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Ngoc Nguyen Poem
Law, English, business, and so on—
alas, are tiresome!
All the professors here go on
with a prime axiom.
A moldy, college campus where
knowledge and books abound,
freshmen and co-eds are clueless
and confused all around.
Mid-terms and finals I so dread
as the semester wends;
the pressure's on me to study
as my freshmen year ends.
School's oppressive this semester,
I'll see my old provost
and leave 'ere I rot and fester
to try a better post.
William & Mary's M.B.A.'s
are just worthless BS
(degrees from the home of “The Tribe,”
dross that just obsolesce).
I'll trill as “The Lithium-Laced Lyrist”—
as rhymes are my forté,
not tomes or stuffy scholastics:
for poesy's my métier!
Copyright © Ngoc Nguyen | Year Posted 2014
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Ngoc Nguyen Poem
THEY graze in beauty on the land
of grassy glades and dewy dales,
and all that's best of tamed and tanned
meets in their aspect and their tails;
thus softened with that tender hand
which Shepherd to mild glen compels.
One fleece the more, one spot the less,
had half-possessed the shearless grace
which wreathes in every woolen tress
that gently whitens o'er their face,
where eyes serenely sweet express
how pure, how dear their ovine race.
And on that rump, and o'er that round,
so firm, so strong, yet elegant,
the baas that win, the hooves that bound,
but tell of days in meadows spent—
a flock at peace with all around,
a drove whose milk is innocent.
Copyright © Ngoc Nguyen | Year Posted 2012
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Ngoc Nguyen Poem
I mourn for the death of my former youth,
a time of innocence and naive bliss
which hid from me life's dark, unpleasant truth,
but now holds all the pleasures that I miss;
a time of handsome beauty, brawn, and thews,
as of Greek gods in their Olympian prime,
like Hercules of fabled strength, sinews,
and might of past renown from mythic time.
But, O Cupid!...how I do most pine for
your renewing of my dead, barren life,
which now lusts for the nubiles of folklore,
whose maidenheads can quench my burning strife!
Because of my decline's ever-growing years,
I've lost both youth and love as old age nears.
Copyright © Ngoc Nguyen | Year Posted 2018
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Ngoc Nguyen Poem
When I look on my life that's now half-spent,
I sigh the loss of youth that's forever past,
wishing myself better Fortune's consent,
love, friends, and wealth with naught to lose or waste,
but for the mean expense of young love lost;
despising this, I oft' bemoan the loss
of vestal company's first time the most;
for matrons offend like mouldering moss,
which, like Time's sure, inexorable march,
destroys the juvenescence of life's spring
year by year till extinguishing Youth's torch,
a dead flame for which I am most desiring.
If I could live and love anew once more,
I'd not err this time: and lay a rude whore.
Copyright © Ngoc Nguyen | Year Posted 2018
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Ngoc Nguyen Poem
I.
Being bipolar
is like a Rose whose bloom is
missing some petals:
but her color is deeper
than all the other roses.
II.
She may never be
part of a "perfect" bouquet:
but her rich pigment
is a rare, precious paint for
Da Vinci's "Mona Lisa."
III.
Alas! She might not
be like the long-stemmed lily
from the dells of life:
but her scent is the choicest,
and makes the finest perfumes.
IV.
Being bipolar,
therefore, is like a Rose that's
missing some petals:
but her savor is sweeter
than all the other roses.
Copyright © Ngoc Nguyen | Year Posted 2014
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Ngoc Nguyen Poem
A bloom breaks out afresh from its swollen,
green bud and then stretches skyward into
the sun-infused sky. A feature of nature that's
timeless and perennial, it faithfully flowers and
adorns its surroundings like its predecessors.
Never alone, and joined by its floral neighbors
of its own kind in fragrant numbers, it suffuses
the atmosphere all around with a heavy, yet
sweet stench of lavender and honeysuckle. The
thick odor attracts and entices the flower-
borne bees, hornets, and yellow-jackets nearby
into a steady, rhythmic pulse of continuous,
busy labor over the perfumed blossoms and
vibrantly-tinted petals. From an adjacent pond
the over-abundant and majestic beauty of the
lily-of-the-valleys add its distinctiveness to
the already rich and vibrant, floral landscape,
now teeming with the vibrancy of spring:—
so lush with fulsomeness of life and movement!
Copyright © Ngoc Nguyen | Year Posted 2012
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Ngoc Nguyen Poem
A poet's flowing poems uplift the souls
of men and sing of legends small and great,
of knights and lords, of fiefdoms, and of fate,
of kings, and pontiffs in ungodly roles!
Long, long ago, these popes, desiring control,
enjoined the knights to charge; and penetrate
their Christ's Jerusalem to decimate
the infidels and caliphs of dark Sheol!
When wanton rulers pillage and plunder, poets
write and sing of their great, immoral acts,
betrayals, carnage, and cabals; tho' it's
wiser to just ignore these damning facts,
let poets instead make them known, so it's
repaid by poetic justice's attacks.
Copyright © Ngoc Nguyen | Year Posted 2016
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Ngoc Nguyen Poem
I love a lovely maid—a Flower
of the sun-baked land of Brazil;
ageless, she by clock's every hour
makes the time be perfectly still.
Though fair and gorgeously pretty,
she longs to be known and adored
for her heart and inward beauty,
where love is felt and richly stored.
She's queenly and wears a lush crown,
a regent who sits on her throne;
a Rose, she's praised and of renown,
and prized for her rare grace alone.
Too selfless and giving and kind
to disappoint, she lives to care
and gives alms to the lame and blind,
and for me always says a prayer.
Copyright © Ngoc Nguyen | Year Posted 2014
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Ngoc Nguyen Poem
Pelvic desires arise when turning manic!
It's an all-powerful ejaculation
(from mania that feels keenly orgasmic)
Pelvis and loins ablaze like fantastic,
and engorged with such climaxed sensation;
Pelvic desires arise when turning manic!
Eros peaks, then runs wild and Jurassic;
and hunts for instant gratification
(from mania that feels keenly orgasmic!)
To burn with unrestrained lust is horrific;
but the red-hot flames of this condition
force coitus to break out when turning manic:
oh! to explode without control like a sex addict,
and copulate with total abandon
(when mania feels so keenly orgasmic!).
So, call it mad, but don't call it poetic:
this disease demands total expression.
These pelvic desires arise when turning manic,
from a mania whose possession is so fiercely orgasmic.
Copyright © Ngoc Nguyen | Year Posted 2018
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Ngoc Nguyen Poem
Life as a manic-depressive's very drab,
and wearisome at times; it's bad enough
to drag me down where I don't feel so tough.
When manic, I have the rare gift of gab;
when I do, I want to take a taxi cab
to the club; get smashed; and act like a rough:
but I don’t as I fear the cops' rebuff;
so, I behave like mice trapped in a lab.
My life's so full of hopelessness, it seems;
if I could, I would end it right away;
but that'd be taking it to dire extremes
and drama; so I oscillate all day,
and at night craft poems of less suicidal themes—
God! I'm such a wretched, bipolar cliché!
Copyright © Ngoc Nguyen | Year Posted 2015
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