In a clash of burgers and biryani,
Manchurian with Russian fares so many,
All else that watch the fun
From fence with just bread-bun…
To guess who’ll lose, who’ll win,
It’s too early a scene,
Seems, burgers might lose their ‘reserved’ penny.
______________________________
Happenings |04.09.2025| humour, world, war
Note: A proxy war is going on in the world, the western developed countries versus the so-called south, call it a global power and the pretender hopeful, or NATO, QUAD and BRICS, SCO. Obviously in this ditty, burgers, biryani…., represent their countries. And then there are some fence-sitters. It seems, USA today has to contend with its President more than anyone else.
a gift I share is
idleness a gift for you
I superimpose
classroom back sitters
find futures as beautician
or divorce lawyer
front pews church sitters
best view observers also
judge of character
NOTE: Sedoka syllable count is interchangeable
Ichikatauta:
5-7-5
Nikatauta:
5-7-5
Sedokada:
5-7-7
5-7-7
SETUP: I was THE baby ~~0~~ They were MY babies
The Passed My Past
my siblings called me
the walking problem maker
~ I'm the problem child
my kids once called me
the walking problem solver
~ I am the problem
~ be better sitters
they are to resolve ~ failure
I win ~ +movies ~ they lose
~ be better parents
they are to resolve ~ failure
I lose ~ objectives they win
~~0~~
I miss long ago
to be called a brat again
and useless to them
I miss recently
to be told thanks dad again
can you help me dad
benefits I ~ had
they have all passed on ~ but me
their absence ~ is now my void
benefits I ~ have
they have all moved on ~ from me
ocean parts ~ but not our hearts
*to my wife and son who are now with my family
Before, when I was afraid to be me,
I looked at others and tried to be a copy.
Mimic all their motions,
repeat the same moves...
Maybe then I can follow all their rules?
I tried to not be so different, so lame,
but being a replica just wasn't the same!
No matter how hard I would try,
all my hellos looked like goodbyes!
My left was a little too right,
my dark had too much light.
All my stands were full of sitters,
my all alones had visitors!
I learned following where others lead,
will never let your YOU be free!
So I'll be the ‘You’ who was made exactly.
I won't let others additions subtract me.
I'll allow my no mores to be agains,
I'll be just exactly who I am!
So much effort
goes into feeling well...Man,
I’m exhausted! There’s nausea
from supplements, the squeak
and throb, Just One More Rep!~ exercising…
Man, I’m exhausted!
As much effort
going into relaxation – rush to get
things done (always a backup of
things); shuffle schedules, get sitters
for the animals – Man, I’m exhausted!
Even love, the chores, the cards,
the gifts, the emotional lifts...honey-does
seeming to have endless reserves,
never running short on pantries of
exhaustion.
Someday, probably, I’ll
wake-up, unpleasantly surprised
and find myself either stoking furnaces,
fluffing angel wings while polishing
the backside of clouds – Man, give me
a break!
Ouch!~ finally something I asked for….
Just having to be erect
Supported by your two feet:
The posture that is correct
Before one whom others greet:
Bosses who would things direct
While ours are to matters treat…
Punishment for a sitter,
Sitters made to stand ‘bitter.’
You’re a brute - a hitter,
Attention lost some could dither;
They won’t talk nor smile either;
Now, gaps between you wider!
Elsewhere, it’s test of courage,
Long hours of it long carriage;
The flat-footed can’t it brave:
You’d be making one a slave…
For babies a crucial test,
Crawls dragged too long not the best;
A gift for mums East and West,
Babies reward milk from breast.
In a forest lived a man.
A man who lived in a tree.
This tree, they say, was the largest tree in the sound forest.
The tree had many parts within it: A vast canopy for hanging and swinging, a Y notch for asking the dearest of questions and a stump for sitting.
On that stump sat the man.
The man looked like any ordinary man, but today he was a little older.
A few strands of hair seemed to be falling out, a gray here and there.
And a new number to connect the mind and body to.
A simple, yet sophisticated man, he sat on the stump and admired the noble tree which stands absolute in the vast forest.
Once a weak sapling, stands mighty now, but the man still sits, watching the tree as it continues its growth.
The older the man will grow, the stronger the tree will be,
And the stronger the tree, the less the man will have to sit.
One day the man will no longer sit on the stump.
