Long Thronged Poems
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There was a man of stature small,
but ranked by wealth, he stood so tall.
He laid on them a taxing yoke
So, he was hated by the town folk.
In Jericho, he built his home,
but on its streets, he dared not roam.
Hatred of him ran very deep,
So, he tried hard his life to keep.
Within his heart, he longed to meet
the One whom all with love did treat.
Perhaps the Lord will sit at meat
with him whom all knew was a cheat.
He ran ahead and climbed a tree
as Jesus walked, thronged by a sea.
Once at the spot, the Lord looked up
And said, “Zacchaeus, with you I’ll sup.
That day Sinner and Savior met,
and he learned Christ would pay sin’s debt.
Grateful for the grace that Christ showed,
he pledged to pay back all he owed.
If you are lost, can’t find your way,
just kneel and to the Savior pray.
When Jesus hung on Calvary’s tree
He paid sin’s price for you and me.
He longs to come and with you sup,
to take your hand and lift you up
so, you can walk through life with Him
and live a life filled to the brim.
Myriads thronged seclusions to proclaim passion,
Endless breath, of Life words acts and desires,
Weary mortals seeking hopes,
From troubled vanities of passing vanities,
Countless hearts, seekers of all kinds,
From all religions of man's invention.
From idolatry, traditionalism,
Cultures of hoods and voods
To Christianity, Islam, Maoism, Judaism,
Shintoism, Eckanker, Atheism, Moralism,
And nameless isms of unequal translations
All in throng seeking truth in isms here and more
One, and only one knows the truth
He lives in hearts of human seekers
He lives.
...carries the wilted weight of autumn
in its broken beauty
with fields of brown stalks,
unharvested pumpkins that rest like mislaid dreams
patient where they are
November, detached from the moorings of green
when golden leaves, sparse, cleave to skein branches
to thwart the creep of cold
the leaf brown baggage below curls at its edges
like fickle affection
and yet,
the busy abundance of harvest
foretell platters of gratitude
Thanksgiving
a mix of deliverance and charisma
tangible
like the elation of coming home
month of nocturnal stabs of frost bring foliage to weeping
L i s t e n
L i s t e n
to what murmurs beneath half frozen furrows
fields that know what pushes through seasonal loss
radical roots
stored in darkness
a spring-to-come growth
thronged with voices
that never lay
far below
the surface
Poem written November 6th, 2022
Sky and the earth, the symphony....
never the twain shall meet?
I just heard the euphony,
again and again they greet.
"You gorgeous ground,.. you are so down to earth "...
....the clouds thronged, looked down with mirth.
"You infinite blue, ethereal sky, how I wished I had wings to fly. "
The ground looked up,...the clouds so high. ..
longed to clasp them, close and nigh.
" Beautious earth,..green in sight
fragrant flowers. .you look so bright"
"You blazing sky, stars in the night,
twinkling fireworks, showers of light"
"Waves of majesty, your sublime sea
Rhythm of melody, your birds glee."
"See..we are made for each other, Me and Thee." ..
Let's meet over the horizon.,....
The virtual reality. ..
Let's free our Souls. ..into the Eternity.
...In the capital a great feast was thrown
to welcome Larren back from the frontier.
Minstrels sang songs of his victories,
while they ate venison and drank beer,
the whole city thronged with good cheer.
But Larren was subdued in the feasting hall,
his betrothed sat across from him, haughty and tall.
Her name was Berice, a princess of the south,
quiet pretty but not the kindest around.
Her tongue was sharp, her manner aloof,
both in bed chambers and tournament grounds,
Sse saw this marriage as a great step down.
But Larren had a duty, and they were wed,
and went, cold and distant, to the marital bed.
Though the king praised this noble pairing,
and so did his great heir, the crown prince,
Larren found his wife a drain on his soul,
and hard to bear, ever for short stints,
of true affection, she showed not a hint.
She took to his bed only at fertile times,
to bear him an heir, with no love in her eyes.
To make matters worse, by the first month’s end
Great King Rael was beginning to flag.
A fever set in, yellow came to his eyes,
and his breath in great rasps did drag,
Larren spent weeks by the bedside of his dad.
When he passed on, Crown Prince Duhran rose,
he made Larren chief general, the bane of his foes.
Five months passed, and Larren’s misery grew,
no accolades or awards could assuage
the loneliness he felt, the true lack of love
sometimes drove him quite close to rage,
he began to look older than his age.
