The maestro spends twenty-three hours preparing for a one-hour performance
~ The novice prepares for an hour and spends twenty-three trying to play
I missed the target; So I took another arrow, pulled back the bow with all my strength, and aimed it at the centre. Thoughts of vengance blew it off course; I missed the target; So I took another arrow, pulled back the bow with all my strength, and aimed it at the centre. It would have struck true, if not for weakness. I missed the target; Feeling unworthy but determined, I took another arrow, pulled back the bow with all my strength, and aimed it at the centre. This time I hit the target; By counting the arrows which lie on the ground, and the ones which hit the target, I saw my true level of progress; I saw I was still a novice.
Soft dreamy rainfall,
prelude to crackling thunder;
Tempestuous sky;
Attracted to heat
boorish Storm bothers the Sun,
electric novice;
Going back and forth
argumentative nature,
hail will never cease;
Camouflage of drops
design an unskilled picture;
Diamonds in a pond;
The water collects flooding,
a new world waits to unfold.
Surrounded by my paintings around my desk,
Closest one I see the missile launch pad painting,
Under the dark Hawaiian Island skies,
Lighted palm tree and the streak of missile path,
Spent thirty years working there, relates to my heart.
Next, I watch a Bob Ross style painting,
A snow-capped cabin, land and all the trees,
The sky is crimson, with a hazy sun,
Its so serene, it invokes my tranquil thoughts.
Moving along, I am on the banks of a river in Bengal,
On one side, a deer stands looking at the water, afraid to drink,
A tiger stands growling on the other side of river,
My instructor wanted harmony, and suggested they should not be on the same side of river,
Next, a painting of our city manmade lake,
With the bald California mountains overlooking the lake,
The willow tree, oak tree, and a cherry tree, along the sidewalk,
Pair of ducks wading in water, seagulls resting little further away,
Seagulls and geese flying overhead, the scenery made my day.
your groove is so instantaneously profound
the excitement that you bring into my life is
like confetti confessions so happy go lucky
frolicking in a PeaceFull Field of Blessed
if my soul can just swim in the relaxing hot tub
of your bubbly vibe, then i would feel so free that
my self esteem would be mightily high priced effervescence
again
a novice poet am i......see how you inspire me to
try new things that i have AllWays considered old
you, as she being brand.....new....and e....e....is cumming.....
like me in a divine ecstasy so careless when it comes to losing
control of my overall controlling mechanisms.......then again, it
comes back around so sweetly, but gentle to the center of the
tongue
i love the feeling of being a man still green to the unpredictable
to the world of love and affection.....in my masculine mind that
will last forever.....yet.....still.....furthermore......i will take a ride
in a time maching in reverse with you anytime, anywhere, any day....
to Any Place.....until the simplicity of breathing becomes Eternal
Was as a new teacher, Miss Prissy McClair
Put bulletin boards up standing on chair
Stapler fell down
Chair fell on the ground
She's upside down with her feet in the air
diggin' that scene
you know what I mean
crisp and clean
and so serene
makes you want a 7-Up
inspires you to eliminate all that is defined as 'abrupt'
praying that the vibe inspired a Special Kind of Hope
here is Hoping that YOU DIDN'T ROCK THAT BOAT (BAYYYBEEE!)!
Still a novice,
pushed into world of avarice.
Hearts gilded with greed,
beautifully masked faces, so sweet indeed!
Faces elated under twinkling night,
welcoming your journey,
in the corner, plotting,
cruel indeed!
Smiling lips, Scintillating eyes,
feeding on your sorrows to survive.
Still a tyro,
struggling to thrive.
Anima ingrained with misdeed,
charmingly masked malice, sugary indeed!
Faces basking under scorching sun,
congratulating on your success,
in the neck of the woods, conspiring,
callous indeed!
Dancing body, singing voice,
waiting for your sorrow to arrive!
sristi
a vagabond
You seem not to comprehend
That I'm still so young
I speak my heart and mind
And deep inside I always think I'm right
My vision to me is then so clear
I'm full of life and love, I have no fear
You look down at me and never cease to me judge
You blame me and you tell me to hold no grudge
How wouldn't I and you barely seem to comprehend?
