"rigorous" poems
True gardeners cannot bear a glove
Between the sure touch and the tender root,
Must let their hands grow knotted as they move
With a rough sensitivity about
Under the earth, between the rock and shoot,
Never to bruise or wound the hidden fruit.
And so I watched my mother's hands grow scarred,
She who could heal the wounded plant or friend
With the same vulnerable yet rigorous love;
I minded once to see her beauty gnarled,
But now her truth is given me to live,
As I learn for myself we must be hard
To move among the tender with an open hand,
And to stay sensitive up to the end
Pay with some toughness for a gentle world.
10.9k
her rigorous objections
are herded slowly down the sheep trail
by studious pencil thin men with stylish mustache's
who have deep pocket pickers for friends
they gather round the weak willed and the willing alike
looking for cheap thrills and spare change
everybody needs a new road
when the old one seems to never end
but she with eyes cast down
mumbles her unappeased desires
as she shuffles a little closer to the truth as she sees it
she has it all written out in secret languages
she has books filled with life's coded thoughts as she see's them
barn burners and dare devils grace the cover of her latest creation
self titled to her own romantic name
she is stylized in her own way
so she adores the pencil thin men
with their dashing devil may care good looks
i wrote her a letter yesterday
full of stories from the great highway
full of chipper go getters and the glum go gotten
she is a forever stone on a necklace
she is a moonstone on a bracelet
she is graceful when it counts and
thats more than enough for me
the pencil thin moustache men
come to conquer the all night diners
in the small shoreline towns
but slink away in dawns first light
with stolen smiles and borrowed kisses
that they promise profusely to return tomorrow
but never do
such is the romantic night by her side
such is the wonder-wheel days of our
journey on the great highway
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 6:08 PM UTC
capable but unmotivated,
love being different, hate being misunderstood,
impulsive long term planner.
strange mix of super private and open book.
rational yet unrealistic.
great at giving advice, bad at following it.
arrogant, but painfully aware of my flaws
sure of myself, yet unassuming
introverted extrovert,
rigorous yet care-free,
perpetual loner with tons of friends.
energetic but lazy,
sensitive, yet cold hearted
gregarious yet studious,
intelligent but spacey,
personal, yet detached.
unhealthy, yet understanding therapist,
competitive mediator.
The optimist who just wants to see the world burn.
Where do I fit in?
Jul 27, 2016
Jul 27, 2016 at 7:24 AM UTC
Like a male monkey you rises up
And thumps hard your chest-it is you and you only!
O Man! You forgets, who you are and what you are is Nature’s
She generously gives and she avariciously takes-
Just a few chances she is giving you to repent before she ruthlessly returns
She is a sharp, doubled edged sword-merciful and merciless!
Man, Humanity is not hostility: Humanity is humility!
Like Sheol that is never satisfied you want to swallow the whole world
Like death you want to take everything, big-small-you want to stomach all
Everything you want to keep to yourself, to be to your entitlements
You take and leave nothing at all for the harmless hopeless-the voiceless
Yet you easily forgets, when the angel of death calls it’s only you and your soul in burials
Your ill amassed pride, wealth and health is not with you anywhere in this your brutal trials
Man, Humanity is not gullibility: Humanity is generosity!
O man! O man! You fills the whole world with mortality
You have killed the sole essence of the soul’s endless immortality
With your undignified dishonesty, your free-will to filthy immorality
War you begins wealthy to get-war is a supernormal profiting business
Man, Humanity souls has never been subjects to severity but sanctity!
Innocent-as little as little children-you murders-they were inevitable!
Common civilians’ deaths are collateral damages-inescapable!
You forgets who you are-you are a little loaned, little you returns for judgment
Here no allies to look after your backs, no cracks to corruption kickbacks-
It is the fairest of all hearings, a ***** for a ***** it is not for a big spoon!
Man, Humanity is not ignobility: Humanity is dignity!
What you are given to govern you governs not
What you are given to take care of you pilfers all
For you and your lineages eternal legacies-the richest ever to have graced the earth!
Yet you forgets, Master a little while returns to put you to a rigorous account
And whoever much is given-that much is also expected, what will be your report?
