Adversity rarely enters a life with a Trumpet
It doesn't come loud
It doesn't come bold
It doesn't come systemically
With brass horns ablaze
Like some headlines twinkling.
Nah- Adversity is crafty
It slides in sideways, quiet as a hum
With the nerve to reposition your peace
Without clearance.
It tests your patience, lugs at the rim of
Your faith, tries to see if your backbone is
Made of loaned strength. Or the kind you
Bootleg in the dark.
When nobody was clapping
But you-
You rise like your spirit has muscle hindsight.
You rise like the storm forgot who it was
Rustling with.
Adversity comes unannounced, but you answer
The door with a steady glare, a steady breath,
A steady validity.
You are not easily moved
You are not easily shattered
You are not easily incomplete
And every quiet clash becomes another loud
Achievement in the story you're still writing
Penmanship
That man stirs before the sun, dashing hopefulness,
Hopefulness that his son will grow, not just mature,
Mature into a man, who lugs his name,
Name engraved in sweat, not pursuing eminence.
Eminence never suckled the ardor of his soreness,
Soreness from scuffles tussled in quietness and pain,
Pain he credited so his child treasures concord,
Concord cleared through hurricanes, never ephemeral.
Ephemeral is the joy, but enduring is love,
Love that drains through detriment and scabs,
Scabs that murmur, “I bequeathed all I ensured,”
Ensured bravery enough to silhouette the celebrities.
Poem by Mugisho N.
This world is full of noise,enough to burst,
your mind and destroy well being lust,
noise from traffic on ground and air,
from telly,s ,radios and everywhere.
Gies a break we aa bellow,
makin mair noise for fellow,
humans who walk the same path,
work it oot dae the math,
as oor cousins wid sey across the watter,
haud oan a meenit ah heed yer call,
whits wrang wi noise does it really matter.
Aye it does my fairweether freends,
caises pain in yins lugs and heid,
those wi issues hate this aa the time,
produces anxiousness and depressed need.
Get tae the wids trendies cry,
wildlife an trees wull help ye fly,
even in the daurkest realms of root,
tae mony bodies causing mair noise.
Jumpin in secluded pools delighted shouts,
or faaing fae the heevens oan broken sheets,
flapping ,twirling adrenalin urging,
Bikes hurtling alaang secret paths,
get oot the wey comes the noisy cry,
Lets shoot the craw and leave this place,
seek oot the spots tae find yer solace.
The steaming ghee rice,
yellow dhal,
cucumber salad,
spicy temptation wafting up from the beef curry…
My family,
from ma to niece,
sit at the dining table.
When I take the vacant chair,
I feel it’s an exact recurrence of a past feast.
An unreal reality.
Transient.
Living is an illusion –
the Indian philosophy glows like a firefly within my skull.
Man lugs life to death with a little knowledge.
Like telepathy,
déjà vu is another mysterious truth promising things beyond the corporeal end.
First published in The Literary Hatchet (issue#28).
Come pray in this shady, serene location,
A place of sheer bliss and candid delight,
This scenic mead has a form and motion,
Bear me dip in calm; God bore me insight.
A place of sheer bliss and candid delight,
While bowing below trees, nectar will overflow,
Bear me dip in calm; God bore me insight,
Hear the spells while gazing at the show.
While bowing below trees, nectar will overflow,
Nature's lure lugs me, its veins keen light,
Hear the spells while gazing at the show,
Noble kites rise as the lilts on the height.
Nature's lure lugs me, its veins keen light,
I am ogling at the sky, and love swells deep,
Noble kites rise as the lilts on the height,
Our joy fuels ardor as we cheer and leap.
I am ogling at the sky, and love swells deep,
This scenic mead has a form and motion,
Our joy fuels ardor as we cheer and leap,
Come pray in this shady, serene location.
Written: May 23, 2022
Vibram lugs 2 inches thick
for edge work back when
I was so young
with mountains to climb
the leather uppers
with mink oil spread
in the oven baked
again and again
Mountains I climbed
and dusty trails walked
like friends of old
they still remain
in dark of night
as I do cry
in fear I tremble
and wonder why
dreams of youth
in spring of years
golden sunshine
that could never and
a orange back pack
on aluminum frame
4000 cubes
that so much held
Baseball mitts
and skiing wax
holstered canteens
and hammocks of string
wonder I now
just what it will hold
if the long road
my feet will find
when does come
new dawn breaks
life begins again
and death flees away
a sleeping bag filled
with hollofil II
will it then replace
my King size bed
nightmares were then
a distant unfelt thing
words on the news
unknown to me
if healthy lived
kept active mind
dreams then could grow
keep nightmares at bay
yet dreams now do end
golden sun does set
dark of night will fall
cannot be held at bay
again take up my staff
and the backpack fill
sturdy boots again to wear
and on the road go away
Oakey Dokey Smokey
He's my motley my baby pokey
geez smokey you sounded a little crockey
why I loved to be your blokey
let me hug yah like a bug in a rug
so snug we both kinda look like a pack of lugs
your one fat cat I can definitely say that
but boy cross your path
and we all end up in a big
black trap...