The stump will call for a new sitter, a new man who will grow his one tree.
A tree to become strong like those before it.
The man will then join the other stump-sitters.
And watch the growth of their creations,
Blossom Into Greatness.
Kirk goes back to practised cadence,
With it he hits ears, no conscience,
Great stir in a once mute audience,
Afresh bides his time: Great Patience…
Talks triggered between close sitters
That a night guard steals embitters:
His straight sack: more hard hitters:
‘People’s wealth the meanly fritters!’
At the right time drop microphone:
Now, your voice is a xylophone.
They all hear you, no francophone.
If there’s one he should guess through tone.
What speakers do is stamp knowledge,
Over the rest ‘some sort of edge’:
That of one who’s passed through college,
Night candles not burnt sacrilege…
The Guard who steals likes his worst foes;
Just time he stepped on his seen toes
But like one fighting men’s woes:
It hurts when what comes quickly goes.
His knob-shaped knees hang out all over the place
What kind of a dancer would he be in this small space?
Gif was a wall flower for sure, left sitting on Sadie Hawkins Day.
With his gangly feet and knobby knees getting in other sitters’ way.
Some of the uncouth laughed at his large polka dot pants.
None of them knew that this groovy giraffe knew how to dance.
He is wearing converse shoes from 1982, one said with disdain.
And for a sun-glassed giraffe, I think this one looks very plain.
I think I’ll give him a whirl, a young whippersnapper said.
She gave him the eye, and learned that his name is Ed.
He twirled and whirled her and threw her in the air.
He spun her like a top, dancing beyond Fred Astaire.
Now everyone is in line waiting to dance with little old Gif.
I am sorry, he tells them without anger, prissiness or miff.
She is the one who gave me my first and only chance.
I shall continue spinning her until the end of the dance.
They came away with the grand prize of the night.
A huge silver number one cup, which held a spotlight.
Look at the peace crazy war tore,
Here, a list of The Dead I saw:
Sitters in fluffy chairs floor,
The narrowest room space for four!
Pity the Peace Painful Plight tore.
Listen to the pains victims bore:
"Also fear the just wars with laws;
Still carnivores with their own claws!"
Bullets rip through firmly closed doors;
The sight of roofs during war bores,
Not much food in the once-filled stores,
Time customers failed to pay whores...
I know not a fight without sores,
Wars more than a fight, sure some sores.
Wind sitters plunked themselves down in wheat fields every spring
This one had a seasoned look, we knew knowledge she would bring.
She had a kind face. Her skin was thin and heavenly white.
Her eyes were azure, and she wore flowers in pinks; she felt all right.
We sat down beside her, putting our clothes around ourselves.
She felt mysterious, her mystique was whispered to us by the elves.
The faeries too were delighted with this beautifully calm wind sitter.
Without saying a word, my attitude and mood became a little less bitter.
Artist Kurt Scwitters
did not bother with 'sitters'
His major collage 'Merzbau'
'objet trouve'here&there somehow
The man sat in his wheelchair;
His aide was on the phone,
Behavior to which aides and sitters
Oftentimes are prone.
“You’re hungry?” She hung up and said;
The question I’d not heard.
“But you had lunch!” and yet
His urge for food was undeterred.
“Remember? At the Mansion?
Chicken pot pie was your meal,
With lentil soup, then ice cream.”
(Likely as a mid-day deal.)
It wasn’t even 2 o’clock
Yet still, they headed back,
Abandoning the river
For an after-lunchtime snack.
culture of narcissism
making&shaping self
the sitters soul
subconsciously disguised
a mirror myth
in a large field
a product of memory
& imagination
withdrawn into self
. . in profile
THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived
Neither here nor there I be
uncomfortably stuck in quandary's
minefield of no man's land.
There is so much pressure on you
when you lie betwixt and between.
Pressure to go forward or back,
go one way or other at the fork in the road
especially today when binary holds the sway.
Now there are only two states,
or position you can be in,
1 or 0, tick or tock, clip or clop
flip or flop, on or off, in or out
up or down, for or against,
If you're nor for us, your against us.
Your back is against the wall to comply or not.
Fence sitters are banned and must topple off the wall.
Is it any wonder we're all seen as biased?
Yea of Neigh, 1 or 0, for or against what's your call?
For betwixt and between,
there's nothing but vacuum.
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