From the womb it seems I birthed into a cocoon
Cant say I had known for sometime I was alive
Much learnt whilst unaware for almost four years
My memories say I'm one calendar says I'm five
Things that seemed important over sixty years ago
The latest shaped shoes or a top ten hit parade song
At fifteen peer pressure shaped how I would behave
Learning to discover where I would eventually belong
No manuals to assist a father raise three young children
Imparting to dependants the way I had been mentored
Dealing with an aggressive workplace, finances and self
At thirty overwhelmed, swearing in this poem is censored
A new century arrived grandfathering is such a blessing
Responsibilities of existence have largely been lightened
Now turned fifty still feeling some traces of distant youth
A positive outlook on life has recently become heightened
Having reached the age of seventy over eight years ago
As an alternative thinker there is a chance I am outcast
I am far removed from alignment with majority opinion
Rejecting thoughts postulating how much time I might last
Filled to the brim with old papers,
recipes, pencils, who knows what.
Manuals I should have thrown out,
that food menu I lost last year.
Black hole for kitchen escapers,
do you think old scissors still cut?
This cracked magnet lying about
is still a cherished souvenir.
Nostalgia in a large amount,
I wonder what else is in here.
on crenshaw
carousing in cavernous cafes
slicing into earthen skin
the meat dancers bring it to a boil
they murder the rug
they scrounge for earth worms
the fish head girls bob like sea birds
telephoning purple mermaids for a date
they have no name tags and no flowers
they sing sad madrigals to the starfish
they know this is the last pavane
the final curtsy before night goes down
before morning arises under white sheets
loosening the brain screws
burning the instruction manuals
imbibing the nylon remonstrations
on crenshaw
a lonely woman croons
an oozing torch song to the dirt people
they sit erect in a dark morgue
chittering like insects
singing cool blues music to the meat dancers
they bring it to a boil
with burgers bullets and beef cake
genius guitar freak vivisects clawing time
he twangs his axe with a searing solo
he plays psychedelic lullabies to the dead
his music torturing the earth worms
The mayor out to save a few bucks
dragged his feet declaring a snow emergency.
The sanitation department decided it was time
to begin a work slowdown protesting cutbacks made
to their department during the last budget crises.
Though union officials when questioned
about this insisted.
They were being used as scapegoats again!
And my snow blower wouldn’t start cause.
I stored it at the end of last season minus
a gas extender you’re advised to add to its gas tank
in the owner's manual, but come on!
Who reads owner manuals?
What do you do when duct tape won’t fix it?
Y’know, when that “I got this” attitude is shattered
When it’s not things, or stuff, or “errors”
That require the questionable solutions of the “fixer”.
Souls are hard to comprehend and come without service manuals
No graphics or guidelines, no “call this number” bailout.
And yet they fail, suffer breakage, weaken with time
Outlive their expiration dates, idly linger.
Daybreak’s sun rises dimmer and fades to futility
As darkness intrudes into a vacant emptiness.
My tool box is useless, its contents befuddled
By an invisible break, an un-noticed fissure,
The silent slide into a dreaded abyss
Of distance, doubt, disconnection.
I am the duct tape and I cannot fix it
Save to cover my eyes and deny its presence.
the head of the counselors resigned the second day of school.
We are congregating for our first meeting without a leader.
They give us a room without chairs or tables.
We were instructed to bring laptops and manuals.
I brought a notebook and a pen, knowing I will write poetry.
We are counselors, we are flexible someone says as they line us up.
No worries. No problems.
I sit down and begin to write.
Someone says “don’t get comfortable, we are moving tables.”
She is new, feels like she is in charge.
I get up and find a corner chair.
The room is coming together slowly.
Gospel music is played.
Goody.
I have been in this district seventeen years.
This is a redundant yearly seminar, but mandated.
The first thing the head says is
“Don’t worry about bringing laptops or manuals.”
She is the one who had emailed us all to bring them.
I grin.
Because I had figured out that already.
Same oh same oh.
Sheila loved reading about forensics and dinosaurs that once flew
She adored non-fiction, biographies, mysteries, UFO stories too
What kind of a mother will she be? Asked her cousin Strange Lou.
The kind who showed intelligence, a lifelong learner, tis true.
Her husband was amazed at how many books Sheila would read.
She studied manuals and cookbooks, as her family did feed.
Why does Mommy love books so? Her youngest asked, her name was May
It gives her excitement, said her oldest daughter, a reader, named Fay.
The family knew that Sheila would never go hungry for a book.
They were hidden in her cupboards, under the sink, and in a nook.
Sheila never stopped learning, she knew more than a PhD.
