So: thinker, “personality” and actor
are looking for a drink.
If two of them are trailers, one’s a tractor.
“Nice counter-top. Real zinc?”
“Don’t ask them stuff. They memorise words
of better men, to spout ’em!”
“And his type feels the need to gather herds
of sycophants about ’em.”
“There’s zinc in every human enzyme. Fact.”
“An enzyme? Qu’est-ce que c’est?”
“A catalyst which helps your gut react
a thousand times a day.”
Creators are the only ones who matter,
just them and only them.
Who grows, can know: who knows can grow (and scatter):
the human apothegm.
“The path from easy living? Slow decline
to reach death valley days.”
“Misfortunes? They’re all relative, and mine
are slight. I’m not from Grays!”
Who hasn’t done his share of Boogie Nights?
All wassail hours are zeros.
Two-thirds of humankind are parasites:
where should we look for heroes?
We have a thing now, called celebrity
that’s not the same as fame:
whatever ape forsakes the tree
can make himself a name.
The world, for entertainment, craves a schism
(Max Baer against Joe Louis):
but who foresaw the Queen of Capitalism
would be a Russian Jewess?
Speaking Your Mind
Every time you
don’t speak your
mind these things happen:
snails do
aerobics, flamingos update their
details on
important apps, palm trees spill
out Amish hats, combs beg to
eat
lemon pie, stools memorise
flame thrower literature, and
gravy animals, who live in
the clouds, help out
swamped midwives.
Tomes of scriptures, too much to know,
Too little time, woes, strife on toe,
Track what lies at the core,
Of crux, crucial from lore,
Swans do as from water milk draw.
______________________
Translation |16.10.2024| scriptures, knowledge, time, woes, essence, milk, water
Poet’s note: Sanskrit has thousands of verses of wisdom called Subhashhitam. Even in ancient time in India it was felt that there was too much to know, too much to read/memorise, time is just not enough, and many a snag in the way. What should then be done? Focus on what is of essence, just as a swan separates milk from water (this is a poetic imagination/metaphor). The transliteration of the Sanskrit verse follows:
Aneka shaastram, bahu veditavyam,
alpah cha kaalah, bahavah cha vighnaah |
Yat saara-bhootam tat upaasitavyam,
hamsah yathaa kshheeram iva ambu madhyaat ||
I cannot deny
onset of aversion
whenever I observe
religious dogma at play
why do we brandish our gods
attempting to save ‘sinners’
making it our life mission
I do find it annoying
belief is in mind
realisation is in heart
we can memorise scriptures
or transform, becoming the light
Lovers choose red roses
To express their undying love,
For their beloved
Who shines like an angel from heaven above.
Life is a Paradise; when we are young,
Life is like an epic film,
That has just begun
It has lots of pages
Not yet known to you,
Will you and your sweetheart
Stay together,
And be forever true?
Like the magnificence of the rose
Will your love fade over time
Or will you always,
Keep your first love in mind.
Memories come flooding back,
Sometimes when your alone
Has your love ever married,
Or is she all alone?
Does she ever think fo you?
And memorise the same,
Or does the perfume, like the rose,
With memories remain?
We do thank God very much
for wisdom imbibed by touch
in direct experience,
as crystal clear coherence.
Scriptures address lower mind
but if deep truth we’re to find,
we must harness God’s life force,
as bliss beats charter their course.
If God we’re to realise,
there’s no need to memorise
verses from a holy book
but rather be by love shook.
Void of silence shows the way,
to still thoughts and cease to sway,
melding with the bliss current,
by being here now present.
09-July-2022
Which is better or bitter without been in cool paints?
What will remembrance be like if there is no alphabets?
To memorise all thoughts would be very silly of sages
Or something else like the divinely blessed earth revelatory saints
What more would be the perfect ever glowing safe diskettes?
Enclosed tightly in a well framed document of many pages
Power to the deaf and relief to all who stammer
Its awesomeness has learned students unique ability to create writes
Of different kinds figured historical building the classes
Which keeps redirecting and reshaping human as it continuously hammer
On all ears the need to respect one another's rights
Its effects remain despite how soon each new generation passes
Thanks to the awesome 18 consonants that romance the vowels
What more diamonds are; digged deep all out from heart
Absorbing all the beautiful thoughts of minds like dry towels
And restructure its uniqueness into a pleasant and lovely art
Someone will always scar you... where it hurts the most...
Memories of the past will make you sigh with a silent deep cry...
Tears are not rolling down on the cheeks or shed from the eyes...
Tears inside the heart…. will be stuck to burst deep down buried inside…
Memories Memories… counting tears to burst out with a soundless cry...
