Long Wild oats Poems
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Heartbroken lass bereft of eminent beau
papa doth vicariously experience her
(mine daughter's) grievous woe.
Unfair a budding promising relationship nought
going to incorporate wedded bliss,
when for all the world
the strong humble lad
absconded to Puerto Rican his homeland.
Thus pained University
of Pennsylvania alumna
("star student") since grade one
at Belmont Hills Elementary
whose high school alma mater
i.e. Harriton High School,
now glum Oakland California transplant.
I (biological father),
who helped beget offspring
writhes with agony,
cuz he and the missus
sowed wild oats
during prime time,
when irresistible call of the wild
overtook wisdom to shuck contraceptive
yielding the miracle of life.
Parenthood never ended
just because declaration of independence
and autonomy witnessed natural propensity
for progeny to reliant become on self
forced shoulder living expense
no only for herself,
but deux darling
tortoiseshell dappled
five month old kittens
most certainly a constant reminder,
when she and he "two peas in a pod"
shared so many college campus memories,
whereby appearances hinted
and predicted a shared destiny
between two love birds.
An abrupt cleavage
rent asunder never witnessing
mutual graceful dotage
figuratively saddled once ebullient psyche
unnecessarily bogged our engineering minded lady
with cumbersome equipage
after they spent precious
young adulthood years together
emulating how married couple live, I gauge
such scenario, cuz talk of wedding bells
filled the (telephonic) airwaves,
whereby yours truly feeling blessed
potential prodigal son in law
his earning hand over fist big bucks
employed at Silicon Valley company
geared toward marketing fitness application.
Unsure how said high achiever
bolstered with you go girl refrain,
(who ofttimes communicated with Zayda,
i.e. his demise a crushing sorrow),
which inevitable prolonged decline
sundered special rapport
since more'n threescore
Earth orbits around the sun
papa acquired mechanical engineer degree
working within Aerospace Division
at General Electric.
Impossible mission not to care
despite mein kampf punctuated
with mine wanderlust flair
marital covenant garden variety
wordsmith did greatly impair
triggering hostility within mine humble lair
adulterer letter forcibly donned as outerwear.
Part Two
Till October comes around with its bounty
The granary stuffed to the full
Lush fruits still pulpy and juicy
Ripen to a filthy rashes on skin brashness
The greenness of innocence
Turned to an over-ageing dun-yellow
Tell-tale sickening silliness
Soon detached the firm leaves will lie
Thick on the ground spurned and trampled
Earlier than the appointed hour
No matter
Recourse to pins and stitches
Breast uplifts
Straightened nosebridges
Dead Indian women’s chevelures
High straining buttressing stilts under heels
And thick sticky chemical tasting paint
Squeezed carcasses concentrated musk
Furs of bludgeoned seals and foxes
Haute couture paid through bankers’ loots
Or the easy secret service paid trysts
Through hard-earned tax payers’ sweat
In five-star deluxe hotels
Will lengthen the hour
Yet
In the boudoir
Yes
Pity the woman
She has but a score years
from teen to thirty-five
Before men take her
for a whore
Some women know this well
And cleverly work to use this sell
She’ll kick and thrust her lolly chops
from bum to cheek
In the later Heaven’s southwest sky
Fascination oozing from her loins
The sacred portals of propagation
Bruised all over under fire-dragon skies
Bloody a limb or two out of joint
and the gnawing ignominy
Of having relented in June
Sowing your wild oats
with the blessings of 13.7 billion years
The trained and disciplined chromosomes
Without the company on whom to work her wiles
and sap nourishing energy to continue
She’ll seek the riotousness of her ilk
and at autumn’s summit
At the height of smoldering flesh
When worms and germs
will make a merry feast
Of the beast in her meat
Let her fade away with her booty
Seek not to set right wrongs
You have only yourself to blame
For thinking easily entered gamboling
Will not be made out to be your aim
For weren’t you then the spirit consoling
© T. Wignesan, May 10, 1987 (rev. 2012, from the collection: Lessons of Change, 1987)
Cupid loosed a love potion
laced arrow alas and alack
thy nineteen year young daughter
Shana Aubrey, smitten
with glassy eyed
and feverish amorousness
toward a English lad named Zak,
she feels sad, cuz
she iz to return back
to the United States
less than a month
(with my youngest sister Shari Todd,
and her other family members
of the Dunning claque
this papa, whose youth
and ungathered rosebuds inter alia
elapsed scores of years ago
n'er did find himself
as the fetching beau
asper any pretty young thang,
nar did I own
a handy dandy blues clue
how to appease biological call viz,
sowing wild oats
as pubescent time came due
shortchanging natural predilection
to gather rose buds at primal age
but took refuge within
a hermetically sealed cage
which complex emotional
edifice accessible equipage
then (and now) solely
in my possession,
yet needle, sans measuring gauge
now registers very low
sexual excitation on face dial image.
