Long Vaguely Poems
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(which above frolicsome gambit I mastered)
After mine wife
asks for this, that
or something else rife
with intent to provide barrel of laughs,
(likened to barrel of monkeys)
yours truly crafts
description how we share mirth
validating how our respective worth
matters each to the other acting childlike
to stave off altercations
that might come down figurative pike
worst case scenario whereby I strike
mine steadfast fine
(prairie home) companion.
Neither rules nor regulations exist
to our made up silly game
whereby whenever
one of us knowingly reaches out
to latch hold of desired item
specified by name,
the other person feigns to hand over
then pulls back same
alluded to object
held aloft (think
non verbal teasing banter)
said motions sustained
moments before until...
participant/ recipient
(trying in vain to grab
their coveted cherished
jackknifed prized possession)
becomes angry as raging bull.
Ofttimes when I pretend to surrender
that specific something sought after
by her royal highness prefers advanced version,
she doth lapse into her guttural patois,
which scrambled, throttled, and vocalized
(back of the throat utterances)
metrically syncopated
(couching unspoken) unclear clues
her primal wordless request
vaguely analogous
to decipher cryptograms,
whereby, I learned to look for patterns.
Yesteryear selective pastimes
whiling away hours
included many a cognitively
challenging endeavors
comprising decoding enigmatic
intriguing looking English language riddles
located within entertainment section
of The Philadelphia Inquirer
no I could never solve sudoku,
but eldest daughter (Eden Liat -
yea "star student" who matriculated
and graduated summa cum laude
courtesy University of Pennsylvania
breezed thru those logic-based,
combinatorial number-placement puzzle.
How bland a marriage devoid of non
establishmentarian activities, none
of which include physical intimacy,
cuz me libido indeed went deep south
linkedin with half dozen plus medications
yours truly readily swallows
prescribed medication to alleviate
mental health issues such as:
anxiety, obsessive compulsive behavior,
palmar hyperhidrosis,
mild depression et alia.
Biography
The wind blew hard last night
the bedroom window was open I was too lazy
to get up and close it.
I was thinking of writing my biography but found
my life was too tedious to write about it,
Anyway I have only come alive for the last thirty years
before that, I lived in a bubble of self-loathing,
Of course, I could have written about my many illnesses
but I dislike self-pity.
I used to be a seafarer and remember vaguely how bored
it made me after ten years; sea life is for losers.
I could have written about women there has been a few, but most of
my affairs were insignificant, sex has no purpose if love is not involved.
I finally got up found a blanket and slept till nine.
Self-biography is mostly self-serving, and we only remember
the right part and our pretension.
In prison, and bereft of all defence,
But my Healer, graver than ever ere,
Swirls his chair round, yon of window to stare
As if to get inspired from Providence.
More of a dumb than mute, I curse my fate,
But happy he feels that it’s my left hand,
We’ll amputate it if we cannot mend,
What, what? I ask, my mouth an open gate.
We’ll start with anti-Cox, let it take long,
If you stick to treatment, you’ll sure get cured,
Soft tissue bone cancer I hope it’s not,
It looked he played a loose game of Ping Pong,
But what’s not in one’s hand ought 'tbe endured,
He vaguely kept everything to my lot.
Vague were his ways, vague as his weird know-how—
Of kind that make from mole hill huge mountain,
I ask him once again to well explain,
Here’s what he said with flourish and a bow:
There’s a graveyard of local infection,
And a cyst envelopes it like a fort,
Fight ensues, there’s settlement out-of-court,
Bur why worry it all, time to take action.
The cyst was hence removed, its stems and roots,
Biopsy tests done still gave not a clue,
But all follow up had to be gone through,
Cost and concern, me left with bitter fruits,
Does today’s tech help, hinder all the more?
A mixed bag of debates rage—needless lore.
_______________________________________
Crown of sonnets | 03.11.2012, revised July 2023|
Poet’s note: Here are sonnets VII and VIII of a sequel of ten sonnets constituting one single poem called a crown of sonnets. The last line of the preceding sonnet is repeated as the first line of the next sonnet, but not verbatim; nor is the first line of the first sonnet is repeated as the last line of the tenth as is. The sestets are either a quartet and a couplet or two sets of three-lined Terza Rima. Hurt is the place from where light enters, and it did, I realized after my long-drawn medical treatment.
