The Battlefield of Survival
There is nothing that brings out our fragility
to surface like surgery, dreams one has of
success is laid bare under the well-lit light
of an operating table
First time I had one of those growths removed
was seventy-five years ago by our doctor
wearing a three-piece suit with a blue tie
My memory of him is that of a man who
had a cigarette in one hand and a scalpel
on the other hand, during the proceedings
he spoke to my mother about the weather
That was inclement, and the Labor Party
He and my mother were communists
For a long time, I had to take blood tests
which I didn't mind, his waiting room was
full of magazines and newspapers
There is nothing to read in waiting rooms
anymore, apparently, it is unhygienic
Not that it mattered, one has phones
The surgeon and his assistant spoke
pleasantly to each other about their work
at hand, I just happen to be there
After the operation, I was led into a room
to rest and dress, no, there was no kind
nurse serving tea
Dog chases tail, and we laugh, assuming
he must be excited or merely bored.
Meanwhile, the cat licks herself for grooming.
If I saw my dog do that, I’d be floored!
Dogs lick and eat things I find disgusting,
but unlike the cat, dogs are more a friend.
As said, he’s “man’s best friend,” and so trusting.
Loyal a dog can be until the end.
I had a dog like that a long time ago.
Unhygienic, yes, but he was so true.
Along our fence line, running to and fro,
barking at passers-by he was wont to do.
No one he'd ever catch. So silly . . . yet
he was my adorable, most loved pet.
Through the front Mr. Jonah was swallowed.
In the sea monster’s belly he wallowed.
In the muck and the gas
unhygienic, alas,
was the back door expulsion that followed.
A dazzling forest of an armpit
By watchers paired up with cesspit,
A moment's confirming touch of this
By much displeased hell - raising Doris,
Sure it would puncture Marital Bliss
And all day keep her courting a hiss;
More so, her unhygienic Elvis;
Issues has with The Vilest Pelvis...
No longer The Forgiving Girl friend,
She is now seeking its abrupt end:
Not the best pelvis for love making;
Why would any Eve stop a - raking?
Elvis' suddenly stirred Ring finger
Ready to find out what does linger,
His fore finger to soon face Eugene
For a marriage - delaying hygiene.
The whitish bird,
Soon in the midst of a herd:
One, two and, soon, a third ….
Partly there to supervise their curd,
Fractionally, to catch their navigating word;
Sometimes around pacing like their king,
While their “moos” in its ears ring.
But chiefly the Egret is visiting a dining table,
Of which a reaching it is capable:
Easily, a pecking pouncing on the parasites.
That their dung-smeared bodies have chosen as sites.
At this, forever,
The ingeniously clever,
Neat-looking Cattle Egret,
Doesn’t an unhygienic meal regret.
Her late husband, badly missing
Possibly last week, still kissing
On his account, all companies shunning,
Their jokes she once loved, stunning.
Her meals eating with unhygienic cutlery,
Sometimes with none, as though lost to burglary.
In the nearest cupboard imprisoning her body creams,
Her emaciating body stirring no dreams.
A switching over to cheap black earrings
And necklaces like a dull rain cloud:
A maintenance of voice without lively wings,
No expression of her thoughts aloud.
The bare earth for sitting her rump,
An approaching centipede not likely to make her jump.
Just the actions that onlookers assure
She wasn't her spouse's murderers:
Simply decisions that tighten the gossipy's jaw
And prove her a simply unfortunate tigress.
Incidentally, the prime suspect over her husband's demise,
His Kins-folks asserting that it is no surmise:
How she had his very last meals tampered with,
Much attention to this drawing like a pith.
Not though defenceless, The African Widow:
With potent curses equipped besides Jesus' shadow
And touching tears by the grave of her husband
That don't fail to her adversaries crush an army band.