Man, Humanity is not royalty: Humanity is loyalty!
Humanity is a community, not a sorority of individuality!
Humanity is not infidelity: Humanity is honesty
Humanity is not how wealthy: Humanity is how a loyal legacy
Humanity is not how large is your multinationals entity:
Humanity is how huge is your small heart-its hospitality
Humanity is a humble history, a saintly story!
© Kìùra Kabiri. All rights reserved.
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 1:23 AM UTC
Distant learning courses in the heart
Irrelevant actions have left us all apart
Acquisitions decaying those stray minded people
It's no longer a commonplace to feel peaceful
Simultaneous occurrences have our mind in disarray
Through our pasts they begin to replay
All these calamitous activities brought through maleficent eyes
Disintegrate what's left sending us in a fools paradise
We reap to elope from these rigorous bearings we call home
Only to find ourselves cast away into the unknown
We strive to survive in a world full of abhorrence
Being seen transparent just as worthless corpses
Those few who prevail are not left without detriment
They are forever severed a mental delinquent
**Nevertheless our story lives on
In this godforsaken marathon**
-Joseph B Schneider
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 12:38 PM UTC
There’s an assembly in the making
and the suits are all shuffling in for the big event
making way to their front row seats
****** in nose
hanky in hand
and all colorfully draped
in those cuffed pin stripes
and Jerry Garcia ties
*now what would the Grateful Dead
or any of their fine entourage
have to say about this foul routine?*
Apropos of that
they’re talking in the 3rd person
with tight syllables
and wavy hands
and all taking a run
at the state of the union
there’s Valentino
and Freddie
and good old Sal
"look....their fiddling with their nuts!"
cries a layman from the balcony seats
the Yin and the Yang
have got even the most liberal minded
scratching their heads
as questions fly in from the field:
*don’t you know the way it used to be?
have you no morals?
which way to the exit!?*
These front row fanatics
have surely been scrimmaging
in the corn fields
all down in that classic 3 point
watching their weight
with sample selections from the
Spicy House and Yaas Bazaar
as members of the congregation look on with envy
*pass the aperitif...the big ***** lady is on deck!*
Union heads are running rogue
loading up on grievances
and lines
passing files at a make shift pew
jumping the bunkers
and stepping on clams
while the orderlies move in
for governance
It’s a bewildered state
and only for the mind of the rigorous
Jimmy D would say:
“it’s nothing you pussy...to the victor goes the spoils!
everyone has a bit of good you know...
you just have to find it!"
Unrest is growing in the ranks
and the masses are unstable
Time to hammer down
with a formidable brace
and two tick play
Feb 20, 2017
Feb 20, 2017 at 8:05 PM UTC
I sat on the dentist’s chair
With an aching tooth, feeling hell
The dentist seemed quite pleased
As he opened my mouth and surveyed
‘There are holes to be filled
And the plaque to be removed
It needs a few sittings
At the end, you’ll have a set of fine teeth’!
His gentle assurance was so comforting
And I thought my jaws no more have to suffer
The pangs and torments of an aching tooth!
He then, in a narrow syringe
Injected something into my gum
I knew a numbness creeping in
Until at last I felt a hard rock within
Now, like an expert work man
He began his rigorous craft
Loud machines began to boom
The chair got flattened
From 'verticality'
I got changed into 'horizontality'
And the overhead apparatus came down
Like an eagle swooping down on its prey.
With blaring lights blinding my vision,
I lay torpid as if my body was strapped
The doctor took out his steel and hammer
And started tapping and chipping
Drilling and boring
Though numb, I could still feel the pull and tug
The crooked forceps and pliers
Made all the nerves in my head irk
My mouth was filled with saliva
And I felt a sprout of blood inside
He stuffed some gauze and resumed his work
I wanted to yell, ask him to stop
But being gagged, I couldn’t utter a word
My pupils dilated
My lips quivered
My tongue got parched
I gasped for breath
With a mix of cement and sand (?)
He began filling and plastering
Scrubbing and polishing
Helplessly lying on the dentist’s chair,
I wondered
What whips and stings one has to endure
To end the pain and give the teeth a shine!
Jul 24, 2016
Jul 24, 2016 at 7:53 AM UTC
The road is long and the days are short.
