Neon and noise.
Night-world horrors.
Whose reflections, whose echoes
Showed not, nor shook
Its panes and doors.
Conscience-singeing.
Waywardly flapped.
Strange appeal! Once sought but through
A moonlight kiss.
A round dance. Clapped.
A mother stands with a trembling hand,
Lighting a lamp for her vanished land.
Her eyes reflect the years that gone by,
Of battles fought of children's cry.
Before her, pink petals softly fall,
Each one a name - she knows them well.
The years have passed, but she still sees,
Her child beneath those crimson trees.
No flag, no song can ease her pain,
Yet pride and sorrow can weave the same.
For in her heart, she knows too well,
The story that no words can tell.
Around her now, scorching torches rise,
Their golden smoke ascends the skies.
People scarred, yet unbroken still,
Their memory stronger than a brick wall.
And as the glistening moon starts to gleam,
She whispers softly like a soothing dream.
"MY child, your path paved in flame,
But freedom bears your sacred name."
On November 27, the singeing candles glow,
A silent vow the hearts we all know.
The fallen rest, Yet never fade,
For their courage, nations are made.
How did the sea become a crime?
How did its blue become a bruise on the face of history?
How did the verdure turn into red wrath,
breathing fire into burned hearts,
leaving behind it a black, frosty funeral?
How did the tree become a Fury?
Her strands of fire
strewn above the dew and tranquil mounts
Furious fire and melted iron
Lava and blood-red ink
Pumping out of the wounded bosom of the earth
Bubbling up like the foam of death
To carve an unprecedented story;
A story of a dying profound pain, reborn
In the same womb, at the same moment
Growing as rapidly as the pulsating heart of a child in terror
Lost in the land of infinite wars.
***
My land, a flickering ember
Once giving light and warmth;
The other, singeing our hearts;
Do you choose to be a beacon in the dark,
or to blow up in our faces like a blind flame of wrath?
Are you destined to turn into ash
disarrayed by the wind?
***
People might claim that the earth is not for all
But the heavens are inevitably for all
The living, the dead, the imprisoned
Happy, grieving, immersed in prayer,
For the heavens are in the hands of God the just
Never to be touched by human slaves
Beneath the trees, a tale of a Tamil revolutionary,
As in history of tamils, the people viewed him as a legendary luminary.
'Thalaivar' the title he was given,
As his reputation was on a different level, when he was living.
Through fields of war, he engraved his name,
In a country torn by sorrow and pain.
As a sense of anger boiled in his heart,
He promised to never to be ripped apart.
Through endless killings and bloody battles,
He hunts the enemy like a tiger hunting cattle.
The roar of the tigers, the singeing flames of war,
As the tigers are ready to slice the enemy's jaw.
A dream of Tamil land to rise,
But at what cost, beneath the skies?
A price of peace, hope of salvation,
As soldiers have to sacrifice for his country's liberation?
A man of vision, of war, of pride,
Yet history judges all who stride.
A leader to some, a foe to others,
A paradox bound in the land of mothers.
As time moves on, the country's wounds and scars still abide,
His name reaches through the skies, far and wide.
Velupillai, the true Tamil warrior,
As his name rises through the ranks, of a true hero.
I was first picked up
In a cast-off shop in Liverpool;
Surrounded by racks of seasoned shirts
Bearing names of old soldiers.
“Draper” draped on an immature frame
In a collage of brown and green,
Overlapping and enveloping
Any semblance of a past self.
Baby-faced and militant,
The paradoxical camo in an urban warzone.
Slogans painted from shoulder to shoulder
In pungent, nuclear-white bathroom paint.
The smell is burned to memory,
Singeing nose hairs with chemical vigour,
Of dance-generated sweat, upturned pints,
A lover’s aftershave, the sting of cigarette smoke.
Washed once, maybe twice,
But anxious eyes watched the spin cycle,
Fearing specks of dislodged paint
Covering my muddy canvas.
