the air.
Surreptitious secrets are shared with care.
Incipient stars start their gentle wafture,
Surreal leaves create a ripple in nature.
Mellifluous melodies mend meteoric might,
Fugacious flimsies that fizzle out of a fight
Gossamer moonbeams cast their diaphanous glow,
Creating an aura of silence, tranquility, and bestow.
Ineffable fairness, fiercely feisty, not frigid,
The break of dawn silenced, as if timid.
Saturnine secrets shrank in secrecy.
Stupendous silence slides, sinewy spree.
Lull launders, looping the limp land,
As warblers start with a duteous band,
Sullen clouds gather, ominous and dark.
Yet awestruck hearts find solace in calm remarks.
Reassuringly, the heavy silence lingers.
Dour faces are glum, yet prudent fingers
Guide the oxymoron of emotions that flow,
Glowering and divine in their quiet glow
In the gloomy hush, discretion gleans hold,
As discerning minds decry peace in the fold,
The prudent ones, with a discreet glance,
Understand the power of silence dance.
Glum faces settle in quiet repose.
Views deepen, and worries dispose
Astounded by stillness, they are in awe.
Of absolute peace that stillness can draw.
Awestricken by the amorphous depth it brings,
They decry solace in the lull that silence sings.
A curtain of calm tumbles, amazed and serene.
As the amorphous depth of quiet is felt and seen.
Inauspicious cruxes balmily soothe fears.
As diaphanous whispers softly, quell tears.
Hinky hearts hearkens a hypothesis behind,
A voice uttered, "Love silence will never hide".
No query or qualm can squeal this bond.
Silence is where my peace is dulcet fond.
In the hushed embrace of the twilight sky,
Silence reigns, and my love will never die.
I am light dawned on an eternity,
Promising tomorrows, giving today
A traversable feeling growling into conviction—
I am the fuel for the flame,
A rock for the lame
Where do I find home in which to land?
Do I seek refuge, or do I seek danger?
Am I vulnerable in my strengths?
Am I solicitous in my aims?
Do I laugh?
Do I cry?
I am in the air you inhale, frequently skimming your ground,
Sometimes I move deafeningly—
And at times I float without a sound
I have seen the change in your eyes,
The moment you grew into a man
The moment you sobbed away sin
And exposed the evil hand
I am light dawned on an eternity,
Promising tomorrows, giving today
But who am I?
Why do you hear me, when others vow I am myth?
Why do you listen, when the thunders threaten to deafen you?
Why do you doubt, when you have seen my wonders eye to eye?
When you have felt my hand on your lips,
Quieting your writhing, screaming soul?
Who am I?
I am the revealer,
In hope I am your chief
The spark in the dark that galvanizes you
The smoke in the air that sooths you
Forever and always,
I am the best of your heart,
And I am free with fires impermeable!
Open and free was Gizelle’s heart.
There for the taking, the smacking, the shaking, the breaking.
She was an innocent, believing in happily ever after love.
She fell in love with the devilishly handsome Charlie.
Charlie had crushed, stomped and stamped many hearts.
People’s warnings fell on Gizelle’s closed ears.
Quickly pinged off, landing in mud puddles and ant hills.
Charlie the handsome would never hurt her.
He was solicitous, attentive, mannerly, respectful, loving.
Gizelle began reading brides magazines.
She chose her dress, her colors, and her father.
Over her stepfather, who had raised her since she was three.
Gizelle was ready for the next step.
Gizelle and her prince slept together to seal the deal.
She had never been so incredibly loved before; she was amazed.
This was a fairy tale she had never dared dream of.
When she was dumped two days later, she was horrified.
She would never fully trust anyone again.
She now understood why her father hated her mother.
It can be gloomy as winter's dreariness...
when nothing else glistens but cold snow;
and it can be as mysterious as summers' nights...
when the crickets are heard from a dark lawn.
Come out and see the many images of the pale moon,
which changes its shape on certain months, or days of the year:
full moon, half moon and three quarter of a moon
still captivate us more than any other planet distant and clear.
Who hasn't heard legends about this mysterious planet not so cheery?
In Medieval Times, it seemed to have magical powers so solicitous;
and to whom it was so leery...if not to a saint exalting God only?
Poets of this age...wonder how it turns lovers passionate and amorous!
I have contemplated with admiration the many images of the pale moon
for almost a lifetime: from my hilarious childhood to my hermetic manhood,
and it hasn't broken its incantation, or changed a bit in color and even mood;
if I could reach it, I'd transform it into a garden of loveliness as anyone should.