"boon" poems
(Inspired by and dedicated to John Edward Smallshaw, and his "Spice")
I am a summer-man,
Because I'm blessed to sit by the sea.
Let it and the other two Musketeers,
boon companions to me,
Sun and Wind,
erase my discomposure as I
reside in the Poet's Nookery.
Let them have almost
all that troubles,
but not all.
I am a summer-man.
On the bay, on the beach,
I see birth, I see death,
osprey nests, carcasses of
mussels and horseshoe *****
This, somehow reassuring,
the cycles,
this circularity,
the tides and inevitability.
I am a summer-man.
Student of languages seasonal,
Peaches, plums, cherries, poetry
and loving Woman.^
This, the summer alphabet-soup
of my multiple tongues.
I am a summer-man.
Sancerre and Pinot Gris, super cold,
Paul Simon, Nina Simone,
with proper aging,
getting hotter,
Salsa and Afrikaner hints,
super louder,
Even "Still Crazy After All These Years,"
that-who-wud-be-me,
chills outer.^^
I am a summer-man.
When ever this lad's writes appear,
it proves once again,
there is no truth that his
name was once Dr. Seuss
In a prior life, even if
each is signed by
Ogdiddy Nash**
I am a summer-man.
**Disrespectful of the calendar,
if I can, try to make
summer season stretch-marks from
May to October.
I would add April,
but the IRS is already
****** at me.^^^
Though the cherry blossoms of May
now gone away,
the lilies of June
arrive, but but for a week or two,
soon, like my mom, withered away.
Acorns in August^^^^ have arrived too swiftly.**
This summer, beloved,
and love of summer,
deep-rooted.
Season of my Peter Pan Poetry Galore Festival.
A love, incapable, impossible, of ever
growing old, ever growing cold,
it cannot wither.
It is summer heat reminders exposed,
how it misses its man,
that hide in the flames of
the teasing, popping, reminding
Winter fireplace's crackling popping***
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 9:33 AM UTC
so it is, so it be.
life granted me a boon, come to me, the honey.
not the merest of coating, but a power enrichened,
capable of driving out the slow acting, daily killing,
poisonous venom.
makeover, coverup of tears of ancient marriage-madness,
black swan hate disguise, her lies, venom injection of
coffee blood staining love pretense, now just scar tracks for a
new boulevard.
the slow pour, the golden russian amber intertwined tones,
tongue tasted, inside me now, revealed in slow exiting, beauteous,
mellifluous tears.
you dance with the stars, I watch you watching,
clueless that my thee-flavored tears, dance and pour down
my face.
destitute, nearer my God than thee, god blessed this child's life,
love gifted from sweet bees, late in life, flew from my computer screen and sonnet-stung me with antidotes of
love n' honey...
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 3:39 PM UTC
Elated to see you aloft in the night sky
To what do I owe this enchanted boon.
In the merry company of winking stars,
Enthralled by this sight as I admire my moon.
Bathe me in your streaks of translucent silver.
Accompany me through my sleepless nights.
Watching over me with unwavering vigil.
Swathe me in whispers of peaceful respite.
Oh how you govern the raging tides of my soul.
Rest your gaze as the waters break upon my shore...
Erode and weaken the load strewn over my burning shoals,
Sands drowned breathless but craving for more.
Few nights now... Smitten as you coyly turn away.
Thick strands of shadow clad hair in gentle cascades,
Alluringly obscuring a slight fraction of your face.
A tiny crescent blanketed away; into the blackness it fades.
More nights pass... Now I see only a lesser moon
Leaving me with only half; darkness so had claimed.
Please make yourself last; you mustn't leave too soon,
I'm not ready to be left crippled and maimed.
I silently look up as more nights go by.
I watched my lunar love dissolving into space.
My heart too, torn away a morsel at a time...
Finally she had gone; without a sliver or a trace.
Every nightfall since is rife with emptiness and despair.
I asked the stars if they could soothe my gaping void...
But they'd only twinkle in indifference...
Regardless of the pleas I've employed.
Unsure of how many rises it has thus been.
Nights only brought the onslaught of mocking stars above.
Still I toy with the promises made overhead,
For the awaited return of my crazed elusive love.
