"commendation" poems
Shabash
Shābāsh (Hindi: शाबाश, Urdu: شاباش, Punjabi: ਸ਼ਾਬਾਸ਼, Bengali: শাবাশ, Telugu: శబాష్) is a term used in the Indian subcontinent to signal commendation for an achievement, similar in meaning to
bravo and kudos.
……………………………………………
a poem writ sometimes, oft,
snaps back,
I was surprising recipient
of a commendation in language
I knew not
the poem spoke well
of broken boundaries,
between in this instance,
Jew and Muslim,
capturing a momentary parting
of the seaways and
walls of misbelief
and mischief,
normally employed
to keep our divisions,
parted perpetually
I’ve decided to begin to
use shabash now,
my ‘go to’ word
from now on,
a small quiet way
to say
well done
it starts with one word,
a stretching hand across
the face fence,
imagining John Lennon’s
imagine-world,
who lay dying when I was
a young father of thirty,
me residing less than a
mile away from each other
little could I imagine then that
poetry would pick me at all,
especially to write of words
in dialects I don’t speak,
but imaging their pastel colorations
flying by in gentle breezes,
eager to be grabbed,
plucked from the air,
tongued and loved
so!
when I say to you,
in the softest spoke,
shabash!
to all of us,
for choosing this path,
using your words in
every dialect,
to spread the imagination
of good will
8-4-2019
10:10 am
S.I.
Aug 4, 2019
Aug 4, 2019 at 10:28 AM UTC
Such was the heraldry of your being.
You stood before those who were of lower standing as you viewed them,
appointed oneself upward through controversial means, non of which were worthy of commendation. Corruption rose you to dizzy heights and watched as you violated the lives of others.
The lawful way is inconsistent and trust, honesty and goodness are words flaunted by your immoral and malicious demonstration. For ones own ends you walked the walk.
Now become by expiration, death should hold no surprises for one so foul.
The underworld is your new domicile and untold pain and torment are your future. Across the Styx, Charon will deliver you unto me. Watch with care the affliction of those minions that seek exoneration below the black wash. Purgatory however is beyond any reach that will veil itself to you.
Your appointment is of a somewhat personal nature to me and along with myself and eternity you will wish life had leant you on another path.
Jan 10, 2015
Jan 10, 2015 at 6:56 PM UTC
Does it matter more to you that you care for others or that others care for you?
Would you take a series of bullets
Would you leap before a dashing car
Would you dance on sweltering embers for the sake of one who does you nought in return?
Wouldn’t most or wouldn’t anyone endure the worst for acknowledgement and commendation…
I try to be gallant—self-sacrificial,
Try to be benevolent, bleeding heart beyond comprehension
Yet am I worse than the slaughterers?
The iniquitous, the rest?
No more than the vile, reprobate, devilish…
For who, after all,
Cast oneself beyond forgiveness
The felon who would exploit acts of selflessness
To assemble his own
Maleficent, pernicious lair
Of praise, acclaim, and comfort.
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 5:52 PM UTC
I like the words they use to tell what a poem is
better than any poetry I've read.
Like: fragments, ghost, allusion.
I like the way my ribs move
when someone talks about storytellers;
It's a pride I taste more than during a story told.
A review says 'intricate' and 'masterful'
So I put the thing on a pedestal of stolen adjectives.
My crown jewel is 'aesthetic' and I own it, lying.
What is a creator without his critic?
Condemnation and commendation
mean more to me than original construction.
But then--poets are just the translation of Creation.
And never has a word of soaring perfection
surpassed the garden, fallen.
Feb 1, 2019
Feb 1, 2019 at 11:00 AM UTC
Many words, so many words, are passing through this place.
Broken latin, mesonic virtues, old english lymricks,
ancient jewish pronuciation fliting phenomenal prosody.
Life as all the proper words begin to shape this grandly
generous thought of commendation. Roots, roods, rudentary
lauded buy more spies. The plura, fauna, Jane Does and Rae Me's,
fosil laute... prose.
En angle', in english, Angles and Jutes, as the rapier, pugio gladius,
a bloodless synopsis, a canon, feathered conical lye.
Sui-hsing chide us naught for German and German's is to Chinese is Tzun Zoo Choo Yen see. Their angels roll away stones, here men open doors, women pointe out stars to fight the bold, Oui Ye.
Write two poems at once, or lie. Write three poems at once, or lie.
Oh, yea we write three...
poethree. Oui Ye, Oye yea, O thee poets... we right thee.
Austerity, Whiterby, Bastoniwa,... Red Socks and resident bee.
Add comments, if Any.
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 1:00 AM UTC
A timely observation; complacently inscribed,
finding truth in aberration and restitution in denial.
So long conversely spoken, unmentioned but believed:
to live without intention and die conventionally.
With wide consideration, the bearer must unload
a prideful commendation: what glory in control!
Internally awoken, vehemently believed:
to live without conventions and die intentionally
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 7:56 PM UTC
I have a hole in my stomach
And you think it's because I worry
About money or material possessions.
You take pity on me
For my young age and inexperience
And naïveity and general paucity.
You think you're magnanimous,
Benevolent and chivalrous.
To stoop to where I stand
In the gutter, covered
With the sweat and tears
And shards of a broken heart
Left behind by life's disappointments,
Stand alone with no one
To pull me up when I get knocked down
By the chaos that swirls
In the muck by my feet,
Stand weary and weakened
In body and soul
At having to combat the demons
Your memories invoke,
Stand lowered in your opinion
Because of my pauper's condition--
To stoop--a great commendation to your name.