That you are far beyond my thoughts and set of mind
I'm still so young and my journey ready to go through
I'm full of passion and eager to reap what I sow and do
You claim I'm idiot and unable to see what is in me wrong
You let me think that my beliefs and values have no root or bond
I can no more with you argue and prove my vision to you
I'm confused and couldn't put into words what I believe is true
You push so hard and show me how wise and insightful you are
How dare you undermine my wit, the youth growing in me you deny?
You actually seem to forget how you once were that young
Rejoicing life, doing whatever you like, all your songs not yet sung
You seem not to comprehend
That of experience you are but young
That you are a warhorse facing a novice
A pity for a golden ager not to notice
You are still as I am an apprentice.
The brightest of white were her feathers
Not a smudge of dirt to be found
Her wings would never be weathered
Thick claws dug deep in the ground
Doomed an adrenaline virgin
The fairest novice queen
Somewhere, the oceans were merging
But she was too small to be seen
She gazed at the sky, so azure
And studied the flocks as they soared
Their swiftness caused a blur
Rapidly moving forward
She dreamed of being a piece
Of the puzzle that braised the sky
Experiencing west and east
And waving her perch goodbye
The Novice Sailor
It was ten o´clock in the morning I was struggling
to keep my balance looking out of the porthole in
the galley and the day was dark as acute hatred
against the living. Green waves hit the deck tried
to break portholes a full winter storm and fear of
the sea filled us with silence. Somehow the cook
managed to bake bread and make Irish stew and it
was my job to stop it from flying off the stove.
On an iron ship on the precipice of a mountain of
water; we were insignificant and vulnerable ants
on a leaf in an immense pool. Yet the sea calmed,
and the storm abated. I was fifteen and was proud
to have survived a winter storm in the north Atlantic,
something to tell my mum when coming home.
Grandpa gives kerchief
novice fisherman
catfish pierced hand
the years grimace and grin
for a lesson infused
A poor example,
this haiku haltingly made,
my first attempted.
Here comes the novice poet.
With [ Edna St. Vincent Millay and Elizabeth Barret Browning ]
He will remember what they say, and then will always Know it.
[ “ I will permit my memory to recall “ ][ “ How do I love Thee “]
I do believe, from here to death; You’ll never see me Frowning.
In step the “ BRONTE “ sisters; Charlotte, Emily, and Anne.
Come back from their Imaginary Land.
Speaking English; Not the language that they shared.
[“ To attack the first is not to assail the last “ ] As if they cared.
I see [ Alfred Lord Tennyson ] will he sign my copy of “ The Poet “
Over there is [ Edgar Allen Poe ] and his Raven “Nevermore”
Exhilaration ends: I wake up, no one will ever know it.
I spent the night, a LOVEFILLED night: With many a Great POET.
Now that I’ve comeback from time, I have no words I have no Rhyme.
The paper, not a drop of ink. It looks at me with a BLANK STARE.
But now I do Bethink, that I should write something THERE.
I just can’t write and think.
Here comes the novice poet.
With [ Edna St. Vincent Millay and Elizabeth Barret Browning ]
He will remember what they say, and then will always Know it.
[ “ I will permit my memory to recall “ ][ “ How do I love Thee “]
I do believe, from here to death; You’ll never see me Frowning.
In step the “ BRONTE “ sisters; Charlotte, Emily, and Anne.
Come back from their Imaginary Land.
Speaking English; Not the language that they shared.
[“ To attack the first is not to assail the last “ ] As if they cared.
I see [ Alfred Lord Tennyson ] will he sign my copy of “ The Poet “
Over there is [ Edgar Allen Poe ] and his Raven “Nevermore”
Exhilaration ends: I wake up, no one will ever know it.
I spent the night, a LOVEFILLED night: With many a Great POET.
Now that I’ve comeback from time, I have no words I have no Rhyme.
The paper, not a drop of ink. It looks at me with a BLANK STARE.
But now I do Bethink, that I should write something THERE.
I just can’t write and think.
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