Tu nazm banke sang chalna
Main shabd banke tujhme utaroon.
Shabdon ki dori banke tu, jehan mein utarna
Main bol banke tujhme samaoon.
Nazm jaise rag rag mein bas jaoon
Geet banke saavan jaise bahaaroon.
Tu sawal banke mujhe karna rubaru
Main jawab banke tujhme samet jaoon.
Tu raag jaise nazm ko tarashna
Main shringaar banke nazm shringaaroon.
Donon milke vaaky banayein
Har geet ko madhur sajayein.
Nazm ke bina feeka ho yeh jeevan
Ah bina kaise ho sangam.
Aao milke mitaayein jeevan se gham
Har pal nau rason se karke sansar ka beejan.
~Shruti
Floccinaucinihilipilification of me
Hurts to the core
About my poetry
He doesn't adore
Interesting lines, humor
Seems to abhor
I hear rumor
See if agree
Stinker or perfumer
floc·ci·nau·ci·ni·hil·i·pil·i·fi·ca·tion
[?fläkse?näse?nih?le?pil?f?'kaSH?n]
noun
rare
the action or habit of estimating something as worthless. (The word is used chiefly as a curiosity.):
"my new book is more than just a 400-page exercise in floccinaucinihilipilification." Example of use. I have not written a book nor have I been published.
2nd POI
I am an old man
a deep well
an epoch marriage
a raven haired beauty
five above average kids
Orion deckhand and cook
teacher of the year
Bible study leader
jail preacher
song worship leader
NAU graduate --graduate school
ASU graduate --undergraduate school
life guard
breakfast cook
English tutor
Archie Brokeshoulder's well puller
grain elevator operator
pizza chef
dishwasher
mental hospital patient
prisoner
welder
all region linebacker
wrestler
pole vaulter
3 high schools
4 jr highs
2 elementary schools
8 states
2 dads
5 moms
6 sisters
4 brothers
13 presidents
I am an old man
I'll swim a mile
this morning
and dance
all night
golf tomorrow
backpack Europe
visit kids in Montana
come back to Arizona
visit kids in Kentucky
do more Europe
come back to Arizona
swim and golf
then who knows
India, Nepal, Tibet
I am an old man
looking for something
THE LAST SUNFLOWER
Blood red is the sunflower
as it stands in the field,
watching a gray sky,
pressing its will.
Yellow petals descending
when the smokey winds blow,
made by the soldiers,
that died in its row.
Seeds drop to the ground
as it nods its big head,
will the seedlings be flowers,
or crushed, where they fled.
The joy that it stood for
seems to be gone,
where is the freedom,
that once was their bond.
Picked by a small child
as he runs with his mom,
away from his home, the
sunflower, a bomb.
-Edlynn Nau
February 28, 2022
Call him Nzioka, Nau, umau he still stands tall,
Lived a century and lived to see a millennium,
Yes he was captured by Mau Mau but congured them,
Was so wise and very stealth man, call him Nyongwe,
He is the man who sired my mother, what a Man.
I grew admiring him, would make me taste his drink,
What a Lovely guy when high on his drink,
He taught me some exotic and erotic words,
Taught me the fundamentals of being a man,
He is the man who married my blood aunt!
Call him prince charming and a Roving Lover,
Even after a millennium he could tune the millennials,
They would never outwit him, what a guy,
He never grew old, always young in heart,
He is the man who sired my uncles and aunts,
Though young at heart and soul, the body got tired,
Even in hospital bed , he would joke and smile,
He left his empire and an army no one can destroy,
After leaving white clothed angels on earth,
He now dances and fine dines with Nduva,
His Religion was Love, now He is and will forever be!!!
THINGS WITH STRINGS
Spider's web, strings of stars,
a weaver's loom, and old guitars.
Balls of yarn, and DNA,
string bikini, and crochet.
Cats cradle, spools of thread,
Tails on kites, and hairs on head.
Theory in music, or in science,
together making a string alliance.
Yo-yo, and Pinocchio,
harp, violin and cello.
Catgut bow, and strings of cheese,
or whiskers on a prized Siamese.
Silly String, and G-string,
an strings of birds on wing.
Math strings, "No strings attached,"
a roof that's been heather thatched.