His brother, the king, said,”Take a mistress,”
Larren couldn’t say he’d already had the best…
Then a new foe arose in the far west,
encouraged by the death of King Rael.
They besieged the citadel Larren had held,
and committed crimes that were beyond the pale,
rape and slavery were their grisly tales.
Duhran sent Larren with all of the troops
to smash the heathen invaders for good.
Larren arrived, somewhat glad to be gone,
back doing something he knew quite well.
Gladder still was her to be free of his wife,
Though to others this truth would not tell,
not when battle raged at the citadel.
Once on the scene her surveyed the siege,
then lined up his troops, and charged to their relief…
CONTINUES IN PART III
Self Portrait
Written: by Tom Wright
March 2015
As whispers invade nocturnal slumber,
Day, through time, births another brush stroke.
Prevailing thoughts become thronged
As we experience the futility,
In retracing steps, of former days;
Life isn’t filled with fables
Bent on telling us the pleasing things;
These timeless echoes to the ear
Remain memories past, and empty yearnings.
Just splotches of paint on a canvas,
Each telling a small part of our life’s story;
Leaving us to resolve what voices we will follow today.
Until death, life remains an incomplete canvas
Often infested with emptiness;
Each life will be a portrait of who we were.
Tom
A temporary obstruction
A quiet despair, in a few weeks, I will be very
old, do I tell lies to myself, saying, I dance well
When no one looks, but why do I remember
the Buenos Aires tango in a nightclub in
In 1957, she was in her forties, but with a sleek
body, I was seventeen, so beat that Macron
Then, in the morning, shots were fired, soldiers
thronged the deck of the ship and running about
in the streets, looking for traitors, the name
The dictator gave those who disagreed with
His fascist ideology
To think that much water has run into the ocean
Yet it happens again, a new authoritarian
regime in Washington
a dark time for America
but I know the Americans will rise and be
free again
Running on cliff edges cranked her adrenalin
Stagger of gravels' release, tipped in avalanche
Scared her terrifically, able to surrendour then
Driven to dare's taunt irresistible, emancipated
Victims of her craft came willingly to her dim den
Always too enthused, wiped smiles with debauchery
Fools drooled like puppies, helpless lap belt men
Guzzled foggy grape juice, succumbed to her sorcery
Smoothly blended purple potion contained correct mix
Floppy neck despondent combined tiger voracious
Aphrodite's ribs thronged with rotten achievement, a fix
Light in guy's terrified faces fed her climb solacious
Absolute conquer of weakened ones, without any speech
Gleam in their pupil huge grape gluttoned eyes, pleadingly
Waist up incapable, claimed her pleasure self beseeched
Entire body force in their groins satiated men immediately
Squared claws clamped concave flanks, rose from exhale
Her wearer's temperature sat at forty degree celcius fever
Tigers never went down without a fight, Aphrodite impaled
Traipsed her way stickily to the tip, slide down took forever
Lame, head spin sickened, next hour's lure gladly drags
Fish lipped flung fellow to her front yard, under a shrub
Sombre, cynical, sneer mouth man, her true rival, perhaps
- maybe Aphrodite would let this one remain undrugged
13th September 2020
STIMULUS
intertwined
separation
&
reconciliation
in
fused
theogony
fostering
time-lapsed
recreation
a sequence
equivalent
to
stop-motion
set in
a collage
in a
seemingly hinged
cascade
of
raptures
thronged&
reunited
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
It all started with a project,
Though it wasn’t really mine to begin.
I thought I’d play a minor part,
Yet there I was, roped in—entangled within.
One task led to a series,
Replaceable once, but now I belonged.
Amidst PDFs and endless links,
Glances exchanged, where silence thronged.
A minor edit became an excuse for a brief call,
The urge to connect sparked those random reach-outs after all.
Pixel by pixel and frame by frame, the project neared its close,
Yet beyond the drafts, nothing deeper arose.
I didn’t expect an answer, but perhaps I sought to know—
Working together made me wonder if something more could grow.
After 96 pages, we lingered, waiting for something to unfold.
It’s probably nothing—just familiarity, this to myself I told.
After all, it’s easy to confuse closeness with something profound,
or perhaps it’s just me, seeking meaning where risks abound.
Yet the eyes whispered a different tale, hinting at a
devilish affair,
Meeting in secrecy, amidst a crowded room, unaware.