I know about Sheila because she is the woman who raised little ole me.
and all your worth is in vain
and your gaze dips wrong again
if you do believe you are drowning in the truth
in the mind of man every neuron is another world
and they're all called insanity
manuals are wrong and you
when you seek complicity
static in front of the mirror
see that we are all loneliness
bumping into lost and desperate
without realizing the darkness itself
that in your cells awaits
only the numbers are correct
fully predictable and sequential
indifferent to our insane quest
by the chimera of a world of equals
All religions in the world preach the noblest morals
Show us live harmoniously without quarrels.
Constitutions of nations advocate ideal ways
Inculcate unity and fraternity always.
The pious scriptures, great preaching contained
Rights and duties, the manuals clearly explained
Ancient cultures are forever to be cherished
Their roots and origins shouldn’t be perished
Wars, never be the antidotes; take issues to discussions
Or else the whole race has to face the repercussions
Acknowledge that no race is superior to others
All have their own radiance and unseen covers
Self-centric, the only reason for all plights
Change mindsets and then think for the rights
Are we the sole owners of this soil?
To rebuild this pristine land, need to toil.
Summits and seminars may find out reasons and remedies
Let’s start! Be a part of the marathon to bring back the melodies.
Placed: 2nd
Your Peace Message to the World Poetry Contest
Free verse poetry form only.
Sponsored by: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
Date: 05-04-2022
and all your worth is vain
and your eyes dive into the wrong ocean
when you believe you are drowning in the truth
in the man's house every corner is another world
and all are called partiality
all stem from insanity
manuals are wrong and you
when seek complicity
see that our destiny is called loneliness
because we are all distance
bumping into lost and desperate
in the empire of darkness
only the numbers survive sovereigns
predictable and sequential
indifferent to our quest
by the chimera of a world of equals
Children will generally meet your expectations
Especially when they feel loved and accepted,
When feelings are factored into many situations
When with their parents they feel connected.
They certainly deserve a cogent explanation,
Without anger and threats being interjected,
As to why their parents expect a cessation
Of the type of unacceptable behavior detected.
written June 28, 2021
Well, starting from the principle that poetry is meaning and form, not just ... When reading, for example, the instruction manual of an appliance ... Poetry does not explain itself ... it joins the writing with interpretation ...
So you can read poetry and not understand poetry ... for a better understanding, you need to be a poet!
Those looking for a concrete answer, read manuals ...
To make poetry is to gather words that were not known
or that they are adversaries, or that they are friends, but that they do not always speak ... to plug us in the wrong socket and to wait for the explosion. or not ... this is poetry ... something else is something else ... prose, self-help, words in the wind, instruction manual, pamphlet ... even there can be poetry,
but you need to be a poet!
In the musical nostalgia of now,
my soul takes a liking to
vanguard of yore ... marvelous
songs are reborn ... all coming
From beyond...
With poems, short poems,
a lot of effort and some poetry,
you become a rare poet ...
The pen writes the words,
the poet, the feelings ...
In digital settings, my verses
manuals are recycled, but not
lose their sense ...
The Following Instructions and Detailed Manuals are Available On Planet Earth
Just add Humans.. and mix it up a bit.
Include
Religions
Famines
Climate Change
Pollution
Pandemics
and Excesses
Politics
and World Wars
Abuse the Nature
And some more
Flora and Fauna
Kill them off
Then you should come out on top
Think of yourself and not others
Especially any mothers
Don't worry about the dying
Just keep on denying
And then make sure that whatever you did
Never contributed to any of this
As far as it can be said
You were any part of it
That's how you kill a World
DAMO
Cloud Nine
It's Been Nine years,
They seem Short and Sweet,
Eyes Full of Joy Tears,
Shoes Full of Feet.
It's Been Nine Annuals,
Of Blues & Green Blossoms of Smiles,
Sans GPS or Shalom Manuals,
Our Careening Inner-Outer Space Miles.
It's Been a Team of Nine,
But Rookie Roster of Two,
On Purim, Said the Rebbetzin,
"A Remarkable Pair are You".
It's Been Nine Annums,
Date Starting Over Starbuck's Coffee,
Then Favorite Englander Kitchen Table Crumbs,
Soared Us High, to Orbits Lofty.
It's Been Nine Degrees,
Of Seeing the Plus & Flaw Blindness,
Each Listing Spouse Pedigrees,
Beginning & Ending With Kindness.
It's Been Nine Lives,
To Borrow from the Cat World,
You Inched Bravely to the High Dive,
Breathed Deep, Dove & Deserve to be Pearled.
(Now, Barbara Opens the Necklace Case)
Sub Categories
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