I know it's frivolous to think I'm the only one...
There are others who pine just as I do.
But I yearn the most for your sought after attention,
For our hearts have sung in every colour and every hue.
Anxiety at peak, dismayed almost broken,
Then I hear a sweet song sung; distant and far.
A song that shared the words we once had spoken,
Again enveloped in translucent silver, with relief I sighed...,
"There you are..."
.
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 9:03 AM UTC
In the storm-tossed
Chilean
sea
lives the rosy conger,
giant eel
of snowy flesh.
And in Chilean
stewpots,
along the coast,
was born the chowder,
thick and succulent,
a boon to man.
You bring the conger, skinned,
to the kitchen
(its mottled skin slips off
like a glove,
leaving the
grape of the sea
exposed to the world),
naked,
the tender eel
glistens,
prepared
to serve our appetites.
Now
you take
garlic,
first, caress
that precious
ivory,
smell
its irate fragrance,
then
blend the minced garlic
with onion
and tomato
until the onion
is the color of gold.
Meanwhile steam
our regal
ocean prawns,
and when
they are
tender,
when the savor is
set in a sauce
combining the liquors
of the ocean
and the clear water
released from the light of the onion,
then
you add the eel
that it may be immersed in glory,
that it may steep in the oils
of the ***
shrink and be saturated.
Now all that remains is to
drop a dollop of cream
into the concoction,
a heavy rose,
then slowly
deliver
the treasure to the flame,
until in the chowder
are warmed
the essences of Chile,
and to the table
come, newly wed,
the savors
of land and sea,
that in this dish
you may know heaven.
14.4k
*Blue is the boulder overlooking the bay
Loosely pocked by weather-worn stains
Unwavering guardian of all that lay
Enigmatic yet silently screaming its pains
Blue is the reflection dancing playfully
Laid generously by the twilight moon
Upon the vast canvas of the darkened sea
Elated ripples readily accepting such a boon
Blue is the halo encircling the moon
Lavish circlet gifted by the sun
Unnoticed by eyes that slumbered too soon
Evading the sands of time that run
Blue is the silhouette of a lone sailboat
Lurching and bobbing by will of the waves
Unknowingly catching the zephyrs that float
Eluding the fingers from watery graves
Blue is the man; perched upon the boulder
Lapping up the stars mirrored upon the sea
Usurped heart of his had never sung drearier
Ensnared by woeful wonderment...*
that man is me...
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 10:28 AM UTC
Ironic it was for such Hero's Song
To be played on a Mattress we call the Sea
Just when your Daughter cried for your Belong
We need to Sing again; Then Pray haply
For the many Noble Deeds you left behind
Despite this Age of the Pork Barrel's Tune
Such Rumours unfound; And Profile a Lie
Which most in our Office hoarded our Boon
Live well Beyond, Great Sir! I take to Vow
Your Aubourn Treatment to our Country's Hope
Guide your Duty's Heirs; And Family enow
And bring this Rosary blessed by your Pope.
The Song is Sung, even on Deaf Concerns
I guess it's quite Young for People to Learn.
Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 10:20 PM UTC
If it should come to be,
This proof of you and me,
This type and sign
Of hours that smiled and shone,
And yet seemed dead and gone
As old-world wine:
Of Them Within the Gate
Ask we no richer fate,
No boon above,
For girl child or for boy,
My gift of life and joy,
Your gift of love.
10.8k
O Great Goddess
I
Your true worshiper
Crawl before your altar
To beseech you
Grant this poor
Suffering soul
Even a moments relief
From the crushing weight
Of this great love
Its sweet agony
The crippling despair
All melded into one great mass of feeling
O merciful Olympian
Great passionate Goddess
Provide succor
To this lost and wand'ring devotee
A glimmer of hope
To tether my soul
And keep the Furies at bay
In the same way
You granted Pygmalion's request
And brought to life
His marvelous statue Galatea
Answer my desperate supplication
Goddess of Beauty
I offer my self to you
I shall strive to restore
Your true worship
In this cursed world
That has forsaken the true gods
I shall bring whatever sacrifices you require
If only you grant me this boon
Quench a dying man's thirst
Bring me up from Pluto's realm
And lay me in the Elysian fields
Great Goddess
Hear my plea
As a follower still of your descendant
Gaius Julius
A follower during his lifetime
And a follower ever to this day
I always serve your great name
O Great Goddess
Hear my plea
Great and wonderful Goddess
Venus.
