Long Strictest Poems
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Marry Your Best Friend To Get the Best of Both Worlds
Not many can claim they met their spouse in a battle of wits
much less the fabled (don't believe a word of it!) Internet.
But my uncle, he's not many. And my new aunt? Well she's a keeper.
And it wasn't love like a summer fling --- but it goes much deeper.
The rumors you heard - it's all too true - they met on Online Scrabble:
sesquipedalians by heart, but in the strictest sense, true Word Warriors.
Her last turn was an "I Do"... and when it came, he knew that he was done for:
pussyfooting through the back door, the tenacious Triple Word Score.
The date was planned - his bachelorhood canned. Compensated on Christmas day,
a wifie from Wales to tie the knot with my uncle the Stud from the Spud State.
The Red Dragon Damsel flew in (too strong to be distressed) into my uncle's country life.
(I still remember his clenched fists pouring buckets at the altar ... his first love)
And she brought her little Dragoness, too --- a fiery spark named Emily.
My job was to walk my new British cousin down the aisle,
as she whispered to me, "Should we link arms?"
And though I should have said, "What's the harm?"
instead of a rather robotic canter --- it now brings a smile.
My lovely Aunt Laura wore an eggplant dress, as if too challenge the mountain majesty
that peaked through the church window of that fine Idahoan morn.
Her glorious entry introduced by a Celtic song that would have made Enya weep,
as the vertigo of vows came to a close like a caged bird being released.
Mariah Carey's famous Christmas hit took to life --- All I Want Is You, rang true,
as they took each other's arms to dance celebrating an unlikely circumstance.
Crossing oceans to become One: she from Barry, and he from Boise.
The After Party --- filled with giggles, tears and rip-roaring stories from every point of view.
The wedding cake (believe it or not) was a Scrabble board:
one slice was Congratulations - and though a bit silly, to me it was poetry.
And my uncle - you could tell - was simply dumbfounded
as she took the words right out of his mouth
... with a crumb-filled smooch.
Written February 27th, 2016.
For the My Wedding Day Is Special Because... hosted by Olive Eloisa Guillermo
NOTE: I've never been married before, so I hope writing about my uncle's wedding instead is acceptable.
Well, I remember my Mom as the Iron lady forever
I fear no more her strictest rules
I am now back on stage with this clerihew
I was a victim of the Iron lady's strictest rules
Probably herself has forgotten but me I can remember
I remember those days when there was no human rights:
She will call me peacefully as if everything is fine_
Just know that it's whip's time if I misbehaved at some point
In our home she had collection of different whips
This is funny truths
Sometimes, she will instruct my friends and siblings to catch me
Who will give me a good chase but caught and be brought to receive verdict
When my friends and siblings start laughing she will shut them up and threaten to beat them all
When Dad is off from work as a miner, she would compile all difficult cases, and hand them to Dad the High Court Judge, who didn't want any advocate to stand in between_
More terrible beatings
It was judgement day
That has made me a responsible person in society
I remember those days
I will be beaten to the extent of regretting of being her child
To a point I start questioning if she is my Mom
To a point when you hope to go with visitors to their homes
Or offering prayers that visitors stay longer
I remember those days,
When she beat me mercilessly, I started repenting of my misdeeds.
Sometimes she will pretend not to be upset , then she will like" go and bring me a plate in the house, then she will follow me in the house with a whip".
