"brouhaha" poems
1
Backwater nymph,
queen of serpentine black tresses
flaunting its coconut oil gleam;
envy of leggy girls from the Western ghat mountains,
and lissome maidens from the plains,
who can never eat as much fish, even if they wish.
Wearing hibiscus flowers,
on coiffure like hood of a king cobra,
your coral lips silently speak
of hot peppery kisses,
waiting for me at shaded corners.
Your sultry body in me arouses desires,
that could only be whispered in your ears.
2
On a coconut lagoon when we met,
for the first time and spoke,
non stop, as if we knew each other life long,
I heard music in your words.
Oh! in the tongue you spoke,
I heard the cadence of a nightingale
ecstatic, on its wings above the clouds,
love had prompted us to fly above the storms.
Your gleaming coal black eyes,
like silver hooks, tug at my heart strings,
that makes music, only I can hear,
you are a free flying lark,
above Kerala's lush coconut coast,
that extends from sea shore to the mountains.
3
**When we relished steaming brown rice,
mixed with clarified butter,
with spicy tuna curry, tasting so dainty,
cooked in bubbling sweet coconut milk,
my eyes like two crazy butterflies
circled your face, a blossomed Champak*.
Mashed cassava and roasted squid,
melted on our tongues,
in a perfect culinary language
any one would understand without effort.
4
Your lips had cinnamon scent,
spice land's boons,
when we kissed we touched heaven
of scents and spicy tastes.
When our eyes fell on each other,
near the ancient synagogue,
the hay days of which is over,
a long jasmine garland coiling your hair,
marked you different,
from the the ladies of your neighborhood,
surrounding you.
How well you did pretend
that you have never seen my face before!
You have mastered love's cunning,
and all the wily tricks to cheat
the enemies of our fiery love
my Freudian mind perfectly understood.
Just imagine the brouhaha we would invite,
when we elope, in the last boat,
to Alappuzha, stealthily at midnight.*
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 1:33 PM UTC
It all started with a big mistake;
I’m here to tell it was all a big fake.
Fred hit Kelly in his great big mouth;
He said he caught Kelly at his girl’s house.
Rosie was jealous of Fred’s main squeeze;
Said she always does what she pleases.
So, she cooked up the story about her.
And Kelly never knew a thing either.
But that didn’t stop the fur from flying.
I tell you the truth, if I’m lying I’m dying.
The mood changed in the old hangout.
Everyone stuck around, nobody cut out.
Everyone was gathered for birthday cheer.
You know, some pool and some beer.
Nobody knew about Rosie’s big lie
Or what kind of crap would soon fly.
They just laughed and cracked jokes;
Enjoyed some legal and illegal smokes.
And when the mood was sufficiently jolly
Rosie quietly took Kelly out into the ally.
Said she saw Kelly go into the house
Fred started fuming, calling Kelly a louse.
He went back in and he smacked old Kelly
And followed it up with a shot to the belly.
While Kelly was reacting, Fred purely raged.
He wasn’t quite done, was not even assuaged.
But Kelly’s girl Lydia heard what Fred said
And smacked Rosie up side of her head.
She started screaming that Rosie was a liar,
And then there were two more irons in the fire.
It was two women and two men slugging.
The Fist City Express started chugging.
Mirrors were broken by costly pool sticks
The bartender finally got tired of the tricks
And got out his baseball bat and stepped in.
Rosie ******* up and hit him on the chin.
By now, a customer called nine one one,
And the end of the brouhaha had begun.
All four of the combatants were busted.
And the cops finally decided they trusted
The regular customers who all insisted
That the bartender not be arrested.
It might be good to say it was a big shame
But fights in bars are the name of the game.
Especially when women fight, it’s a show
And bystanders in bars always let them go
And then cheer and some even take bets.
This is how selling alcohol to fools often gets.
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 11:28 PM UTC
Le matin - En dormant.
J'entends des voix. Lueurs à travers ma paupière.
Une cloche est en branle à l'église Saint-Pierre.
Cris des baigneurs. Plus près ! plus **** ! non, par ici !
Non, par là ! Les oiseaux gazouillent, Jeanne aussi.
Georges l'appelle. Chant des coqs. Une truelle
Racle un toit. Des chevaux passent dans la ruelle.
Grincement d'une faux qui coupe le gazon.
Chocs. Rumeurs. Des couvreurs marchent sur la maison.
Bruits du port. Sifflement des machines chauffées.
Musique militaire arrivant par bouffées.