But I don't care about your money,
Your gifts or your charity.
I've never cared about what you can do for me.
All I want is for once in our lives,
Your hand would reach out empty
Of things, of gifts, of material monies,
But full of kindness and empathy.
It's not what you do,
But who you are.
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 6:59 PM UTC
*Your LOVE
It wets my eyes
It jumps up my goose flesh
It leaves me silent for days,
Now months...
Unfettered
In a state of vast
Deep dark blank space
Like watching the night sky!
Doesn't matter
What realization has dawn
Upon us
Whether it was right or not
Doesn't matter
My LOVE for you
Is now beyond the hour of reconciliation
And objective / subjective analysis ..
Our LOVE has happened
It was transpired by fate
what needs its commendation
Is our self assessment ..
We will know
There can / will never be
Another better substitute
Than My LOVE for you
And Your LOVE for me...
Ah
So our heart says!*
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 11:47 PM UTC
Would it be wrong for me
to write you a poem of commendation?
Would it be wrong for me
to appraise your delicate temptation?
Would it be wrong for me
to be fond of your attraction?
Would it be wrong for me
to explicate my affection?
Would it be wrong for me
craving for your attention?
Would it be wrong for me
to tease you with conviction?
Would it be wrong for me
asking you to be on my own?
Would it be wrong for me?
Would it be wrong?
Would it be?
Would all these prayers
be praised and well spoken?
Dec 27, 2017
Dec 27, 2017 at 12:12 PM UTC
Repeating the same periods of boredom,
Ignited by the fuel of depressed emotions.
Forming urges to escape a boring lifestyle,
Cycles from dissatisfaction led to alcoholism.
Drinking to flee typical days of unplanned time,
Incinerating absolve that plagued tragedy by scars.
Artificial joy lasted a few hours inside my brain,
As phases of recurrent afflictions persisted torment.
Young adulthood lived on principles of enjoyment,
Seeking thrills of unjust mentality by regretfulness.
Years of despair led to progress being stalled,
Hitting a brick wall by force of costly consequences.
Punishments derived from indulgements ached,
Agony of mental illness harmed by unnatural chemicals.
Change occurred when growth desired concepts,
Maturity pushed repeatability into passionate activities.
Now devoted to new hobbies entertaining contentment,
Destined to a route where character excels excellence.
Honored by the improvements gained by determination,
Self-discipline underlines efforts through moral revisions.
Since the poisonous toxins are vanished from my body,
Liveliness drove glorified paths that earned commendation.
Sep 7, 2016
Sep 7, 2016 at 12:42 AM UTC
So I'll continue to suppress myself
for the praise of your Godly commendation
Apr 22, 2016
Apr 22, 2016 at 2:08 AM UTC
It's not so much the giving. That's living, the burst from your heart that connects to the hive mind; the leaving all the doubt behind.
It's the after. Exhausted and shattered and sweating out all your exposed emotions, and nothing. No word, no glance, as you stuff all your **** back into the red suitcase that contains your world and no one else's.
There's no expectation for commendation, but you wish someone would attempt some relation as you mop up the ****** mess that once was beautiful, but is now splendorless.
Music is useless for making a statement. The whole world is trying to make you complacent and you'd smash your guitar, but your money's all spent so you cry in your bed wishing you were a poet (or a surgeon or a botanist or at least brilliant) instead.
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 1:10 AM UTC
THE CAT AND MOUSE GAME
Walt Disney’s ‘Tom & Jerry’ cartoons are popular
even to this day.
Cat’s stealth-like pursuits with near captures,
and the mouse’s repeated escapes, -
Is the very essence of the Cat and Mouse Game!
A test of patience and perseverance for the Cat,
But that Mouse usually manages to escape the
paws of the Cat!
The serious game our Doctors with patience
and dedication have continued to play,
Ever since that elusive Chinese virus has come
our way, deserves our Commendation!
As with sprays, hand sanitizers, and a mask we
try to prevent Corona’s inhalation.
Fighting an unseen enemy which continues to
haunt and escape detection!
Wish there was ‘a game plan’ for its destruction!
A rat poison can be more effective than the Cat,
But only an anti-dote or a vaccine can **** our Rat!
Let us pray that soon a vaccine comes to light,
To drive away our gloom and make the future
look Bright!
-Raj Nandy, New Delhi.
May 19, 2020
May 19, 2020 at 10:53 AM UTC
All in the dark
under a pitch black sky
A phantom walks
Through a deserted isle
Shuddering the silence
anomalous howls as it lurks
Sniffing the mortal’s blood
To satiate insatiable thirst
As he makes his move
In a deceiving grace
To Compel by his charm
Conceding victim to become his prey
A submission by will
To an animus intention
Never would the mortal wake up
After this partial execution
acclaiming the reign of the dark side
while taking over the sane
Asserting evil commendation and power
Intrudes his teeth deep into the vein
Drinking from the mortal
Feeds himself on the fluent lifeline
Taking in his existence
This immortality he confides
Never ending hunger
An unquenchable thirst
Provokes him every time
To spread this malevolent curse
Hiding himself in the darkness
His immortality limited to night
Fearing noxious consequences
Always runs away from light
This prohibition to luminosity
To avoid, in a casket he sleeps
Again as the night falls
The prince of darkness creeps
Bound by the rules
This place he subsists and dwells
Inflicting the deadly curse
As he lives through a curse himself…
Jun 28, 2019
Jun 28, 2019 at 5:11 AM UTC