Though mine pre
pubescent young life bereft
shot thru being gun shy,
hence threadbare warp and weft
and as an emotionally troubled teen,
never livingsocial, left
a gaping figurative hole,
aye n'er didst
fabricate essential heft
tee warp and woof, upon
which adult inter
personal linkedin knit wit
get solidly stitched
instead an irreparable threadbare cleft
where tapestry remains unwoven
though more deft
nothing but cold embers left
nor apropos for this lix spit tilled
aged rooster, who can barely cluck
to romp in accordance
as a young buck
or squawk like a trumpeting
drake hula hooping duck
thus, twas glad and
breathed sigh of relief when,
thee punim summoned
verve and pluck
to chap up affinity to discover
visa vis unbridled passion
unlike this old man
with youthful romance,
he never didst truck!
That gilded cage
with its…
heavy quilted,
ironclad armour
is Home
to her soul
She's been busy
racking up layers
while her soul burrows
deeper
and deeper
yielding to the cage's allure
as it whirls through
timeless wormholes
birthed by life's orbit
Her soul carries on
swimming through
Sands of eternity
Oblivious
to the obvious realities
that cage is a Shield
though at times
it obscures the view
in its cleft, a haven is found
by a soul
yearning for silence
and nursing a craving
for stillness
This chest feels empty at times
the emptiness speak volumes
it’s the kind
that never ever lets up
it’s loudly echoed
by the heart's throb
as it obediently irrigates a life
a duty
that will not be deprived
This prison is a Safe house
entry is denied to most
it’s limited to a selected few
and that
after meticulous scrutiny
exits are but a fantasy
and thus glisten
with the appeal
of the unattainable
One fateful day
her soul
in a trance
teleported into an abyss
of quickened desire
where a glimmer
of unfounded hope
sparked a wisp of courage
Her soul rose
to the occasion
and offered its fears
for a sacramental sacrifice
as its terrors rose
to the surface, she
cradled it in her arms
to soothe it
with gentle crooning
Her song a mantra of rebirth
Of a buried seed
that in time sprouts
and shoots past its confines
When it finally matures,
it will sow it’s seed
to the wind
while its fluff takes to the skies
and beyond
its roots will nourish
the womb of the mother
Her lullaby purified the sacrifice
as darkness fell
upon the cage
turning it into a cozy
cocoon…
While her soul
hibernated
She
in patience
stood sentinel
armed with love
to keep the terrors at bay
as nature sows it’s wild oats
This heart is a Fortress
that serves her soul
while it mans the post
It will remain
on ice
She met him in the interim,
that space between endings and beginnings;
a summer fling;
a sowing of her not so wild oats
was all that it was meant to be.
But he was so much more.
She found herself languishing
pool side on his patio
as long June afternoons
dripped like molasses into nights.
Sometime in July,
her illusion that she’d had of independence
burst like pyrotechnics in the sky.
And oh, those nights they imbibed!
Her nights with him ran
like the blood-red wine
in the goblets
cupped
by the trembling hands of two inebriates.
But the stems of those goblets
slipped quickly from their fingers,
and love’s elixir
spilled much too quickly
into tomorrow.
Along with the dry protracted days,
she - like desert grasses -
withered as she waited.
always thirsting for the nights!
But by the time August had arrived,
she also had come to realize that,
like the yellowed grasses,
she needed more than passion at dusk.
The nights, in fact,
had brought her
no less scorching than the sun.
