When I
switch on
the light,
I think
of you,
Faraday.
Born
to a poor
blacksmith
in London,
where poverty
tried
to bury
your dreams.
Yet you
listened
to Nature,
while kings
listened
to power.
You discovered
electromagnetic
induction,
the heartbeat
of generators,
transformers,
and the
electric motor.
You gave
light
to a world
that had
forgotten
how to
dream.
In 1825,
you discovered
benzene,
a gift
to science
and industry.
When I
pass
the Sandemanian
church plot
at Highgate,
I remember
that greatness
can rest
in silence.
You conquered
poverty.
You conquered
ignorance.
Without
wealth.
Without
titles.
Without
formal education.
The powerful
built empires.
You built
the future.
Every lamp
that defeats
the night
whispers
your name.
And when
the streetlights
flicker,
I do not
see electricity.
I see
Michael
Faraday—
the poor
man's son,
who became
the light
of the
nineteenth
century.
In the nineteenth century—
the Devil was born.
And sympathizers
supported his name—
Zion.
When Zion was born,
he came with racism,
colonialism,
and a wicked spirit
of imperialism.
Zionism—
a force on this earth,
a political extremism,
an ideology rooted
in intolerance,
in hatred,
in the violent imposition
of belief—
seeking to destroy
fundamental rights
and the balance
of the world.
It manifests
as anti-democratic will,
rejecting order,
reshaping systems,
using force
to achieve
its ends.
Its drivers—
inequality,
exclusion,
and the shadow
of power
without restraint.
But the days draw near.
What is built
on violence
weakens.
The poison it spreads—
returns.
And consumes
its own source.
To those
who suffer—
the night is long,
but not endless.
For no force
stands forever.
And what rises
without justice—
will fall.
Leo Tolstoy
He stands—among the tallest Names—
That Time has learned to say—
A Mountain robed in Mortal ink
Where Centuries still pray—
The Page becomes a Parliament
Of Souls that seek their way—
He ruled the Nineteenth Century’s heart
With Armies made of Thought—
Where Peace and War went hand in hand
And Love was dearly bought—
Where every Breath of Mortal choice
By Destiny was caught—
Anna walks the iron Thread
Between Desire and Law—
Resurrection lifts the Ash
That Guilt had turned to Straw—
And History kneels quietly
Before what Conscience saw—
In little Rooms of Narrow tales
His Judgment still appears—
Alyosha tends the hidden flame
That burns through all our Years—
And God, who waits beyond the bars,
Counts every human tear—
Few Voices press so hard on Life
And ask it—what it means—
He carved the Heart from Mortal clay
And showed us what we’ve been—
A Witness robed in Russia’s snow
Where every Soul is seen—
56.
My 12th Leaf
Picked thee from a vine
Name unknown to mine
Hanging on the air
To passersby bare
What plant are you? Tell!
Men on middle age
Girls looking teenage
Those men were standing
The girls were walking
Strangers on the road
Nineteenth November
From class just after
Fine day – sun was high
Filamer bye bye
Was about to climb
Overpass school zone
Traversed all alone
Trellis – on school side
Opposite – trike ride
And novelty store
Sat. class first time me
English MAT
Night – Ante Mily
Came from UAE
Twelfth Leaf memory.
-11/19/2011
(Dumarao)
*My Toladas Collection
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
dry ink on yellowed
license—November nineteenth~
their pressed gardenia
still perfumes the cedar box
where Mother enfolded time.
eighty-one springs fade:
the cake, the vows, their laughter—
dust motes tremble
as my thumb traces father’s
smile bleeding through the license.
no ghosts haunt these walls,
only the scent of camphor
and one stubborn thread~
Mother’s lace unraveling
from the hem of forever.
Out of all the months throughout the year
December is the one that I most fear
Go figure- that's the month that I was born
On the nineteenth day early in the morn
Mom's water broke at nearly 3:00am
Dad was at war fighting in Vietnam
She telegraphed to dad across the seas
Only to find that he fell ill to a rare disease
He said- "When the enemy was in the midst of fighting us...
I came down with a bad case of "Seemysonitus".
That is what they call this rare illness that I have now
They say that I had caught in December, somehow
Yet, my mother was a December birthday child too
Grammy's water broke when they were at the zoo
They had to do the labor in a monkey's tent
Grandpa, he went ape, five days he spent...
in the hospital because mom's labor didn't end so well
And grandpa's one vacation kind of went to hell
These December days are the worst- you see
It's been a little rough on my whole family
As this life now quickly drifts away,
I'm unable to look around and say,
Look at all the difference I've made...
Sewn is the carnage I now reep today..
The fields I'm forced to work, like a nineteenth century slave;
With only my two bare hands
under a sun of a southern summer day...
My sweat pouring down like a thunderstorm drops it's rain;
As every new day leaves, more and more pain.
Captured are all the moments that created this disarray...
Ignored was the spiraling, from all your mindless yesterday's ;
That now lies before you, like a body in full decay...