I can't breathe
Though I don't wear a tight mask
I can't breathe
Though I am not the patient of asthma
I can't breathe
Though I don't live in an unhygienic gas farm
I can't breathe
Though I am not in the full of terrible CFC layer
I can't breathe
Though I am not confined in the bottom of the dark grave
I can't breathe
Yes, I can't breathe
Because in this world
Human still bringing up the racism in the safety womb of the heart
Human tolerates still discrimination by the religions
Human loves the inhumane aristocracy, the snobbery in the deaths of poor
Yes, I can't breathe
Here, on this earth, still human prefers to the colors of the body skin
Human is still not taught by the conscience of universal humanity
15.07.2020 Chattogram
Relishing on sour foods left over night
Grains only fit for the husbandry
Sucking the unrefined milk after a cow’s fight
Generating the most unhygienic dairy
Diseases are thriving with unchallenged might
So everyone is a victim of the gory
When all the sick
Are put to rest
Train station
And plague ships
Are empty
Retributions are fought
And paid
Nature
Again
Forced from towns
Highways and byways
Rumble and hum
To the movement of mode
Again
White trails
Crisscross the sky
Will it really
Be the same
People can’t blame
Their Gods
Just there wicked
And unhygienic ways
Will malnutrition
Poverty and hunger
Mate
To birth war
And hate
Will the little
Privacy that’s left
Be taken
Stolen
Without consent
Will social capitalism
Be the new bent
Social worth
Based on a social score
The one truth
(Am already behind the eight ball)
Will persecution
Again flourish
Targeting
The Blacks
The Jews
The foreigner
Beggars, pilgrims
Disabled
Women
Will Art
Turn black
With pessimism
And a dance of death
A return of Gothic
And Gargoyles
To accelerate
The wrath
Of Gods
Life
Won’t be the same
What was
Is gone
The flux
Of our existence
Replaced with
What’s to come
Her hormones fled the coop
on scalding tires.
He drifted into her,
working the night-shift
of a traveling fantasy.
Motel maids were her sisters
bars her occupation,
a place to work
on the aerobics of hope.
Their love
was an unhygienic affair.
Everything spilled out,
much maintenance
in putting back in.
Emotional jism
was scrubbed by hand
until skin-tight excuses
glistened
milky as mollusk flesh.
They had lots to attend to.
Feelings had to be
daily resuscitated
into former victimized forms.
He would not leave;
she would not go.
He anointed her again,
and again
with his pity-me flesh.
Their mutually dependent rodeo
played itself out
on the steps
of a haggard tomorrow,
both now blinded
by owl-light.
He stares
into the distance of the days,
of those gone and of those yet to come --
he touches no one,
is touched by no one.
Yet noisy commerce
around him flows, constant movement;
but movement without a change of place,
no progress forward, no backward retreat --
an illusion of movement, only.
He sees youths --
with no sense of self --
and leathery crones,
unhygienic vagrants,
no place to go,
assailed by noises --
a repetitious assault
upon the ear and air.
Still he sits,
in frozen semi-trance,
staring always inward,
but also into distance,
sentient and inert.
Not long ago did I meet her
She was like an angel
draped in tight fittings and sweater
She walked with the most graceful gait
and smelled so nice
In an instant I became a wormed bait
Came up to me and said the most sweetest "Hello"
I was on the verge of passing out
yet holding my nerves, I replied back with my voice all mellow
Never mind the questions she asked, I stood mesmerized
Like a zombie
I thought "Alas! I am about to be exorcised."
Then lo nature's cruelty, the beauty makes a 90 degree turn
In comes a mechanized wagon
carrying a cool intern
Gelled hair and cool sHades
I was boiling
with unwanted sweat and lot of hates
The beauty and "the beast" made a run to the cinema
I stood unwanted and realized
It is hopeless for a student without a diploma
Later I heard she was a doctor specializing in cardiology
Trying to pinpoint
at my unhygienic smoking philosophy
Any-ways it makes a good story for poetic inspiration
It's just a story
A story from my imagination.
Who is
Who is this twerp to lecture me,
That I shouldn’t suck my spaghetti,
Put up the seat for we we we,
When I go on vacation,
How dare he say I caint text too,
Unhygienic, on the jolly loo,
Guess he thinks he’s Hitler new,
No cause for celebration.
What’s wrong with me new vibrator,
New gal says, she’ll catch me later,
Yes now I’m cast as woman hater,
it an me, amalgamation?
Don Johnson 9-aug-11
He wears a bandana and smells
worse than an unkept dog with a horrible breath;
I heard rumors that he sleeps
in a garage, where dogs are infested with fleas.
He drives a station wagon emitting strong fumes,
does he ever change his engine oil or let it burn 'until the engine
stops running? He shows no blush of shame, but curses more than
a truck driver while he sits still and counts his woes.
The hungry dogs bark and peak out of the car windows,
seeing angry faces and hands waving at close distance...
the defiant driver refuses to come out of the broken-down car,
and with raggae music blasting, he gives them the finger.
Only a bigot could act in such a disrespectful way
as fury increases and every driver blows the horn constantly,
but too much air noise gets pedestrians tense, and one of them
calls police on his cell phone...they come and arrest him.
And he still smells in that cell cramped with criminals and offenders,
he even had the guts to ask one of the officers to bring in his dogs!
Oh, filthy, unhygienic guy they should hand you soap and towel,
instead of keeping you in there and make everybody yell!
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