"retold" poems
1, for the slumber that tumbles us round,
2, for the remedy, the musics bold sound.
3, for the tree that became your canoe
& 4 for the rain, it's ambiguous blue.
5, to escape, to a world we contrive,
6 for the tricks that I played to survive.
7, because heaven, is supposedly on earth,
& 8 for my mother, and her unknown worth.
9 for the failures, the faults & mistakes,
10 for the fears that keep us awake.
11, for my father, consoles me each night, whispers advice crystal clear, filled with insight- words on courage & kindness, love & delight.
12- when you wake but it's already night.
13 forever, with strength glory and might,
14 with wisdom, discretion, insight-
both numbers together sizing up every fight.
15, for my little sister, and all her turmoil,
15, for her spirit, the last one to spoil,
she and the world but water and oil,
15 for her soul, and like the mighty cobra it's coil,
deadly & graceful defends its home soil.
16 for the evil- the wicked & cruel, the endless hate they spin into fuel.
17, for reason, justice & art,
and all the other virtues life etched on my heart,
18, to redeem, to admit your mistake, to truly move on then perhaps to retake.
19 for that shame, always the same, so familiar it almost comforts my brain. 19, for the suffering, agony & betrayal.
19 true stories retold as mere tales- how they surpass logic and induce other's fails.
20. For my years. For the moment, for now. For to the past I salute, and to the future I bow; All with the hope that next year I'll know how
to do what everyone else can.
Feb 23, 2017
Feb 23, 2017 at 1:32 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
Once a girl lived in a tower.
She had the longest golden locks you had ever seen.
Her mother would visit and be hoisted upwards upon those locks to see her daughter.
The girl was named after a plant… Rapunzel.
How could she know this though when she had always lived in her home of the tower.
Her mother had kept her there since she could remember.
Rapunzel would ask when should could see the world.
Her mother would turn down these pleas saying the world was too dangerous for Rapunzel.
As she grew older Rapunzel realized that she resided in not a home but a prison.
Why was mother allowed to see the world and she was not?
Why could she not decide for herself the dangers of the world?
Freedom always framed within her window but too far below to reach.
On her 18th birthday Rapunzel fled the tower using the locks that had grown so very long.
Her mother soon after discovered her daughter to be missing. Full of spite she pursued her daughter.
Rapunzel’s hair kept her from going too far and soon her mother was upon her.
Rapunzel tried to flee, but her mother seeing her daughter free from the world she had made for her stepped upon the long locks.
She pulled her daughter back to her slowly, back to the safety of her arms, her world. Rapunzel struggled on the ground trying to escape. She took a rock and severed the locks from her head. She fell forward into the edge of the woods and onto thorns.
She was blinded. Her mother rushed to her side not concerned for the eyes that weeped red but for the destroyed beauty that was her daughter’s locks.
Rapunzel may have lost her sight in that moment but her mother had lost hers long before that. Unable to see how she had hurt her daughter. That the greatest pain her daughter had experienced was given by her. Her daughter was blind and could not see the world, but her mother had never seen her for what she was.
Oct 30, 2015
Oct 30, 2015 at 2:43 PM UTC
Blue
The color I always imagine your eyes to be
Same as the sea
And I'm always pleasantly surprised
When they're both bluer than
I'd dreamt they'd be
Blue
The predetermined color to represent sadness
But I like the color blue
More than I like being sad
The only thing about blue that makes me sad
Is not seeing it
Blue
You imagine the sky should be this shade
Yet are always shocked
When it blooms a magical purple at night
And turns the softest pastel pink
At dawn
Red
The known color of fear, it scares me also
Reminds me of bad things
Dreams soaked in red
Are never ones to be retold
Though it looks magnificent on brown skin
Red
Representative of love
Yet war
Maybe that's why love always turns bad
Why we can get so angry
With the ones we hold dearest
Red
Reminds me of sweet apples
And sweeter lips
Of harlot lips, like the one's on that girl
The one you left me for
That Saturday evening the sky was blue
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 3:53 PM UTC
(an ekphrastic poem based on the painting Nighthawks by Edward Hopper)
Four
solemn faces,
doused in gold,
like moths to flame,
seek warmth from the cold.
Darkness leers, but harsh light shields
these lonely creatures from their feelings untold.
One
diner desolate,
a waiter old,
and three weary visitors
are portrayed. The scene unfolds.
Most eat under the sunlight, unlike
these nighthawks who flocked from their households.
