A RATTLING RHYME
Hannah McCustopha, married to Mustapha,
Couldn’t stop chattering, just like her dear Mama.
Yat ta ta Ya ta ta, Na ta ta Na ta ta.
That was the cause of Ma’s parting from her papa.
The feminine side of the family McCustopha,
Famous for talking from New York to Omaha.
Tourists came just to hear them from near and from far.
Tra la la Tra la la, Tra la la Tra la la.
Mustapha finally, tired of her repertoire,
Stowed her away in the trunk of a motor car,
With plenty of food and some tea in a samovar,
And paid a cab driver to drop her in Dacca.
There should have been peace evermore for Mustapha.
But, sadly, he hasn’t achieved it so far.
For every night in his dreams he hears Hannah.
Ya ta ta Ya ta ta, Na ta ta Na ta ta
11th March 2020
A Rattling Rhyme contest
Sponsor - Nina Parmenter
Categories:
samovar, mother,
Form: Rhyme
Really aware brussel sprouts aren't that popular
Sprinkled with cheese, to some that's bizarre
A treat to die for
Soar to heaven's door
Should settle down, gonna bust my samovar
Categories:
samovar, food,
Form: Limerick
A Raw Wish
If you come some mid-spring's day
Oh! At late afternoon!
To here, this lush quiet meadow:
Free to the far stony walls, thorny weeds and wood.
I shall serve you in samovar steaming tea, homemade breads and desi ghee.
My love, I shall show you how
Giant shadows are slipping over the sandy mount;
And horned sheep hurrying home,
Little lambs stumbling.
Categories:
samovar, romantic love,
Form: Free verse
I had heard of Black-
beauty
From highly learned
men
And, a twiggy oily
figure!
I have always
appreciated.
City-women walk in
style
Wear stylish and
talk in style,
A Cow-boy shall
always commend!
But I have
somewhere read,
An Indian American
poet to his
Syrian wife wrote
An unknown love
poem!
Blaming her of
dating once
A Muslim friend.
Therefore ere we
may walk together
any more,
Tell me, for instance!
Have you visited
that saint’s shrine?
There, near your
abode,
The fort’s on the
Rocky Mount;
Climbed those
hundred-fifty stony
stairs?
Yes!
Many many times, in
that sweet nonage
With grandma.
And nowadays on
almost all Sundays
In the evenings, with
my mom.
Ah! Ah!
Then you must have
Fed the wild-
pigeons’ flock, corn;
Helped the lame,
blind beggars with
coins, and rice;
In the festivals’
nights
Served the waking
worshipers—coming
from the far villages
in country,
Fried in ghee, the
rice,
And in Samovar—
Kahva!
Yes, my dear Yes!
I have, I have, I
have.
Categories:
samovar, romance, spiritual,
Form: Free verse
crazy electric guitars raping your consciousness
bruising your sense of focus like a madman in a defeated village
bruising a lonely prostitute
and you think you got something to prove
and you think it's all but a phase
that kisses your cheeks and leaves
no headphone's gonna kiss your bleeding ears
no scream will bring your malady ashore
it's dirty but it's not earth
hold your breath for a little while and open your coward eyes
let the vomit find its way outta your skin and into the alley
let the blood dance like a beheaded cow at a tribal feast
let the sense of timelessness enter your ribs like a rusted knife
like a shrapnel
no water will do any good to this melting room
spit the cowardice and inhale the ash and cough all the hunger
away
let the phone ring and the samovar turn itself off
for the flame soon will cover them both
you see the unshapely red and black and gray thing?
that's the bastard son of your books and your poor coward cat
put the stupid water away and watch the festival of births of
shapes and copulation of things with the void.
Categories:
samovar, dream, water, water,
Form: Free verse