Dec 28, 2010
Dec 28, 2010 at 5:39 AM UTC
The Iron Horse can still saddle this Coach,
Whose Extract nourishes the Children he trains:
One the Golden Girl; The Other a Hodge,
Transpose to the Miracle-Boy remains
Two-Scores-and-Four his Dedication baits,
Like Tunes based to emasculate them both
Here in the Pillow-Jungle Success does wait
Bending limbs into Sport; Then promotes their Growth
What Circus! Said the Lame Artist envine
Yet in Prayer begs him to join the Fray
He looked at his Pearls; And saw that they Shine
Which, suspend, trained his Boon-Dogs to obey.
Hence, to Devotion his Shoes retire
Partner and Career; In Big Thanks suspire.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 6:59 AM UTC
The feds are making headway
(generously passing out their treats!)
*while the whistle blower
and his boon companion
hit the 22nd floor*
fiscal plans
are tidily falling into place
and the suits are all busy
chasing their dimes
dancing around the spire
full of wine and cheer
(seems the demand side imbalance
has got everyone doing the same old shimmy!)
they’re all studying their bollinger bands
MACD's, and treasuries
just like the good old days
santali would say
while capitol hill is busy
with its own pleasantries;
*repatriate that currency
hold those rates
bring the boys back home!*
the affirmations are robust
and filled with glee!
conspiracy thinkers
are busy in their own back rooms
initiating the trade
and building their counter claims
as pork bellies
and soybeans
continue to soar
(looks like eddy and the margin men
are at it again!)
what happened to that bear masquerade anyways?
they really were a band of brothers
colourful clowns
with big painted smiles
ready to lead in any parade
but they met with the resistance
a horned wall
satan’s horsemen riding high
with bags hung heavy
under dark squinting eyes
are we near an end?
the undertakers will say
it's only a blink of an eye
to the thin red line
where risk takers and front men
all jump ship
debt addiction is crippling
and hell breaks loose
when entitlements are out
and towels are thrown in
there’s a center piece here
those pugnacious statesmen
with invigorating tales
have had their place
time to clip them at the limbs
and pull the punch from the bowl
(sobriety has its merits you know!)
let’s head to the commission
and throw darts to the board ~
seems the moral blueprints are fading
Nov 11, 2017
Nov 11, 2017 at 5:47 PM UTC
The almond pearls bounce on the leaves,
Drip to drench me with the heavenly boon,
What magical transformation the sky weaves,
Its wands of clouds creating another monsoon!
There's though a different spell on the ground
Where water flows like a river in high tide,
Silence broken only by a splashing sound
Monstrous holes yawning on all side!
You longed for it in the summer's pain
Hallucinating in agony the coming of it
You curse it now calling it a bane
As it pours from above and deluge the street!
Jul 19, 2013
Jul 19, 2013 at 6:54 AM UTC
They’re really rockin’ in Bradford,
Off the Pennine Way.
Deep in the heart of Yorkshire
And round the Robin Hood’s Bay.
All over South Ossett
And down to New Farnley.
Roast beef and Yorkie Puddings,
God’s Own County, Yay!
Yull see ‘em rambling at Ilkley,
Right to the county line,
Sheffield steel and Wednesday –
A football team so fine.
Better still, Leeds United,
Greatest club of all time.
Yorkshire, Kings of Cricket,
Oh what a boon!
Get down that wicket,
We’ll be champs by June.
Down a ginnel or snicket,
See our Olympic Champs.
Coal Miner Picket,
Relight those lamps.
Racing pigeons and ferrets,
Stereotypes tha knows.
Over t’top in Lancashire,
Them there’s our foes.
We’re the greatest county,
Our pride really glows.
We know you all hate us,
It keeps us on our toes.
So we’ll be rockin’ in Yorkshire,
What more can I say?
Us Tykes 're as barmy as Barnsley,
So I’ll be on my way.
