Fate, Kismet, and Karma
There is no accidental meeting…
Between kindred souls
For your fate is made, as surely is time fleeting
And no more stranger than quasars and black holes
It's all preordained in some grand cosmic way
Beyond mortal bounds or human control
The people you meet, what you do or say
Is not managed by you…e'en in part or in whole
Though you might think differently in the course of the day
That you're making the rules…writing your own roles
The Gods laugh their asses off and to each other say:
"What impudence: to think that they set their own goals! "
For it's Fate, Kismet, and Karma, that in the end sets the way
For those "accidental meetings, between kindred souls"
poem by David Whalen
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Sonnet V: Nothing But No
Nothing but "No," and "Aye," and "Aye," and "No"?
How falls it out so strangely you reply?
I tell ye, Fair, I'll not be answer'd so,
With this affirming "No," denying "Aye."
I say, "I love," you slightly answer "Aye";
I say, "You love," you pule me out a "No";
I say, "I die," you echo me an "Aye";
"Save me," I cry, you sigh me out a "No";
Must woe and I have nought but "No" and "Aye"?
No I am I, if I no more can have;
Answer no more, with silence make reply,
And let me take myself what I do crave.
Let "No" and "Aye" with I and you be so;
Then answer "No," and "Aye," and "Aye" and "No."
poem by Michael Drayton
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The ABC
'Twas midnight in the schoolroom
And every desk was shut
When suddenly from the alphabet
Was heard a loud "Tut-Tut!"
Said A to B, "I don't like C;
His manners are a lack.
For all I ever see of C
Is a semi-circular back!"
"I disagree," said D to B,
"I've never found C so.
From where I stand he seems to be
An uncompleted O."
C was vexed, "I'm much perplexed,
You criticise my shape.
I'm made like that, to help spell Cat
And Cow and Cool and Cape."
"He's right" said E; said F, "Whoopee!"
Said G, "'Ip, 'Ip, 'ooray!"
"You're dropping me," roared H to G.
"Don't do it please I pray."
"Out of my way," LL said to K.
"I'll make poor I look ILL."
To stop this stunt J stood in front,
And presto! ILL was JILL.
"U know," said V, "that W
Is twice the age of me.
For as a Roman V is five
I'm half as young as he."
X and Y yawned sleepily,
"Look at the time!" they said.
"Let's all get off to beddy byes."
They did, then "Z-z-z."
poem by Spike Milligan
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What is—
215
What is—"Paradise"—
Who live there—
Are they "Farmers"—
Do they "hoe"—
Do they know that this is "Amherst"—
And that I—am coming—too—
Do they wear "new shoes"—in "Eden"—
Is it always pleasant—there—
Won't they scold us—when we're homesick—
Or tell God—how cross we are—
You are sure there's such a person
As "a Father"—in the sky—
So if I get lost—there—ever—
Or do what the Nurse calls "die"—
I shan't walk the "Jasper"—barefoot—
Ransomed folks—won't laugh at me—
Maybe—"Eden" a'n't so lonesome
As New England used to be!
poem by Emily Dickinson
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My Friend, The Parking Lot Attendant
—he's a dandy
—small moustache
—usually sucking on a cigar
he tends to lean into cars as he
transacts business
first time I met him, he said,
"hey! ya gonna make a
killin'?"
"maybe," I answered.
next meeting it was:
"hey, Ramrod! what's
happening?"
"very little," I told
him.
next time I had my girlfriend with me
and he just
grinned.
next time I was
alone.
"hey," he asked, "where's the young
chick?"
"I left her at home...."
"Bullshit! I'll bet she dumped
you!"
and the next time
he really leaned into the car:
"what's a guy like you doing driving a
BMW! I'll bet you inherited your
money, you didn't get this car with your
brains!"
"how'd you guess?" I
answered.
that was some weeks ago.
I haven't seen him lately.
feIlow like that, chances are he just moved on
to better
things.
poem by Charles Bukowski
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You're right—
234
You're right—"the way is narrow"—
And "difficult the Gate"—
And "few there be"—Correct again—
That "enter in—thereat"—
'Tis Costly—So are purples!
'Tis just the price of Breath—
With but the "Discount" of the Grave—
Termed by the Brokers—"Death"!
And after that—there's Heaven—
The Good Man's—"Dividend"—
And Bad Men—"go to Jail"—
I guess—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Us Two
Wherever I am, there's always Pooh,
There's always Pooh and Me.
Whatever I do, he wants to do,
"Where are you going today?" says Pooh:
"Well, that's very odd 'cos I was too.
