It's considered bad manners if you pickup your food
with the fingers that extend out from your paws
So many traditions surround
these inane culinary laws
Some days ago I watched a kookaburra
prepare a piece of meat
So unlike a human who need
a knife and fork for everything they eat
First he/she took it in his beak, thumped it on the turf
did it several times until a piece broke off
Then he opened up his beak, tilted back his head
downed this mini morsel with a mighty scoff
Humans are the only species that maintains a large variety of utensils
to prepare their food and then do dine
Followed up with crockery
to scull a glass of wine
Set the table, put cutlery in its place
add a clean white napkin on which you wipe your face
Me I prefer to be like the laughing kookaburra
Pick my fruit and park myself beneath a spreading shady tree
to dine in peace and eat my fare, much more naturally
Where tides flow high on bursting moon
On grim and gloomy afternoon
I shall be with you till the dawn
I shall not falter, nor I yawn
For, you're my queen and I'm your pawn
Where water drowns the hopes in you
And your whole world is gray and blue
I'll be the scull to row your boat
Just to make sure that you're afloat
For, you're the jewel that I sought
Where whirlpool turns to suck your faith
Just call my name, I'll not be late
I'll guide you through the mountain top
I'll make your doubts and worries stop
I shall not weaken, nor I flop
For, you're the only one for me
When I'm with you, it's ecstasy
Where tides flow high, I shall be there
Where whirlwinds come from everywhere
We'll cross the wild seas together
Dancing with crystals
blowing smoke through my nostrils,
believing in the delusion
escaping from it's firm grasp;
the memories never ending
it's in my dreams,
interrupting my purpose
lieing to my face,
I could be deceased
a faulse memory
imbedded in the cerebral;
knocking against your scull
begging to be seen
but forgotten once again,
beautifully undone
yet gracefully at peace,
never will I taste your resin again
the glass slipping from between my lips;
shattering like my heart
dripping with eternal dread,
I needed you
but I hate you,
I thought your were my friend;
but you're my enemy
to your grave;
you I send.
in a manor of time it will tell
it's been so reconciled
it's hard to tell anymore
not s scull set up on a stump
sold separately no gun
but a tall tale on web buy now black market
but fishes fishes in your suit case and back pack
can't believe your eye
fishes fishes that fall from the sky
it's a wonder and work's why
it's life and power
it's money that disappears
it's the people that hate him
distracted discernment
brought it to an extreme
trust of all bad advice from some
decent i'm sure fine young fella
it's astute I mean absurd
My pen, as though wounded, bleeds,
Who on earth, its blood-flooding sound, heeds?
Tabula rasa papers turn pregnant,
Messages of peace-brim-filling excitement;
Midst clanging of shiny swords,
Who witnesses the wounded words?
Poetry is for lunatics, they say,
Might moves mountainous sway;
Blood should paint the world maps,
Dead should adorn the scull-caps;
Shells should illumine skyscrapers,
No podium for poetry-papers;
They march forward with philosophies such,
Though fear within, deadliest weapons they clutch;
Like monsters and vampires they fight,
Many, to Hades, take their flight;
Peace-poems, often, become wraps,
Of their not-so-hot-potato chaps;
My wounded heart, together with my pen, yearns,
Insane humans to realize their hate-churns;
Having battles lost and won,
Laurels of pride, heads adorn;
Losing wife, children, friends, kith-and-kin,
Sensory organs, like neon gas, brunt within;
Those survive try to trace and read the peace writings,
Die, ultimately, in perennial musings...!
28 March 2022
your foulmouthed shout
weaves angry waves
bashes my ear drums
pierced I wail in vain
as the echo gets closer
staccato crescendo
climax refrain
can’t shut you out
cannot withhold
silence won’t come
until the final note
that fails to abate
our melody out of tune
sweet memories wane
why so cruel I dare
to object and stall
in anxious mourning
beaten I tap on my scull
hardcore discordance
dis-phonic noise pollution
where harmony morphed
into orchestral acrimony
until I dust off the harp
restring my guitar
triangular chords
block coda and pain
reclaim my own music
mute your assault
scream as loud as you want
eat your words
digest my freedom
croak as you wish
while I breathe fresh love
15th April 2021
Contest This or That Volume two
A far Cry
Sponsor Edward Ibeh
Scull in the waters under the sun’s incandescence.
Go along with the wind’s rhythm and my heart’s cadence.
Sail far until orange firmaments paint you into black.
Know where you are heading – don’t you ever come back.
If someone finds you alone in the riverside floating,
You’ve got the opportunity to tell my words that are worth-sharing…
“You’re special and worth to be loved.
You’re more than any riches; don’t think you're unloved.
You’ve got a million reasons to feel joy in your heart.
Your stories are fascinating and they’re worthy to impart.
Don’t let your grief and hatred live in you forever.
Soon you’ll flourish and be greater than ever.
This universal love shall be passed like an endless ripple
It should last to save one or triple.”
January 8, 2021
The Last Love Letter Contest
Like a butler with affluence in an experiment of own creation,
Counting the amount of celluloid before any fireworks is triggered,
I gnawed the vapour that was an outcome of a prolonged moan,
And, held a long serge scarf wanting to place it gently over an open mouth.
Scavenger with an open scull letting my brain be picked,
By mocking the Trinity and the four horsemen with cascades of rippled water,
But fortunately not having enough courage to confront the world.