Brouhaha sur le quai. Voix françaises. Merci.
Bonjour. Adieu. Sans doute il est **** car voici
Que vient tout près de moi chanter mon rouge-gorge.
Vacarme de marteaux lointains dans une forge.
L'eau clapote. On entend haleter un steamer.
Une mouche entre. Souffle immense de la mer.
1.3k
The moon senses my glee,
And so in him I confide,
He peevishly teases me!
And his candour he fails to hide.
The naughty winds eavesdrop,
And spread the word like fire,
Carrying my secret from the top,
They take it down to the wire!
Soon the scattered clouds asunder;
Join in unison and loudly wonder,
"So this is why her scarlet cheeks,
Convey more than what she speaks,
And now it has widely spread,
the reason why she blushes red.
Like a bright and luminous flame,
She glows at the mention of his name,
If his thought should cross her head,
She is sure to turn crimson red."
With a teasing twitter, every bird,
Hops around & spreads the word,
The flowers animatedly sway,
And scatter my secret away!
Further smeared by the rain,
Over the hills and over the plane,
With nowhere to shroud and hide,
My secret spreads far and wide.
Thus making it widely known,
My heart in rhythmic beating,
Cannot stop itself from repeating,
His name, in an undertone!
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 6:23 AM UTC
Trump's covfefe
caused a kerfuffle.
The people's voice
cannot be muffled.
A real brouhaha...
The Emperor's absurd
and yet we hang
on every word
and he has every right
to coin a new word
to have his fits of logorrhea
to incinerate North Korea
to mock the handicapped, women, and blacks
to free the super-wealthy from tax
to trash the planet
rob the poor
make the rich richer
and do much more....
"President Trump"
is an oxymoron.
Donald the Chump
is a *****
Ooops, Pussy-Grabber's term has expired.
It's time to tell Trump:
"You're fired."
Jul 7, 2017
Jul 7, 2017 at 2:53 PM UTC
***Peer out the frosty crack'd windowpain
translucent poetry in fractured hand
vintage thoughts rise from a steam'd
cuppa emphatic billowing overtures
prelude to the days's negotiations
darkly processing as ink bleeds
out through cynical purse'd lips
embers of dark eye's glean'd glow
mind field's traffic steadily high-season'd
blinking lights dimly reflect'd thunder
gingerly flavor'd pungency's flair
smacking on a charm'd lick of despair
speculating rain'd on parades chagrin
put on another *** of stimulating spirits
peppering a **** melodious harmony
pen'd a snappy sparkle with a bite
left out on a din'd windowsill overnight
hullabaloo's brouhaha made a boisterous clatter
bedlam nearly snared the disquiet of will's disposition
dancing moon lover's save another testament'd hue
witness'd by evidence within a cafe's smoky allusions
covenant's bargain within the scheme of another frosted avenue
forced to whittle time in disguise flying above landscape'd rhyme
sword'd dilemma's cut another frothy fizzling perspective
twilight closes illusion's blinds on facades picturesque view
delusion's of a torture'd poet stirring in frenzy's flurry never slumbers***
Feb 9, 2014
Feb 9, 2014 at 2:16 PM UTC
*Truth’s a double edged sword
And true lies have a façade
For each occasion that’s mundane
Or otherwise and when peddled they’re mostly plain
Eliciting brouhaha meant to send mixed signals
Kind of “stones” hitting an “undisclosed” number of birds.
A crop of good fellows, politicians that is
Barely ever leave the populace at ease
Buttering them up with falsehoods, platitudes even half truths
And by virtue of being inherently over-excitable, these verbal missiles
From ‘slingshots’ cause strife, discord, discontent even apathy
In all manner of forms and so nationhood and integration atrophy.
Funny enough this happens from a seemingly divided
Front “truth” is there’s a common denominator, self-preservation and that’s farsighted.*
Sep 19, 2016
Sep 19, 2016 at 3:22 AM UTC
The night was rainy, hot and humid. It was the kind of night that populates steamy, black and white, noir movies where someone is murdered. The stars seemed reduced to sloshing behind moldy gray clouds, as damp and listless as seaweed in the surf.
“Let’s go see a movie,” Sophy suggested, as she brought up the Fandango website on the 70” smart TV. This quickly drew a brouhaha of excited interest.
“Ooo!, Bullet Train,” Anna said. “Elvis!” Lisa gushed.
“Where the Crawdads sing!” Sunny gasped.