Get offline. Meet me at the corner!
My words are like the wind,
whistling in unassuming;
Your words are filled with daggers,
attention seeking shouters;
Can’t come up with ideas of your own,
you’re too focused on yourself to think,
much less see anything else;
Are you just daft or do you
have a death wish?
Get offline! Meet me at the corner;
See I write everyday.
you write when you feel it suits you;
You have no connection to the Muse,
but that’s something you won’t admit to;
I said it before, you’re a one trick pony
and you’ll never change the game;
You can have your five minutes in the Sun,
open mics are merely a small piece of me;
My focus is the words, I’ve already won.
Get offline! Meet me on the page!
Dunk on people?
The one with a vocabulary holds the record;
Will your slang stand up on paper?
Your backboard sits shattered;
I could say it vaguely
but you’d choke on the metaphor;
Such fluid electricity
can’t be found in acrimony;
Are you just daft or do you
have a death wish?
Get offline! Meet me at the corner.
a Gaudier Brezeka tribute
momentary
fits of enthusiasm
great in promise
visible on the horizon
sanguine features
objects of stimulation
in a fine beautiful spirit
gentleness
with humour
in delicate movements
statues
sketches& a few
page on art
en passant
such shafts of light
faculty of sythesis
with a
faculty of comprehension
sculptured energy
life in the absolute
such intensity
of existence
in a petrified
semblance
such opulent maturity
yet
a fragmented
potential
into
a stasis
of defiance
free of influence
a sense of stone
in stylised shapes
in opulent curves
as assembled digest
unyielding in scope
a consumable scope
for restless inquisitions
now vaguely forgotten
shortened
by the strain of war
but
with
accomplished
ease
in a vortex forseen
I can never comply with fastidious hygiene
Try as thee most persuasive person might,
he/him, she/her,
they, them... can never wean
yours truly always objected
being told when to bathe/shower
particularly when puberty
found yours truly a tween
and my mother (deceased eighteen
plus years - sess her bowl),
she exerted authority
and told her "take a bath,
or no supper"
analogous to a queen,
strict disciplinarian to boot
who wedded her king
(my late father) at age nineteen
the latter (day saint) quite keen
nevertheless both experienced
love towards each other
and tricked out their progeny
(myself included) with halloween
getup, I vaguely recall Amelie Beth
(their eldest daughter -
older sister of mine)
donned as an angel
lighting up night sky, an empyrean
permanent heavenly fixture
popular through Byzantine
epoch, which blinded
her brother (me),
cuz yours truly, the devil in disguise.
Here I sit scores of decades
now edging closer to the edge of night,
and approaching those twilight years
remembering protesting vehemently
(way past the bewitching hour)
not wanting to wash myself
in the tub (water frigid cold), I write
how mother dearest,
whose presence I wanted to smite
this puny progeny
grappling as a neophyte
whose Lilliputian stature
(when a prepubescent)
a over five feet in height
who when constantly
teased courtesy bullies
ran back to ma mommy
whose son totally affright.
If employed in social services field, why
the above might justifiably
smack of insubordination
hashtagging me as Pigpen thereby
wharf fare prompting me
to cleanse myself diving off a Quai
in an effort for Peanuts gallery
to accept yours truly well nigh
but unfortunately
getting mistakenly captured
as a prisoner of war
forced by Japanese to construct
two parallel bridges spanning
the river Kwai
as part of Burma Railway,
also called the Death Railway,
for the many lives
lost in its construction,
but my daring do,
(and boyish good looks)
found yours truly
whisked away to the island of Hawaii,
where hula dancers
choreographed, entranced, and finessed
their seductive routines
a native lass smitten courtesy
one wily word wizard
whose courage bucked up
after munching powder milk biscuits
taken as mistress
helped beget our daughter,
who became apple of mine eye.
A Comment is a Gift
Here we are and the holidays
approaching!
I can even vaguely hear the
reindeer bells in the air.