Life consists of only so many miles.
Enjoy the ride while you still can.
Someday, you’ll run out of gasoline.
Life consists of only so many miles.
Take heed not to speed.
Someday, you’ll run out of gasoline.
Don’t let the rigorous journey discourage you.
Take heed not to speed.
Savor the curiosities that you behold.
Don’t let the rigorous journey discourage you.
Find the beauty in the bumps and turns.
Savor the curiosities that you behold.
Enjoy the ride while you still can.
Find the beauty in the bumps and turns.
The road is long and the days are short.
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 8:40 PM UTC
A blessing in disguise at the right moment of time
Blessed is the mind
Blessed is the soul
Blessed are the thoughts all those which belong to mine
The best thing to do in life is to face everything that comes along the way of life
All of which includes conflict, chaos, contradictions and confusion
Expected or unexpected
Surprised or shocked
Whatever happens in life and all that which goes on in one’s life
It is not possible that each and everything will get defined
Nor is it possible that everything will find it’s proper place, time and substance
The rigorous rigmarole through which all of us go it is nothing, but life.
So always give your best,
hope for nothing less,
but the best
while you leave the rest in the hands of God as life goes on in doing so.
Aug 7, 2015
Aug 7, 2015 at 1:11 AM UTC
king of the sea,
with a rigorous exoskeleton peeling away
moulting causes such distress,
exposed to the thrashing undertow of the sea
and enemies
who protects you?
a callow arthropod poised on fractured shells
it isn’t your father,
balancing a bottle of brandy between his lips
or your confidant,
skidding his tires across your mind
a starfish tried,
she threw her arms round your shell
as you added new muscles underneath
she stuck her tube feet in her claws
as you brittled her skin
she said I love you
and you retreated
when you are 70
and clamouring the floor
put your arms behind your back to beckon her to you
try –
she is the sea and no one owns her.
Oct 16, 2016
Oct 16, 2016 at 3:38 PM UTC
As a footnote, I’ve always held a certain regard for those plentiful fruits. Raspberries. Small and juicy and sweet. Quick and easy.
Now, it’s apples on the other hand I heavily despise.
To eat an apple is to make a commitment. Society generally frowns upon those who eat half an apple, just to toss out the rest. And most people are not exactly bargaining for your leftovers once they’re brown and teeth marked. Apple eating is a long and rigorous ordeal. Halfway through, the raw parts begin to stain or dry and when you’re finally finished, you’ve still got to deal with that core and the skin that’s stuck in your teeth. Herein, apples and commitments become synonymous. Convenience, the antonym.
Raspberries, however, are miniature, and zesty, and only last for a matter of seconds.
Not unlike ideal high school relationships.
Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 9:07 PM UTC
You sound
rigorous but gentle
to me, my love
—Bach, probably
in a sweeter
musical incarnation
—Stay
I will be your devoted listener
through the centuries
and beyond
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 3:42 PM UTC
Sapiosexuals^
she quoted Shakespeare most appropriately when needed,
her fevered fervor scientific was the non-fossil fueled engine that STEMed her quantum analytics of NFL football,
as an intellectual amuse bouche, that was uncannily correct,
on FIFa she passed it was just too corrupt, but Wimbledon was”fun”
we all bet her predictions for her error rate was insignificant
she claimed her knowledge of a cure for Alzheimer’s was done,
but bio-pharma suppressed, and a single pill existed taken once, could cease and desist the brain for craving ******* but the politics were too complicated and really boring to explain
instead she preferred to wile the hours hanging with
lesser poets, to see if taking them at their word
was an accurate indicative of their professed prowess in bed
but when she sampled my wares regularly,
I called her study statistically biased,
to which she replied,
“ain’t you the lucky one,
that my standards are lowly rigorous,
and you possess a mighty cute bi-assymetry“
in Croatian or Mandarin (unsure)
smart lassie indeed
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 2:04 PM UTC
Talking to my GoPro as if it were you
Current truths
Diminish the whirling blues
inside my head where you don’t have a clue
out the zoo with my emotions
In the beginning eased it with some sleep
Because I couldn’t see the reasons for my grief
Out the shadows and the light is brief
What to think?
