"goggled" poems
Ask...and you shall be given answers
seek...and you'll be told where to look
knock...say, hello?...hello? hellooow?
a voice named siri replies:
"is it me you're looking for?"
i think,
the eyes, the mind, even the heart, need
clear, goggle-like glasses, for 20/20 vision,
to grasp, to discern, be forewarned,
not to be overwhelmed by whatever
data unfolds on the screen
they say, there are contrived solutions,
for life's every complication
search engines are accessible to all
just press specific keys, and, Voila!
surf, play...easy games, easy friends
but, can they really answer all questions?
every human question?.........like,
do elephants really cry? how did it occur
that they have excellent memories?
is Timbuktu modernized now?
are there still surviving cannibals?
will the remaining Bee Gees member,
tell us how to mend a broken heart?
do rosicrucians really possess secret wisdom?
what happened to you and me?
how do i save myself from emotional vampires?
how do i cook pad thai?
...and how do i get you out of my mind?
why does the rooster crow after midnight
how does logarithm work with poetry?
do dogs have souls? do they visit their
masters?....i miss my dogs Misty and Tiny,
...and i miss you...what's wrong with me?
God, why do i even bother to ask?
my goggled eyes are blinded by grief
my goggled mind refuses to forget
this goggled life of mine feels empty
and it has nothing to do with technology...
Sally
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
July 23, 2018
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 10:50 PM UTC
I wove my own web and netted my prize,
I cold-pressed my words and refined my disguise.
I goggled at life and faced up to that book,
I tumbled and tweeted and baited my hook.
I blipped and I blogged, I bantered and blushed,
I followed and friended, I grovelled and gushed.
I doled out the instant, ten grams at a time,
To fuel my addiction for caffeine and rhyme.
I reshopped my pic, I swiped left, I swiped right,
I pinned and I posted deep into the night.
I gloated and gossiped, I chatted and cheered,
I logged in and logged out without favour or fear.
For is it not fun - this mad media storm?
Viewing and voting from dusk until dawn.
Yet love me or like me, let it never be said,
That despite how it seems, it’s gone to my head.
Dec 22, 2018
Dec 22, 2018 at 6:17 PM UTC
There is a difference between knowing and understanding.
You know how I feel because I have told you;
I explain my emotions
and you chose to listen.
I understand how you feel because I live it.
You do not tell me,
but I understand
exactly
the emotions
that course through your
body and mind and soul.
I never chose this.
And I never wanted it.
When I tell people I am an empathic
they mostly roll their eyes.
They have no idea what I am talking about,
until I touch their skin
and relay
every emotion
of their
whole
lives.
Then they call me freak.
But I cannot help it.
Anything that feels pain I feel pain for.
When your teeth sparkle in laughter's sunlight
mine twinkle under the changing moon.
When your skin turns searing red with rage
mine glows white hot as a smith's hammer.
When your lungs burn from submerged depression
mine are right there
waiting
to release their final breathe.
There are those
who turn and marvel
like I am some otherworldly being
meant to be shoved in a glass cage
and goggled at in a zoo.
They tell me it is a gift to understand.
To that I say:
this world is no utopia.
How would you like to see every flaw?
How would you like to drown in the ocean of tears?
How would you like to experience your skin raw from all the fury?
How would you like feel the ragged edges of scars
raised as far as they were cut
with every curious brush of your fingertips?
You wouldn't.
This is no gift
unless from Hell.
In my lifetime
I have tried to make it
so the world doesn't hurt
so that I don't hurt.
Now I know;
I can't.
I can't whip the tears from each child's soft chin.
I can't massage the ice from each man's shriveled heart.
I can't dowse the flames from each woman's fiery tongue.
I can't.
The only thing I can do
is change my position within this world
in an attempt
to heal my scars.
And I am not sure which soothes my pain more:
surrounding myself
with those from whom I receive the most
sorrow and anger and dread
because they
understand me;
they can help,
or
engulfing myself
within the entourage of those who always smile:
to drown out all the pain
and push the world aside.
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 1:32 PM UTC
I was cleaning out the fridge today
And in the back I found this "thing"
It was furry, soft and squishy
From the mind of Stephen King
I didn't want to touch it
It looked like a tangerine
But, from all the fur and oozy stuff
I don't know what it had been
I knew I had to move it
But I wasn't sure quite how
I'd seen things much more appealing
Come from the rear end of a cow
I emptied out the other stuff
I put them in the sink
I was left with this small land mine
That really had a stink
I needed some protection
Before I tried to grab this bomb
so, I closed the door real quiet
And I went to get some on
I put on swimming goggles
To protect my eyes in case
It exploded when I grabbed it
And it jelly-fied my face
I then grabbed my old rain coat
And put it on all front to back
So my front was well protected
In case this thing chose to attack
Hockey gloves to save my hands
Work boots were for my feet
All this to dispose of this
Thing that people eat
I opened up the door again
And as I looked inside
I could swear this thing was throbbing
And it had grown to twice it's size
I slammed the door and grabbed a beer
I had some in the sink
I had to get this thing destroyed
I needed time to think
I called up both my neighbors
I said "Evacuate" the street
I told them I was killing
Some thing that people eat
I couldn't tell them what it was
Because I wasn't sure
I must have bought it months ago
But I didn't know what for
If I knew that this would happen
If the expiration passed
If I knew this when I bought it,
I would have eaten it real fast
I went to get the garbage
I put three new bags inside
I would put the thing inside one
And would then get all three tied
I'd run it to the dump myself
But, I'd have to freeze it first
Because, Imagine what would happen
If the plastic bags had burst
One more thing I had to do
was get some stuff to hide the scent
I thought I'd get some vapo rub
So off to search I went
Now, all prepared and goggled up
in raincoat and in gloves
I was set to grab this thing
For push had come to shove
I opened up the door and there
Where the thing had just now been
Was nothing, not a single thing
Where was my thing of green?