A poet friend started all this!
I don't know how she did it, but
indeed, she did.
I have a tiny ceramic tree already
lit sparkling right next to me.
Each comment we that do, can be
a gift.
I mean when they come from our
heart, it gives another poet a lift!
I cannot tell you how happy I am
with one of these!
They make us all happy, both you
and me!
It's an acknowledgement that
another read I or thee!
We live in this electronic age.
Some type fast as planes, some
much slower.
But we are all here at the Poetry
Holiday Ball'
So remember that a human wrote
each poem.
Do comment,if you like the poem.
Do it out of love and compassion.
A touch of love, a dash of humility,
like the very first snowfall.
So heavenly sweet and so silent,
under your feet.
A comment.... blesses all here...
An artistic and most creative
confraternity,
Contributing to humanity!
10/2/2020
4:30pm PST
Know, my love, I have created the truth in its entirety, complete,
For the days we will spend together, to live them slowly and sweet.
In the chaos where I find no mistakes, only a playful jest,
An earthly world in disarray, with eternal luck as our guest.
The horizon now gathers us, embracing, all around,
Model prisoners in the striped garb of black's comforting sound.
A vast circle crowns the universe, like a flaming diadem,
Of immense fires, vaguely regal, in stars that brightly condemn.
To our dreams, fragile shards trembling in the breeze,
Desolate in detail, with a pure dust of unwept memories.
Your sparkling flowers, a common glade, an eternal fall,
Their recyclable coma, perpetual, urges peace to call.
Beyond the peaceful "I am," my soul will scream aloud,
A supreme wail flowing over your fractured hair, like longing in a cloud.
In naturally curled locks, but electro-cut, a shiver unfolds,
Toward your unyielding thought, steadfast and bold.
All the shivers, like droplets, recently chilled,
Abracadabra-like ideas barely emerging, thrillingly spilled,
Hallucinatory thoughts you'll never quite comb through, my dear,
Forever and always, with nothing to grasp, an immeasurable yearning near!
Infants can vaguely
remember how often they were
attentively cared for...
kissed and touched by their mothers:
cuddling them in those
protective and undetached arms,
claiming their babies to be the cutest ones!
I do reacall how mother fed me;
and made sure I was completely full,
until I burped and my tiny eyes began to roll...
Around seven a.m. I was awaken by the choir,
when the massive medieval organ,
over the church's altar, began to play;
she took me out to the sunny veranda,
to let me hear its heavenly sound!
And it exquisitely played the" Ave Maria! "...
while all the nuns from the monastery,
across the stone-paved street, headed,
towards their place of meditation and prayer;
ever since their devotion became mine...
Time, you age our bodies with worries and diseases,
but only memories are timeless and unerasable;
childhood is the slowest phase of our fleeing life,
and that event can influence our well-being:
to make us happy or sad, lovable and kind...
bitter and unmindful, or resentful and hateful!
However positively or negatively, these feelings are fed to the heart;
we act on them accordingly without the tendency to forget that:
we were once loved so sweetly and so endessly by a mother, with a pious face,
who desired their children to be the mirror of herself...
when her cutes ones would become caring husbands and loving wives,
to carry on this honorable tradition for the survival of the Human Race...
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Quantum Duck Soup
On a quest not unlike the hunting of the Snark,
The physicist seeks his elusive quarks,
Those delectable nothings that come in fine flavors,
Dancing through the void like colored party favors.
Their elusive forms leave him vaguely annoyed,
Their lack of substance teasing his mind
With hints of possible future sustenence
Though the harder he looks, the less he finds.
At the last he settles for confining them to books,
Their invisible bodies hung up on invisible hooks.
Strangeness, Beauty, Charm and Truth -
These the four gifts of Spacetime's youth.
What a pity such flavors may never be tasted,
Save by such minds as are themselves roasted and basted
In the merciless ovens of Pure Mathematics,
Where Theorems be bred by eccentric fanatics.
Up, Down, Bottom and Top -
The merry quarks spin on, and never stop.
The bones and brains of their living hosts
Move ever forward, impelled by flavored ghosts.