The pain of the scars of hurting ..pain is ready to breath one more last time...
Until tears all dried when the pain is dissolving and fading... slowly and slowly…
For the memories of the past will not be scared by you once again in my life!
Dilu D Wijegunasekara
06/06/22
A sweet memory of our school days
We walked to school everyday
With a light school bag
Under a blue sky
With rain or sunshine abound
Only a few books in the school bag
But many flowers pluck
Or junk food bought along the way
We only had to finished our homework
Before we're free to play
We memorised lessons for our tests
Which were simple and straight forward questions
Never got tuition
We're left to learn and recite ourselves
Till we remembered
A simple style of school life
But with confidence,independence and wisdom
A nature lover
A love for freedom
A love for a simple life
The tongue does many a twist upon us
effecting our outlook to be so untrue
it grabs our minds taking our attention
leading to fill us so we turn blue
Learn to cultivate a tongue of calm
perfecting peace and quiet in your heart
this does truly produce a tree of life
a life of real calmness in no small part
But beware of speech that's twisted
for it'll ruin you to your utter despair
every word conveyed loses all goodness
and grips you that you feel completely bare
Be sure to keep your tongue peaceful
giving it no anxious or evil thought
allow peace to come down from above
calming each nerve forever how fraught
Learn to memorise this blessed verse
a calm tongue and twisted speech
so you have it always in mind
this your remedy for life, so do teach
("A calm tongue* is a tree of life,
But twisted speech causes despair.* Prov. 15:4.)
See it
Really see it, for
You will not own it too long
It can do nothing ever, but
Sing its own tune
Own all the rights
To its song
Know it,
Really know it, for
You will not know it
Too long
Best you can do is
To learn the sweet words
Memorise every
Soft lilt
Of it's song
Feel it
Really feel it, for
You will never.. have.. hold..
As your right, for
Love will most certainly
Set itself free
Untangle it's beauty
Inevitably flee, so
Cherish it
Really... cherish... it...
Marion Price 20/7/21
My Heart Sighs for You
One glorious day you drifted this way
and life was ne'er going to be the same
It was early spring, hearing bluebirds sing
in fervent sun rays that’d burnished for days.
We walked along an enchanted pathway
where wild flowers grew in flamboyant hue
Creatures in their prime having an ace time
in gleeful display as we passed their way.
It became clear we'd become near and dear
our destiny, not a momentary
We sang filled with joy no one could destroy
dancing among sprites till the orb of night.
We sighed when stood on a bridge o'er a brook
reflections entranced as lustrous stars pranced
Phantoms of the night ascended in flight
they'd been awed as we become enamoured.
The magical scenes drifted off downstream
I woke feeling blue, you'd faded from view
Never never land’s where we fly off to
in sweet dreams I constantly dream of you.
It brings on a sigh and still makes me cry
when I memorise our last sad goodbye.
11th July 2021
What Makes You Sigh… Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
* * * * *
(((Fictional)))
SELECTION IN THE POETRY CLASS
Sometimes teacher selects a student to explain
His grey ignorance of the text -
These verses are tiring, confusing, puzzling?
Guilty, he mentally shades in the last lines
Having never read them during lesson.
Eyes fixed on task - memorise, memorise.
He rises very slowly,
Like a plant growing imperceptibly taller.
Or a cripple not yet introduced to
Divinely miraculous medicine.
Or a defence counsel finding his feet
For his summing-up in this difficult case –
Subtle arguments, shades of grey.
Everything is just black and white in Alabama.
24 April 2021
I am introspective
I am extrospective
I am healing my ills
I am building my will
I narrate
I assimilate
I am making sound out of ink
I am settling a drifting idea till it sinks
I memorise
I picturise
I am hanging onto the past
And yet embracing the future
I am reciting
I am writing
I am burning the unburnt
I am learning the unlearnt
I am not a poet yet until I get
The will
To sink
Into the future
Weaponised by what I have learnt
MY GRANDPARENTS
I'm lucky
That with God's grace,
I enjoy the privilege
To have with me
My loving grandparents.
At forty three
Sixteen my son
When I suffer from deep nostalgia,
Long long back
I could memorise
A pair of benevolent faces
With smiling panacea.
With their affectionate hands
They fed, groomed
And brought me up,
Spent nights sleepless
Caring watchful and
Comforting me in their lap.
Ate exactly spent frugally
And minimum they wore,
But bought me tasty food
Nice clothes with happiness from the core.
Intensity of wrinkles
Growing deep with time
On their faces fine,
Can speak volumes about
Sacrificing their youth
For betterment of mine.
Owing a great deal
With honour I bow,
My dear grandparents
Very old you're though.
Related Poems