What to know?
The tension is rigorous
Kept inside a pin
Let it sit and sizzle until it’s smoke
Open the vents, and let it go
To seize a chance for peace
Dismantle the layers of myself
Find you in a strip
A memory I’ll always love
My love just don’t lose grip
But to love is to see you free
A peak I couldn’t see
Relief indeed
Let it bleed
Let it bleed
Let it bleed
Consume the dooms
Swallow the distrust
The other side of the moon
The ending will come soon
Sitting in my room
About to make some chicken....
Jan 28, 2019
Jan 28, 2019 at 11:10 PM UTC
my hidden shames
are an excellent source of moral fibre,
nurturing, but not nutritious.
we coexist in a quiet
mutual acknowledgment,
coexisting but un-categorizable,
nonetheless,
among my oldest cohorts,
their singular coordinated characteristic,
they are mine alone,
not meant to be shared.
But they will someday
make an excellent poem.
Mon jan 2 2023
6:47am
@here
———————————————————-
the askew
are my oldest companion,
dating back to my naissance,
faithful, eternal, but single-minded,
with a rueful sense of humor,
of course,
refer to my relatively plentiful hairs
inherited from my mother’ genetics.
a morning chore,
to return their antics
to an adult,
dignified pose,
plenty sufficient to be be brushed,
straight back,
the preferred orderly compose,
of older men
who cannot waste time
with foolishness,
the excessive vanities of
curls, parts and pompadours,
and yet,
every day they wake me with
ridicule, mockery, by presenting
themselves.to me,
as if electrocuted,
each
hair raising itself
pointing to the heaven,
whence
their true Creator resides.
no amount of product
persuasive,
they do what they must do,
akimbo, askew,
with inordinate amount of
malice aforethought and
a venomous sense of
hairy (and now hoary)
absurdity .
a splash of water,
a handful of rigorous brush strokes,
returns order
and the pretense of a serious mien,
an adult demeanor.
But their purpose accomplished,
they have reminded me of the
absurdity of human vanity,
to humble myself
before forces
more powerful
than human self-aggrandizement
by accentuating
our human foibles.
7:13am
same time & place
——————————————-
morning prayers are
always
a trilogy
the rounded evenness of three,
provides the necessary gravitas
of sufficiency,
three being
not too short,
not too long,
not too quick,
just three right,
to impart
the seriousness
of gratitude
for having gained
another day upon earth,
with it,
many multitudes of
chances to share
thankfulness,
kindness,
yes,
& love too,
and to write,
one more poem
encapsulating
all of the above.
7:35am
same day
same place,
same cup of coffee
Jan 3, 2023
Jan 3, 2023 at 9:17 AM UTC
The Blue of which night where did you burn and for whom? The thick of which black did you live in and dissolve? The midnight of a reed-pipe where its song exhausted? You were a dream,really a forlon,lone cloud The very nostalgic moon-light that sought my soul and my self // The land of flowers had wept along and so did my birds and also my words The songs of my green paddy-leaves where the noon-sun melted Expected your coming after the hot-days The presence so much needed for so long! // A visit shaking the bamboo- field with leaf-long hands fluttering,you smiled With your eyes of a black serpent A fragrance you did drip a in my nerves Hearing a crackling moor-hen afar! Whose tear-drops are there for my thirst? // A wind is coming on so friendly my girl Where have you gone,leaving me as one lost Like a stork in the water-way I have been waiting here for you The knife-tongue of a rigorous plough Cut through sweetly my youth so hard May my spirit for ever be the spirit of my black and deep earth Wont you be here to reap what you sowed? We must ever be here and for ever!! (translated from MALAYALAM language ,INDIA, by the poet (girish puliyoor) himself. the original tittle is OTTAKKINAVU.)
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 1:34 PM UTC
You are made of stone.
As are we all.
We are all sculptures,
sculpted by the world.
But what the world will not tell you is
you are a masterpiece,
sculpted by the Sculptor.
You were made good,
your splendor carved by the Creator,
even before His creation.
The Almighty knew you,
even before a scentence
spoke the world into existance
in an instant.
He knew every chisel, ever groove, every crease,
etched in His image.