This has been my story
I am speechless on this topic
My Mom was good on how to give a sharp look and slap
The eye of an Eagle was enough for me to detect trouble even before calamity
The Lord bless and keep amazing citizenry like Mothers
P.S:
Mom raised a kindhearted, warm , compassionate, understanding son towards humanity_
Both my parents were not just harsh but had a peak of humanitarian traits to humanity_
My parents owes me the best of my life_
May good health, strength and long life be bestowed upon me
By Chipepo Lwele
* In remembrance of childhood
The ocean is vast and cold and very deep
Powerful waves can sink the toughest ship
On the land herders before the storm try to hide their sheep
One lone island rocky and with mountain that’s steep
Extends to the ocean
That is always in motion
The island is in the center of junction
Where most storms accrue and sailors see most action
The island is a giant rock no plants or animals there dwell
It is rocky wasteland resembling hell
All life it managed to repel
But one thing that exist there is doing well
In the island center a great big tree stands there
While rest of the island is bare
The tree is lushes green and survives with flair
The colossal robust rough trunk supports crown whose complexity isn’t found elsewhere
The tree is not beautiful in the strictest sense
But its statue awe demands for it is immense
The tree has some sharp spines for defense
Yet sheer wonder lies in the complexity of its boughs leaves and fruits packed dense
The storm rages on and lightning hits the tree
But for it to be destroyed is not to be and what is more eerie
The fire that lightning spawned does no harm to the tree
Showing its majesty and mystery
The traveler travels distance that is vast
To see the tree he must
But something beyond the tree when island one will past
There is something that also forever will last
The horizon and with it associated infinity
It is also awe inspiring thing of beauty
There are numbers greater then infinity
But horizon is Gods representation on earth and his true visage knows no boundary
Floating fluttering fleurs
are jewels in fuchsia and magenta
transmuting into taffy hue
with the kiss of dappled sunlight
like her cheeks that blush in pink
with his wondering wink.
The willows are stalactites
seducing newly bloomed nympheas
slumbering in Egyptian blue water
like her shaggy windswept hair
teasing her beloved's face
beneath the dancing moonlight.
Oh, Monet,
your 'en plein air' emphyrean elegance
awakens my sacrosanct senses
as I envisage a Filbert brush
glazing each pearly petal
highlighting sun's luster
on emerald to lime leaves,
on cyan to admiral water,
reflecting cerulean sky
in consummate chiaroscuro.
7 April 2022
A Briand Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand
8th place
Notes:
In 1893, Monet, a passionate horticulturist, purchased land with a pond near his property in Giverny, intending to build something "for the pleasure of the eye and also for motifs to paint." The Water Lilies is a 1919 painting by impressionist Claude Monet, one of his Water Lilies series. The painting, the left hand panel of a large pair, depicts a scene in Monet's French pond showing light reflecting off the water with water lilies on the surface.
(www.metmuseum.org)
*plein-air painting, in its strictest sense, the practice of painting landscape pictures out-of-doors; more loosely, the achievement of an intense impression of the open air (French: plein air) in a landscape painting(www.britannica.com).
IF ever I had a country : XXIX - ***
XXIX
IF ever I had a country
And if ever I were but the Alexandrian National Librarian`
I'd drag every under-elected village township city and national politician
Handcuffed to the Sistine Chapel-domed book-lined reading auditorium
To read aloud and commit to memory every act of the Grand Inquisition
And swear by Oath Torquemeda their natural Father denounce Demosthenes the subverted Athenian
That is, if ever I were but the Alexandrian National Librarian
And even if I never ever had no country/education
***
IF ever I had a country
And if ever by chance I were but the Director-General of Prisons
I'd make the Metropolis the strictest Concentration Camp for political malfeasance
For those who run the State without the slightest prick of even animal conscience
And there force them to read aloud plebian-voiced Athenian magnificence while they bake in the heat of the ovens
As a reward for bringing Our World day by day to the brink of Hitlerian Final Solution horizons
That is, if ever I were by chance but the Director-General of Prisons
And even if I never ever had no country/education
© T. Wignesan, Paris, July 13, 2018
Always beautiful, certainly Donna,
She has been through hell and back.
Always the fighter, never giving up,
Prepared for any kind of attack.
She’s sensitive, kind-hearted, and very loving,
But don’t find yourself making the mistake
Of taking her kindness for a weakness.
She has the venom of a rattlesnake.
She’s made some bad decisions in her past…
Hey, haven’t we all done the same?
I have forgiven her for everything
And her character I will not defame.
She was hard on me growing up;
She was the strictest mama on the block.
But she instilled morals and values within me
And from her, I did learn a lot.
Discipline was her forte; oh she was mean.
Man, how I hated it back in the day!
As an adult, I understand its importance,
So I teach my daughter a similar way.
She has always been there despite it all.
She’s been there every time I needed.
She always gives advice, wanted or not
And continues even when it isn’t heeded.
She’s dark and lovely with brown eyes
And she possesses an hourglass shape.
Her beauty is rare and can’t be compared;
I can see how some women can hate.
I appreciate my mother and hope she lives forever.
She has blossomed into an awesome woman.
This poem is dedicated to a fabulous lady,
My pretty mother named Donna Grogan.
