Long Underwent Poems

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Premium Member A Simple Prayer

*To seek divine mercy in the aftermath of a major coronary surgery I underwent towards the end of last month.


Placed 9th in:
No. 1255 New Poem Only Poetry Contest
Sponsored By Brian Strand


                                             A Simple Prayer*

                            O supreme Lord, give me the strength
                                   To bear with fortitude my pain,
                                    Bestow upon me the courage
                                 To meet without groan any strain.

                                   O mighty Lord, let your mercy
                                And the bright aura of your grace
                                   Heal the core of my surgery
                              And restore the shine of my health.

                                   Mightiest among the mighty
                                And the universe sole guardian,
                              From the depth of my heart I pray
                                That you do lighten my burden.

                              My whole life I have been chanting
                                Hymns of your wonderful glories,
                               My whole life I have been prizing
                             Your name in the crest of my heart.

                                 For ever I have kept my mind
                              Free of evil thoughts for all men,
                            Besought peace for the entire world
                             And treated all humans as friends.

                                 For ever I have spent my life
                                 In extending a helping hand
                                 To whoever dipped in a strife
                                 And to all folks in dire needs.

                               Gracious Lord, if deep suffering 
                                Is by You Inscribed in my fate,
                                Let me with pleasure digest it,
                            Let me of such stern stuff be made.

                               Merciful Lord, I seek Your grace
                                To ever cleanse my inner soul
                                Of any remnants of low taste
                              That I am worth to be Your child.
Form: Rhyme


Such Is the Way of the Life

Fascinated by a word ‘lofty solitude’
I, as a tall and dignified pine tree,
once stood high on a mountaintop
that stands there from a time remote in antiquity
the unfathomable height.
However, I have burned the pride of the pine tree
to ashes in the sunset glow
because no one ever noticed the trail after trials of hardship
the pine tree underwent to sustain the self as pine tree
on the summit of mountain, and, therefore, I felt offended.

Bewitched by a word ‘tragedy’
I was, as a fluffed giant rock,
stood on the cliff no one ever stepped on
in one of those stormy night,
the roaring thunders, dazzling lightening
and the darkness reigns with flapping huge wings.
However, unable to hold own weight any longer,
wishing to mount on the back of a cloud,
I tried to hold a drifting cloud struggling with tiptoed stretches.

Becoming a captive of a word ‘anguish’
I wandered the wilderness
with thirst under burning sun
and hunger in chilling air at night.
However, the word anguish was the fierce torture
the whip inflicted on no one but self,
and, therefore, the deep wound never be healed
gives sharp pains unable to bear.

I thought the word 'loneliness' becomes to me,
I sat by the window counting a lot of stars in nightly sky
heaving with sighs as many as the stars I have counted.
I spent the sleepless night longing for an unknown love
in the ripples of moonlight,
the breaking surfs by the window.
However, throughout a night’s loneliness
I was overcame by sorrow, and became the drops of tears 
and heaped up to overflowing in my heart’s river,
the solitary stream had nowhere to flow.
For a word ‘moksha--spiritual awakening' is so awesome
I roamed here and there wishing to find it the meaning of life,
and when I found it, I have collected it with joy
and packed it in old beaten knapsack I was carrying and returned.
However, when knapsack was unpacked and found was,
neither the will nor the way as I was expected all along,
but full of useless stones the darkness that is darker 
then the raven’s feathers.


After all,
I think I do understand the meaning of the word ‘life’
though vague and fragmentary, now, I am standing 
as a stem of reed in the marsh by a river
while swaying about in the wind
to tattoo the word ‘life’ on my sick and weary body.
© Su Ben  Create an image from this poem.

Mother, Ii

O mother, who was so beautiful, yet, troubled with everything 
that may affect on the son’s well being; and therefore, grew old.

O mother, who was so elegant, yet, was so concerned about her son;
she always worried and was thinking what if the son wet from 
the spring mist, or what if the son falls on the flowerbed;
and therefore, grew senile.

O mother, such a great and virtuous, is well stricken by the years of moons, winds, stars, and clouds, and now, clumsily clinging on the trunk of a big tree, the grown son who stands tall with the root taken deeply in the ground, as a withered thin branch.

When a rain poured violently, the mother who never had a day 
of peace thinking of her son, became an umbrella over my head. 
When a blizzard raged, the mother who never had a day of serenity 
worrying over her son, became a blanket over my body.

