Long Sub Poems
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this middle aged rue stirring bummer
haint no stranger to cold,
when dark hen stormy wintry days
eggs hit from Arctic portal en fold
ding Atlantic Seaboard
in a blizzard of bitterly, blindingly, and
brutally sub zero temperatures
from an occasional nor'easter
fiercely gripping hold
the majority years, sans this prolific
recalcitrant scrivener lived
in various and sundry abode
housed within Southeastern
Montgomery County, Pennsylvania
with 19*** zip code,
and during my boyhood recall,
how massive ice sheets did erode
the (then) opened expansive farmland,
in preparation for planting time,
where runnels of frigid water flowed
with childish cheeks exposed to glowed
after hours upon
many a green acre got tilled and hoed
despite feeling energized and refreshed
with arms and legs n'er fro zen
aye didst eagerly await with exuberant yen
kickstarting thy body electric
experiencing hearthstone nook
designed and built by Christopher Wren
after heading indoors counting fingers
and toes to make sure, i still got ten
soon hearing the chorus of fauna,
and floral kaleidoscope of color
aground or taking wing
thus, upon thawing out thoughts
drifted toward approaching spring,
the season revitalizing
dormant natural inhabitants,
whose excite (like mine) didst ping
announcing the debut of fecundity
nsync with screeching from the lizard king.
This Spring Equinox (i.e. man date:
12:15 PM Tuesday,
March twentieth two thousand eighteen)
doth rejuvenate
inviolable hibernating animals
and plants, and me equate
to experience sensation,
whereby entire being does inflate
and (despite marital status),
nonetheless envisions another gal asthma mate
no...no...no...please do not think this chap
mean spirited and under rate
the woman (at present taking a siesta,
and i breathe easy),
who oft times doth henpeck, a trait
inherited many a chic hen
(with tantalizing tail feathers)
now (until she awakens)
proscribing yours truly to wait
for my repast most likely ad hoc
moist ideal for any nerdy kid to knock
senseless, the worst facet of self important jock
consisting of pop slop mock
Hungarian Goulash, a melange
of relics from age old meals
transformed into a petrified sawed little rock.
She said that this man, my grandfather,
held her head under the black pool water,
while up above, a German man leaned
out of his window, against the moss and brick
to scream violently: "Don't hurt that woman!
She is the most beautiful woman in the world!"
The tone of the man's voice, authoritative, cold
broke my grandfather's concentration and he
let her bob up to the surface, coughing, sputtering
in an almost drowned manner, while still maintaining a beauty uncommon to humans, as she stole a quick glance
to the heavens of heavens to acknowledge the saving
power of a stranger.
This is her story today, as she sits on three moth-eaten,
velvet pillows to make her tall enough to reach the kitchen table.
She has shrunk in her old age and is no longer "the most beautiful woman
in the world".
She sips her black coffee out of Russian demitasse cups with diamond emblems
until she reaches the grinds which have slept in warmth on the bottom,
to fool her, she thinks.
She nibbles her white toast with butter and honey and shivers in the air conditioning as royalty should.
When she has filled the remaining ten percent of her stomach (the other ninety percent was removed from the worry
of ulcers when technology was in it's infant stage), she continues her story.
It lasts all afternoon and twists and winds around the basic sub-plot that, somehow, her beauty and dignity was
acknowledged in the worst circumstances, and, with her infinite wisdom, the world was made a better place.
Her voice soaks into the wooden cabinets, and will remind me forever of strong, fresh-brewed coffee, and I think,
right at that moment as I look at my hands (which I know will resemble hers one day), that I miss my grandfather.
The most gentle man in the world, whose thoughts never amounted to more than wanting to garden well, or shape
the perfect pizza in his pizza shop.
This man, who set chairs on tables to clear the floor before he danced in pure Zorba the Greek manner, with a glint in
his innocent eyes.
This man, who looked at this woman, this fabricating, self-absorbed, once beautiful woman, with an adoration never
deserved.
I clean up the dishes, while still listening, and kiss her good bye on her forehead.
