Strident Poems

Iambic Pentameter

When it came to iambic pentameter
Alexander Pope was no dumb amateur.
In his strict use of it he achieved a skill
often with a monotonous overkill –
a danger every poet should not commit
unless he likes his thoughts in a straitjacket,
and the flow so turgid and mechanical
the line will cease to sound natural –
more strident, unmellifluous and harsh
like a stomping, goose-stepping march.
Now here’s a fast and easy suggestion
to unclog a line’s bumpy congestion
which Pope and other poets used to great
effect when they deemed it appropriate :
they added an extra syllable or stress 
which opened it and gave it smoothness.
These little extras acted like a breach
and made the line read like spoken speech.
It may not work even with a first try
and take it from me, it’s not a lie. 
In fact, you may require a new line or couplet
to be rewritten with a little extra sweat.
But, hey, think back to when you started writing
how many drafts required no editing?

But no cheers for

To pass from people’s probing eyes, two cheers,
To pass from all their strident cries, two cheers.  
None, merely to kiss the crest of success,
But to stay there and ever wise, two cheers.  
___________________________
Epigram | 08.08.2025 | success, test, cheers 
Note: Inspired from Kamaal Bhopaali (Urdu):

Nazar nazar mein utarnaa kamaal hai,
Naksa naksa se guzarnaa kamaal hai,
Kaamayaabi par pahuñchnaa kamaal nahiñ,
Kaamayaabi par thaharnaa kamaal hai.

The jeers, are all on you'

Most so called world leaders have been abused.' Than eases the task of making
Them of use.' War is always the main ploy
The shop window , that can be employed.'
The display arranged, to entice.' Never a light
On the backdrop of velvety vice.' Its mostly
About (freedom and choice) from the medium,
With strident voice.' With the marrow of humanity's senses under-mined and some
Mantra ( that all will be fine') we are embarked
On another foray.. Three cheers for sound
Reason, now..we are off with a Hip..pip..pip and Hooray...'

We know not when what the times sing

--------------------
Not knowing what the times sing, we,
Forest flames well before spring, we,
Our joy of life nowhere in sight,
At festive times fidgeting we.
------------------------
Life’s not just a stray piece of time
Given to us, reason nor rhyme,
It has a full spectrum of shades--
Far violets to infra reds,
A journey and rare odyssey,

Seldom do we live all alive,
And set off nowhere to arrive,
Live, but deep within all empty
Amidst all our strident gaiety,
To celebrate in a vacuum.

We take part but stand all apart,
Soul goes with us, nor ever heart.
_____________________
Quatrain |21.07.2025| men, life, time 
Note: The four lines of this quatrain could well be the first two couplets of a ghazal. The following ten lines elaborate what the quatrain has to say.

BIGOTRY

In rigid halls of dogma's might,
Begotry's dark shadow takes its right,
A fortress built on fear and scorn,
Where differences are met with disdain born.
The zealot's voice, a strident cry,
Echoes through the void, a divisive sigh,
Intolerance breeds in every line,
A world of others, cast in decline.
The narrow path, a rigid creed,
Leaves no room for hearts that freely proceed,
The gaze of judgment, cold and grey,
Falls on the different, day by day.
Yet, in the silence, whispers unfold,
Of empathy and understanding's gentle hold,
A call to break the chains of fear,
To see the world through others' tears.
But begotry's grip is hard to shake,
As conviction turns to anger, hearts at stake,
The world divides, a fractured whole,
Where love and kindness lose their role.

two plus two make four

YOU
not
THEM

ME
not
THRONG

US
not 
U.S.

Misère
no
TRUMPS

MY WAY
not 
THY WAY

Be Selfish
Strident
Wary
Caring
Not Complacent
Not Sacrificial
Self Sufficient
Ungodly

AI soldiers

AI as soldiers
We see them walking naked through the town’s square,  and  organs not needed for the time being, the onlookers are not offended but worried about the strident gates of the new being walking like a soldier in a merciless army killing creatures big and small that have blood and have the sense of smelling the roses and is capable of falling in love and admire a full moon their overlord is a person dressed in a half-length black coat, who has the chip that can switch off the monstrous development into junk science an adolescent boy’s dream of tomorrow.