Although the umbrella was old, beaten, and spokes were broken,
a drop of rain was unable to wet me. Although the blanket was the rags
sewed here and patched there, the blizzard was unable to take my body heat away.

To give a life to the son, I know the mother,
you underwent the excruciating labor pain,
the pain that is more painful than the chopping yourself with an ax.
To bring up the child as a decent man, I know the mother,
you underwent the trouble after troubles of trials caused by
your mischievous son.

You were the woman of great heart and sagacity,
you, therefore, were able to accept all circumstances with equanimity,
good and ill, joys and sorrows, honors and dishonors;
you offered your life and all to your son with love, 
understanding, and patience.

O mother, though you knew it was useless,
you stretched the withered thin branch out in air
to shut out a wild wind that was shaking the tree from the trunk.

O mother, though you knew that the wind was
beyond your strength to hold, but you did anyway,
because you loved your son so much; and as a consequence,
you were violently blown out from the trunk to fall on the ground.

Dear mother, you are, from the tomb where you are lying
as a little stone pillow on the grass,
recalling the memories of happy and joyful moments
while looking at your son proudly; recalling the memories 
of tired and sorrowful moments while looking at your son worriedly.
© Su Ben  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Narrative

Some Pros and Cons of Being Virtually Connected To Reality 2nd Byte

who felt incorporeal storied power 
   of Herman Melville as zen unseen aid 
instructing hypothetic rich kid to drop out of school 
   before his/her first grade
coz of all the money he/she made

which affected modus operandi rendered obsolete 
   child worker laws 
   and no sweat of brow getting paid
people used bitcoin (or other online currency) 
   additionally making purchases 
   with scant keystrokes to complete a trade.

As with any major dramatically novel scheme 
light bulb idea scribbled on napkin 
   scrap of paper 
   via cheesy or whipped cream
originating as a flash in the pan 
   aha eureka moment, or dream

as rough blue print subsequently 
   underwent beta testing, 
   before declaring pc innovation supreme 
whereby outstanding persons in the tech industry 
   clamored to join Kidde team. 

Whether seventh day add vent 
   hissed or other religious creed
powerful binary processing 
   impacted near 
   earth shaking incarnation indeed 
and ramifications in all walks 
   and talks of life sought expert need.

Coven chanting children murmured Luddites be damned! 

Thus spake Zarathustra (cue the opening scene 
from Planet of the Apes) 
   upon witnessing as if king or queen 
(in reality father or mother) 
   didst get immediately 

   dethroned thus, increasing mean
average positive 
   effects on society, especially lean 
microchip i.e. integrated circuitry 

   miniaturization "green"
technology (and eventual 
   attendant affordable price) 
   viz said trappings 

   unleashed upon global market 
   invited absolute zero dust, a must clean
as a whistle work space, 
   and manufacturers laboratory be microbe free
   hermetically sealed vacuumed "clean". 

Countless portable machines 
   unbeknownst soon epithet florid hack
   coining impromptu called cyber crime 
especially as majority proportion of population 
   didst purchase these dime, 

a doze in countless "end users" 
   snapped up these smart machines 
   excitedly keyed away indifferent to gunk
on unwashed hands 
   plus bits of food particles 

   eventually caking hardware with grime 
(eventually necessitating technician 
   charging gobs of moolah 
   sans to unstitch in time.

A Bonanza of Opportunities Went Up In Gun Smoke

As if in a decades long
     somnambulant trance
     for majority of years
     I finally awoke,
three score minus
     one orbitz tracked 'round el sol
     by this human drone,
a custom made incognito

     stitched while in utero
     yeah... my birthday suit mask
     disguised this bloke
yet plainly visible, aye donned
     a permanent cloak
always fitted me skin
     tight easily permitting
     ingress and egress okey doak

majority of mein kempf
     ambivalent about (no...no...no...
     despised) self as
     apathetic behavior did evoke,
yet slip out from
     under the Harris tweed,
     Scottish door Matt,
     parental tender caring folk

now, such indifference,
     whether dead or alive,
     tummy this thinking haint write
especially nearing quotidian,
     the terminus twilight
     of existential parabola
     fifty nine submucous cleft palate
     nasal note more'n slight

     chalked up to biochemically, right
     hermetically, and neurologically quite,
though not profoundly disabled,
     a riddled quirky
     psycho-social plight,
(cultivating an unhealthy
     absent self esteem inferior complex)
     I exhibited half

