I want to sing something
relevant
Sing what I tell you to sing
do as I say
do as I say!........
oh winters postlude
the winds the trees
the toppled and twisted branches
oh to have a warm day
----------------------------------
Do your thang
just keep me in mind
I do the same for you
that's just being sweet and kind
scratch my back
I'll gladly scratch yours's
what's a man suposse to do
it's what ah man supposse to do
you my freind and lover
we still chill and carry-on
got ah good thang witcha
like what we got going on
es and snitches
often try to mess up
we stick together
my sweet Alguien
when things get tuff
full respect darling
see what I'm saying
What gotta good thang here
Yes, burrowing clams help make natural gas, specifically methane (
), by fostering the production of the gas in marine sediments
I'm in love
and you know I aint playing
Music of my life is tuned in three moods -
Prelude had been started in my childhood.
Interlude of youth sang sweet symphony
Postlude of old age to break harmony.
Childhood passed without desired love and care.
Innocent child suffered lot : None to share.
Adversity taught child, simple naive
to struggle always being strong and brave.
Vibrant dynamic youth bubbled in blood.
Zeal and enthusiasm rushed in flood.
Endured failure, accessed success by turn.
Yet not to repent, fulfilled ambition.
My last stage is almost to be complete.
Now found my achievements just obsolete.
Life, once valuable, lost importance.
Adieu life ! Ready to cast last glance.
Song of life starts from the very childhood
initiating symphony with prelude.
supposed to be sung in parental care.
Mostly nice, yet tune may be sad , though rare.
Interlude is the sweetest part of song
to be enjoyed in youth, though not too long.
Busy, active, vibrant and dynamic
Ups and Downs , staying enthusiastic.
Old age is last portion sung on postlude.
Tone in low, slow, morose mood to conclude.
Crayon Box Dreams started song of my life.
Song sung from carefree innocent childhood.
Mellifluous music, I couldn’t wipe.
That ran in prelude-interlude-postlude.
Childhood passed, entered in adolescence.
World extended, becoming brighter broader.
Life spreading scattering different essences.
Youth showing colourful spectrum in splendour.
Vibrant dynamic youthful days were gone.
Ran sublime serene seniority.
Lost importance in next generation.
Felt misfit holding no priority.
Crayon Box Dreams still calling in last phase.
But all obsoleted : Dragging dull days.
What could I say
to change this kindness
you may have warmly heard
but only coldly felt?
How might my peaked
and valleyed,
top and bottom,
out and in
prelude and postlude
father spawned and mother sacred
before and after
stories
speak to your ambivalent ear?
Without hearing too much impatience
and continuing to feel
nothing
Nothing urgent
passionate
empowering
to survive dark days
of quiet lonely severance?
Where EarthMother's womb
had promised dawning reverence.
Could I sing with sufficiently enlightened passion?
Should we dance to light's bilateral integrity
flowing out communion?
Curiously nurtured Tribal fashions
if Earth would repair Her dignity
through sacred kindness
we may have lightly touched
but never deeply felt
Integrity
resurrecting powers
of ego trauma
in dialogue with eco-therapy
Where Yang meets Yin,
Truth greets Beauty
Resonance
of healthy minds
trusts wealth of resilience
co-empathic
co-invested
co-operative
organic
peaked and valleyed
opportunistic spiritual minds
inside risky natural bodies.
Nightingale: The night songstress
Sweetest songbird always to impress
mostly singing at night
and in day with same delight.
Tune melodious
Appealing gracious
in sonic Nature’s kingdom.
One can miss sweet tweet seldom.
Male bird sings to allure female.
Nature’s claim: Same for Nightingale.
Prelude starts at night rolling to interlude
reaching postlude to conclude
on Sunrise at morn,
declaring glory of dawn.
As dew drops to glisten,
eager female bird to listen
to the song of Nightingale.
and dew drops sparkle as spangles.
A God-honored teacher, Miss Ruth Vance
His gift to our town, His circumstance.
No replacing her bulging tote bag -
It was priceless, minus the Gucci tag."
and now the rest of the story....
Teacher extraordinaire, Miss Ruth Vance
taught eighth graders about life, perchance.
From first grade to twelfth, school musician.
Music was her primary mission.
For Halloween, she'd parade the whole school
round and round the gym! What a jewel!
Her eighth graders always danced the May Pole.
Pomp and Circumstance, our seniors' goal.
Christmas plays displayed her special niche;
school choirs of all ages sang without a hitch.
Our Mary Poppins with overstuffed school bag -
Miss Ruth, musician, teacher and wag.
Sundays at noon, she played the town postlude
doors thrown wide open, all ears were glued...
Baptists, Methodists going home from church
heard Miss Ruth, at her Presbyterian perch.
January 4, 2021
THANKSGIVING
Song of Thanksgiving start with prelude
to pay tribute
to my Grandma for her affection and care.
She was always a giver.
I could not get any chance to repay her debt,
but only to admit.
With grateful heart I bow to my parents.
I remember to thank all my playmates in childhood
with whom I had spent so many joyful moments.
