Painted putrid for the polls
your neighbour
nailed to the boards
cheap shots
for forget me nots
crushing kin
and moulding foes
a longtime standing
on the floor
stomping streaming
give me more;
Canada will not be yours.
Recall when you came to this world,
Born like a free bird
Worries you’d none to fret,
And all your needs met.
To explore the wide land,
God gave eyes and a hand,
Ears to hear, nose to smell,
A tongue to taste as well.
Food-less you rarely went
For, kind mother He’d sent,
And as your frame grew in girth,
Strong teeth He gave of worth.
Yet greed gave rise to nagging,
Your prayers nigh but begging
And simple basic need
Grew like vulture’s vicious greed.
Wishes bred more wants
And dreams daunting haunts
Growing like wild weeds--
A pauper's pathetic pleads.
When God shaped dust to moulding clay,
He wanted toys to play His play,
Alas, they broke His heart and joy—
Toy turning a blind beggar boy.
________________
Reflections | 09.09.2007 |boy, creation, greed, joy, world, Quatrain
If your parts need to impress
Make them out of ABS
Or if they need to be tough and cheap
Make them out of Poly ‘Peep’
If they need to be really strong
Parts should be moulded in Nylon
And if that’s not enough to pass
You might want to add some glass
When they need to be clear not opaque
You could use Polycarbonate
But if its Cola that you see
It could be made from PET
And if your bottle has a sporting theme
Its likely made from Polythene
Now you know them its fantastic
Never specify………Just Plastic
When I raise my thoughts from the dead,
All become coloring beauties to my bedspread.
No one exist without a quirk:
Raising bloody craziness that irk,
Moulding new happy home-- an artwork;
Not only Innocent people do jerk.
To win; some envy, some criticize
And not only politicians politicize,
But I don't Know of what is it to actualize--
Reasons people stand to antagonize.
Conversation with myself is a boost;
To be belittled to such a roost--
It must have not been of spruced,
Yet doesn't need to be deduced!
The best bird's improvised nest:
Is in God's centered mind contents digest.
(Isthmus)
On a cold, chilly October autumn street,
One can watch bright coloured twirling leafs,
and the prompt urban wanders who walk on them,
you’d yearn to engage with these throngs at least,
how they might unravel a facade or two in sequence,
quite often on many occasions I imagine their stories,
If I only had the gumption to speak to them,
whirl pool rain and storms indeed might be a hindrance,
wind allied to drizzle an incentive to cafe caper refuge,
a general overall dampness, wet, drizzle, grey skies,
Predictable intrusion of the normal outlet that rambling obviously is,
instant topic to dwell on covering a wide range therein,
seasons have such insole penchant for moulding outlook,
symbolism is mine to grasp and expand on foot,
pavement as a slippy shivery theatrical perilous stage,
It can be perceived as home to the shrewd adaptable speaker,
actor, actress, character, playwright,
audience,
will the earnest crisp daylight morning fall fodder dominate?
as I boldly essay an impromptu unrehearsed passage in situ,
yet silent thoughtful conversation has already composed the script
forest limbs swing wide
tails vanish betwixt the leaves
hands learn to hold stones
muscle and thought entwining-
shaping the first fragile edge
soul entered the fray
moulding spiritual form
eyes afire with zeal-
humanoid stalks the garden
a king calling the beasts names
flint sparks in cold caves
shadows dance on raw stone walls
stories find their voice-
the stone mason stands upright
stone flint and fire seize the day
now man shapes in steel
threads thought through silver-net mesh
words flap without wings-
man beyond his own making
ejects the flaws he once bore
circuits wear the crown
king of beasts remade in steel
hands that never tire-
maker bows to better made
behold the mirror ascends
In silence, we watch shadows pass.
They shape our thoughts and feed the farce.
Moulding lives to fit the lies
that see us strive, conform and die.
And scared of what we do not know,
we do not move or seek to go.
But idle in their well-known forms.
Find safety in such practised norms.
There is no need to speculate;
the shadows teach us fear and hate.
Breed small world views and selfish thoughts.
Dispense with troubling shoulds and oughts.
It matters not what's right or wrong,
so long as we all nod along.
Accept those preached invented truths,
and justify each new abuse.
While newborn Gods, those few rich men,
close liberty's gate and lock the pen.
Embrace what once seemed quite absurd;
they are the path, we are the herd.
In barless cages, with blinkered eyes,
bearing witness to corpocracy’s rise.
The missing light upon that wall
...an absence which now stains us all.
When first I saw you, so sorely I fell
Your radiant eyes set my heart ablaze
Upon my soul you weaved your wicked spell
Moulding me under your bewitching gaze
Thus I could not but be your willing slave
Ready to meet your every desire
So deeply did I your attention crave
Your very presence set my soul on fire
Twas when I discovered your diary
That the truth upon me began to dawn
Your angel face masked a fiend fiery
From your control then I had to be gone
A word of warning to all you good men
Beware the wiles of bewitching women
To be frank what is there sweet
for man in insinuating evil wars?.