“Super pets!” Leong declared, pointing - producing groans all around - THAT was a no-go.
“Maverick!” I said. “I could do that,” Sunny agreed, “he’s crazy but I’m a Cruise fan.” she added.
In the end we decided to do a movie marathon with “Maverick” that night and “Elvis”, “Bullet Train” and “Where the Crawdads sing,” on Sunday.
As we ordered our treats at the theater concession stand, a tall, skinny, spotted, teenage boy attempted to flirt with Lisa. He smiled at her as confidently as a lizard, but sagged, like a shirt whose coat hanger was removed, when she pointedly ignored him.
Aug 6, 2022
Aug 6, 2022 at 1:10 PM UTC
Poet : Praise Ncube
Poem : I'm not racist
I'm not racist
I was born to love
Whether you are
Black , white , brown
or Australoid
I respect you , i care about you
I have accepted everyone
But not everyone have accepted me
Just because I'm black
They see my colour as a weapon
They are uncomfortable to have me close
I'm prone to discrimination
And I'm exposed to death
Who said your colour means supremacy?
And who said my colour means slavery?
Why are you so stereotypical and skeptical about me ?
I'm not a brouhaha trigger
I'm a peacemaker
I have a phlegm of oppression
I can't breathe
Racism is for the flummoxed minds
So dowdy and noxious .
Your labels led to self-fulfilling prophecy
Because i had no choice
I am what i am
Because you made me who i am
I was born innocent
And you said I'm violent
Your perception made me one
Is it too late to stop hate or
It's still early ?
I'm not racist . Why you ?
May 7, 2021
May 7, 2021 at 4:29 PM UTC
Is this what “it” looks like?
The jumbled and frantic mess of
a wit
without constraint-
without silence,
calm, or congeniality?
Is this what it “feels” like?
A tornado of turbulent misconceptions,
strewn about
like leaves on the wind-
peppered with the biting
chill
of crisp droplets,
soaking through to skin and bone.
Is this “just how it goes”?
When the grey and black blanket of night
and sadness and just existential emptiness
cloud the sky.
When the darkness that surrounds encroaches,
blurring the point where the horizon
meets terra firma.
Would the power lines
connecting the neurological
pathways break?
Would the ceiling of introspection
fly off of the supports that so long
held it in place?
What is left when the
onslaught of the brain
brouhaha slows and only the
photographs, the memories linger;
when the dust of duress settles?
What follows when
the final downpour
of shattered expectations
fall,
leaving the silent and still
dejection
that comes at the end?
Is that the end?
Could I wipe the rain from my eyes,
to see the brightening of the day?
Could I see the illumination of the sun
and the clearing of the sky?
What about the curve of crystalline
precipitation, lingering in empyrean;
brimming with a wash of beauty
known only to those who behold it?
Is that the end?
When and what and
where is the end?
- A. I. Myles 30 May, 2019
May 31, 2019
May 31, 2019 at 5:02 PM UTC
Ordinarily approximately sixteen days
of barley, hops and malt brew
to ale any even those who cannot chew
the cud subsequently most foods I eschew
courtesy maxiofacial malady
or lack of teeth perhaps even a few
that goot yanked out
after misshapen choppers grew
from uncommon body sites,
and I declare constituted hue
man dental dilemma –
somewhat dire oral issue,
yet now tis time to party
and imbibe whether gentile or Jew
in this 210th anniversary,
sans revelry nobody knew
boot beer brouhaha
actually named from German locale loo
cull hamlet that now sports
more’n 6 million stein ways that moo
after getting punch drunk
to rejoice at German reunification
October 3, 1990, hence new
reasonable rhyme referred
to occasion as unity day
held in an area Theresienwiese – phew
what a mouthful field, or meadow,
of Therese), where carousers queue.
Often called Wiesn for short,
located near Munich's center to gorge
on a wide variety of traditional food such
as Hendl (chicken), Schweinebraten (roast pork),
Schweinshaxe (grilled ham hock),
Steckerlfisch (grilled fish on a stick),
Würstl (sausages) along with Brezeln (Pretzel),
Knödel (potato or bread dumplings),
Käsespätzle (cheese noodles),
Reiberdatschi (potato pancakes),
Sauerkraut or Rotkohl/Blaukraut (red cabbage)
along with such Bavarian delicacies as Obatzda
(a spiced cheese-butter spread)
and Weisswurst (a white sausage).
Sep 24, 2021
Sep 24, 2021 at 8:36 PM UTC