On interlude I must give thanks
to my teachers, research guide, my Dad to build
my academic career.
Thanks to my colleagues, friends, and associates
for sharing my sorrow and happiness
with compassion and kindness.
Thanks to my sisters for showing mirror
casting my childhood.
And to God for giving me opportunity to raise up
two wonderful daughters up to my satisfaction.
On postlude to conclude, I must thank
to my cute Granddaughter, the little angel
for entertaining me on Skype once a week.
11/15/20
GRACE AND SOLITUDE
Sparkling Sun on verdant valley of super silence.
Symphony of dazzling rays of sizzling Sun in prelude.
Dreamy dormant desires in dolor, deep and dense,
suffusing in opulence blending in quietude.
Dim sunlight on twilight pasting hues on sky-canvas
Tranquil ambient runs on cadence of interlude.
Blooming passion on confusion confined in mind-vase.
Evening melody showers solace in plenitude.
Sadness on starless somber turquoise sky
resonating on aria of serene soul in postlude.
Efflux of ethereal emotion oozing to fly,
enjoying ecstasy in graceful sublime solitude.
05/05 /20
Third Place
'Grace and solitude' Contest by John Hamilton
First Place
'All Yours ( Mar 29 ) Contest by Brian Strand
LONELY PEOPLE
Lonely people are loners,
even not only by living alone
but prone to loneliness
by nature.
All the lonely people are alone,
even amidst family and friends.
Abandoned babies, orphans, street kids
deprived of parental care and love
devoid of essence of childhood
to develop loner's personality.
This set up come up
from irresponsible parents,
when each laments
showing reflection of loner Eleanor Rigby.
People entering last phase
turn lonely naturally.
Bound to realize
inevitable end at last bend.
Final bell ringing, now to respond.
to conclude last chapter singing in postlude.
Time is up.
All these lonely people proceed sharp.
09/01/2019
'Eleanor Rigby Who Was She' Contest by Jerry T Curtis
gentle one
so
friendly,too
what is it?:
is it
innocence
in embryo-
thoughts
transformed,
a subtext
echoed
from
the
past:
so remarkable
so unusual
yet
low key,
instincts
articulated
candid
pertinent
succinct
and to
the point
Ode to Silence
O primordial prelude, thou ancient sound, present before the earth was found. Interrupted by the voice of One who predated you, saying, “let there be,” and then allowing you to witness His creative power at work.
O ubiquitous companion, witness of the moment when sperm penetrated ovum and zygote was formed. You saw me before I entered mother’s consciousness and beheld the formation of my members.
Thou welcome interlude, who daily rescue me from the exhaustion of the incessant demands of daily life. As a soothing massage to an aching body, you cradle me in your arms and restore my body and soul.
O Divine command, utilized by God when He wants to get the attention of His children. “Be still and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10), He says, and we tremble and are silent in His presence.
O inevitable postlude, the destiny of mortal man. “His spirit departs, he returns to the earth, in that very day his thoughts perish” Psalm 146:4 and he enters your world of silence.
But because you were there when God made man, you were privy to the plan that man should live eternally. So you are content to hold him fast, till he’s resurrected by His Savor at last.
MEET ME IN MY SOLITUDE
I sank deep in her sweet song.
She started on soft soothing prelude.
Flooded in mild melody
She rolled into gentle interlude.
Being floated in my fancy dream
whelmed to swim with joy in plenitude.
Music mesmerized my heart.
Lost myself: She reached postlude.
Symphony surged silent soul.
How to thank, paying her gratitude ?
Told,’ Where may I meet you Ma'am?'
Tune resonating in quietude.
Mystic lady smiled little
starting new music in prelude.
First sentence was voiced as
‘Come and meet me in my solitude.’
12/04/16 Quatrain on same rhyming.
Edited on 04/15/20
Third Place
'STRAND NO. 730' Contest by Brian Strand
Sick Solitude Andaree
I felt so sick in the sublime solitude
Your song of love started with prelude
I was charmed in great lyric
Deeply romantic
Not at all
Sick
Over all
Seemed supersonic
Fabulously fantastic
Interlude concluded in postlude
I felt so sick in the sublime solitude.
Honorable Mention in Contest
THE ONE WHO FOLLOWED THE STORM
A postlude to The Tenth Wave
And I felt helpless, as I could do nothing
But watch them sway in the wind out to sea
Hush, hush!
There, yes, right there, if you squint you can see it
Among the debris, there, yes, right there! can't you see?
There was one, yes, indeed, listen to me, says I,
Right there!
Where?
Over there...
...He seemed to come right from nowhere
When it was thought that all breaths had been taken,
Came a salty puff of water, and then
Like a little ship, a living ship, with a bow and a stern,
And most importantly, a pointy little mast at the tip
The small twisty horn which took a spot of the moon
One narwhal, young and carelessly breaching
Like any child would, split for a moment from his tribe
To watch the ghostly stillness of the ocean with soft wet eyes
Before he bobbed back with mothers, fathers, sons, daughters
To discover new lands, new lives and loves..
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