Jittery from stories caffeinated and old, I chose to walk the long way home, lightening my mood and shedding her
words along the way.
Part Three
...swishing away with your sunshrivelled burgundy knotty arms with broad disdainful harvesting sweeps the cobras come out to water in the sweltering heat by the thatched fly-buzzed hole
your low under-the-breath warning tones a reminder of the will of your self-inflicted charge
you never ate until i gorged myself
like the dutiful wife given with a dowry
watching me all the time through the shield of the wisp of cloud of cheroot smoke in your sentinel corner against the far wall your eyes glinting fearing that i might take exception and even before my plate was half-empty you had already darted across the kitchen floor to bring me more fried brinjals mashed greens fried and sliced plantain the steaming rice lying bare by its metal cover hanging on the lip of the open pot-mouth in a clear aluminium pot by my side
now they say you are gone for some plotted and took your life in haste
even before you had time to ensure an heir
others say you were alone dismayed abandoned by your own
prey to enchanters coveting
the plot of land the house derelict forsaken by your absence
they say some one else caretakes it for himself
others no a forbidden son of your husband’s has raked it for himself
alas would you have known how landless nationless stateless i’d be
this dot of ancestral land clinging-clanging in memory
did you know then you might never see me again
nor probably ever hear of me
or if you had how might you have taken it all
did you believe the tales true and false they told
or only what you wanted to hear
of your precious prince you once served in silence and
who had gone to slave in other lands
Notes
eevaa peerankal muuvaa marunthu is a take on another well-known Tamil proverb: eevaa makkal muuvaa marunthu meaning “children who obey even before the order is given are a God-send”. Here, in lieu of children, the word “grandparents” is substituted
chembu: a small usually copper vessel shaped like a rounded vase with a tapering neck and open mouth, used for holding drinking water or milk
kuul: thick holdall gruel which may also be highly spiced
chemman: red soil
Vaithi: ayurvedic doctor, practising the traditional Indian homeopathic medicine
© T.Wignesan 1997 - Paris May 7, 1997 (from the Sequence/Collection: "Words for a Lost Sub-Continent")
Universe
Universe is now well ordered whole interacting entity. We explore and try to perceive through our senses. Was there any Master Plan? Was there any Creator?
.
Dark void was Cosmos
No Matter, no Energy
No Space set
Big Bang exploded.
Energy, Matter appeared.
Space sets, Time was on.
Matter, Energy, Space were captivated by Gravitational singularity. All were squeezed in infinitesimal small dense super extreme hot state. Cataclysmic explosion termed as Big Bang gave birth to Universe Instantly Universe started to expand rapidly everywhere round.
. Energy can neither be created nor destroyed. Big Bang just released the already –existing Energy.
.At birth Universe was not ‘Big’, but smaller than a single proton. Explosion didn’t come up as ‘Bang’.It was like a snap breaking sharply
Sea of sub atomic particles appeared
within one second of Big Bang.
Protons, electrons, neutrons, positrons,
neutrinos and photons all sang.
As high as ten Billions degree Celsius
Bell of tremendous temperature rang
Photons influenced by free electrons sprang.
From opaque state Universe suddenly turned transparent illuminated by after-glow cosmic microwave radiation. Gigantic clouds of primordial Cosmos particles coalesced by Gravitational Pull.Cluster of stars and galaxies started formation.
Within three minutes simple atomic nuclei came up. Universe continued to cool down.Thousand years passed to shape electrically neutral atom.
.Gravitational pull was supposed to control the expansion of Universe. But Universe is going on expanding. Far away are the galaxies, greater is the acceleration to recede. Something other than Matter or Energy is pushing distant galaxies apart.
This mysterious stuff is not to ignore.
It is termed ‘Dark Energy’, yet to explore.
Will the expansion of Universe stop by chance?
Or, will it ever crush on a Big Crunch ?
11/05/15
101 in a ROW Contest - 12 by Poet Destroyer A
Cuz while ya steel got
moxie, don't nix chance if only a dot
before death finds
flesh rotting alot.