The Revolutionary

    posture, strident
      passion, defiant

    discipline, sacrifice
      one for all
        
    sheds no tear for
      those who fall 

    his ego small   
      the Cause is all

Tint Of Orange

Ecstatic eye of night
thoughts tangled tangent
tint of orange moon
slivers were just hazy
incipient learned launch
as the querulous quirk
indented ingress idly
still desperate to capture
though less likely
lavishness connoting mood
human forest focal point
I dream in dribbles soppy
though never flagged yet
as  futile aspiration amid
hues strictly night bound
might benefit wistfully
when strident slumber
indigenous to townscape
has its muted rippled
riddle not tactfully
resolved due to blind
daylight  tinctured template
aroused by the clangour
of mint medley lure of
Arcadia circus dangle
of inchoate promise known
as crystal carrot jewellery
box whose flecks fly a riot
before the milling  cluster
who wantonly wonder
at collapsing fortress inside
whilst rugged resilience
that tower block of prime
revitalised  endeavour bent
on a fantasy forage with
disposition a pointless block
though underbody wobbles
if left without the widest
custodial watch of the self
one might be elated finally

Swans

Silently they glide past,
submerged feet not breaking
surface of serene stream.
Strident honk by life-mate—
state protected King’s game.
Some black swan events are*
smoothed over by hindsight.

Stormy Seas

Serene sunset, star studded sky, seamen setting sail,
    Sixteen salty sailors, surveying southern seas,
    Singing somewhat spicily, saucy sea shanties.
    Sea sirens serenading, seductively sedates,
    Sailors sleeping senselessly, soon sacrifice shipmates.
    Shipwrecked sailors swimming, seeking sandy shores.
    Spiral sea shells strident sounds, staccato semaphores.
    Steering south, steel steamships, start searching stormy seas,
    Searchlights, sirens, struggling, serendipity succeeds.
    Soul - searching self survivors, salute salvation's sanctuary.    
    10 / 11 / 2024.

Mother Said

“You’ll live,” my mother prompts;
above my screams, which pierced
the air with strident oomph;
she, bandaging my wounds.

It happened as I traipsed
the woods; I fell amongst
a pile of jagged rocks whilst
reaching for a gem, just glimpsed.

It was my birthday, eighth;
or maybe it was ninth,
and I had always dreamt
to find a gem so scarce.

“Now look, your pants are spoilt,”
she said, without much warmth.
I knew she wasn’t angry,
just a little anxious.

New pants, with money scarce
was for her a problem;
sewing machine - zigzag
soon, the hole was nothing!

Mirrored Reflections

  The calmer
     the more confident
  The more strident
     the more insecure

  The more natural the laugh
     the less the self-importance
  The harder the stare
     the less of him we can bear

  The more finger-pointing
     the more righteousness
  Hands relaxed at the sides
     reveal humble bona fides

Sanctuary Of Silence

In clamor continuum
noise navigates
decibel waves 
beyond discernment
           numbed,
voice of frenzy
feels the caress 
of hushed calmness, 
halcyon sentiments 
           sink slow 
in solvent serenity  
unexpressed
in remote recess  
of mute mind,
fluidity swamps
sonic impulse
           insensate.

Corrosive cacophony  
finally ceases
           compelled,
the unsaid composes
sonata of silence
           echoed,
finds nascent niche
           tranquil,
strikes reticent concord 
           sensuous
in concerto cord
of harmony,
vivacious voice rises 
           serenades
lilting lyric
           unsung
in sanctum of silence.

Strident storm
spite spent,
stops consumed 
on catastrophe
            contrived,
sheathed placid
by stalled silence,
            spreads 
where it finds 
muffled manifestations
            smothered, 
beguiled spring breeze 
            incites
taciturn emotions, 
floral feeling
sprouts fragrance
in sanctuary of silence.

Democracy Takes a Beating

   Attending an ‘SDS’ meeting 
      Watched ‘Democracy’ take a beating

   Listened to strident, long-haired voices denounce the USA
      shilling for Marx, Hegel, and Lenin all the way

   As for ‘law and order,’ it was ‘Kill the Fuzz.’ ‘Off the pigs’
      SDS ‘big bad wolves’ sure got in their digs   

   "Boycott Israel, the apartheid state"
      Accusations against South Africa could wait... 

   ‘Systemic racism, colonial imperialism, a fascist President’
      The SDS in 1969 ~ blazing trails for today’s arguments…


   ________________________________________________
   "SDS," Students for a Democratic Society, was the 1960's 
   forerunner of the 'cultural Marxism' infecting universities and
   even some corporate boardrooms today.

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