There are women who feel a strong need
To nag men until their ears bleed
In a war of attrition
With relentless petition
Is a cruel way to make men concede
Men wish for a life of peace
But get nagged by a tongue that won't cease
Men will just say
It's the female DNA
That must out in its need for release
We can’t help it; we just HAVE to nag
Guess some folks would call us 'an old hag'
But men get on our nerves
When you paw at our curves
Men should give up and wave the white flag
We can suffer from bad PMT,
Become ogres that men want to flee
We scream and we shout
Say we’ll throw you out
But for some reason you wont let us be
Better by far, we should try this next time
It's effective and will prove sublime
By wearing earplugs
In each of our lugs
We'll be laughing whilst nagging - in mime
Laughing together will lighten our day
It's a tonic to chase our problems away
For a really big smile
Can last a long while
And we'll both get along better that way
24th January 2016-01-24
Collaboration by Jan Allison and Rob Bettridge
There are women who feel a strong need
To nag men until their ears bleed
In a war of attrition
With relentless petition
Is a cruel way to make men concede
Men wish for a life of peace
But get nagged by a tongue that won't cease
Men will just say
It's the female DNA
That must out in it's need for release
We can’t help it; we just HAVE to nag
Guess some folks would call us 'an old hag'
Men get on our nerves
When you paw at our curves
You should give up and wave the white flag
We can suffer from bad PMT,
Become ogres that men want to flee
We Scream and we Shout
Say We’ll throw you out
But for some reason you wont let us be
Better by far, we should try this next time
It's effective and will prove sublime
By wearing Earplugs
In each of our Lugs
We'll be laughing, whilst nagging - in Mime
Laughing together will lighten our day
It's a tonic to chase all our problems away
For a really Big Smile
Can last a long while
And we'll both get on better that way
The wind faces us down, a bitter housemaster
seeing our tricks, he raises his willowy cane,
jealous of our freedom and wings
Then pitiless comes the mighty blow,rips the
boys hand from the sea/a thousand lines
I must drive my cutter to the wind
I must drive my cutter to the wind
And planets hidden by the clouds, jostle
for place so that a man might see, and
take to their contrary taste, while
The briny rope on brass lugs and
staysail winch and flapping watery
forehatch, scream for solace in the
Brassy ferment; and in the heavens, a
widow’s veil contains the sludge-black
clouds above, where seagulls and pitiless
puffins, with filled-bills, carry their fishy
death to nest.
And on the shore perfidious, dread-filled
processions of daughters and wiry sons,
keep the vigil by the hearth; where wild
wive's wombs, upset by thunder’s booms,
wade their watery tombs.
COPLA DIECINUEVE : This Bad Guy World
All biped animals aren’t Men
Some are elves, fairies and witches
Others yet thugs
All are born to play roles given
Time Place Parents Beliefs Glitches:
The fate each lugs
Guys good and bad make up charade
Tug of war levels out with time:
If bad guys lose
When bad guys gang up to invade
Other guys living in good chime:
Charade red glows
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Metaphor of multi plug
The metaphor of the multi plug
With lines and leads connected lugs,
To keep you on their lead,
Believing all their krappy creed,
from some dirty unwashed thug,
You poor mental as passive weed,
Do you dig the drain I’ve dug
Or has you brain gone off to seed,
The master holds a grudge,
Deceptive television yes do heed,
It’s fool the drongoes, brainwash, drug,
The millions watch and get a feed,
Of Tory bullkrapp every seed,
You are treated like a mug,
The Super rich will tug your weed,
Brainwash, every deed,
Your television it does shrug,
Repetition keeps you up to speed?
Jammed in your brain poor slug?
The unsuspecting brainwash need,
Manilipulated poor, poor dud…
When the Rich control the news media effectively,
You are battered with propaganda,
Television always showing no respect for thee,
Your goose is cooked old Gander,
To the Drongo rich they pander,
Their connection, pull the plug………………
Don Johnson
Eedjit, bamstick, scunner and twit,
Am no wan o’ them, am jist a nit.
People whae’ve kent me, aw ma days,
Say am unstable, in aw ma ways.
They dinna really ken, the person ah am,
A real great guy, and no’ a bam.
Ah dae some awfy funny things,
But ahm no a hanky, cranky ---- jings!
Dae ye ‘oanestly think, am really ‘bats’,
Eyes all ablaze, like a big Manx cats.
Yellin’ an’ screamin’, an’ roond the bend,
A daft wee looney, tae the very end.
Ah tell ye ya’ great big scunnerin’ oafs,
Ye better no’ let me hear ye scoaff.
Ah’ll batter yer lugs against a wa’,
And yaise yer heids, tae play fitba’.
Then ah’ll throw ye under a movin’ train,
An’ mak mincemeat, oot o’ yer feeble brains.
Am a real great guy, the very best
But dinnae dare pit me tae the test!
Nothing ignites my temper’s fire,
better than getting a flat tire.
Yes, it is an annoying episode,
when it stops my progress on the road.
I pull over to the shoulder on the side.
Out comes that little black doughnut that I hide.
I prop up the jack by slowly turning the crank.
This vehicle of mine is as heavy as a tank.
The lugs come loose, and I pull off the flat.
Other people whiz by me where I am at.
My hands become black covered with soot and dirt.
Consider me lucky if I do not get hurt.
One more factor becomes a miserable pain.
That is when I change the tire in the rain.
Here she comes
Walking down the street
What's she wearing
Looking so neat
Lime green shirt
Really a treat
Black dress pants
The style she tweeks
Pride walking
Through the door
Keeps her stride
Even more
She looks good
She looks fine
Best in the neighborhood
What's that at her feet
A dog on a lease
He looks good
He looks fine
He finest kind
Prancing, dancing
Does many feats
Taunt goes the lease
He's running on those feet
The lease go taunt
Dog snatches
She suffers defeat
She looks daunt
The dog pulls, tugs
The lady lugs
She runs, he looks
Behind
Come on your mine
She looks daunted
She looks haunted
Who is walking who
The lady in lime green
Or the Chihuahua
Who thinks he can
Boss the whole neighborhood
(Saw a woman walking a chihuahua probably weighed 3 lbs. except he was walking her.
Thought of a song from long ago "There she comes walking down the street" don't
remember title or artist but thought I need to give credit here.)
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