A self-actualized fringe benefit
as I racked up
orbitz round sun -
with increased measured,
(albeit neglected) ragged, and
shot thru tattered (turn shroud) -
regarding chronological yardage
brought to my dimming wattage -
sputtering third eye blind, sans
hindsight surveying extensive
emotionally frenzied groveling with
a lifetime penitential wreckage,
whence urgent critical (update)
foisted upon formerly entrenched
hermetically sealed voyage -
sequestered self wrought fallout,
viz long stretches of
time irretrievably gone with the wind
found me averse toward
commingling with village -
peopled within sin king
precincts of Lake Woebegone
joyus kneaded livingsocial
natives, now visa
vis (nee this past
and present atheist)
discovered the healing power
of powder milk biscuits,
when accommodated within Norwegian
bachelor farmer vicarage),
qua pained obligation now
imposed kickstarted mandate
to pay dying wage
clearly written along,
the sub weighted psyche walls
(over time) easily read
across my wrinkled visage,
where former cumulative
years of existence
pitched yours truly
figuratively teetering upon
precipice of abyss gave vantage
written in telltale creases
countenance spelling umbrage,
against me - asper tonnage
schlepping psychological Matthew
Scott Harris "baggage,"
wrought from decades
worth of uncultivated tillage
cuz n'er did I gather rosebuds...
during prime mortal teenage
stretch, thus present
day agonizing suffrage
yawning chasm miserably houses
bleak (Dickensian) testimony,
sans recovered anorexic
(NO...NOT... NEVER
bulimic), but feebly
endured desultory stage
punctuated quasi (moat)
towed riddled rattle trap ship
of state into deadly scrimmage
defies propped up
moxie succombing unrelenting
weathering, unforgiving savage
nasty, brutal and short sabotage,
wherein futile - short
changed growh opportunities
forfeited developmental stage
opportunities introverted
vehemence doth rage.
Never-ending aftershocks of yesterday’s tomorrow has settled in my mind’s eye…there’s so much out there to look forward to…I’d rather not die, but indeed, I must live to see the light of day take wing from on high! Cleanse me with your hope, oh Lord of Accord and you are so perfectly imperfect to me…and you shine bright like a diamond in the cave and you mirror my pain with healing, crystal-clear rain! I’m out of my mind in the past, present and future…what’s my fate? What is there in store for me? Why do I hestitate? I hesitate for the sake of Your honor-packed jubilance, not his blasphemed envy! Good news (It’s intriguing! Very!) – I’m suriving and still standing tall; bad news (nothing brand-new or exciting really): I failed the test with a F- for failure to the extreme…your sub-zero eyes see right through me and I can feel the coals heating up in my heart! I’m mad to begin with and I’m sick of breaking apart! Deplorable Reality’s strategic tragedy stings like billion’s of buzzin’ busy bees out of their honey dens or hives! Deal with the cards, roll the dice. Feel my words – you’re my livin’ sacrifice! We need a happily ever after after all! Deplorable Reality’s strategic tragedy stings like billion’s of buzzin’ busy bees out of their honey dens or hives! You kill’d me inside and out and I won’t pout like a child, running about! You killed me with your lonesome song and I have no slight doubt about that, if you know what I am speaking of no doubt! Are you damaged by your suicidal depression? Do you have any clue what I’ve been through? Deplorable Reality’s strategic tragedy stings like billion’s of buzzin’ busy bees out of their honey dens or hives! I am a money saver, but a worthless beggar or an ungrateful waster OR a real big spender ~ I don’t mean to offend a single soul or drive anyone insane in any way, shape or form…I am just telling you the truth straight out of my brain while I lay down and type this verse up in my solitary, yet unique, wild and stunning-blue dorm…avoiding a bee swarm like escaping a windstorm with stingers flying all around me every direction I turn! Every angle I watch, there is danger looking at me straight in the eyes…replicating the death stare of the Lord of the Flies…my hope and faith withers and dries like a weed, left in the sun…pulled up from the ground by the gardener himself…rotting away…today…
Can a man – all alone - foist a god upon his fellows
Even if it’s only himself
And they his subjects
G.. is Akbar!