Let's go together," says Pooh, says he.
"Let's go together," says Pooh.
"What's twice eleven?" I said to Pooh.
("Twice what?" said Pooh to Me.)
"I think it ought to be twenty-two."
"Just what I think myself," said Pooh.
"It wasn't an easy sum to do,
But that's what it is," said Pooh, said he.
"That's what it is," said Pooh.
"Let's look for dragons," I said to Pooh.
"Yes, let's," said Pooh to Me.
We crossed the river and found a few-
"Yes, those are dragons all right," said Pooh.
"As soon as I saw their beaks I knew.
That's what they are," said Pooh, said he.
"That's what they are," said Pooh.
"Let's frighten the dragons," I said to Pooh.
"That's right," said Pooh to Me.
"I'm not afraid," I said to Pooh,
And I held his paw and I shouted "Shoo!
Silly old dragons!"- and off they flew.
"I wasn't afraid," said Pooh, said he,
"I'm never afraid with you."
So wherever I am, there's always Pooh,
There's always Pooh and Me.
"What would I do?" I said to Pooh,
"If it wasn't for you," and Pooh said: "True,
It isn't much fun for One, but Two,
Can stick together, says Pooh, says he. "That's how it is," says Pooh.
poem by Alan Alexander Milne
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Intimacy
I hear people say, "I love my iPhone, "
Or, "I love drinking a Starbucks coffee."
Sometimes: "I love my Versace cologne, "
And also: "I love having this money."
I hear people say, "I love my Walmart, "
Or, "I love the drive-thru at Taco Bell."
"I love my TV. It's state of the art."
"I love the shoes that Nike has to sell."
I hear this: "I love American Idol, "
And, "I love a nice, cold Budweiser."
"I love medicines such as Demerol."
And, "I love my internet provider."
Yet, one thing I don't hear is, "I love you."
Saying that is too intimate to do.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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Revolt In The Ranks
I have just spent one-hour-and-a-half
handicapping tomorrow's
card.
when am I going to get at the poems?
well, they'll just have to wait
they'll have to warm their feet in the
anteroom
where they'll sit gossiping about
me.
"this Chinaski, doesn't he realize that
without us he would have long ago
gone mad, been dead?"
"he knows, but he thinks he can keep
us at his beck and call!"
"he's an ingrate!"
"let's give him writer's block!"
"yeah!"
"yeah!& quot;
"yeah!"
the little poems kick up their heels
and laugh.
then the biggest one gets up and
walks toward the door.
"hey, where are you going?" he is
asked.
"somewhere where I am
appreciated."
then, he
and the others
vanish.
poem by Charles Bukowski
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The New Knighthood
Who gives him the Bath?
"I," said the wet,
Rank-Jungle-sweat,
"I'll give him the Bath!"
Who'll sing the psalms?
"We," said the Palms.
"Ere the hot wind becalms,
"We'll sing the psalms."
Who lays on the sword ?
"I," said the Sun,
Before he has done,
"I'll lay on the sword."
"Who fastens his belt?
"I," said Short-Rations,
" I know all the fashions
"Of tightening a belt!"
Who gives him his spur?
"I," said his Chief,
Exacting and brief,
"I'll give him the spur."
Who'll shake his hand?
"I," said the Fever,
"And I'm no deceiver,
"I'll shake his hand."
Who brings him the wine?
"I," said Quinine,
"It's a habit of mine.
"I'11 come with his wine."
Who'll put him to proof?
"I," said All Earth.
"Whatever he's worth,
"I'll put to the proof."
Who'll choose him for Knight?
"I," said his Mother,
"Before any other,
"My very own Knight."
And after this fashion, adventure to seek,
Sir Galahad was made--as it might be last week!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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My Fairy
I have a fairy by my side
Which says I must not sleep,
When once in pain I loudly cried
It said "You must not weep"
If, full of mirth, I smile and grin,
It says "You must not laugh"
When once I wished to drink some gin
It said "You must not quaff".
When once a meal I wished to taste
It said "You must not bite"
When to the wars I went in haste
It said "You must not fight".
"What may I do?" at length I cried,
Tired of the painful task.
The fairy quietly replied,
And said "You must not ask".
Moral: "You mustn't."
poem by Lewis Carroll
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I like your books
In the betting line the other
day
man behind me asked,
"are you Henry
Chinaski?"
"uh huh," I answered.
"I like your books," he went
on.
"thanks," I answered.
"who do you like in this
race?" he asked.
"uh uh," I answered.