I lie on a bed of grass, huddled beneath
this vast expanse of night sky
with the breeze passing in light swirls
over my upturned face,
all my senses alight.
I gaze at that smooth disc
of ardent argent,
unmarred by confining cloud
or pestiferous phase,
clear, full, and impossibly bright.
I wonder at what's brought me here,
to this point in my life;
so many, many questions to be asked;
and all posed to that strictest and secretive guide,
that which we style as a soul.
Rumination, on this field of earth
and in the endless fields of the mind,
provides precious few answers;
yet I continue, ever and anon, to question,
for such, it seems, is my lot.
Is all that's transpired due
to the designs of destiny,
fate's decree -
or simply
the cruel caprices of chance?
Is there a reason, dictated by eternity's will,
for a lone heart to suffer so;
for entwined stars to be torn apart,
one to soar, beautiful and shining,
and one to fall, scarred and dimmed?
The moon knows not,
nor answers my call;
distant and aloof, it returns my scrutiny,
impassive and serene, it quells
the raging storm inside me.
Quieted, I linger,
somehow unable to leave -
and for a time, remain,
entranced under the pale orb
that floats the night above.
Since my birth time has been pesent, fluid, tapping its flat feet in the shadows
Clueless was I as to its definition, or what its relevance was to life
Yet, I recall the joy of rainy days free of grown- up worry and strife
Being quite shy, I'd daydream; gazing blue skies and hanging out windows
Then suddenly, I turned and things changed! And I came to face the culprit
Time! It made me abandon my childhood; I was forced to leave behind my toys
Only Christmas celebrations and story books seem to bring me endless joy!
How I'd brood over doing homework of subjects I found non-descript!
In hindsight, all life meets Time on its terms, as it is, "The Ageless Wonder"!
Forever moving; impervious to class or stature; faster now, and I'm in a daze!
A consummate stalker it is, yet, leaving definite trails on each face!
'Is Time charged to monitor dreams'? Is a question I often ponder
I imagine, at creation Time stood as the key which opens and shuts all doors!
Seemingly built into all God's creatures maintaining order and strictest balance
Time was and has been a true instrument of God’s awesome power and prevalence
In a world where egos are gigantic and many want their share and more
Jimmy warned Pinks of her dangerous inclinations
of chugging too close to the capricious edge, but she kept laughing
and refused to listen until she skid and bounced down the hill.
Jimmy retrieved her in an unrecognisable state with a torn coat,
ripped pinafore and a muddy face, ready to be brandished
by her strictest paternal Aunt-a Betsy Trotwood of sorts!
The six year old whimpered and babbled, wiping her tears,
"A big black bear had been chasing us, so we ran down the hill".
"Why down hill?" "Because his long hair covers his eyes and then he can't see.
So while chasing us he got blind and rolled like a football and drowned
in the big ravine below". Aunt held back her smile, "But Jimmy's clothes aren't torn?"
Pinks beamed, "He's a boy, and strong boy's clothes don't tear!"
The next day they climbed a ladder leading to the forbidden roof where
Aunt had kept her red chillies to dry, it being a warm sunny day. When she returned
from the market, she was shocked to see her miscreants and carried the ladder away.
"Aunt dear, please listen, the monkeys were eating the chillies, so we........................."
May 16, 2016
For Casarah Nance
with unseen bloody fingers she sings a melody but with
purely visual aesthetic and woos even the strictest stoic
& with subtle soft petal bells hanging,
now 2 years old, standing nearly 8 feet tall
you may very well want to reach out and touch,
stroke her texture
drawing your index up the back of her slender stem,
engulfed in the passion of the moment
you may even draw a bell and bite down with eyes closed,
tilting your head back in anticipation of
euphoria,
only to be disappointed (as we are so very often in our short existence),
as instead of a hallucination of poignant pleasure-filled
paradiso,
the digitalis begins the dizziness, the irregular heartbeat & the
all out
bad trip that will take its toll on you
sooner than later,
bring you down low to the level of the
forgotten
as the witch strangles your gasping throat with her gloves &
the
dead man’s bells clang---
another one bites the grounded gilings, grime & granular
grit,
all spinning around
your eyes flickering in a haze
to the broken rhythm of those final heartbeats as the
sun goes down.