Raft branch buoyed in canopy crossroad
Ocelot pillow paws rail rainforest rotunda
Yataghan claws trail trunk, track cathode
Assailant arouse pounces, stiff tail rudder
Lithe, while night looms, lightspeed silent
Ogling exotic shores - she yanks anchor
Centipede nimble Queen needs her tiara
Evermore adorned, baubles bean arabica
Lustrous pearl dozes on dark décolletage
Opulent moon mother of tides, sly tyrant
Tortures subordinates to claim her island
Iridescent iris treasure hunt sailor ocelot
Spotted sea captain keeps snake for halo
Lapis lazuli exclusively steers royal yacht
Asphyxiating prey, Casper crouch lay low
Navigating her way to throne, puss pirate
Drapes cashmere ears in conquest crown
Nautical Nineteenth November
Home
Songs
Love and nature
92
Period of composition (Bangla): Nineteenth Vadra, 1346
Period of composition (After Christ) September 5, 1939
Place of composition: Shantiniketan
Again and again, looking back to thee, once more,
Days and nights these foamy churns awakened, in parables, mind approached out there, rested on armrest
The verses and the divine bell, awakened on the festive zeal, with the foamy quest on a tempest
The raga-based vibes, orbiting around the tides, ecstatic zeal
From the deepest a sound diphthong, to eloquent most trochaic meandering trail, a hymn
Bhoirobi the three with the sixth, the festive fair of Ramkeli mela, Purvi, armrest, strumming along the whim
Along the foamy tempest through the golden jubilee, joyous, eloquence in ragas through vibes resides in a song, songs among
Floating through the trail of thine, intertwined mine, meandering we
Songs among these will begin a journey to nowhere, in bliss
Trochaic, greenery, forestry, serene, motherland, a yesterday belongs, in tap dance
Along the way the must and the bohemian wind and unbridled they
Tap and tap on and tuned in, around a finely attuned may.
6:13 PM
8-28-2024
Tom Sawyer did three somersaults, a back flip, stood on his head
Becky Thatcher scrolled up and down her device ~ said, 'Go soak your head'
Wednesday, it was; Nineteenth, exactly if I must mention
Housewives, feeding kids and pets, were getting true tension
Eastward sky grew grey; impulsively, cattle rushed homewards
Nightingales, to sing of true love, tuned their trachea chords
Welcoming the moon and the stars on their valorous way
Habitats did bid goodbye to the scorching sunny day
Ethereal exuberance enhanced each environs
Naughty nocturnal nonpareils of April blow sirens
Wet with drizzles, weary winds wiped their whiskers on cool cloud
Howls of dogs, foxes, wolves, apes, and coyotes were heard aloud
Endless Rest promised the noxious sting of death has gone numb,
Nullifying negations, nature, notations new did hum
23 April 2023
CAUTION, If You Do Not Like HUNTING,
DO NOT READ THIS POEM.
Thank You.
Dad Grand Pa and Family,
The Old Farm was the Place.
We hung him in the barn,
Dad's four by four eight.
That's best meat loaf,
I'll ever taste.
Smashed taters green beans,
cleaned off my whole plate.
I was age eleven,
it seems like yesterday.
November Nineteenth of,
Sixty - Six was the date.
Duffy and Bubba,
were two of their names.
The great Spartan Defense,
A Spartan team of Fame.
We all cheered them on,
YAY, Michigan State!
The game was a tie,
ten to ten, at the end,
Though not in South Bend,
at Spartan Stadium.
I, was only eleven,
Goin on twenty-Eight.
November The Nineteenth,
Of Sixty-Six was the Date
I never heard or read that Texas slaves
were captive still, by masters so depraved,
till June nineteenth of eighteen sixty-five,
when news of freedom reached those still alive.
No passage of my school books ever claimed
there even was a day with such a name.
At forty-five, I had the chance to learn,
amid the news of riots, tear gas burns
of Black Lives Matter, president’s loud shouts,
of Juneteeth’s name and what it’s all about.
That made me ask what else about our past
does not get taught in schools, but should at last?
Who else’s triumphs over any hate
should all kids learn about and celebrate?
Hail to women survivors who loved bad men
My mom died before 60, because of them
Hail, hail to nineteenth century girls & women!
Poor food, poor sanitation, male domination
My mom had just a grade 2 education
In rich South Africa, lost one of her children
Dharma was 2, Dr. Naidoo gave a flu injection
God mended her heart with dear grandchildren
Didn't know love, loved the marriage institution
These days we've gone the other direction
God is Love; The bible rarely uses that blanket
Beware Words of love-light, out of context:
Jesus's self-designstions include light (Not love)
John's Gospel and John's Epistles prove the above
I am the Light (8:12); Before Abraham was, I Am
John again, 8:58. He added, "Men love darkness"
John 3:19 ... The Way, Truth, Life (14:6) hear the quote?
No they excuse lust, suck love as from cow, pig, goat ...
three ducks paddling
300 yards, dogleg left
……..no short game
a feral cat
digging in the sand trap
……..replacing divots
an old dog
lays on the first tee
………..licking his balls
the golf ball smiled
the golfer slammed his club
……the caddy smiled back
he addressed the ball
not knowing where it would go
……no return address
a blind approach shot
swinging from the hips
………a gaggle of geese
the nineteenth hole
burgers, fries, beers and BS
………lies about lies
John G. Lawless
©2/20/2022
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