The world had convinced you
that you have a heart of stone,
but this is not so.
Though your exterior may be
as rough, inflexible, and ridged
as a rock,
your heart is written in blood
and laps against your rigorous appearances.
Your heart,
my counterpart,
is not made of stone.
It is a roaring sea,
of soul and emotion you have left alone,
and it longs to break free.
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 9:37 AM UTC
Man enters the tavern
Claps down some cash and outbursts ;
'Thirsty Things Firstly !'
The barman evaluates his condition
And provides a session brew
Man tilts toward potential company
(a ferrety bloke in the shadows)
"Pull up that stack of milk crates
And halve a heart with me"
(he earns a quick friend
in a tolerant stranger)
Soon fellow gaspers fill out the gloom
And an eve of humour descends
Though soon upending
Gourds downed the gullet
Sunk ugly into the scene
The tippling wit drags the night
to the Slurry Pit
things turn Psychologically Rugged
his Mates soon round on him
bulldozing at the Elbows
saying he's a Cheapskate
they Berate him with rigorous Rattleprat
he's been goated with the Cain's mark
they tousle his crown malicious
Thorough in his cups and eaves
he mumbles and leaves
heaving up bile words
unheard
gurgle
over
his
shoulder
outside is dark and harsh
Outside the whole wild world does wail and weary
drunkenly
he sings to match its melancholy
but sadness lifts with his altered view
he sees 'a flock of moons' weigh down the sky
and natures churn
makes a phosphorescent stew of it all
... decay
to lifes' celebration
Jun 27, 2022
Jun 27, 2022 at 9:04 PM UTC
Water of remembrance sprinkled
On the mountain crest of recollection.
Indulgent mussy memory catapulted
Stones of retentiveness into the
Courtyard of events like bricole
Of battles.
Pendulum of reminiscences swinging
On oscillating milage of roads like
Trotting horse with drippage of sweat
And itching foots.
Ghost of reminiscences restlessly
Roaming with carriage of yesteryear.
Final year educatees required
Boardinghouse,
But list of items engorged dear
Mother's treasury
"where do l raise money
to buy oyinbo mattress, Ilori?"
Mind pullulated with weariness.
Intonation of worries.
Cantillation of wants.
Deficiency of measured means.
Oyinbo mattress beyond ladder
Of reach.
Gluttonously waiting to devour
Lesser items,
But rays of compulsion unslammed
The gate of respite.
Lordly arrival warmly welcomed by
The dorm room's porter,
Walking majestically to the bed-space
With the acquired cotton wool and raffia leaves mattress.
Gamut of items passed through the eagle's eyes of the housemaster.
Silver painted pail donated by a neighbour passed through the sentry of inspection,
And got its admission.
Mother's used cloak turned bedsheets
Passed through the rigorous scrutiny.
Newly built portmanteau unlocked and neatly dissected, item by item.
Agazed eyes focused on the cotton wool and raffia leaves hand-made mattress.
Expectations rattled mumbling astonishment.
Legs stuck in the mud of mystification.
Telepathic dews covered ocean of thought.
Tranquil silence engulfed vicinity,
Deflating the balloon of hope like a litigant awaiting verdict from the jurist's chambers.
Porter's gesticulating gesture connoted nothingness of demeaning disapproval, perambulating on the hilly terrain of approval.
Akimbo stood l.
Now the verdict!
Molten volcanic magisterial command erupted in a gestapo gesture,
Spudding out from the barytone's baritone voice from the selfsame housemaster,
From the bastion of authority,
And the house generalissimo like a wild brant squalled, matter-of-factly,
"we do not accept bed bugs cotton wool and raffia leaves hand-made mattress here".
Entreaties collapsed.
Jan 11, 2019
Jan 11, 2019 at 1:30 AM UTC
*Below the emerald mountaintops,
Guardians of the ocean breeze,
One finds a valley of fair crops,
Delicate soil, & buzzing bees.
Convivial whips of sunlight
Stroke lavish groves of hardy trees.
On every branch, hidden from sight,
Fruit slumber underneath the leaves.
It is no wonder that Steinbeck
Cherished his California roots;
The land of viridescent trek,
Unyielding sunshine, & fresh fruits.