Paul Butters
(With due thanks to Chuck Berry and also The Beach Boys)
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 6:21 AM UTC
Death you are seen so repugnant.
Death you are sensed so vile.
Death you are deemed so untimely.
“Death can’t you wait for a while?”
But Death, aren’t you Life’s true redeemer?
Making everyone think well of the dead.
Death aren’t you Life’s other half?
Death don’t you tuck us to bed?
When our wanderlust has faded,
your embrace remains unjaded.
Death you are humble in your infamy;
Life the glory claims.
Yet sickness, accidents and war
are all Life’s macabre games.
That which kills you comes from Life.
Life will push to make that sale;
living organs mere currency.
Cannibalistic Life - advertising as a fairy tale.
Death you are left to clear the carnage.
Death – the coloseum’s sand –
innocently soaked in the blood of Life’s cruel hand.
Death you are Life’s psychologist;
motivating each step, each trial.
Making us get up every morning
to make each moment worthwhile.
Death you employ Time’s creation
to set a deadline to Life.
Summer, Autumn, Winter, Spring
Death you are a scalpel; Life a butcher’s knife.
Famine, plague, disease, beast,
Without glorious survival, why feast?
Death your work with Time is inspired,
for we created it to understand your course.
With Time we can learn Life’s seasons
and record it’s length before it’s divorce
from our fragile clay.
Death you make us frugal with our Time,
yet generous with our Love.
For to each heartbeat’s rhythm and rhyme,
we fervently dance to give.
To make another grief-stricken Death.
For if Life is filled with meaning,
it is Death’s boon to us all.
Life becomes exhilarating –
A race before the fall!
Death remains a wallflower to the very close.
Death only wants to meet us;
a gentle lover with a rose.
Encouraging, yet terrifying.
But if we fear the Darkness, it is Life we fear not Death.
How often has a blinding Light been reported on a final breath?
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 6:56 PM UTC
The colour of her lips were so deep
That I could not leave the room to sleep
For her beauty made my soul leap.
I could not forget her lovely eyes
Or say my goodbyes
For in her mind held all the skies.
Her laugh filled my heart
To the point I could not part
For she spoke the literary art.
Yet I no longer needed to sigh
For there, a clue, on her thigh
As an orchid did lie:
Just as the sun loves the moon
Again I shall have the ultimate boon
With the new day I could again enjoy her rune.
So as I bid my adieu
I pondered on the truth I now knew:
We will speak again after the morning dew.
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 10:10 PM UTC
Oh! Rama you are the most virtuous
You are the eldest son of king Dasaratha’s
You always stood by your word
You are the greatest man in the world
Your wife Sita is the most pious woman
Your step mother kaika asked your father for a boon
She asked you to go to the forest
She refused your father’s request
You obliged your father’s promise
He grieved to lose your loving kiss
Along with your chaste wife
In forest you spent fourteen years’ strenuous life
Brother Lakshmana shared your strife
He cut demon shurphanaka’s nose with a knife
The demon Ravana came in disguise
Sita fell a prey to his vice
He abducted her to his kingdom
Sita was deprived of her freedom
You wept for Sita like a man
Trials and tribulations are very common
You made friends with Lord Hanuman
He was undoubtedly a super man
He flew to Ravana”s kingdom
And relieved Sita”s boredom
He assured her Rama would **** the demon
Because He was supra human
In the fierce fight
You were too great for his sight
Ravana fell down in the battle field
Sita was freed from his yield
You were crowned king
Many songs did the people sing
We celebrate your birth day with religious zeal
All our troubles you will seal
By JVL NARASIMHA RAO
Dec 25, 2010
Dec 25, 2010 at 7:12 PM UTC
Even in Third Place the gods carry you
Niko and Nike, both Siblings to your Cause
The Festive Cheer, numbing their Silent Boo
And your Best Bronze Offer was never lost
Which you deserve, definite on Boon's End
Such Shout everyone will always Cherish
Goodbye, Riley! Your Dim Plan was all but Bent
The Assassin turned on you and Perish
Still, Anointing Tears on the Bleacher's Side,
Was but Artificial in its Console
You made a Plan to Upgrade the next time
And Fight till Morning until the next Goal.