It didn't get out on it's own
And no one would eat it up
The only one who'd like it
Was our garbage eating pup
It was at this point I saw my son
Rolling outside like a log
Playing with our whirling dervish
He had fed it to the dog!!
May 5, 2012
May 5, 2012 at 6:23 PM UTC
I was snorkeling in the Galapagos
surrounded by diving *******
when some fun friendly angels
visited, they had flippers not wings
and flapped and glided
streamlined through the ocean
on their backs, sides and fronts
They were curious
about me, this goggled wide-eyed beast
and would come so close
I could see their bright eyes and whiskers
I thought they would collide
but at the last second they would downwards swoop
I was in heaven at this communion
Suddenly I saw from the corner of my eye
a massive grey giant crash into the water
I front crawled away like a man possessed
The bull was probably jealous of my dalliance
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 1:38 PM UTC
The streets, plain
The scenery, new but unchanged
The city, now black and white
The candle that failed to ignite
The crisp morning air
The usual affairs
The same unheated ground
Then there was a faint sound
The leaves started to sway
There was a presence of warm sun rays
The grass and flowers danced
The prospect, enhanced
All because my ears have found
A vaguely familiar and new sound
An enamoring explosion of melody
An enthralling harmony
A beguiling musicality
An enslaving euphony
A perfect array of notes
Flowing with a hypnotic coat
A piercing tune
Resembling a rune
It's rhythm, throbbing
It's tempo, moving
The sound was too perfect and strong
That it seemed like a torturous song
Nonetheless, it was a beautiful beat
Beautiful enough to move my feet
What I heard was an alluring sound
That eventually made me slide through the ground
I closed my eyes and followed what I heard
Walking, searching, to clarify the blurred
The faint sound, grew louder
Eventually I was overpowered
While seeking for the source of the hymn
I turned into a willing victim
My feet have stopped moving
When I saw a man, the man who was playing
My eyes settled upon his silhouette
Which was in contrast to the sunset
There he was, sitting on a wooden stool
Unknowingly making all the listeners drool
His fingers fluttering atop black and white keys
Creating color through a musical breeze
I saw him, that man
Still playing, talking through his hands
I followed a sound and saw a pianist
And then my heart was kissed
Not because of the music that made my ears fuss
Not because he splashed paint all over the dull canvas
But because of how he looked at the instrument
It's as if, for the piano, his eyes were meant
How he gazed upon it with those eyes
As if the piano was his only prize
How he goggled the piano with those eyes
As if for that instrument he was willing to agonize
As if he can only see the piano
As if there was only him and the piano
It was that look that little girls dream of
It was that look that symbolized love
That look that little girls wished were for them
That look that would give little girls contemn
That look that was only for the piano
That look that was pure as snow
That look was colorful and honestly warm
That look that entrapped a celestial swarm
That look which was gentle and intense
That look which was passionate and immense
That look which was alive, painful and afraid
In that moment, I longed for a shooting star's aid
As if a little girl, I wished for what little girls wish for
I wished for him to look at me like that, nothing more
But none can compare with his instrument
Nor to the reason why he plays it with such intent
To the new girl he plays for
To the girl he currently adores
I hope his sound reaches you
I hope you listen and give him value
I hope you look at him as he plays for you
Look at him like how he looks at the piano when he thinks of you
Like how the crowd looks at him as he plays like this
Like how the little girls look like when they wish
Like how he used to look at the piano
When he misses and plays for the little girl, not too long ago
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 10:25 AM UTC
A hoppin' head though self inflicted,
Seems just rewards for the night before,
When dance and Craic took centre stage
We drank and drank and drank some more!
Conversation flowed and ebbed and weaved,
From God to Goals and all between,
Would seem not so immaculately conceived
And Messi's three defy belief.
Club bound strolls turn to canter
With thoughts of chasing tail and skirts,
Greetings to all with friendly banter,
Decked out in shoes and pants and shirts.
Through goggled eyes we viewed the night
Where dog was fox and frog was prince
Awakened by a nasty fright
Post Haste! Not seen or heard from since.
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 9:53 PM UTC
There's something soothing
about being high,
visiting the crags,
scaling the moraines,
eating tuna
above the cloud-deck.
When you're standing there,
above the valleys
& goggled,
it's like flying
with you feet on the ground.