Some
loneliness darkens
hearts like blindfolds;
nighthawks’ hearts aren’t exceptions.
The woman red and bold,
the man in shadows, and another
man with a cigarette in his hold
are
isolated together.
They are controlled
and defined by solitude.
They don’t belong. No mold
fits them. They only have a
diner, each other, and lonesome souls unconsoled.
Jun 2, 2018
Jun 2, 2018 at 1:33 AM UTC
Songs abound in Time as running due paid
We of Merry Emotion dance a Jig
And see you Happy toss-coins on the Said,
Mark farthings for pounds won on Cocktail's Lip
And whilst we Celebrate, what is that Chest,
Eating Sweets beneath the Lottery's Lot?
That's a nice hobby; Dried lollie's possessed
And Playful Numbers tucked beneath forgot
Taking Remembrance when he was Alive
With Chances simply Fun and Truly told
That the Greatest Theme; Not for Profit's Bide
But Storied Values hungry tongues retold.
What such Lesson this, a Blackboard can learn
Gems studded aside; That same Chest you earn.
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 8:29 PM UTC
I love the morning dew
yawning baby yellow
new beginnings to follow
a dawn to call my own
I love the settling shadows
waning magnificent glimmers
warm by the fireside
stories yearning to be retold
a dusk to let go
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 6:57 PM UTC
From the House Of Ali -Najaf to the House Of Hussain-Kerbala,
Swarms of people walk 80kilometres for threes days- united,
The largest peaceful gathering in the world with free services,
An experience like no other.
Blessed are those who walk,
More blessed are those who serve.
No discrimination,
Regardless of sect, profession or social status,
Rich or poor,
Young or old,
Men or women,
In wheel chairs, crutches or with Zimmer frames,
Prams or hand carts,
All march with respect and dignity,
With one thought in mind,
To pay allegiance to Hussain,
Who sacrificed his head for humanity.
Every eye is moist,
Every heart torn in grief,
Chanting"Labbaik Ya Hussain."
With an iron will to complete the walk.
A nation, war-torn, wounded,
Embraces the whole world in the name of Hussain,
The longest dining table,
Where every zuwar is honoured and treated like royalty,
To pay in currency, none,
Only love and kindness and an urge to serve the zuwars.
Along the roadside are set up Mowakebs (tents),
That provide every kind of facilities and amenities ,
Food,beverages medicines,toiletries,
Fresh clothes if need be, shower rooms and toilets,
A massage of your feet,
Services to charge or repair your phone's,zimmer frames or prams,
Anything for the zuwars,
All in the name of the Ahle bayt,
Mohamed,Ali,Fatema,Hassan and Hussain.
What Hussain and his followers were denied is served with outstretched arms,
The aftermath of Kerbala was more tragic and callous,
The tears of Binte Zainab that retold the tragedy again and again,
Has born fruits,
The zuwars multiply in numbers
every year,
The rewards greater.
Oct 20, 2018
Oct 20, 2018 at 12:22 PM UTC
I met Mother Taro once,
She is an angel you know
I saw her in the greenery of
John Pia's Taro Patch.
She dawned the past, the present
and the future
More plant than woman,
and yet more root than angel wing--
Though her heart shaped wings
Repelled water as well
as any albatross or nene.
A rare bird in spirit.
She shared her plight to me
Of this modern time,
Watching the changes
In the faces of human kind
She remembers being a Goddess
And providing for all the people
In a time where she
traveled with the people
Over waters near and far
In double hulled canoe
To share her spirit
With new families.
And now, she feels like a myth
Told and retold by the elders
Alive more in the memories
And less on the land.
As she spoke, the message
Became more and more clear.
When might and power and greed and money
Seem of more value than
Root, wing, earth and pluck
We must take the time,
take the time
To tend each keiki and tend with care
So they may multiply
In healthy soil, water and air
So We the Living
Can live into eternity
For the winds of time
Will spite the might,
She said.
Seize this time
Seize this day,
Seize this moment
to tend
We the Living.
Apr 11, 2019
Apr 11, 2019 at 3:00 PM UTC
the night they wed,
cinderella slits the prince’s throat.
she won’t trade her prison
for a pretty cage.
the beast conquers nations,
but beauty’s the one telling him how.
aurora wakes herself.
she’ll spend centuries guarding
a city that never stirs,
and she never questions
her duty to people long gone.
rapunzel burns the tower.
ariel rules the sea.