Meanwhilst enjoy, and sip to Iberia's Best
With Everyone on-board; And not one less.
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 8:59 PM UTC
''Tis the voice of the Lobster: I heard him declare
'You have baked me too brown, I must sugar my hair.'
As a duck with its eyelids, so he with his nose
Trims his belt and his buttons, and turns out his toes.
When the sands are all dry, he is gay as a lark,
And will talk in contemptuous tones of the Shark:
But, when the tide rises and sharks are around,
His voice has a timid and tremulous sound.'
'I passed by his garden, and marked, with one eye,
How the Owl and the Panter were sharing a pie:
The Panther took pie-crust, and gravy, and meat,
While the Old had the dish as its share of the treat.
When the pie was all finished, the Owl, as a boon,
Was kindly permitted to pocket the spoon:
While the Panther received knife and fork with a growl,
And concluded the banquet by [eating the owl.]
5.1k
1 When life as opening buds is sweet,
2 And golden hopes the fancy greet,
3 And Youth prepares his joys to meet,--
4 Alas! how hard it is to die!
5 When just is seized some valued prize,
6 And duties press, and tender ties
7 Forbid the soul from earth to rise,--
8 How awful then it is to die!
9 When, one by one, those ties are torn,
10 And friend from friend is snatched forlorn,
11 And man is left alone to mourn,--
12 Ah then, how easy 'tis to die!
13 When faith is firm, and conscience clear,
14 And words of peace the spirit cheer,
15 And visioned glories half appear,--
16 'Tis joy, 'tis triumph then to die.
17 When trembling limbs refuse their weight,
18 And films, slow gathering, dim the sight,
19 And clouds obscure the mental light,--
20 'Tis nature's precious boon to die.
4.7k
What will you do when the clocks no longer tell?
After you smash to pieces Cronos' clock
And you slip into the stillpoint as the Eye opens
In the palm of your hand; after you cross
The Threshold and return to offer up your Boon
To man.
When the ego falls away and you begin your
Gift of servitude.
When the trees drip light, and each child you
See has around their head a circle of light.
Light surging up and over,
Bleeding from eyes and hands;
Oceans of light illuminating beaches;
Lovers enveloped in a cocoon of light;
The crow blasting through photons,
Climbing currents into the face of the sun
To erupt in all-consuming flame;
Like William Blake driving Apollo's
Chariot into a supernova;
Walt Whitman pulling from the River
Why a fish erupting and igniting his
Beard, showering him in corpuscles of light;
Like a Devish whirling, shooting off sparks
And laughing like a madman dancing and
Burning in the Dragon's jaws.
And Vincent, in your dreams, deep in a
Sea of sunflowers looking up at you
With the wondrous eyes of a child
And waving his arms like a Sorcerer
Conjuring and you see what he sees:
Heaven in a wildflower.
Oct 30, 2010
Oct 30, 2010 at 6:50 AM UTC
Library - It is a world full of books
All are interested, whether they are engineers, peons or cooks
Books of all genre you will find
It never fails to attract one's mind
But please remember the Golden Rule
Please be silent; it isn't a sin
Never be violent or else you'll disgrace your kith and kin
You may even make the librarian your friend
And ***** will provide you with books of the latest trend
Harry Potter, The Godfather and The Da Vinci Code
Not that keen? Well you could always try The Princess and the Toad
Books are for everyone; age doesn't matter
Idiot box or reading? I'd rather choose the latter
Whether you want science or fiction
The Library is a world of addiction
Once you pick up a book you will get glued
You'll shout yourself hoarse if anyone dares to intrude
You'll be reading it in class, the toilet or the bus
And when the teacher confiscates it you'll create a big fuss
Oh, Miss please! Just one more page!
It's the ****** part between the pirate and the sage
We should thank Gutenberg for inventing the press and bestowing upon us this boon
Else we'd all still be stuck watching cartoon!
Dec 13, 2013
Dec 13, 2013 at 11:41 AM UTC
I Peered Out Of The Room Windows,
I Was In This Desolate Guesthouse,
It Was A Comfortable Rest House,
And Here I Was In Anticipation,
Angel Or Whosoever Was Awaited,
Will She Pop Into My Vision Here Too,
Was It Only A Seasick Mind's Illusion?