Here placid air unbinds the chains
Which hinder a poetic mind.
Away from life’s rigorous strains,
Deep thoughts are vividly defined.
In the midst of the Salinas Valley,
Ideas amass wings with which to soar...*
Aug 12, 2016
Aug 12, 2016 at 10:27 AM UTC
A waking moment, when eyes first open.
Like a newborn experiencing sight for the first time.
Blinding curiosity illuminating a fight for understanding.
Pure at first, as each new sensation overwhelms the senses.
As each new day comes and goes,
turning into weeks,
months,
and years;
shaping our perspectives.
We slowly lose that sight we once had,
a forceful forging becomes of us.
Is who we are simply what we've seen?
It seems as each clip of life is impressed upon us,
we become less individual in the since of freewill,
and moreso as a carbon copy of impulses and reactions.
Lessons of life are gained after rigorous testing of wills, fates and virtues.
Mistakes as high as moutian peeks can be reached in moments,
Whilst the treck down seem to never end.
Lost deep in a forest that repeats itself,
over and over leading back to that peak.
Within these trials of heartache, triumphs, and shame.
When does redemption come to save our souls?
An awaking moment, when eyes first open.
Like a newborn experiencing sight for the first time.
Blinding curiosity illuminating a fight for understanding.
An understanding beyond the senses,
beyond what can be seen and felt thru this battle life creates.
A struggle for redemption for what has been seen and done,
in the moments before these eyes had true vision.
A redemption that is dreamt with open eyes under sunny skies,
and soundly under starlight; but it seems sometimes as tho,
no matter the destination desired for that clean slate in life,
I find myself fixed, like a switch on the wall.
As tho we can be empowered, only to be turned off.
Is the desire for redemption caused by switching on,
and rewarded by flipping back off with oblivious eyes?
Jan 21, 2012
Jan 21, 2012 at 12:06 AM UTC
I’m going to spend more time with my parents
I was watching my dad last night
He’s really ******* rigorous about
Not dealing with negative emotion
I was watching him
It’s almost a joke amongst my sisters
That he goes into a dark mood inside himself
I was watching him by the computer
Seeing him as an aged child
Rather than as someone
Who has always been an adult
His head dipped slightly
And you could see him slightly
Think – ugh – I’m going to die
And he blinked to himself a moment
And then he was like, “Okey dokey,
Time to deal with Easyjet check in.”
I’ve got to give up smoking
Just to make my mum happy.
Nov 24, 2011
Nov 24, 2011 at 4:28 PM UTC
In the city that never sleeps
Nobody has time to dream
No one cares for the color scheme
Everybody on these streets are mean
Women over here dress to ****
Yearning for a life to steal
Outrageous trigger happy police
Ruthless, spiteful and rigorous
Kindness comes fatally priced
No time for love or paradise
Obsessive depression is what's subsidised
Beggars on my train struggle and scuffle
Oblivious oppression lurking
Delirious children deceived
Yesterday's conception grieved
Craving lust is a must
Ageless shame is
Rationalized pain
Everyone here idealizes blame
Serenity is an absentee in this chaotic city
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 2:40 AM UTC
I never smoked
Since you left me to bestow me rigorous ache
I pressed one pipe amid my two lips
Then I was about to lit the pipe with a gaslight
All on a sudden your face emerged from the pipe
I stopped! Tell me how could I burn your Beautiful face?
Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 6:19 AM UTC
Come,
Walk with me.
Let us stroll together, you and I,
Just the two of us,
Away from here for a spell.
Let us link arms, or hold hands, or simply walk
Side by side.
Nowhere too far
Nothing too rigorous
A leisurely step in the open.
No need for words,
But if you wish, let us speak easily,
Honestly
And respectively.
If one should ask an intrusive question
Let the other be quick to forgive
In the understanding it was asked out of care and sincerity.
Or if footfalls should be the only sound between us
We'll enjoy it for what it is
A ramble,
A wander,
A friendly saunter.
We can return when you feel it is right
Or if the hour is getting late.
And if you want to continue
I will be with you every step of the way.
Come, my friend,
Let us remind the path why it is there.
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 7:28 PM UTC