Is not that the world ever
can mould or this somehow now
that is moulding today?, not even for it
to step aside or in the long run
remember and fancy anything
maybe otherwise again?.
Do we know whether sometimes
weapons are beautiful and in case
can rock the heart and yonder
arm the mind to grow firmer
to grow stronger and the world
let say here or there?.
In English I would say
I've lost it once again ,
In poetry le' me say,
Bricks and stones
Break my bones
But words have destroyed
What can never be restored .
I swear.. I never thought this
concrete wall of confidence
I have created against every
negative word would ever
fall apart as I spent decades of hours
moulding and moulding
my precious mountain made of
affirmations and motivations,
in hope of one-day
I could hide behind it
everytime I'm attacked by
words that breaks& destroys
mine from within.
So...you tell me what do I do in-this dilemma.
SHE WAKESUP RELENTLESSLY FIXING ALL THE MUDDLE
BEFORE LEAVING FOR THE DAY
THENLATER,WADDLING LIKE A TODDLER HER WAY BACK
TIRELESSLY FULFILLING ALL KEYED IN COMMANDS,
THE MESS WAITING IN THE SINK.
THE BABY UNKEPT.
BEFORE RETIRING TO HER COZY ZONE
AND WAKING UP AGAIN, AGAIN LIKE IN A TIME LOOP
EVENTUALLY MOULDING HERSELF INTO A ROBOTIC INSTRUMENT.
ROBOTS DONT FALL SICK OR NEED A BREAK,
THEY DONT HAVE MOODS OR EMOTIONS.
YES THEY CALL HER IRON LADY FOR A DEFINITE REASON.
HER VEINS ARE COPPER WIRES AND HER BLOOD IS MERCURY
HER SKIN IS ALUMINIUM AND HER EYEBALLS THAT DEFY SLUMBERNESS,
ARE OF PLATINUM, HER HEART OF GOLD AND ORGANS OF ZINC.
the fins
of human
quake tremendously
spills grotesqueness while dumping
the ox cosmos in the middle of smoothly
mirrored
ocean Walls
where ones choice is fixed
at dawn stagnantly brimming
in obsolete enviable damp colours
woven in a volcanic
oasis of anguished circles embraced in
loneliness fronted
with shuttering frozen stars
moulding through a sunny cheerful darkness
reinvigorated with
strident current in
waves staring
hovering and invading through the thorns of
the barren mountains
wrapped in swings of an
encroached moonlight piercing in
the vacancy of
my enchanted soul
channeling through my so preceding exist
in steam of redolence reek
from the garden frowns
and grins
call me a piscine
but even as a sly tamed fox hereafter
I would soar on footprints of
ceaseless fogs
to unveil your gleam
leap through the reflection of
sunlight to sway you
exasperatingly siren my scales on
your prime lips
fading with a spin
submerged in a longing savory passion
The night inside me,
Anticipating heaven's light,
The gloom in my chamber,
Awaiting the sun's rise.
Treasured are the halcyon days,
Gone in a way cloaked by time,
Memorable are the bouquet days,
Shrivelled by the dark hands of time.
Struggling and creating,
All go on the dismal way,
Sculpting and moulding,
The materials are obstinate.
Twilight holds sway,
Dawn is in a deep sleep,
I'm on a journey to glory land,
Even though it’s across the seas.
June 29, 2023.
It’s a sunny day, it’s another day.
It’s a picnic day, it’s a hopping day.
It’s a play day, it’s a friendly day.
It’s a laughing day, it’s a climbing day.
It’s an sliding day, it’s a swaying day.
It’s a Sunday, it’s another day.
It’s a beachy day, it’s a sandy day.
It’s a swimming day, it’s a basking day.
It’s a moulding day, it’s a running day.
It’s an ice-cream day, its a warm day.
06.04.2023
How worthless is he who paves violence:
Is not he who bewilders the land of peace?
With his thoughts, moulding it to corrupt the people;
In the interest of satisfying himself.
But I tell you: violence spells complete anarchy!
Of that land: will development be prevented,
In the face of unaccountability;
Bad reputations altogether.
It steals the land of peace with and love for one another.
O but if, we in this, can change our forceful acts,
And be submissive to the norms of the land,
Shadowy we in the ink of joy.
I beseech you the people of land—
To watch and set your minds off violence—
For the growth of our region.
Let us march not with the shoe of violence
Rather the shoe of love and equanimity, I pray!
Worthless is he who paves destruction,
And worthy is he who resists it;
Indeed, choose:
Worthy or worthless are you?
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