     hearted feeble feints
     to muster willpower morning till night
oft times nobody home,
     and nary boot faint light
doth shine on me
     (feeling comfortably numb),
     a puny white knight er
     rather pawn on chess

     board of life with 20/20 insight
while standing at a paltry
     just shy of seventy
     two inches in height
shortchanging latitudinal longitudinal
     maximum parameters to attain
but more critically, detrimentally,
     emotionally constitutes current bane

analogous to Atlas
     hold the world
     did more than force him to crane
his neck, but imposed
     a global estuarial drain
as all the seven seas underwent
     gravitational pull that's
     the best aye can explain

oh...but such fiction a mythological sling
shot across the bow civilization
     the metaphorical resonance
     pertains to me, and doth ring
real asper millstone over bearing
worth repeating here,
no matter mentioned in previous poems
     bitterness of mine despairingly cathartically airing.


On Learning To Become a Guru

On learning to become a guru...

The following artfully crafted back in the day
(actually poetic endeavor presented below
written a few scant years ago) in response to
unexpected positive feedback received on
the most popular social media platform.

Unbeknownst to this unsuspecting witty mortal,
a reverberation attributed to butterfly effect
linkedin to hotmail twittering Facebook member,
who resides within Bhutan, his dignified volition
accorded me magnanimity titled sage without any

influential collusion from Russians bestowed yours
truly with said honorably distinguished appellation,
which humility of mine humbly accepted without a
protestation, though never would I brazenly adopt
spiritual holiness, yet flattered to share such rare

pronouncements, when unsolicited feedback lobbed
in my direction (way before advent of Information
Technology Revolution) often tendered, kindled, and
belittled this gentle human, sans when bullies slung
byte ting bit torrent loathsome scandalous red zingers

targeting personal vulnerabilities, asper being under
socially withdrawn, painfully shy, plagued with speech
impediment (severe nasality) caused by submucous
cleft client, plus weighing where needle budged from
absolute zero pounds, topped with passive demeanor

susceptibilities conveniently converging to establish
this bruised Earthling ideal choice as scapegoat, no
kidding with dread to endure endless days, weeks,
months...a lifetime channel of opprobrious, noxious,
malicious emotionally demonic, cannibalistic, barbaric

abominable, damnable, horrible diatribes chipping
(dale lee) at what measly self confidence shielded
fragile psyche fast crumbling into grist for hungry
caterpillar, unbeknownst that flight path randomly

followed by a representative of Lepidoptera order,
would ineluctably set very subtly infinitesimal
fluctuations within air (currently supplying biota
with requisite oxygen), also training perturbation.

Patience Young Grasshopper mine alter ego spoke
when yours truly figuratively chomping at the bit
more accurately fretting with anxiousness when
boyhood body of mine underwent metamorphosis
impossible mission to thwart biological transformation.

Who Beside This Atheist Doth Say Thar Haint No Angels

Who Beside This Atheist Doth "say" Thar Haint No Angels?

Two fatal head on
     deadly automobile accidents
     in quick succession at 
     Zieglerville, Pennsylvania 
     poetic traffic circle
     killed me twice today,
this communique notated, recorded,
     and transcribed adieu "say"

je nais sais quois eh
by divine angels, who aided
this deceased jay
bird, said winged
     saviors didst sashay
in mine close proximity, this lifeless
     badly damaged body
     sprawled on the road,

when just by the "FAKE"
     skin of my...er...dentures,
     I whiz invisibly
     whisked toward unearthly safety,
     and (just in the nick
     of time before corpse
     of mine thorough lay
underwent aught top say),

this generic organ
     donor and eBay
trader found himself shunted
     into an expansive
     cerebral, cerulean,
     and celestial heavenly
     gate atmospheric quay
king cosmic arena,

     where Cupids practiced play
ying getting strangers lovestruck
     when rehearsals debuted, yay
nearly finding this
     wordsmith spell bound
     yours truly with a may
zing starry eyed,
     and stir craze zee,

the first female
     (coincidentally, a head
     over heels teenage crush)
aye didst yip pee
mon decaying flesh
     felt WOWed, cuz she
never looked better re:
eternally sleeping with her

     stone face, prithee
one, where death be
     not proud did justice,
     yet rules forbid fraternizing
     with deceased, nee
     (repudiating no exceptions
     against gender bending
     strictures) amidst soul asylum,

     could witness punishment, nay
saying of guilty party landing
squarely into jailed
     into the absolute
     worst hellish clinker
     back to the future as
     joining every other
     mere mortal upon Earth,

     next best option offered
     aside from (undying soul
     reveling in immortality),
     would be fate offered,
     by Scott, sans the blimey
(hen pecking) road

     less traveled me
disappointing fate,
     where alternative possibility,
chosen minus collisions, and
     absent adolescent
     post mortem inamorata.

