Scruple Poems

Stench

Dark red, luscious apples felled from her own tree long ago
Under the beaming sun plummeted with a soft, aching blow

The sweat drips and plops, scruple over a furrowed brow
Upon the discovery of rot that blackened her plow

“Has the wind gone mad–or am I the one insane?
Dirt and grime, high dry–surely the only way to explain”

Denial among hatred, she could not face–but under the murk, bits
Beneath, the snakes–surly and shabby—placed high their bids

The heat danced faster as the days passed far less paced
Her blonde hair bleached and pruned, but left one space

The temple on her right seemed blank and bruised
As a failed blow far too long past was nearly used

The magazine fell as she begins filtering the rot past her mind
She screams, shouts, yelps and cries, sobs of an animal forgotten by time

“I never meant for this to go–go and blow up like this!
I never meant. . . I never meant for me to hurt our kids.”

Too far from gone she was, behind silken white bars and drenched in ammonia
“I know, my love, but I must leave and forget you—may heaven forbid us, Aurora”

Contemplation

      Contemplation

       
      Hidden scruple of consciousness scuffling 
      yet to be scudded through assigned locus,
       focusing on clarification surpassing confusion.
       Mystic mind mesmerised on translucent thoughts,
       suffused by morose mist needs transparency.

      Confused contour of path of life congested in chaotic commotion
       demanding luminosity of serene sublime soul
       waiting for brightly shining sparkling stars to illumine.
       When Angelic Aura will glow behind placid maroon Moon,
       encumbered heart may turn ebullient, exuberant soon.

       Conscience if circumvented by illusion, clairvoyance 
       of cosmic profoundness to exhibit ecstatic effulgence.
       Radiance of contemplation will illumine discombobulated musings
        welcoming freshness of dawn dew glistening on bliss of realisation.
        blessed by my ecstatic ethereal enlightenment.

Masked Faces - I'M Okay, You'Re Okay Is a Mask In the Land of Pretend

I’m on the synthetic stage of the deceptive domain,
revolving with my split mind, entrapped in bi-polarity,
under the illusory limelight of the pretentious time, 
where I’m enmeshed within the contrived paradoxes.

In the make-belief drama of life I act with no scruple, 
for I face so many false faces flocking around me.
Losing identity in the conglomerate of counterfeit facades,
I don’t perform by the prompt of my prudent hidden heart.

In the masquerading faces reflected in my warped mirror, 
I see concealed the contorted lines of rancid rancor. 
As with their phony pretense I play a compromising role,
my transformed face of spite, the actor in me disguises. 

As the turning time’s deceiving show goes on and on, 
prevailing spotlights glare on the veiled visage of fraud. 
Finding a fake place to survive in the pretend archive, 
I’m a configured antique in the museum of masked faces.

Peace of Mind

This is a good advice, specially for old people. To avoid anxiety, think about  avoiding interference, much inspection and digging. You should have a good thinking, more good sincere prayers without obsession without scruple. Have a nice time.

to have peace of mind
avoid the interference,
and much of digging

have a good thinking
no obsession nor scruple
more of sincere prayers

Advice For My Child of Heaven's Paradise

Do not look or wait for heaven’s kingdom, for it is in and outside of you 
Never tremble to ask for a hand to get through 
Pray without hypocrisy or you will fool just yourself 
Pray every day and night till the last breath itself 
Do not let the left hand know the crafting of your right hand 
Build your house on the cornerstone, not drifting sand 
Watch with care all animals and plants as your eye’s pupil 
Love your friends as your own light without a scruple 
Make peace with yourself to make the mountain of this world move
Do what is bright even when your colleagues reprove
Ride the heavenly horse, since you can’t ride two as a pair
Hear the neighing of heaven’s pleroma through prayer

Past and Present For the Bard

It was my long-cherished dream, get a chance
to be a poet garnering gamut of reputation.
So, I imagined I became Shakespeare for once,
dissolved the past, rose from suspended animation.

I remembered I wrote once, in our lives our time
experienced “the winter of our discontent”.
I hoped I would feel now the joy of spring sublime,
but found the winter perpetuate even in the present.

In all walks of life the confusing question in my time then
was the quandary of options “to be or not to be”,
but now this dilemma bothered anyone less than often,
for everybody wanted to be rich and scruple free.

I couldn’t write my Sonnet like that of the Bard of Avon,
for my utterly dismayed muse found he was gone.

____________

January 9, 2023
Contest : Shakespeare In 2023
Sponsored by : Anoucheka Gangabissoon

Bazaar

Vendors ply their trade in open air without an air or grace,
the velvet chocolate slabs so neatly laid,
suitable for vegans but a salve to pointless guilt  the label said,
my texting fingers drip
with honeyed scruple,
Like dates?
give us this day our daily bread is how we earn our corn,
a corny line no less,
pumpkin seed in barrels  dot each loaf as if  it were an  invite
to a milling throng
another corny item on the menu,
off the wall, off the tongue and off the fork
from shell to shelf is how we go to market with such buzzword brand elan.
Yet us artisans must surely set our sights beyond the sound of cash tills or the pin pad swipe and scan zeitgeist

The Borrowed Future

To observe the happy ignorance divide,
when blindside vanity takes a ride.
The affordable vision without integrity,
overspread trust in God for certainty.
Status quo in brisk and surety,
invested in generations of immortality.
While in those pleasant ideal we talk,
abusing the resources as we walk.
To gain in every art to be tried,
mistaken foolishness with pride.
Witnessing all scruple cares to prove,
to reward the borrowed love.
Propitious heaven and absolute adored,
cooking the golden goose implored.
The prosperous falling with ardent eyes,
to obtain by all means the needed price.
Blind power granted with determined affairs,
jumping boats before the falling shares.
Warnings dispersed on empty air,
economic footprints without repair.
The boundless sky in perfect image,
refined suits handle shifted fault scrimmage.
The comedy as human race preside,
not seeing history as true learning guide.

