Long Underwent Poems
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It wasn't till I learned to drive
That I could look forward to going on a family trip in the car.
With the spectre of car sickness always dogging me along the way
Waiting to appear at the most inopportune moments.
I remember once being sick over my brothers new suit before
We were even out the gate.
But as soon as I started driving my stomach underwent
A miraculous transformation.
And is now quite definitely cast in iron.
Even when I clean up other people's sick.
There is one trip I still dread
That no amount of driving will keep me from feeling
Sick in stomach and in mind.
It is a trip I never plan on taking
But somehow find myself on even when I know I will find no pleasure there.
Thankfully I now don't very often go down that road
And now when I do common sense prevails
Leading me back home quick smart.
As going on a guilt trip is just plain selfish,
With an accident waiting around every bend.
And no happy ending in sight.
One may insist that spring will come if I just stand there,
I was, therefore, standing on the riverbank as he said.
The rain poured on the riverside where I stood
and when the water ran into the river
for downstream where the valley expands,
at a time when the water returns as the dew drops
on the riverside, the flowers bloom exclaiming,
“spring is here.”
Because he said that summer will come
when the spring grows as flowers on the riverside prairie
and look up at the sky from the places where they rooted,
I leaned on the drifting could high above and stared
at the corner where the sky hangs on, and before knowing
summer rushes here driving the golden chariot.
And when you live through your life
hanging onto the golden chariot, he says,
autumn will come.
That’s why when the sky becomes red
on the other side of the golden chariot goes,
winds rise and leaves fall and autumn comes
stepping on the fallen leaves.
If I weave the mortification I experienced as warps
and cruel treatment I underwent as the threads of wefts,
while relating all detestable memories deeply imprinted
in my heart to the leaves woven into a small boat,
and waft it on downstream to forget all those unwanted memories,
by the time the drifting water becomes a star
after whirling in the marsh for a while,
and falls onto decaying reeds
the winter comes, he says,
as a colorless lonely flower by a grave site where I stand.
For the sake of heart’s desire, at times,
he trusted everything. For the uncertainty of life
he underwent many sleepless nights’ torment.
In the light skiff, however, he floats on the river
no one knows where it came from or where it pours into.
Although he did not persist that everything should be good,
nor he turned his back to the world because everything is wicked.
He wept the many nights away; he did pass the many days with anger. Nevertheless, in the skiff, he drifts along the flow of water.
Because good brings the hope to everyone who believes in it,
because evil leaves wounds not only to those involved but
even to one who does not deserve it,
he tried hard to be a good-hearted person
though he was denied, rejected, beaten, torn, and stoned by others.
Nevertheless, in the skiff, he floats on the river,
the river, some call good while others call it evil.
The torrential rain hits the surface of water
that carries the skiff loaded with no story to tell.
The violent wind passes through the river that carries the skiff
that unable to load all the stories
for he has too many stories to tell.
For it doesn’t matter anymore
whether to be called good or evil,
the river carrying the light skiff whirls in the abyss of oblivion.
Courtesy of one or more tradesmen,
first Monday in September set aside
for employees able, eager, ready
and willing to acquire money
to marry groom or bride
climb the corporate ladder or
become an artisan, entrepreneur, technician
to side step getting rung, drafted
like an oxen plow, commandeered and chide
by management as insubordinate
till retirement or join kiln fields once died
from over exertion, yet nonetheless
sweat of brow efforts praised I espied
searching me noggin brief history re:
aforesaid day, where barbecues fried
dispersed aromas recognizing efforts
of workers with quality control as guide
grievances against danger challenged
sense and sensibility stalwart did not hide
the shenanigans that took place inside
boardrooms in tandem with glories of
American made products from those
who put figurative nose to grindstone –
just common everyday Jane's and Joe’s
who weathered extreme temperatures,
whereby bodies froze
but thanks to those who battled elements
at large and snatched doze
birth of brute efforts eventually
earned reserved renowned
borne couple shy of
nineteenth century, whence sound
of industrial silence replaced with
parades where hoof beats did pound
burgeoning and bustling city streets
echoed along hardened ground
fealty to country soldered
with faith, federation union freedom
and job security did thence abound,
which holiday underwent
transformations as bustle
and hustle proved myth regarding
land of milk and honey –
from straining of muscle
whereby life, liberty and pursuit
of happiness less of physical tussle
set (thank you Masons and Dixons)
cornerstone to an invisible
complex edifice originally from New York
forgotten builders, farmers, machinists,
et cetera who laid groundwork
wrought by destruction
from Civil War largesse and pork
loosed from the bottle in
Antebellum South, when off flew cork
freeing a genie, which became rendered
supremely courtly poet, i.e. this former dork.