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 2:20 PM UTC
A retelling of
A story
which is often retold..
in young romance
It happens
but not only there..
an infatuation
A leap
sudden Enlightenment
new birth..
a departure from
the ordinary..
Then a discovery
life is larger..
the ordinary seems
Ruling
seems dreary and stark..
even though
there is great love
Holding the dark...
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 1:42 PM UTC
i am convinced now that
no passion exists
like that between
a man and his craft.
no love
like the love for solitude,
by which one can enter
a world all his own,
and plunge to its unfathomable depths,
carelessly disregarding his return.
no quest otherwise compares-
oh how could it?
when countless years of history
can never be retold,
never be reenacted
with different players and different settings?
a man plays a role for
a day, a month, a year, a decade,
then withers in the sun, a palm in the desert.
no amount of memories can be remade,
and no amount of care is remembered.
he is destined only to be vessel of loneliness
for others to mistakenly join and unjoin.
but in his craft
a man loses himself.
he has only his love to invest
and only his love to be returned.
when stricken with failure
he selfishly laps it all up,
gathers it close to his heart,
and holds it as treasure, locked and filed.
he searches for the bottom with lighted torch,
the end with relentless fervor,
finds no evil along the way to be a hindrance,
has no expectation dashed and destroyed.
his eagerness for success drives him deeper.
his delusions of grandeur,
perpetually emboldened.
come find me, i am waiting for you
the solitude beckons him into its fissure,
the cleft in the crust of civilization,
indescribable and hardly intelligible to others.
yet its perfection is infinite as the stars are remote.
with enthusiasm does a man pursue that perfection,
does he pray to be with that god,
Lord of his life and Giver of his breath.
he is a post for flags to be hung,
seen only by those who wander the same mountains,
searching for a chasm of their own.
he is unaided in his walk with the stars,
windowless and guided by celestial phosphorescence.
a man needs silence,
darkness beneath his eyelids,
and space in his bed to breathe.
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 2:18 PM UTC
Handed a drink
Smells of grape
Clear strong liquids
Black plastic cup
***** robed priest
Fair Snow White
Queen of hearts
***** canteen Indian
Hollister tall guy
Jeremy Matt Jake
Beer pong games
Intense with time
3 hours later
Winners and losers
Rookies against all-stars
My big mouth
"Flip cup anyone?!"
Four on four
Too intense now
Every round played
Too much beer
Way too fast
Louder and louder
Crazier and crazier
Drink after drink
Chug faster chug
Lost count already
16? Or 23?
Not slowing yet
Out of mind
Last game now
One on one
No more beer
Liqueur in cups
Don't even kno
Tap down up
Chug chug chug
Flip cup once
Winner me winner
One more game
Asks a stranger
What's one more?
Okay I say
Lost this match
But that's okay
Leave the room
Pop a squat
Not a couch?
But it works
Spinning room spins
Blurry figures there
Not too sure
What's going on
Black out hard
Can't hear anything
Can't see anything
Every once-in-a-while
"Are you okay?"
I can't feel
I can't answer
Black out again
Lost in deep
Seas of waves
Awake for seconds
How did I
Get on the
Steps to upstairs?
People drag me
Up and up
Black out again
Black black black
Dark dark dark
Oceans of drunkenness
10 o'clock a.m.
Holy ******* ****
What is this?
A soft pillow?
A warm blanket?
Someone was nice
I look behind
Me and there's
3 strangers sleeping
Next to me
What's that smell?
Puke on my
Jeans and clothes
Pillow in puke
How do I
Not remember puking?
I do not
Remember a thing
After flip cup
Lay for a
Few more minutes
Gain enough balance
To sit up
I see Mary
In the hallway
"Liiisaaaa!!!
How are you?"
What the ****
I feel okay
Not bad actually
Until I stand
Make my way
Down the steps
Bathroom is trashed
Sink ripped off
Of the wall!!
Beer, bottles, shots
Everywhere ******* disaster
I feel fine
But the smells
Make me puke
Think, never again
******* crazy night
Stories of me
Retold to me
You went hard
You're so little
You drank alot
You played every
Single game of
Flip cup dude!
I saw you
With your head
In a bucket
Puking so hard
I couldn't leave
You like that
So me and
A few people
Dragged you upstairs
Hahaha thanks guys
Blah cupcake blah
Pizza ******* blah
Apple pie moonshine
Stale white bread
Memories kinda lost
Everyone had fun!