"I like the 4 horse," he
told me.
I made my bet and went back
to my seat....
the next race I am standing in
line and here is this same man
standing behind me
again.
there are at least 50 lines at
the windows but
he has to find mine
again.
"I think this race favors the
closers," he said to the back of
my neck. "the track looks
heavy."
"listen," I said, not looking
around, "it's the kiss of death to
talk about horses at the
track..."
"what kind of rule is that?"
he asked. "God doesn't make
rules..."
I turned around and looked at him:
"maybe not, but I
do."
after the next race
I got in line, glanced behind
me:
he was not there:
lost another reader.
I lose 2 or 3 each
week.
fine.
let 'em go back to
Kafka.
poem by Charles Bukowski
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The Gardener XXVI: What Comes From Your Willing Hands
"What comes from your willing
hands I take. I beg for nothing
more."
"Yes, yes, I know you, modest
mendicant, you ask for all that one
has."
"If there be a stray flower for me
I will wear it in my heart."
"But if there be thorns?"
"I will endure them."
"Yes, yes, I know you, modest
mendicant, you ask for all that one
has."
"If but once you should raise your
loving eyes to my face it would make
my life sweet beyond death."
"But if there be only cruel
glances?"
"I will keep them piercing my
heart."
"Yes, yes, I know you, modest
mendicant, you ask for all that one
has."
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Arcturus
"Arcturus" is his other name—
I'd rather call him "Star."
It's very mean of Science
To go and interfere!
I slew a worm the other day—
A "Savant" passing by
Murmured "Resurgam"—"Centipede"!
&q uot;Oh Lord—how frail are we"!
I pull a flower from the woods—
A monster with a glass
Computes the stamens in a breath—
And has her in a "class"!
Whereas I took the Butterfly
Aforetime in my hat—
He sits erect in "Cabinets"—
The Clover bells forgot.
What once was "Heaven"
Is "Zenith" now—
Where I proposed to go
When Time's brief masquerade was done
Is mapped and charted too.
What if the poles should frisk about
And stand upon their heads!
I hope I'm ready for "the worst"—
Whatever prank betides!
Perhaps the "Kingdom of Heaven's" changed—
I hope the "Children" there Won't be "new fashioned" when I come—
And laugh at me—and stare—
I hope the Father in the skies
Will lift his little girl—
Old fashioned—naught—everything—
Over the stile of "Pearl."
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Vain Words
Humble, surely, mine ambition;
It is merely to construct
Some occasion or condition
When I may say "usufruct."
Ernest am I and assiduous;
Yet I'm certain that I shan't amount
To a lot till I use "viduous,"
"Indiscerptible," and "tantamount."
poem by Franklin P. Adams
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Middle-Age Enthusiasms
To M. H.
WE passed where flag and flower
Signalled a jocund throng;
We said: "Go to, the hour
Is apt!"--and joined the song;
And, kindling, laughed at life and care,
Although we knew no laugh lay there.
We walked where shy birds stood
Watching us, wonder-dumb;
Their friendship met our mood;
We cried: "We'll often come:
We'll come morn, noon, eve, everywhen!"
--We doubted we should come again.
We joyed to see strange sheens
Leap from quaint leaves in shade;
A secret light of greens
They'd for their pleasure made.
We said: "We'll set such sorts as these!"
--We knew with night the wish would cease.
"So sweet the place," we said,
"Its tacit tales so dear,
Our thoughts, when breath has sped,
Will meet and mingle here!"...
"Words!" mused we. "Passed the mortal door,
Our thoughts will reach this nook no more."
poem by Thomas Hardy
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LA PORTERIA DER CONVENTO (The Monastery's Porter)
Dico: "Se pò pparlà cor padr'Ilario?"
Dice: "Per oggi no, perché confessa". --
"E doppo confessato?" -- "Ha da dì messa". --
"E doppo detto messa?" -- "Cià er breviario".
Dico: "Fate er zervizzio, fra Maccario,
D'avvisallo ch'è cosa ch'interessa".
Dice: "Ah, qualunque cosa oggi è l'istessa,
Perché nun pò lassà er confessionario".
"Pacenza", dico: "j'avevo portata,
Pe quell'affare che v'avevo detto,
Ste poche libbre qui de cioccolata...".
Dice: "Aspettate, fijo benedetto,
Pe via che, quanno è ppropio una chiamata
De premura, lui viè: mo ciarifretto".
English
I said [1] : "May I speak to father Hillary?"
He said: "Not today: he administers confession". --
"And after confession?" -- "He must say mass". --
"And after saying mass?" -- "He'll say the breviary".