(composed about eight years ago
moments ago this poem underwent
slight poetic surgical face lift
modifications by this bro)
this spine tingling reaction,
sans flushed testosterone
from heads to toe
sketched out sometime
from ~july or august 2012 or so
and (just now) triggered chain reaction for roe
man tick undulations i.e. wishful desires slow
lee shifting (in seconds flat)
from neutral to overdrive
exceeding speedometer limit maximum
nearly attaining speed of light quo
shunt seeing an aesthetically pleasing chic chick
in the summer of full feminine bloom
envisioning plunging hot rod
into her lubricated derrick
(and yes, young enough
to beget me via coital fling
a splendid supreme offspring
of this gap toothed fifty three year old simian),
who doth wanna swing
like a boyish chap
at prime love making time zing,
with thee, whose primary purpose comprised
tutoring my daughter whose deficiency
with language skills warrant
communication exercisesd
born with cognitive developmental delays
in sundry dis guised,
whose academic weakness qualified her since birth -
or soon thereafter meta morph a sized
to receive intervention to allow, enable
and provide her with life skills
even though patience thoroughly utilized
so she can become self reliant as an adult
thus bringing this papa aegis
of said progeny prances carefree like a colt
and via exposure therapy
comfort zones, convince this dadaist dolt
magic touch, sans young women,
(who seem prominent in social service field)
bear witness as thy Punim doth molt
blindsiding actions of tender loving care
these myopic eyes
with hypnotic trance observe flair
ring results conjuring up illusions of grandeur
spurring commendable utterance
of touche...here here
but self consciousness kept gleeful outburst
under lock and key lest detriment comb near
compromising instructional progress,
that could easily dis ap pear
into a sinkhole forsaking requisite basic skills
reinforcement ever since first year
without warning, one day, i shall close my eyes,
i wonder, in that moment, i will say “indeed i lived a good life,”
or i may say “i lived my unpropitious life shoved and dragged
by the power i have no control over it.”
if it’s to say that one who survived through
his given days is already praiseworthy by itself,
i should, at least, accept my last moment open armed
with a smile on my face,
however, my worry is that if i can smile at that moment or not
because i saw too many horrible things throughout my troubled life,
because i underwent so many harsh trials that broke my back,
are all these negative notions coming from my narrow-mindedness,
or from a shallow view, or caused from my disagreeable attitude?
I still ain’t read the fine print
As I stand holding her bag,
listening to insipid music
battle the rattling chatter
of shopping cart wheels,
at these times I know
“I really should’a read the fine print”.
While waiting, “patiently” at the door
as she continues the “never ending story”
complete with “flashback scenes”
added by her six sisters – I know
“I really should’a read the fine print”.
Standing in the delivery room
while she underwent a “C” section delivery,
seeing “that” look on her face
as the Doctor handed the baby – to me
“I really should’a read the fine print”.
When I asked her “what do you want for your birthday”
and she said --- “Nothing.”
So I got her what she wanted ---- Nothing!!!
“I really should’a read the fine print”.
On those all too often occasions
when she said “Oh, you don’t have to go.”
And I didn’t – I now know
“I really should’a read the fine print”.
It’s been nearly forty years.
I’m still holding bags,
waiting patiently in doorways
getting her what she wants for her birthday
going fishing when she says: “Oh, you don’t have to go.”
Damn! After all these years…….
“I still ain’t read the fine print”.
John G. Lawless
4/11/2016
Courtesy of one or more tradesmen,
first Monday in September set aside
for employees able, eager, ready
and willing to acquire money
to marry groom or bride
climb the corporate ladder or
become an artisan, entrepreneur, technician
to side step getting rung, drafted
like an oxen plow, commandeered and chide
by management as insubordinate
till retirement or join kiln fields
once the music died
from plane over exertion, yet nonetheless
sweat of brow efforts praised I espied
searching me noggin brief history re:
aforesaid day, where barbecues fried
dispersed aromas recognizing efforts
of workers with quality control as guide
grievances against danger challenged
sense and sensibility stalwart did not hide
the shenanigans that took place inside
sense and sensibility
without prejudice nor pride
boardrooms in tandem with glories of
American made products from those
who put figurative nose to grindstone –
just common everyday Jane's and Joe’s
who weathered extreme temperatures,
whereby bodies froze
but thanks to those who battled elements
at large and snatched doze
birth of brute efforts eventually
earned reserved renowned
borne couple shy of
nineteenth century, whence sound
of industrial silence replaced with
parades where hoof beats did pound
burgeoning and bustling city streets
echoed along hardened ground
fealty to country soldered
with faith, federation union freedom
and job security did thence abound,
which holiday underwent
transformations as bustle
and hustle proved myth regarding
land of milk and honey –
from straining of muscle
whereby life, liberty and pursuit
of happiness less of physical tussle
set (thank you Masons and Dixons)
cornerstone to an invisible
complex edifice originally from New York
forgotten builders, farmers, machinists,
et cetera who laid groundwork
wrought by destruction
from Civil War largesse and pork
loosed from the bottle in
Antebellum South, when off flew cork
freeing a genie, which became rendered
supremely courtly poet, i.e. this former dork.
Half a decade ago today, Dad ceased to be alive.
Five years ago, Dad died at the age of sixty-five.
He was a hard worker, he could have outworked two twenty-year-olds.
When he went to the doctor, bad news was what he was destined to be told.
He was diagnosed with Leukemia and it caused distress.
Twenty months later, he succumbed to his terrible illness.
Two days before he died, he couldn't even respond when people talked to him.
Forty-eight hours later, he met a terrifying fate that was very grim.
He underwent Chemotherapy to temporarily survive.
Half a decade ago today, Dad ceased to be alive.
[Dedicated to Charles F. Johnson (1947-2013) who died on July 13, 2013.]
one day, In the late dark night,
Where things were out of sight,
A heavy heart with lots of dream,
Was sitting under the night-lamp's beam,
With her deep inner voice;
Life is always a roller-coaster ride,
Face it with a positive side.
Her mother lost all her memory,
Her father and brother underwent surgery,
Back to back hardships on her way,
She struggled a lot to overcome the god's play,
With her deep inner voice;
Life is always a roller-coaster ride,
Face it with a positive side.
Though, she struggled a lot,
She didn't give up her positive thought,
Carrying her family,love and dream,
Her days were fleeting by trusting the supreme,
With her deep inner voice;
Life is always a roller-coaster ride,
Face it with a positive side.
- S.KRITHIGA SREE