And what she’d thought
was more than she could want
became much less
than he could ever give.
Some essential thing was lacking,
some need deep inside her
not being fulfilled.
In those long afternoons
as she'd waited for him,
she'd come to realize what was missing.
By September - back in school -
she knew her ardor for him
had barely waned,
yet still. . .
she knew what she had to do.
And so, she looked to autumn's advent
for October's cooling winds
to sweep away
the remnants
of ashes in her soul.
2/26/2015
For Laura Loo's Free Verse on Sadness (again) Poetry Contest
Aye agreed
and did promise to pledge troth
faster than greased lightning airspeed
once the missus temporarily
ceased menarche regarding monthly bleed
became in family way with child
thee eldest, whom one day may breed
opting out begetting offspring
later versus schooner, I must concede
first born proactive with beau
raising one or more progeny
sprouting like loco crazyweed
hypothetical kin unschooled,
viz no particular
race, religion, creed...
cuz unlike das papa,
she carefully plots
being University of Penna degreed
shipshape smarts anchors ahoy mate
well seasoned life, yes indeed
unlike me willy cocked,
limp bizkit primed to hawk kitty
then future spouse did not intercede
once peppy begged, connived,
dictated tug get freed
birth control neither I,
nor missus did heed
sowing wild oats courtesy yours truly
didst adeptly beg, burrow, knead
mini straw nee
testosterone totally tubular
lil trouser snake proceed
letting call of wild take lead
tube (steak king claim for fatherland)
heady after slurping boot legged mead
wharf four hide hid bungle exceed
ding whacking thru jungle of lady love
until...making head way
verboten fruit fricasseed
stifled unnatural prime mate years
pent up sexual urge, thus did supercede
pitched, hitched, ditched
libido in throes of monkish celibacy,
procreating analogous to filigreed
custom made jewel,
thence sore relief yours truly did need
at seminal moment ejaculating seed
with snoop doggy dogg speed
generating prickly heat
inducing ***** fied stampede
appetite for reproduction
essentially kitty feed
bubbling self cleaning oven
after getting soused asthma gumweed
glommed, where male member
tiptoed thru tulips
playing biological equivalent
risque business "Russian roulette"
pregnancy eventually guaranteed.
Going on without you
Is driving me insane
The love I still have for you
Has never been in vain
In going our separate ways
Nobody was to blame
Even with everything around us that's changed
For you I still feel the same
Love is not about winning or losing
It's not about how well you play the game
It's about your raw emotions
And your wanting them to go back from where and which they came
The ones from deep inside your soul
And they can't nor won't be restrained
You try so hard to control
But you find yourself wanting more for that special someone
Then you do for or ever have wanted for anyone before
Even if your heart forever they've stole
And the pain you endure
Well I'm the last one who needs to be told
I live it every damn day to be bold
I do what I do
Just to go on
Living in my moments
That are not my own
Time passes right on by
Tears oh yes, I've cried
Yet I believe in many ways with wisdom I've grown
Wild oats have been sewn
Realizing things perhaps a little to late
Knowing now he's always been my soul mate
Now leaving things up to fate
It's hard when your memories
Plays with your reality
You don't know if you can get through the night
Sometimes standing in the tunnel
You can see the light
It all comes together and fits again just right
For me for now only more time passing will tell
If my world will forever be a living hell
When that times comes will you be there as before
Or simply turn and quietly shut the door
Would you gently take me in your arms and hold me tenderly forever more
Or will you cut me deep to the core
Either way I just wish it would be done
So I can get things out in the open
Get on with our lives again whatever they may be
But just know that I'll forever believe
Together is where you and me
Should be
Hear this recitation
the Lenape nation
bore a child of extreme size,
in the Onteoras,
the Catskills of yore now,
this man would live out his whole life.
Winisook was his name,
and he gained local fame
from standing at seven feet tall,,
to the red men and white
this guy was quite a site,
they’d not seen someone like him at all.
On the Hudson frontier,
way back in olden years,
a good trade between peoples was known,
be it trade guns or wives
they did find ways to thrive,
and many wild oats were sown.
