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There is no insight
In illusion of stories
Beclouding your universal mind
Machination excavates
The earth of character
Breaching tenor of vision
The burning candle weeps
Tears of unfulfilled sapience
In the stillness of night
The fabrication of perception
Disempowers awareness
Compromising clarity
It was yesterday
When roads were unpaved
The spirits untamed
Wise ones were held in high regard
The birds displayed the way
And the Earth rolled unfazed
But today
Today is the face of tomorrow
Promoting future's paradise
And demoting present's purview
Today is the remnant of yesterday's joy
And the prelude to tomorrow's ploy.
And the minutes go by
So the hours, days and years
The position that once stood so firm
Has expanded into exploration
The daily chores and mores
With bitter or sweet stories
Bind me still to this day
The habit of waking up time after time
Either at daylight or approach of night
And facing the identity of times
The pressure of working slow or hard
Within an established web of might
Which clings like leaves
To the branches of Time
The relations that hooded my selfhood
The directions that booted me
Into realm of rotations
Keeping me circling the same dimension
The brushing of teeth, the shaving
The haircutting, the nail clipping
The eating, drinking, garbage dumping
And many other typical decisions
Hinting at the peace of indecision
And by now you might have guessed
My oasis is repetition's rest.
(whimsy - playfully quaint or fanciful behavior or humor)


——
recent events, minor tumults, additive,
the summing up of wearing,
a slip and fall, financial reverses,
communiques misunderstood,
clanking pipes resounding against
a sonorous soundless soulful sleep, and
the
unrest of disinterest in essaying
thoughts into words into creativity

a far far cry from singing of the whimsy
in life that teases and delights, replaced
by a weariness from the whiners,
who craftily abuse, with deft badly
prosed propaganda propositions,
seeking solace in solitude + add-an-all-inability to forsee the goodness in people,
delimiting desire to inspire, why then
compose when so decidedly decomposing?

lay the ownership of pen-man-ship down
until dealt an inside straight, eyedrops
that open wide, dilate into a wider perspective, a kinder me, and the
patience of a patient awaiting a
healing vaccine against the flu
of whining. so awfully communicable,

will read Whitman, Frost, and those
revolutionary Persians who ken the
revivification of spirit, return from a
there as a refugee
to a refreshed refuge
of here
                            nml

Addendum
———
the chill in the body that’s so
invasive, resisting two sweaters,
a coat named “The De~icer,”
over heavy sweats,
the interior is

frostbitten
My earthly desires dwindling day by day
I only fancy food, rest, light exercise
And some simple amusement such as
Writing poetry and listening to music
That are necessary for staying aware.

How time flies I have yet to comprehend
Unimaginable how years
Are packed into days
And diligence of days
Forgotten in a flash.

Luckily I still have all my senses intact
And can't complain about health issues
Nevertheless, I won't attempt to take
Flight of stairs for more than two floors
If I don't have to for I get winded
Due to a lifetime of smoking
As for walking, I can do a mile each day
Which enhances my thought process
And I am grateful for that
I do not wish to reach a stage
When others need to take care of me
If there are any "others" of course
And willing to do so.

I have lived my life one day at a time
More precisely, moment to moment
My philosophy of life dwells in the Now
Never has gone beyond it and never will
Such is the order of spiritual reasoning
Keeping one eye on life, one eye on death.

I have a penetrative mind  
Soaring beyond the clouds
Telepathizing with birds
Acknowledging their flair
They keep me company
These paradigms of elegance
I have learned a lot from them
Through unspoken words
I am just a secretary taking down
Their inspiring instructions
Which may lead to a type of poetry
Hopefully enjoyed by others
I hope I can do this for as long
And as far as possible
Because nowadays at my age
Anything can go wrong at any time
This is the struggle one has to deal with
When getting old.
 Feb 22 Stephen E Yocum
rick
all that pain
and belittlement
you served me
day and night
when no one
was looking
made the little
man within you
feel much, much,
much bigger
but now you
stand before me
weeping
with no teeth
and the big man
within me
has forgiven you.
I’m a Bengali in sombrero
An Indian from Kolkata
I live at a stone’s throw
From where flows the Ganga.

I speak in Bengalee
For me the sweetest language
Like the Ganga flows freely
Has Sanskrit as lineage.

Rice is my staple food
So are dal and fish
A cup of tea is too good
With two biscuits on a dish.

Around me spreads green countryside
Where grows all the foodgrain
Rivers flow wild and wide
Their banks home joy and pain.

I was born and reared in this riparian land
Where soil is tilled in peasants’ sweat
Sparkles in moon the Bay’s white sand
Weaving dreams for many a poet!
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