Does the muezzin from the minaret of Qoutoub-Minar
look up or
down to the illiterate savant emperor
whose newly-ordered cosmos
much as Tamerlane and Genghis Khan's blood
mixed gods
invented the Gysin-Burroughs cut-up and fold-in method
a cornucopian chimera
shi'ite-sunnite-kharidjites
hindu/buddhist-jain
confucian-taoist/zoroastrian
orthodox-christian/judaic
saivite-vaisnavite
mahayanist-theravadite
shintoist-zen-chan
agnostic-atheist
A…. is Great!
In the begining there was no VERB for him
In the end
from
"brahmana" Himalayas to the "asurya" Deccan
from
Ghazna and Kabul to the spent chugged mouth of the Ganges
where bloomed the Allah-Upanishad
One common language
One uncommon religion
One classless society
One mutually nourishing art
One scientific quest
and the sweet music of friendly disputation
within then the world’s vastest book and art collection
though knowingly
took to wife an Hindu princess
chose his prime counsellor from among the Brahmin élite
where within hearing distance lithesome nymphs bathed in scented milk
his victoriously wearied warrior limbs back from punitive expeditions
through Panipat Delhi Agra Punjab Gwalior Ajmer
Gujarat Bengal Sind Orissa Baluchistan Ahmadnagar Kashmir
Khandesh
to circumscribe the sub-continent
a Ceasar at the court of Fatehpur-Sikri
Akbar is ___!
Who would parse and complete or conclude the syllogism
For « One » who dared abolish the jiziyah
Note: Jalal ud-Din Muhammad Akbar (1542-1605), the third Mughal Emperor, edicted that muezzins should herald the rising of the sun by the call: Allah-u-Akbar!
The « jiziyah » , a word of Arabic origin, meaning a tax levied on non-Muslims who wished to conserve their own property, and imposed by the Moghul sovereigns – on and off - in India, was abolished by Akbar in his seventh year of accession to the throne.
©: T. Wignesan, March 13, 1992 (from the sequence/collection: "Words for a Lost Sub-Continent")
Groundhog Day derives from a Pennsylvania Dutch superstition that if the groundhog emerges from his burrow on February 2nd and sees his shadow due to clear weather, it will return back into his den and winter will persist for six more weeks. However, if he emerges and does not see his shadow due to cloudiness, the spring season will arrive early. So for 2018, on Groundhog Day, "Will he or will he not see his shadow?" Following the lines of the seemingly illogical, I forecast that on Feb. 2nd it will be cloudy, and Mr. Groundhog will not see his shadow. Thus, spring will arrive early this year. That whole groundhog thing doesn't make sense to me, but I do believe that spring is coming early in 2018. I'm thinking that the snow, ice, mudslides, sub-zero temperatures and the like will have lost their punch by mid to late March.
I forecast that although there will be lots of devastating tornadoes this spring, they will be totally upsetting but not so record-breaking. Although there might be a selfie or two of someone with an approaching funnel cloud in the distance, there will be fewer lives lost due to more shelters being built and improved warning systems.
The 2017 hurricane season was unusual and is unlikely to repeat itself. The hurricanes picked their paths and packed a powerful punch. I forecast tamer and fewer hurricanes during the 2018 season. I don't think that mother nature is angry with us, nor am I certain that the 2017 season was indicative of the wrath of God as some seem to believe. He has plenty of reasons to be, but I don't think that our Maker is angry with us.
The temperatures will continue to be higher in general. The fire season will be normal to slightly above normal relative to the intensity and multiple outbreaks. Also, I suspect that people will make better adjustments regarding their environment relative to forestation.
Our prayer should be that there be less spring rain. In some parts of the country, if the heavy snowpacks begin to melt combined with heavy rains, that could be catastrophic. It would be a perfect storm for massive flooding. I anticipate more flooding in 2018 especially in the mid-western and eastern states as a result of the heavy snows this winter. May God forbide the perfect storm.