The ******* end
Till next time
Oct 23, 2012
Oct 23, 2012 at 1:20 PM UTC
~Christi Michaels~March 2015~
«¤» «⊙» «¤»
*I watch over
your embrace of
everlasting slumber
fear has left
spirit released to wander
strength surrounds
your labyrinth unfolds
Illusion of quiet
amongst memories retold
suspended breath
sacred moments left
translucent skin
muscles soft and flesh
artistry of your journey
open to hearts that see
place of tender remembrance
sacred and loved eternally*
«~⊙~» «ω⊙ω» «~⊙~»
Copyright © 2015 Christi Michaels.
All Rights Reserved.
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 4:00 AM UTC
A long time ago a very young mother
Named Kisa Gotami gave birth to a son—
A child who was the light of her life.
The mother’s love was second to none.
Not long after her son was born,
The poor child grew sick and died.
“Who can bring my son back to life?
Have pity!” Kisa Gotami cried.
The villagers knew that there was nothing
They could do to help and suggested
That she seek out the help of the Buddha.
“He can do wonders,” they attested.
She found the Buddha and beseeched his help.
“My only son has died,” she wailed.
“Can you bring him back to life.
Everything I have tried has failed.”
The Buddha calmly said, “I will help you.”
The poor woman waited with bated breath.
“But first you must find for me
A family that’s never been touched by death.
“When you finally encounter that home,
Tell the family there’s something you need—
Just one thing to take to the Buddha—
And that’s a single mustard seed.”
With great excitement the mother ran
From house to house—to every abode.
But death had visited every family.
On her face, great disappointment showed.
After a long, unsuccessful search,
The young mother came to realize
That everything born had to die;
Everything had to have its demise.
She understood the law of impermanence
And that her suffering was not unique.
She now saw life from a new perspective;
Her eyes were open, so to speak.
Kisa Gotami returned to the Buddha
And started to follow his teachings--the Way,
Or Path to Enlightenment,
Which still guides many seekers today.
- by Bob B
Oct 11, 2016
Oct 11, 2016 at 9:24 AM UTC
We're all just a massive mess of energy
A beautiful, massive mess
And that's just the brilliance of it!
Times and times retold of our divinity,
Of our ancestors painted by the stars,
Of glory untold
And oh the glory!
That you may see it
Or even hear the echoes of its glorious memory resound across the heavens
And the loftiest of them all being our mind
Singular, not plural
For we have but the same mind
That we are moved by the same passions
That we are subtly subject to change
Oh, our malleable souls!
That we aspire for the Heavens
So we may get to soar freely
And yet dance to tunes of a heathen kind
Such is the hypocrisy that we've been raised to uphold as daily norm
None being the lesser!
For had it not been so, then with God you'd be this very moment
As Master, nature springing to your tunes
That you'll master all as Did SoloMon
Tense just being one of our many creations
So through this wake up call,
I beg all of you to arise from your deep slumbers
Your virtual realities whose bounds you artfully set with decided deliberation upon your mind
Wake up and see that you are infinite!
Wake up and see that you are divine!
Wake up and see that you are gods!
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 5:30 AM UTC
Hearing fogged drops of rain
Precipitate violence in the Amazon,
Against the placid Leaves;
Left disheveled the unfiltered forest.
Dampness divorced from its thin vapor blur
Plummeting memoirs retold, the cradled
Past returns its own, splintered light
Edging the threshold of infinitude,
Axiomatic slippage each fell cold.
Fallen moisture recovered,
Once nourished the ancients;
Correspondingly, we align.
Lineal descendants,
Tides of March,
Sibilant waters flow through us.
Hoary myths, now hallowed imminent.
Ponderous, our torn skies cleft, clouds suffused in grey─
The emergent pour, casts a montage of
Freighted silence, implicit tapestries
Sewn seamless; our kindred froth ashore.
Pedigreed continuum bound in common plight,
Unseen flood of halcyon
Dust and flesh coalesce beneath the torrent;
Genetic lines merge ─ intersection of
Time and eternity.
From the same water we drink.
Lineal descendants,
Tides of March,
Sibilant waters flow through us.
©2012 W.S. Warner
Sep 30, 2012
Sep 30, 2012 at 1:54 AM UTC
Ikkyu as a very young child
Displayed signs of being clever.
That he would one day be a great master,
There was no doubt whatsoever.
His teacher had one small treasure--
A precious teacup, a rare antique.
Its beauty was beyond compare,
Its style and craftsmanship unique.