Yes, the man Winisook
by a woman was took,
a girl named Gertrude Molyneux,
she returned his great love,
prayed to her God above
that they’re affections would prove true.
But her family did not quite feel the same,
said Winisook was the savage kind,
fear their honor dead if she went to his bed,
and pressured her to change her mind.
Despite her feeling down,
ahe sadly came around,
afraid she’d bring her family shame,
but the man that they chose
was known for some great lows,
and Joseph Bundy was his name.
A son of the Dutchmen,
she was pushed to wed him,
and below the peaks they did live,
but Bundy was shady,
he gambled, had ladies,
misery was all he could give.
Winisook felt saddened,
more than a bit maddened,
but at this point should he persist?
So he tried to forget her,
his beloved lover,
not knowing her heart remained his.
His efforts brought nothing,
he could not stop loving,
would speak with her when Joe was gone.
she’d not deny her heart,
or from his be apart
even if people might call it wrong.
Off to the mountains the two made their way,
to where Winisook’s tribe did abide,
he took her as wife and they set up their life,
and soon three fine children arrived...
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
Two score and a decade have past
It's time to be reflective
To take account of all I've done
And put it in perspective
All my wild oats are sown
The grain is in the bin
Sometimes I wish I had a way
To show just where I've been
I map out my destruction
So those who come will know
The roads that I have taken
Are not the way to go
I've climbed the tree of life
And sampled all the sins
The good ones and the bad ones
I've set foot on every limb
I've bathed in pools of sorrow
I've danced in pleasures rain
I've walked through fields of glory
And suffered human pain
I've battled my afflictions
I've embraced the joy of love
I took what I was given
And thanked the Lord above
Not everything was happy
Yet all was not that bad
I'm grateful for the journey
Through the life that I have had
So now I sit in retrospect
Of all my living days
Writing down my words of life
To put them on display
The echos of my mothers words
Still linger in my head
"Don't mess around with all those things
Or one day you'll be dead"
My father lived to eighty two
He drank and smoked and cussed
My mother lived to eighty one
And never touched the stuff
He sat there at the alter
Of his favorite bar and grill
Drinking sacrificial booze
And giving up his will
She was pure with heart of gold
She never went astray
Yet life left her a decade with
No thoughts of yesterday
Alzheimers was her reward
For doing all things right
Bed ridden in her final days
Until she saw the light
Who's to say how it will end
Or where that place will be
A gutter in the streets of life
Or home where I should be
So as I sit and contemplate
These moments of my past
I think about the road ahead
And how long it will last
Rockman :-)
No rhyme nor reason why
with yours truly ejaculating
(not prematurely), I utter yippee,
nope no intercourse induced whoopie
upon this... - day three
January two thousand and twenty one
perhaps consummation,
regarding aforesaid euphoric mood
indicative I will become philanthropy
recipient i.e. anonymous lucky payee
before anniversary of this monkey
exhibiting fits and starts
orbitz nearest star
while linkedin to planet Earth
as (mush ado about nothing)
spasmodically thrashing
as garden variety generic
*****sapien protoplasmic beef jerky.
Courtesy guilty conscience,
I verily, timidly, readily... admit
no criminal mind nor hanky panky
whereby unfettered naughty bit
no way no how frolicked courtesy dalliance
though trespassing, plucking,
and nibbling verboten fruit
this average Joe didst commit,
which extramarital trysts
cost hefty penalty fee (think debit)
to checking account exhibit
head by mine absence one night
years ago, when we lived
at 724 West Railroad Avenue
thee missus exploded livid fit
of rage found me stony faced with true grit
feeling proudly unrepentant
what an ingrate hypocrite
pledging troth after rubbing noses
analogous as flirtatious custom to Inuit.
Thus smugness and/or feeling upbeat
seems heretical (in retrospect)
cuz promised covenant chaste away,
when sowing wild oats/gathering rosebuds...
like a mad ing dog in heat
one errant husband
upon wife did swing and cheat,
which wedded connubial bliss
more pronounced now after commiting
egregious sexual feat.
Figurative emasculation discovered
visa vis promiscuous escapades
redemption (no matter an atheist) proffered
hence an ideal place to enclose final word.