The only sound is your breath
& the jet stream
passing by you.
It's a beautiful combination,
a melody,
a trance,
unfamiliar to flatlanders.
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 5:41 PM UTC
Three souls moving to your left,
each of them a little different, but still beautiful
all distinguishable by words and phrases and soft laughter
as they converse amongst themselves.
You see all of this, close enough to breathe their air, taste their presence
but the foot between your thighs and theirs is an impenetrable bubble
keeping you floating in your own empty space
trapped, alone, and longing.
It has always been this way, ever since you were small enough to see it
withdrawn, resolved to exist alone, content to let the world pass you by...
Their laughter startles you, yelping giggles so profound
you can't help but turn and stare at them, goggled-eyes
a dark boy, strange blackness for curls and pale-cheeked
notices, prodding you with the edge of your foot.
The bubble pops. And you are set free.
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 2:23 PM UTC
Musa stands for banana
But his name sake was Furhana
His headwear folded like samosa
Not to be confused with mimosa
Yet the fold was like Koya's head towel
Even the fantastic Ayamu's downwell.
That said: Koya heckled with his sickle knife
Never failed in the field to sit and file
The blade to trim out the hedge's tendrils rife
Closed one eye to see the fence's profile
The cutting-hedge technology of fence
Continued without denouncing offense
Rarely reaching any end, the dense
Fence talk gains again as every day commence.
Beauty creation was his faint inclination
At the entrance of the tea plantation
Stationed near to the police station
Part of his task unasked in the division
Was standing and talking to the man on the bike
Talks like, the strike, the Labour wages hike,
How to dodge a strife for a fair bounty
With words coated with 'chondy-chandy sugar candy.
For its said, he can wear any colour, I-uhml-green or P-yellows
To send jaundice or dainties to the Poor-fellows.
The talk prolong as the baron mellows
Till the madam's call comes from the bungalows.
Back to Musa, sorry for the interruption, he was left behind the lines...
For names of Mayan, Maanu and Jaanu make a beeline
Like Beebi and Kaybee, maybe the guy too, sounding Shanghai,
All are bonanza, for a due stanza.
Musa chirped with chops of English
And fizzed out the name of fish and dish
Proud that he worked even with some British.
Once he mumbled the name mom and mummy
To call out his humble wife to introduce
The visiting chummy colleagues, over there.
Her numb eyes goggled out of a slimy shawl to reduce
Her head to a crummy Kameez that beleaguered on her.
Not knowing what his trendy husband is telling,
And why he is calling her before them, Asia instead of Aisha!
His friends knew her trouble and told her its alright
And that made her feel she is the same Ayichumma on her own right.
Once Musa stumbled on the name 'chips' at a shop in the city;
Ordered the same along with other civil society
While seeing it packed, he grumbled for his stupidity
And burst out, "O, just the Koya fried banana, that's aplenty in our vicinity".
The shopkeeper gave a laugh,
And there, Musa left in a huff!
Nov 21, 2018
Nov 21, 2018 at 11:25 AM UTC
The clouds had being fair
And the birds were chirpy
Soaring in the blue skies;and gyre the coconut trees
While the gently breeze
Blew;and the branches skid
Side by side fluttering
And notably,the birds vocal the ditty of love
She sat beneath
And I laid on her tighs
Dedition like a pet
But as I goggled through her bra
To her face;I met
The frolics of her hair
And fantasized
Till I traced down her lips
As the juices she sipped
Smack dab on my neck
And trail my chest
I grasp her hands and licked them
As she span to mob them
"You're beautiful"I said and smiled
Looking through her eyes
Sssssssssshh!!shut up"she muttered"
She lean and held my chest to hers
And fervidly she kissed on my lips
All at once,the droplets of waters
Dangling in the air
Broke the light
And pave path of the spectum
To flaunt its melange
Emblem on us
That moment she troth
Not to open her eyes
But sing till the sun
Disappear over the horizon
I toss myself
And learnt it was all a dream
That moment,that hour,that minute
I made a wish
Lord I pray this dream one more time
©Historian E.Lexano
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 8:00 PM UTC
Stumble clumsily
to that of which you think
is your sensei...
and ask
Why must I bow?
Take a break just take it down
a notch
Just watch me howl
at the moon
meditate let the sun
hit you in the face
Awaking you to a new
confusion
"better mean what you say
so you'll still be sitting when you
float away through hazy old
sayings displays testaments to progress
even frogs respect goggled honesty
from lilypad perspectives
directive flush and disconnect
from freshness"
May 8, 2019
May 8, 2019 at 9:58 AM UTC
Bad news is swallowed
With a grain of sour salt
Good news is absorbed
With a chalice of sweet honey.
We’re exhausted and disappointed
We’re out of words and stamina
Hope is put in parenthesis for now
And we feel that the future is very far.
Bad news is goggled and spat out
Our saliva is dehydrated and dry
Yet, like old soldiers, no sacrifice
Is too great to face the future.
Copyright © November 2024, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of numerous collections of poetry.
Nov 6, 2024
Nov 6, 2024 at 9:02 AM UTC