Fleet Away

Fleet away!

We fleeted the time carelessly
We fleeted the time carelessly 

I had a long wait,
A fretful heart and a dance troupe.
And I sauntered into the room.
For a fleeting moment,
I saw the face of a boy.
By now, my time consumed by wanderlust.
In the choice of lust and love,
I scruple of prudence is worth a pound of passion.

For a split second...
The girl has caught your eye!
And her gestures eavesdropping his ears.

They fling for more coffees
Not breed to encased themselves in linen 
By now, their time consumed by wanderlust

'Only they knew everything was ephemeral'
'And the cessation of time scribbled'

We fleeted the time carelessly
We fleeted the time carelessly

Totenkopf

Non-forfeiting my troth, in bonny and buxom, I believed.
What good is too good? And why is better, better than worse? 
Given the first beginnings I merge intuition with silence,
And form my own variant of “das Weltspiel”, as I deny
The realm of Earth and Heaven, and the realm of God and Man.
The progeny of thought, pliant but plum, with no falsity,
Purified by a jaunt of far and beyond, thenceforth
From a beginning to an end, shines in this darkness,
So strenuous in the pleasures of conviction,
Overwhelming and powerful, almost a daemonic proclivity 
Towards the duty to produce evil that destroys goodness.
The unrest is raising to overthrow the slavery reigning in the heart,
The slavery that is wearing the Totenkopf , so proud, and so it is!
I want to stop the cant I hear. Full of devilish malignity, the cant
Of a false scruple, in the world of no clear direction.
How one achieves it, if good is too good? If better is better than worse!
O, I have no predestined servility towards tolerance,
And I will passion and protest and be protestingly passionate,
In my own dimension of reality, frigidly judicious, as an old faith.

Celluloid Daydream

For the past I pray in the tumorous night gone heavy and long,
Churning in the chirp of the tree frog’s soporific song.

The air thickens like cream churned thicker into butter,
Spinning in the muttered fumes of mind’s fogged clutter.

Coagulating light into an onyx-colored yet broken stone,
A celluloid flash of silver shines sight into solid bone.

From the peek-a-boo split of an aperture’s peeping pupil,
Pours an undeveloped pity in a dope’s pathetic scruple.

I seek episodic hippocampus Netflix films inside me,
For memory is better than that which my eyes will ever see.

Drone

I fly wide-eyed into the glinting night, 
Along valleys with man-made stars aglow. 
Thrills and sorrows on both sides line my flight, 
Neon rivers flow restless down below. 

Grandiose dreams from serried rooftops crow, 
Million-watt schemes fuel every lofty light. 
'Neath a sky scraped by monoliths of gold, 
I fly wide-eyed into the glinting night. 

Avenues wind like serpents of delight, 
Sate designed desires that with lucre grow. 
Fresh-minted wonders glut to gild each sight, 
Along valleys with man-made stars aglow. 

Manic hustle hijacks the threadbare soul, 
Calls the mind daily to the ring to fight, 
Ten baubles purchased for each scruple sold, 
Thrills and sorrows on both sides line my flight. 

Gray ghettos sprawl to host the loser’s plight, 
In potholed lives the city takes a toll, 
Broken windows exhale long peals of fright, 
Neon rivers flow restless down below. 

Yet the sidewalks gleam for all to behold, 
The fittest triumph above wrong or right. 
Where virtues are haloed, vices extolled,  
And breathless energy scales a new height,  
I fly wide-eyed.

Scruple

Plying depravity from a string of unblemished guile,
Candor and virtues put on trial.
Mute complications hang the impassive jury,
Corrupt verdicts subjugate while the ingenuous worry.
Grasping for lone echos left by forgiveness and mercy,
Abolish authenticity with fallacy bred controversy.

Light of Love

Light of love as others may say
Would blaze the best in you throught out the way
No winds, no seas, no roaring from the dim
'Cos it would shine for you as a beam.
 
For all my life I have come to hide
For the perfect love others seek to find
That's why I thought myself to be brave and might
To prove that "I don't need that kind of light."
 
With all those years of life's demise
I made myself pure and wise
As I conquer in the life of fight
I would rather say, "I don't need that kind of light."
 
It might be fear, it might be scruple
But it popped up easily like a bubble
Maybe it was huge, maybe it was heavy
But with you, I conquered it very lightly.
 
You taught me how to be
Courageous enough to be me
Not to run away from reality
And embrace the light of love tenderly.

To Me Love Is Like Water

To me love is like water,
I have poured it always
In size, shape & colour
In the glass of my choice.
I have truly loved
I don’t write down my happiness.
Love has given me life
Life has given me love.
I am the blessed one,
I have said it and
I have no scruple.
I am just an ordinary bloke,
Twice blessed.

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