Was All That Really Just An Illusion,
Thinking This I Prepared For Bed,
Then I Felt A Flute Was Playing,
Looked Into Sound's Direction,
All I Saw Then Was Foggy Night,
My Own Reflection Was Also Visible,
Slightly If Not Entirely Can Be Seen.
I Recalled The First Night At The Sea,
She Did Appear On The Towed Raft,
A Beautiful Mermaid I Had Seen,
Now I Did Remember It Clearly,
My Face Was No Longer Mine,
Yes It Was The Beautiful Face Of Hers,
She Wasn't Sad As I Did Remember.
She Was Smiling So Very Divinely,
Her Brown Eyes Stared So Cutely,
More Divine Felt She Was Really,
I Thought That It Was So Early,
My Pocket Watch Showed Three,
I Took My Eyes Off And Went To Bed,
Then & There She Was Lying For Me.
I Again Let My Mind Play Games,
Never Did Imagine Turning Mad,
Now I Was Not Feeling As Bad,
Neither I Wanted To Break It,
Nor It Felt Like One Anymore,
This Was The Dream I Loved To Live,
As If The Boon Was Presented To Me.
She Smiled As I Sat On The Bed,
I Asked Her, "Are You Real?"
"Yes, Just As Your Thoughts,"
I Then Stared At Her Lips,
She Then Touched Me Again,
Hands As Soft As That Night At Sea,
I Just Felt Like Opposing Her Touch.
I Blankly Smiled And Thought,
'My Thoughts Are Surely Real,'
Then I Just Let Her Guide Me,
The Moon Shone So Bright,
It Just Felt Really So Very Right,
Resigning I Just Let My Illusion Win,
It's Love We Were Sharing, Not A Sin.
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 6:35 AM UTC
Digitized is
Everything
My Love I see in Facebook
My Love I meet in Whatsapp
My Love I greet in FaceTime
My Love I connect in Twitter
We are too far
But we feel like we were beside each other
Actually this digital connectivity is boon for some instance
And a ban for another instance which actually
Stopping us connecting naturally
Oct 1, 2015
Oct 1, 2015 at 12:16 PM UTC
Mother superior had dropped the gun,
Seeing the victim was her very own son.
There a saint was made to run
Drowned before the rising sun.
Messiah born on the first day of June,
Posing as a religious boon.
Preaching that the end is soon,
All in a tone resembling Sinatra’s croon.
Superiority held in the form of prayer,
Faith maintained at the behest of a dare.
Professor Lodz has lost his bear.
The Omega deemed this loss as fair.
Tammuz is smoking all the vegetation
Asherah has stopped all gestation,
Coming from a fit of ************
Working on a new form of taxation.
Jesus just took one huge dumb,
In the sink after snorting a quick bump.
The man had reached quite the slump.
Catching HPV from Fergies’s ****
Mohammad is eating all the pork.
Using hands, forgetting the fork.
******* chicks, with all kinds of torque,
Misinterpreting the path of a wayward stork.
Dinning on delicious swine.
And the finest forms of delicate wine.
Prophets of the world align.
And drink from the deceased Christopher Reeve’s spine.
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 9:53 AM UTC
As a student you hold a pen,
Just so very often.
Hold it carefully and take its care,
For it can get broken.
Threading all the letters beautifully,
Cursive you write so neat.
We complement each other,
That too so well.
You need polishing just a bit more,
I need a lot of it.
Earlier my handwriting used to be worse,
But now it has improved as you have come.
Come and write your name,
Not on paper but on my arm.
Come now and come closer to me,
This feels like a dream materialized.
Now that Both have chosen The Best,
I am just glad that we chose each other.
I look at your handwriting,
It means the world to me dear.
When your heart is so beautiful,
Your handwriting is also gorgeous.
Yeah you saw my handwriting,
It is not like your elegant one.
So I am content that our children'll have beautiful handwritings.
Your handwriting tells me that you're innocent,
It also showcases a beautiful heart which I love.
Capitalize on your boon of good handwriting,
Success beckons you and now you just need to study sincerely.
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 9:53 AM UTC