Like the last pagan king who decided to save all, and what he could
By blowing a heap of sawdust into the ponds of innocence,
Sire, I’ve entered the realm of handcrafted curse,
Seeing all the bouncy fillies, many, one, none,
As an immortal faith rained down pebbles of doubt and strife,
My inner sparrows made swift passes between the ears,
Bare clean, very lean, moving onto the essence of what one sees as real in life.
I rowed from Cambridge where
my scull was slapped by the wake
of the long boats from MIT and Harvard
then dodged the hodgepodge of
tiny sloops in the lower basin
competing and sharing the venue
along the bank in my "own" space
I drifted
flags waving from the shore spoke of the night
the Esplanade was awash with revelers
so many flags moved and reflected
off the lazy waves and celebrated
to the hum of strings straining to tune
the Anthem was the birthday hymn
The Stars and Stripes Forever
wrestled with my recollections
of "Web- Footed Friends"
Until Longfellow's soul hovered - smiling
and Tchaikovsky's gift reverberated
shell and cannon echoed over the Charles
and through the city spires
in the brilliant sky colors danced with
each embellished percussion
candles for THE birthday and
wishes for peace was in the hearts
of all who shared
Drawn to the graves
Unbeknown clarity develops like root canal treatment
festering wounds and scull bones loom on the route
In reason and feeling I have no choice but to venture
an ancient drill grinds away carbon in my father’s grave
Gravity certainty narrative German post war collective
guilt betrayal crimes against humanity ‘we only followed’
Orders commands yet propagated propaganda and demise
a generation later my prerogative to look away falls by
The wayside on the path to Auschwitz the stench the cries
train tracks total war extinction ‘Lebensraum’ final solution
My officer dad a cog in the wheel just a soldier or willing
perpetrator and I too am getting longer in the tooth of time
‘What did you do what did you not’ and on a map in the
cellar times and postings little flags of when and where
I cannot avoid the void any longer and my atrocious search
for atrocities smoulders at boiling point and the search is
On for the roots which must be exposed from gold fillings
extracted to knowledge before cavities lie filled with pain
Might be covered with exposure of who I am as my father’s child
IF YOU READ THE WORDS OUT LOUD IT MAKES TOTAL SENSE!
Once eye never had a hare out of plaice
Now I’m going bawled and eye am feeling blew
People are laughing and are starting to stair
Eye am going horse telling them my tail
Sum folks are very suite and don’t mention my bold scull
But others have no hart and eye hate the way they teas me
Eye am not vane, but my heir has not groan for sum weaks
Who nose what will happen, eye cannot altar my hare with die
Eye think eye knead to ware a flour in my lox and eye will look sew sheikh
FICTIONAL WRITE USING HOMOPHONES
09~19~16
HENRY THE SPIDER
Henry the spider was a spy of Eider
Sculled the boat in the river Schlechen Leider
The frog stole the scull
Octopus was dull
He clasped the hull close and kissed the outsider
HENRY THE SPIDER © Rajat kanti Chakrabarty November, 2014
The Pirates
Pirates were around in the 16th century, they flew the
Jolly Roger/Scull & Crossbones and would loot and pillage
Ships at sea, for their rich cargo and gold doubloons
Over the years they have moved to land in guises as
Highwaymen and bushrangers, outlaws that steal money
As well as gold and defy the law. In modern times the
Pirate has become an even bigger threat to the film and
Music industry by bootlegging copies on videotape and
Disks, robbing performers and actors of their rightful
Royalties. Now in the days of the Internet, the pirate or
Modern day version known as a scammer, creates
All sorts of evil ways to attain money on hoax activities
Dating sites and social networking even through networks
With items for sale. Yes hoaxes and scams make up about
Seventy percent of Internet activities, which goes
Unpoliced, with people losing large ammounts of money
To these unscroupulous people every day. Can they be
Stopped? The answer is a mystery, as the world is losing
It's innocence to unstoppable theives we call pirates.
Walking into a small shop a little bell rang loudly as the door was opened wide,
In the back shop there was shuffling a cough some wheezing coming from inside,
A young man came over to the counter leaning heavily on a stout walking stick,
His eyes were so bright and sunk deep into his scull his voice slow and thick,
He tried to smile his breath rasped and rattled he stopped and turned his head,
On his bright clean waistcoat he wore the Mons medal it's lucky he is not dead,
Understanding what was wrong he'd been a victim of mustard gas in the Great War,
Pretending not to notice I asked for some snuff he turned and coughed some more,
A child ran in and bought a pennyworth of sweets she popped them into his bag,
The mans wife took the penny and put in the till, she looked so tired and sad,
Another fit of coughing seized him suddenly he waved his hand and walked away,
Back to his rear room his wife looked with tears she didn't know what to say.
Deep inside I feel and touch
As tears within of sadness creep
Like flowing river
Emerging wildly, lost in ocean
Write, and tell to human forces
Their corruption will be silenced
Tears of Humanity's plight
To be free, as intended
Yet corruptive egotistical mind
Has lost compassion for it's Founder
Ah, shake your scull and rattle bones
For in the end dust will gather.
Wise you say you are
Gathering wealth beneath your feet.
You steal, you rob, you suffocate
Surpressing others with wicket ways
Who do you steal from? I ask
One greater than you stands.
Hear this riddle you poor
One who owns all will emerge
And bring to its end all tears
Humanity's tears like harvest reaped
Quest of destruction genocide silenced
Trumpet of victory heard in silence....
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