Marvelled Poems | Examples

display of perspective

banished into exile of freedom
with no chance of extradition
bail collateral and ransom refused
he marvelled at his painless tattoo 

a rotten apple devouring a snake
inked into now sunburnt skin
reminded him that not everything
seemed as had been commanded

his island prison was very far removed
from what they called civilization
no barbed wire or wardens assaulted
mindfulness and serene integration 
he cherished his forced independence
from years of familial violence and abuse
an inner orchard of peace blossomed
as he made good friends with himself

body design had healed mind soul and spirit
he was an escape artist by involuntary decree
who would they torture as their victim had vanished
a few pricks on the outside were a small price to pay

Augury

She called for me. I saw her standing by the window, transfixed by something outside. I stood at the door and could faintly hear a melodious tune. She beckoned me to come closer, and I marvelled at what she had seen. There were three colourful singing birds at the window, unruffled by our presence.

“They woke me up this morning,” she said.
“Wow,” I exclaimed.

There was a brief moment of silence between us. “It’s a sign,” she said, turning to look at me.
“What kind of sign?” I asked.
“It’s a sign that a soul is crossing to the beyond. A beloved one is easing into the night,” she explained.

Her words didn’t sink in deeply at the time.

As the morning light streamed through the window, the birds flew away. We were bereaved three days later when Nana eased into the beyond.

Inevitable fate of a He

The cock also sweat
Sweating beneath the undaunted hair
Though unseen, untethered 
Unnoticed yet vulnerable.

The male lion also weep
Weeping gently and silently
With insignificant traces 
Though galloping and parading
In confidence which left creatures
Marvelled and tender.

The virile also feels
They also go through pains 
Pains seen and unseen
Though eye catching faces 
And beautiful faces are worn over 

Should the Bull go begging when in awe of death?
Should the mighty cry ?
Should the Cheetah crawl ?
Should the Tiger be afraid?

In street, the virile is left alone
Detached, chastened and stranded
Moving to and fro 
But no place to call home.

Even when he wants to be known 
And cherished, he is deprived.

Should humanity be switched?
Even when switched, will he be known ?
Will he be recognized?
Or will he be appreciated?

He is all alone
Longing to overcome 
Though no hope of winning
But hanging on till the driver arrives
And all is left behind.

Dreams Of Paradise

Our earthly realm of wonder and beauty
Observing its glory is our living duty
The most exquisite sight I have ever seen
Was a paradise island I have never been

A tiny green dot in the mighty ocean blue
Unleash your dreams and you may visit too
Just close your eyes and raise your sail
You’ll be carried there by a windy gale

I came ashore to electric blue plankton glow
Greeted upon arrival to a bioluminescent show
Beach sand glinted with a hue so golden
A majestic visual treat that left me beholden

Birds of flamboyant colour stunned me aghast
Exotic green jungle so lush, dense, and vast
I discovered an abundance of tropical trees
Many splendrous species, quite keen to please

I decided to dwell there, in a cabin of bamboo
Cruising immaculate streams in my little dented canoe
At night, I marvelled, as the cosmos triumphantly danced
Sitting serenely by my campfire, euphorically entranced

I awoke that morning in blissful peace
For I conjured an idyllic place, never to cease
It exists within my beating heart and my musing mind
Every time I close my eyes and dream, paradise I find

My Daughter

My daughter 
From the seeds of my heart
My child was born 
So young was she when she bore her own 
Too young they said to know what’s best
So wrong they were 
We laughed at their jest

She has the three girls 
And I just can’t lie
All three of them angels 
The apples of my eye

This morning the youngest 
Boarded a plane 
Going to Hawai’i
All on her own. 

I marvelled at her courage 
Felt nervous for her 
With a last hug and wave 
She walked through that door

Gone not a day 
Yet I miss her so
When she’ll be back 
No one knows

Your such a young woman now
I still call you babe
I love you my darling 
To the tips of your toes 

Be safe and be happy
And know where you are
You’ll have my heart with you 
Wherever you go.

Spinning Knee Man, from THE WOMAN WHO COULD EAT WOOD

Spinning Knee Man


His knees grew bigger and
steel strong until he was big.
Whenever he wanted to he could extend his knees (and it didn’t even hurt!) ten times as big.

That wasn’t a grotesque display
as it probably should be.
No one could see his flat, rounded triangular bone,
only see his pale hairy skin that covered his knee.

Shockingly no muscles damaged.
Shockingly no tendons and ligaments damaged. 

He could spin his
knees and skin like a small chopper in high gear.
His role was to air deliver packages to homes. And deliver orphans to their new homes afar and near.

Doing both was highly rewarding. The community marvelled at his ability that was totally rare. 
He joked that the best thing about it was 
that he got to fly for free everywhere.

Have You Ever?