One day Ikkyu happened to break
His teacher's cup. Horror-struck,
He heard his teacher's approaching footsteps,
And there he was: a sitting duck.
Ikkyu quickly picked up the pieces
And held them behind his back. "Why,"
He asked his sagacious teacher,
"Is it that people have to die?"
"Dying is a natural thing,"
The teacher replied, trying to give
A meaningful explanation.
"Everything has just so long to live."
Ikkyu slowly held out his hands,
Showing his teacher the broken cup.
Then he demurely said, "It appears
As though your teacup's time was up."
(2-3-17) By Bob B
°An old anecdote retold here in verse
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 10:50 AM UTC
Sit in stillness
Allow the unrest
Of idleness
Contour the shape
Of nonentity
Soon you’ll hear
A loud ringing
Within your ear
The same noise
Howling staunch
Before you sleep
The same sound blaring
As the world stagnates
And time loiters
And sorrow seeps up from the rug
I don’t think you realize
You will never see him again
As long as you live
For now he is a tall tale
Retold to offspring
A distant memory
A mythic architect
Nothing in the past has ever occurred
There is only now
And now
There is only the wind
And the world moves on
And time resumes clockwise
And his ashes are spread about the sea
Apr 3, 2016
Apr 3, 2016 at 7:40 PM UTC
Look in the keyhole
see into infinity
climb through
back where I started
turn around
look in the keyhole
see into infinity
climb through
back where I started
turn around
realize the door is standing in the middle of infinity
I put it there on some drunken night
thinking I was clever in my devising
never realizing I would trick myself with it too
kick the door down
and turn it into a flying carpet
a person can travel forever here
I see others at their own doors
seems my little game wasn't original after all
that's ok
I see others on their carpets
and wave hello
I see rockets and planes and balloons
There is a buddha hovering over a planet there
at peace, in zenful meditation
she is beautiful.
what wonders to discover
what glorious souls to meet
we are all family
we all know each others names and faces
before our first meetings and introductions
Saw a friend knock down her door
and fly away with wings, rapture on her face
I wept for joy to see her go
knowing our foreheads will touch again when it is time
and the stories she will tell!
Oh the stories!
All of these tales from divine lips
weaving into the fabric of the infinite
weaving us together as a whole
We Are - I Am
We Are One
Each experience becomes a story
Each life is an epic journey
retold with the tongues of cosmic bards
the words resonate in swirls and patterns
making sacred geometry with the stars
I see, I see, I see
there is so much to take in
and so much to give back
dancing with the bear and the wolf
the eagle and the raven cry out above our heads
reminding me of the regal heritage which death wears on it's crown.
Supping at a feast of the gods, Inanna on one side, Ganesh leaning on my shoulder
they laugh and cry and tell cheesy jokes like the rest of us
when we aren't looking
we are in the infinite, there is no rush
for there is no time - it's all Now
May 12, 2010
May 12, 2010 at 8:14 PM UTC
I loved you
and such is the most succulent sorrow
to be written over like one scar upon another,
erased and retold, I can hardly remember
the way your fingers intwined with mine
and settled like the roots of the tree
resting in the front yard of our minds.
The gated iron face was weakening,
left, unattended by our neglect, our
endless longing.
The path was smoothed out for us.
I didn't desire to work in the coal mines
for you,
lungs, black and tender, to hold in
the weight of your laughter and me,
caged,
hummingbird.
So persistent is the exit wound
between two broken ribs.
You would kiss the scar tissue.
Tell me all would be well and I would
weep because how could it ever be so
lovely as it was before my fears rose
to the surface like a bloated porpoise bobbing
with the current and I'd stretch out my arms like I am
declaring allegiance.
To the starlit collisions that illuminate
this fate we were committed to from the start,
to the god I dare to mock:
once I loved you,
and you, I.
Once I lied.
Oct 6, 2012
Oct 6, 2012 at 2:51 AM UTC
~Christi Michaels~March 2015~
«¤» «⊙» «¤»
*I watch over
your embrace of
everlasting slumber
fear has left
spirit released to wander
strength surrounds
your labyrinth unfolds
Illusion of quiet
amongst memories retold
suspended breath
sacred moments left
translucent skin
muscles soft and flesh
artistry of your journey
open to hearts that see
place of tender remembrance
sacred and loved eternally*
«~⊙~» «ω⊙ω» «~⊙~»
Copyright © 2015 Christi Michaels.
All Rights Reserved.
Oct 14, 2015
Oct 14, 2015 at 3:39 AM UTC