String quilts, strings of pearls,
strings that tie to locks of curls.
Music staff, and balls of twine,
and tendrils from a sweet pea vine.
Heart, balloon, and aprons too,
and laced up in a tennis shoe.
Garland, hamstring, and quartet,
strings on fingers to not forget.
Braided rings, and strings of lights,
pulling strings, and fishnet tights.
Telephone string through tin cans,
woven blankets and knit afghans.
Brown paper packages tied up in string,
needle, lanterns, and wind chimes that sing.
Drawstring, bowstring, and baby's pull toy,
string, strung, and stringing, we're all overjoyed.
By Edlynn Nau
© January 25, 2015
WORSE THAN DEATH
Calling for you.
Reaching with my hand.
Reaching out to feel...
for finger tips, yours.
No one there!
Where is that grasp?
That bouquet of warmth,
one hand tucked in another.
Ice cold, cooler,
freezing, I call for you.
Call out in confusion,
the name of our child.
Ragged hard breathing.
Then hardly audible...
whispering the names,
I let go of living .
In the void but nowhere...
I’m gone from here now.
My fingers still move,
reaching for you.
-Edlynn Nau
© April 26, 2020
Dedicated to Covid-19 victims that die without the farewell or affection from their spouse or children.
ABSENT
Like one hand clapping,
or night owls napping.
A whistle with no pea,
or a buzz without a bee.
Like a city with no crowd,
or a snore that isn’t loud.
A wind which cannot sigh,
or a storm without an eye.
When bread doesn’t rise,
Or there’s no fruit for pies.
Like an orchestra for one,
or a song that's never sung.
Like a story with no plot,
or a gift without a thought.
A life abruptly taken,
in a country so forsaken.
by Edlynn Nau
© March 20, 2020
RECIPE
Tiny, glowing, hot in its skyward climb,
it warms the creatures like morning baked bread,
grows high, dies low, is part of cosmic time.
Flowing, agile, glistening droplets spread,
wet with life, liquid mirror in one song,
splashing high, vast enough to fill a bay.
Light, sailing, lifting lungs it becomes strong,
into sea, in sky, a blue holiday,
thin envelope keeps oxygen inside.
Crusty, thick, ore and fine silica cools,
forms a dirt shell for its earthly fast ride,
botanical in sticky molecules.
Hot flame, wet rain, deep breath in bold granite,
elixir, concoction... rarest planet.
-Edlynn Nau
(Original draft date: September 3, 2018)
Autumn in Waiting
I love when vineyards turn
to yellow, orange, and red.
I will get up an hour later,
and may earlier go to bed.
The valley floor strewn wide,
with Chardonnay leaves.
Growing tall on their stalks,
are the corn in their sheaves.
Clouds shaping skyward,
sculpting Michelangelo’s art.
Grapes gone to seedlings,
waiting cold winter’s heart.
Whips of wind curl and lick,
at sleeping summer gardens.
Burgundy mums fall and nod,
in clay that freezes or hardens.
Blonde grasses turn white,
waiting for tinges of green.
While other trees go to sleep,
with leaves no longer seen.
Things seem to linger,
or stop nature’s clocks.
Birds preen their feather’s,
to fly south from our docks.
Time, stopped for the mellow,
with unknowing hesitation.
We wait for the deep sleep,
of wet winter’s presentation.
-Edlynn Nau
© November 10, 2019
I.
Ta da, ta da, flip,
like cards in bicycle spokes,
percussive shoe, flop...
II.
Long spaghetti straps,
full circle twirly skirted,
sundress in warm breeze.
III.
Morning sand dune climb,
woven basket, cheese, red wine,
noon apéritif.
-Edlynn Nau
©April 17, 2019
Flys heavy to rose
buzzing dopey bumblebee
with its pollen toes
-by Edlynn Nau
©April 16, 2019
Underground waiting
joys of green seeking free sky
puffs cast off and fly
-by Edlynn Nau
©April 15, 2019
Impatience
The Millennials
stand in front of microwaves
yelling...HURRY UP!
-by Edlynn Nau
©April 14, 2019
REHEARSAL
Knees bent in plié
Pink chiffon twirls in chaîne
Shoe lost in dismay.
-by Edlynn Nau
©April 19, 2019
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