Sarah Hill Revision First Page

(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

Shame

Shame


When word had spread of His arrest, I left
Bethesda, passed five porticoes and came
Eventually upon the Roman fortress;
My curiosity overriding shame. 

Six trials they say He underwent, stood still
With arms behind Him bound, yet He refrained
From admitting guilt before being dragged outside;
While I could only hang my head in shame.

They flogged Him with a lead-tipped whip and placed
A crown of long sharp thorns to mock His fame,
With laughter wrapped Him in a purple robe;
While I could only hang my head in shame.

As parting crowds allowed the Cross to pass,
A constant storm of fists and curses rained,
My silent form within the shadows hid;
While I could only hang my head in shame.

From my place upon the hill, I watched Him
Shake his head when offered wine, the same
Brew sipped in greed by His companions;
While I could only hang my head in shame.

With scant regard to modesty they stripped Him,
Then gambled for His clothes and scorned His name,
Brought hammer, nails to crucify this man;
While I could only hang my head in shame.

As noon approached, the sun retreated and
Darkness fell across this land, yet hard rain
Fell none to wash away complicity;
While I could only hang my head in shame.

His sweat stained forehead creased in agony,
That wound where spear had pierced his failing frame,
And from on high I felt His gaze meet mine;
While I could only hang my head in shame.

When all was still I helped Joseph wrap Him
In a linen shroud, was thanked, proclaimed
A friend, dismissed this status out of hand;
While I could only hang my head in shame.

Sunset stretched the shadows, an olive grove,
A cave His resting place, Mary Magdalene
In stifling tears reached out to say a prayer;
While I could only hang my head in shame.

And there we sat until the night sky turned
To dawn, cold stars above, the burning flame
Of our own thoughts now dwindling embers;
While I could only hang my head in shame.

I’m older now, my life is nearly done,
Have followed in His steps despite been born lame,
For healing hands once worked a miracle;
Yet even now I hang my head in shame.
© Alan Peat  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Rhyme

Total Time I Spent In Dental Chair Post Adolescence To Present Age First Appointment

so much precious existence 
found me rooted with mouth ajar 
as sigh asper the dentin-cementum 
so mud dear reader (with dem perfect 
enameled pearly whites), aye har bar 
envy for those with a complete set 

of eight incisors, four cuspids (i.e. canines), 
eight bicuspids, and twelve molars 
(including four wisdom teeth) tabulating 
many hours in the car (engendering 
saddle sore bony tuckus) 
plus regarding chunk whereat,

pernicious cementum funk 
viz distraught psyche, when muss self as a lil monk
key decades after being examined 
by family dentist Doctor Marcus (NOT WELBY),
excellent practitioner (button irate pulp pill 

people ' especially children) eater – the grump,
whose private practice located 
in Levittown, Pennsylvania, 
and when prepubescent underwent 

pertinent more explicit focused 
intense noninvasive procedures 
asper subsequent cause of speech impediment 
determined why air didst jump

thru nostrils, (speech therapist at Henry Kline Boyer), 
neither thin nor plump 
informed parents 
of Lancaster Cleft Palate Clinic – 
fifty plus miles one direction),

where chief prosthodontist 
Doctor Mohammad N. Mazaheri, DDS, an Iranian 
whose expert reputation, sans strict manner didst trump
his aura, karma evincing clipped commands 
forceful as a vocal whump 

before launching into meat and potatoes 
of crux comprising real aim
constituting modus operandi 
(and cresting away from details indirectly tide 

into main intent, nobody aye blame)
for thine dental debacle quandary 
(managed by gumshun, 
whereby eons hyperbolically toted beyond google), 
and despite the optimistic stance 
wool worth anesthetized numb skull claim

nascent malocclusion faintly affecting, 
hinting, pointing toward Periodontitis 
(despite diligence attending to oral hygiene frame)
the manifestation of major looming crisis compromising, 
forgoing, instigating, et cetera loss of teeth, 

this (after agony in league with separate occasions 
twice wearing braces, concomitant Extractions 
of wisdom and removal of crowdsourcing – 
closeup toward the front of mouth teeth - game
Form: Imagism

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