Now “Draper” drapes a matured frame,
The only scent that lingers is
The petrichor of Northern summer
Tie-dyed deep into my fibres.
I bare a name that isn’t mine,
Memories of a life I did not live,
Scars from battles I never saw,
And honours that aren’t mine to claim.
Each time might be the last,
The last I see your face,
Sad and smiling eyes; the last
Your lips mouthing promises,
Goodbyes, eager to go,
Certain of return, sure of this place.
It's different when you're old.
Blossoms treasured that may for you
Never come again, a song of birds,
A patterning of stars,
Each moment bursts on consciousness
And burns its possibly last
But not enduring sign.
Finally scorching through with
Gathered, accumulated intensity,
The beads fall scattered to the ground.
I sit, unable to respond
To the tasks of the world.
Imperious spattering and singeing
Like cold sleet slants against the face
Burns, melts, evaporates...
My son, my son, soon it will seem
That I have wandered off
Having somehow forgotten you.
May 12, 2022 2022 Poetry Marathon 8" Mark Toney
Thoughts singeing
Or love singing?
As we choose
Without excuse
Coordinate of preference
Following the fragrance
Of love divine
As we align
We provide no anchor
For hostility or rancour
Embracing the leper
As also the beggar
With a carefree unbound spirit
Judging neither fault nor merit
We are and we be
In our moment to moment entrée
Free
01-August-2020
'Starfish!' said I, 'thing of a moray eel.'
Be it black ocean space;
Or in the breathing coral seas;
Back into my memories squiding;
To warn me about the sea turtle;
The cetacean coral reef crabbing;
Sharks and piranhas kidnapping;
I heard a tentacled, seagoing inking;
I wrote a story with the octopus pen;
I was a harbour porpoise and you a tuna sandwich;
The brokered bottlenose whale blossoming;
The sphinx moth singeing;
Only this and a sturgeon;
In there stepped a shovel nose 'whale shark';
In there stepped a 'lake trout.';
Dolphins lookout;
To warn me about the bluefin;
The foul flatfish forging;
All my soul within me gorging;
In there stepped a coral sea cucumber;
I have dreamed of the spadefish;
An echo murmured back the word, 'channel catfish!';
The brook trout smiled;
I felt compelled to sniff the squid;
Smells like fish;
It was squish;
Take thy bluegill from out my heart;
Embrace the wish;
Starfish
6/20/20
WRITTEN WORDS BY James Edward Lee Sr. 2020©
God, can I ask you a question?
I know you give the hardest challenges to the ones you think can get through it.
But why me?
What if I’m not strong enough to play your waiting game? What if I don’t want to play anymore? This is my life, and you’re toying with it. Why?
I’m not religious. But I’m asking you, from the bottom of my confused soul.
Why?
I’ve been through enough. I’ve gotten the short end of the stick since I was born. Why are you doing this to me?
I’m not strong enough for this war zone.
This war zone that is inside of me, setting fire to my lungs, singeing my muscles, engulfing my organs. I’m burning inside and no one can see that but you.
So if you’re this wonderful person that gave life to the world
why’d you give me the wrong one?
Lmerick crochetés : Once a Teacher who didn't like school
Once a Teacher who didn't like school
Since his kids kept calling him a fool
Wished to do himself in
Lost control of discipline
All day his class looked like a swimming pool
To this Land of the Bow and Arrow
Came Settlers blasting hip pistols two
They shot their way Far West
Taught the Injuns what quest
In Alexander's conquests wasn't tabou
Then the Rifle Association
Triggered Trump to top the Nation
" Arm all teachers, " he said.
" Boost rifle sales - the Dead
Will bless the use of Ultime Unction ! "
With books the Teach packed solitary weapon
Hidden under the school's emblem apron
Kids laughed loud nonetheless
To see Teacher fearless
Till Terrorist at window broke open
Criss-crossed class red-hot streaking bullets
Kids dived under desks yells burst gullets
Some clung to the Teach's vest
Others hid behind broad chest
Struggled he to match bullet for bullets
Full square the singeing flare ripped his chest
Till rounds automatic echoed the West
Some say his looks bereaved
Looked very much relieved
Like a scion for his kids gave his Life's best.