I said: "Do me a favour, friar Maccario,
Tell him it's something that might interest him".
He said: "Ah, today anything would be just the same,
Because he can't leave the confessional".
"Never mind", I said: "because of that
Business I had mentioned you, I had brought him
These few pounds of chocolate..."
He said: "Wait, my dear,
Because when it's really an urgent matter
He does come, I'll think about it".
poem by Giuseppe Gioacchino Belli
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Sue In The Stew
In my "Stew" my "Stew of Goo" I will have control over you.
Yes, I will control you with my evil spell,
I will control this doll with named Mel.
I will say things that are not NICE,
you see I took your Power and I control the Dice!
Everything is "neat" in this "Game of Deceit"
This Game where I control everything.
Yes, I took your power that you willfully gave to me,
that was Deal, don't you see? ? ?
Don't tell me you want your Power intact,
You chose me as your mother! !
So I can talk behind your back! !
Now, now, you say "Why would I do that? "
You had to find yourself and get back on track...
See how would you ever know who you really are.
"Why, you think you came into this world complete like Sarah Star? ? ? "
You needed my "Evil" ways to make you strong,
you can thank ME when I am long gone...
Now, now you realize it wasn't about ME,
why it was all about YOU,
Yes you finding You—"YOU in the Stew"
Written By Suzae Chevalier in 2006 & 2010
poem by Christina Sunrise
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There was one I met upon the road
There was one I met upon the road
Who looked at me with kind eyes.
He said, "Show me of your wares."
And this I did,
Holding forth one.
He said, "It is a sin."
Then held I forth another;
He said, "It is a sin."
Then held I forth another;
He said, "It is a sin."
And so to the end;
Always he said, "It is a sin."
And, finally, I cried out,
"But I have none other."
Then did he look at me
With kinder eyes.
"Poor soul!" he said.
poem by Stephen Crane
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Lead "me" to "me
What is this place?
Where have I reached?
I stand infront
The mirror,
As a stranger
Stares back at me.
Do I know her?
Have we met before?
Why do I see in her traces of' me'?
Or is this…
The new ‘me"?
Do I like her?
Brazen she stands…
Her hair wind swept,
Her eyes, wild
No longer windows
To the divinity of her soul.
But her smile has
Traces of "me".
That strange
Devil in "me".
As I shudder in peril,
Where have I reached?
Its miles and miles of mist,
Paths untread,
Lonely beings.
But…
Its this mysterious "me"
Which terrifies my soul.
Did I ever want to be
"her"?
Do I have a choice?
Is it too late to decide,
Revert, run back?
Where did I lose the "me"
I was so proud about?
Pray, give me your magic hand
Do lead "me to"me"…
For without "you" holding "me"
I remain not even "me"
Daddy…
your little 'ai'is all lost
Please lead "me" to "me"….
poem by Anjali Kakati
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T.y.s.o.n.
Across the Queensland border line
The mobs of cattle go;
They travel down in sun and shine
On dusty stage, and slow.
The drovers, riding slowly on
To let the cattle spread,
Will say: "Here's one old landmark gone,
For old man Tyson's dead."
What tales there'll be in every camp
By men that Tyson knew!
The swagmen, meeting on the tramp,
Will yarn the long day through,
And tell of how he passed as "Brown",
And fooled the local men:
"But not for me -- I struck the town,
And passed the message further down;
That's T.Y.S.O.N.!"
There stands a little country town
Beyond the border line,
Where dusty roads go up and down,
And banks with pubs combine.
A stranger came to cash a cheque --
Few were the words he said --
A handkerchief about his neck,
An old hat on his head.
A long grey stranger, eagle-eyed --
"Know me? Of course you do?"
"It's not my work," the boss replied,
"To know such tramps as you."
"Well, look here, Mister, don't be flash,"
Replied the stranger then,
"I never care to make a splash,
I'm simple, but I've got the cash;
I'm T.Y.S.O.N."
But in that last great drafting-yard,
Where Peter keeps the gate,
And souls of sinners find it barred,
And go to meet their fate,
There's one who ought to enter in
For good deeds done on earth,
One who from Peter's self must win
That meed of sterling worth.
Not to the strait and narrow gate
Reserved for wealthy men,
But to the big gate, opened wide,
The grizzled figure, eagle-eyed,
Will saunter up -- and then
Old Peter'll say: "Let's pass him through;
There's many a thing he used to do,
Good-hearted things that no one knew;
That's T.Y.S.O.N."
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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