01172018PS Contest, Weather Forecast 2018, Viv Wigley; 3P
A decade of growth and decadent boom
People didn't mention the debt elephant in the room
It was the charge of the bull
Many pockets were full
The search for a higher return was the motivational pull.
But whilst stocks and shares rocked and flared
Investors held their breath in shock and fear
They seemed to forget that markets go up and markets go down
Because as long as uncertainty shows up, the cycle goes round
But to be fair the times were good, and returns seemed sure
The earnings of many corporations, continued to soar
The zeitgeist was the age of prosperity, profit and greed
It wasn't the time to question sustainability or question the need
Many financial advisers advised that it was the right way to go
"You should take advantage now, while all these rates of interest are low"
So many consumers took out mortgages, that they just couldn't afford
Including the 'sub prime', with bad credit, and of course the poor
But let's not forget, that the consumer went along, and played ball
Creatures of habit responding to the mating call, that beckoned us all
Deposits levels came down, loan-to-value went up
House prices bubbled and brimmed and we all drank from the cup.
Now the banks merged all of these mortgages together in lumps
Sold them as safe bets to investors, who were taken for chumps
Then the US housing market crashed
Now comes the the consequences
Unsurprisingly mortgage repayments started to slump
So called safe investments soon became worthless as junk
Families who had homes repossessed now facing the funk
Securitisation of mortgages now seemed so dumb
Regulators appeared powerless, dozing and numb
Lehman Brothers collapsed. America sneezed
The world became infected. Financial markets siezed
Governments and Central Banks now stepped into the fray
To prop up a system, that should have been reconfigured that day
Many banks were bailed; too big to fail.
The bankers who were at the wheel, too big to jail.
The humble tax payer was forced to post the cash
And many years later many banks still owe this cash
So the world was saved but here's the 'but'
The pubic purse was utilised, to escape the rut
Now all society must pay the price; take a hit to the gut
And suffer the pain, of historic public services cuts.
Mike Concise © 2015
www.mikeconcise.com
I know that I am dreaming
But I am Lucid and in control
I know this place well
And that is why it perturbs me
The departing sun manages to scrape its final rays over the hills to the north
Earth’s finest beach transitions seamlessly,
Into the blood red sky to the east and west
The limbo I feel is very temporary
A gust of salty sea breeze whistles through my lungs and snaps the senses
So I turn my gaze south, and I know why
The walk begins, without purpose, or so it always seems
My toes dig into the sand, a fleeting sensation of cool comfort
I cut my feet on the unseen, but not unfelt
The twinge of pain is fleeting, for I am approaching my friend
The soft moist sand renders control
This is the domain of the remorseless
I should have found what I was looking for by now
The water has become to deep, so retreat I must
Now comes a choice, which way must I follow the shore?
A short debate, because there is only one destination.
The route should be unfamiliar because I have never been to this particular expanse
I follow the slowly receding tide towards a piece of driftwood
My heart starts to race
Excitement and guilt wage war within me
I alter my course, backing from the sea again
The sea that has led me again, without falter
Back on the dry, warm sand I now have a clear view
So I take a seat, a front row ticket
To the highest rated and most polarizing production
Of my own sub-conscious
In front of me lies, breached, a baby shark
Not enough water to allow escape
But just enough to allow it to survive, for now
The dolphin’s fate rests with me, I am its final judgement
This is why I find myself here every so often
Playing the role of that which I so resent in my conscious
There is no debate
What the poor creature has done or not done
After a period of staring blankly at the suffocating animal
And watching the water slowly drain out of reach of its lungs
The time has come to choose
Life or Death
Neither makes me feel much of anything
I stand over what will become, if I let it, one of the kings of the sea
I stare into its cold, helpless eyes
But they are not cold and helpless
They are piercing and brilliant
Emerald green in the shadow, light amber in the light
They are that girls eyes
I had watched the lights close on those eyes once before.