© T. Wignesan - Paris, 2018
With an on beat off beat riff staggered cliffs
Sit adjacent to hatred set fruitful
Among sacrifice singeing sacred paths
Leading towards plains where pain isn't this...
Colors that raise the fur from your arm hair
Laughter that can't lie in the face of joy
Sounds that breeze gusts of euphoric bliss
To a touch that tastes not enough to share
Far from what we have become when it ends
And ends up a timeless unbinding sigh
Where peace screams truth...always...finally
Where love leaves just us to trust us as friends.
Believers worshippers and those untaught
Become receivers of a perfect lead
Redeemers of a perfect king and life
Living flawless smiling with just one thought
Jehovah!
He's got a reptilian body and wings,
and breathe so hot he can singe anything,
he's very popular especially in summer,
if people barbecue's wind up a blunder,
He'll help them out if they need some heat,
that way he can also get a little barbecue treat,
my dragon will even eat some corn on the cob,
he loves his meat but is no vegetable snob,
We take him camping which is great,
he's more than a guard dog whose got what it takes,
flying around the campsite keeping a look out,
like a guardian angel with a dragon snout,
And in the winter if we lose our electricity,
he provides heat out of necessity,
never having a need for matches or a bic lighter,
my pet dragon is a great fireplace provider,
He helps me out with the yard keeping it clean,
raking leaves up with his capable wings,
and then carefully singeing it with his breathe,
the leaves all go up in smoke and theres no mess,
But he's most popular at the Renaissance Fair,
when we dress up in our costumes and volunteer,
bringing our pet dragon along where he too performs,
dancing a little jig while we sing our medieval songs.
4-10-17
Found two pretty white spotted deer
Grazing blissfully in the woods
I approached on tiptoe, so careful
But, staring straight at me they stood
I walk around this lovely pond
Family of geese-mom, pop and goslings
Jump right in. Flaunting-looking at me
And wait, do I see them smiling?
Clinging to my car window rim
Here’s the yellow lady butterfly
Sorry! It must be singeing your feet
I approach close, but it does not fly
I am now starting to think
These animals, innocent as they look
Are charming me to take their pictures
And make them famous on Facebook
Written on 09/04/2016
Contest:Animal Antics by Shadow Hamilton
Dude, this world is not oval or round
It is flat right like the plate I take food
It is not a big planet either
And must be smaller than my intestine
That is why I could not get enough food to eat
Though I work hard singeing my bones and skin.
This world is not moving either
It is stationary like a huge stone
I try to move it aside
But It jumps back quickly on my chest
Making my breathing a difficult task
Then an idea came to my mind
And I think the idea is not so bad
No need no hammer it out
No need to push and tug a pull
Just let it be there as it is
And make it a comfortable seat
Since then I have been sitting on a throne
The emanating aura that I get makes me feel
I am at the top
And of the world I am only the invincible king.
It's a wild tourist attraction
for the stoic opulent mess,
Atrocity in its burning glory,
joyous and omnipresent,
The fire singeing my wry reaction,
heroically in distress—
Cowering to their nefarious core,
until we eat the resin.
Although I'm frightened and rigid,
but not quite to death,
With all the holiest war torn grief
pinned upon my breast,
I refuse to taste or even to give it
a chance to take my breath—
Whatever it is that I've become
has sworn to thwart their quest.
Everything here ends in tears
with sorry sullied intentions,
The mighty deception of the night
would blame its friends for less,
Nobody ever mends their fears
in yellow-bellied dimensions—
Perceptions of the light will change
when it bends to convalesce.
So as it stands; crumbling down,
I'll climb the wheel to flee,
And though they'll grin, so shall I,
as it rolls into the sea.
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