Have you ever paused to skim a stone
And considered the interplay of physics, frolic and force?
Have you ever driven a car to an new place in an unknown country 
And  been awed by the meshing of technology, wanderlust and law that made it doable?
Have you ever seen a dance with partners intertwined to music 
And pondered on the reasons why?
Have you ever had a moment of passion that lead to your own addition to the global gene pool 
And marvelled at that coincidence of impulses?
Have you ever contemplated the string of happenstance that led you, to be here,
In this very spot, reading this?
Whatever your conclusions, they matter not a jot.
What matters is your wonder
And feeling of joy in being just a tiny part of this infinite intricacy; 
Delight in this universal tapestry of unending motion.

The Mouse

The mouse

My wife was opening the door to the verandah
when she spotted a mouse and fled to the kitchen
and shouted, “Kill it, kill it!”
I picked up the small animal hiding under a dry leaf
that had yet to be blown away, careful not to be bitten
soon the mouse relaxed in the palm of my hand.
I marvelled about this tiny thing; how did it get on
the seventh floor must have been climbing up at night
got lost or tired and rested on our terrace
There was no way I was going to kill it if there had
been hundreds of them on the terrace, I would have been
less friendly, seen them as vermin 
Looked over the railing under me on another terrace, dropped
the mouse there, it landed softly alive and well, quickly shut 
the door, now the mouse was no longer my problem.
At lunch, in the café on the first floor, there was talk
about someone finding a mouse, “infestation?” she said
No, darling, there is only one little mouse.

Ekhrasis Snapshot Canova

tactile temptations
marvelled marble
in foundations

A Red-Haired Guinevere

Misted, as some enchantress
A mythic age haunts
This Autumn's country; this day's.
Morn, noon. And beyond.
All the dazed while, what desires
Marvelled at, to be
Do get that sense of. And how!
Speak; I wont respond!

Aesop Redux

He squandered time, left fields unplowed,
in search of highs, pursuing thrills,
neglecting that he'd been endowed
with gifts to cultivate and till.
He wandered where his heart did please,
but pleasure slipped by small degrees.

A random walk, no certain line:
the storms in life were kept at bay.
But with no star to point or shine,
he, ere awares, had lost his way.
Once jubilant, his raucous dance
had brought him to a wide expanse.

There in the field, he saw them toil;
relentlessly, they stored away
the harvest so as not to spoil,
to see them through a future day.
He should have marvelled at their craft;
instead, he skipped off with a laugh.

The weather turned, conditions grim;
he found no respite from the storm.
A fleeting thought occurred to him:
that colony was nice and warm,
but having not the strength to fight,
succumbed, unconscious, to the night. 

The ants took pity: although he
was thirsting, cold, and oh so thin,
and time would pass before he'd be
industrious, they took him in.
"Why wasn't I just disavowed?"
he wondered, this time not so loud…

The Dark Dimension

Upon first hearing of the Dark Dimension,
I marvelled: stuff of COMICON,
or measurements not to be mentioned?
My brain, its gravity not pressed upon,
nor crammed into some nook of dark dimension,
somewhere, subwhere, for ever and anon…
But when its other names are brought to our attention:
the Splinter Realms, the Archipelago
of Anguish and Redemption…
Then, bloody hell, I know full well,
that adds a certain dark dimension.

—————

a Fold of 11 lines written
for the Dark Dimension Poetry Contest
sponsored by Robert James Liguori
written on 1/16/23

A Seedling

This held, two fingered, weeness;
This infant plant, raised, with all
Its roots, soiled, dangling.
Sudden fright! A quiver-chill.
Lovely, precious, vulnerable -
The green Earth; marvelled in!

Catfish

My long run was serene,
    mostly wooded.

A short section took me
    out to the highway;
    my least favorite part.

Three narrow bridges
    to be crossed,
    traffic buzzing
    too close for comfort.

I walked the third bridge,
    up next to the rail,
    out of the way,
    with a few moments
    to just look.

There below, in the water,
    A catfish swam upstream,
    Lazily,
    Tail swishing
    back and forth,
    back fin out of the water,
    glistening, sparkling
    in the sunlight.

And I marvelled and thought,
    “Who is this for?”

And then I remembered:
    He’s watching me
    watching the fish.

And He’s never bored.

Behind the Behind

Behind the behind 

Behind the holiday inn near the bus station used by us the masses 
and immigrants and those who wander in no man’s land.
There are streets of houses kept in a gloomy mood of semi-poverty and cheap wine.
I walked these streets, shuttered windows, here and there a small shop
run by a Pakistani, how they can make a living out of it is a wonder.
There are cafes too I nearly walked into but had to stake a step back by a smell
the was Mongolian by its muscular scent.
We had been to a gigantic old hospital where dying is against the law, 
yet doctors and nurses to keep it open, a valiant fight that was doomed to failure.
She had a hip problem waiting for transport took three hours the boredom
stretched endlessly before us in a part of Lisbon few sane tourists will see.
Back at the bus station, I found a corner of a second-hand shop I bought a book
of prose poetry and got one for free.
I marvelled at the seller, an Indian from Bangalore, selling poetry in Iberia.

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