Künst
Each sound
free or bound
each petal
Each quivering utterance
bold and round
these handicrafts
these unthinking feelings
flower in the minute thinking fingers
untranslatable intent
when other more enduring
forms
stop the outpour
tax and stem
and call for aged patience's munificence:
At this the heart will pause
before labour
the consciousness severing from congenital cries
« I'll pound harder for patience's sake »
the penitent heart upbraids.
« Only so, until I too have learned
to punish words into some form
then men of all climes may equally say
‘This I understand for my father did as well
as forefathers to grandchildren might dwell' «
Might one say again
- need it be said -
Why this shape for the violin
Is this the only colour of sound
That must with horsetail on bark
be whipped to wail and whine
like an harpy
(© T. Wignesan - 1960, Heidelberg, Germany. (Rev.2012): from the collection: « tell them i'm gone », Paris,1983. ISBN 2-904428-07-0)
poem by T. Wignesan
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Related quotes
To our dearly-beloved son, now dead
In a makeshift vihara in the heart of London
Bikku then disclosed his parents long gone
Might one dare utter after all these years
Was it yesterday he would shed dry tears
Somewhere in the saffron folds of his faith
A lonely boy still lurked wanting his mother
Or brother sister and hope-dislocating father
Of how they could abandon even his wraith
Just a single line in the inner board of a book
Over dried blue ink his fingers caressed words
A life he might've had in who knows what worlds
He just wanted to say: ‘See, who so forsook! '
In an unwatched vihara in the heart of London
A forsaken boy dared break out of monkdom
Might one dare utter after all these years
Was it yesterday he would shed dry tears
Too late he had come to own up this truth:
‘If there's a Supreme Being leave Him well be
He knows best what He's doing forsooth
Mind your own business leave Him well be! '
Should one gauge the measure of a man's humanity
From his ability to outgrow imposed attachments:
Such as confines of his community race or country
But most of all withstand the viral encroachments
Of his conditioned beliefs upon his own personality.
Dedicated to Mahathero Gunasena
(© T. Wignesan - Paris - September 8,1983 - Rev.2012, from the sequence/collection: 'Words for a Lost Sub-Continent',1999.)
poem by T. Wignesan
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Paris, Please Accept Me, As A Human Refugee
paris................
o paris................
Y paris................
the patience, eating the happiness
the pain, eating the patience
and the pain, eating the pain
I AM SICK, paris
treat me, sister
paris................
o paris................
Y paris................
exile, on my papers
restrained, ..
in my lines
so free me, paris
treat me, paris
I BELONG TO YOU, ..
sister
my home, the colours of MONET
my room, is a water flower
my air..
is the scent of FRANCE
and my refuge..
is a place by RENOIR shrine
so take me paris..
as your..
renoirian..
REFUGEE.
poem by Ahmed Khaled
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Man's best companion
Patience is the greatest weapon of man
By exercising patience
Every enduring task is accomplished
Patience is a kind of worship
It is a great service to God
When everyone deserts him
It is his patience that stands by him
In happiness patience prevents him From going astray
In his sorrow patience saves him
From being rigid to God
Patience is his best companion
Through thick and thin.
poem by Mohammad Akmal Nazir
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A bare afternoon
Waking to a breaking thought
rude warblers in the tree's dark
contort the image
in the eye
of a sundered dream
into a wholesome bounteous vision
The symphony is expansive
trained to unnatural correctness
alien to the warbler
bends order to
mastered mindfulness
regimental violins
scold and chastise
the senses to D Major
Now the sparrow and Segovia
minuet in the sun
lurk in the veins
clasping word on wing
numbing sense within sound
silenced within windows
the blaring harshness of the warbler
(© T. Wignesan, London - 1963 from the collection: tell them I'm gone. Paris: 1983.)
poem by T. Wignesan
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The Death of the Hindu
Chin cupped
on the ancient bone
of his elbow
he spread five fingers to the world:
and like a cat on zither strings
the hoarse voice of his fathers
issues from his forgotten children:
now he picks one tick
from the back of that suckling cow:
his failing fingers
find not the strength to crush
Not a single eyelash twitters
pass him by
pass him
'Wake not a man asleep
And tell him he has
Nothing to eat.'
(©: T. Wignesan - Paris,1957; from T. Wignesan. Tracks of a Tramp. Kuala Lumpur-Singapore: 1961; first pub. in 'Forum Academicum', University of Heidelberg,1957)
poem by T. Wignesan
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You, to whom I am myself
O You Who Are - the formless, nameless One,
more real than all forms and names can speak:
You for whom we seek to find a name
and yet who has no name, who needs no name;
You for whom we seek to shape a form
and yet who has no form, who needs no form;
Yet whom we name in every name we speak,
and whom we see in every form we seek:
is there some name bestowed for nameless name,
a form imagined for a formless form,
by which all hearts today that seek themselves
may shape their search as if for One unknown?
may kneel in front of their own golden throne?
Should we approach you as the Lord of Hearts,
who’s spoken of in heartfelt praise of glorious human brilliance,
endeavour, art, achievement and discovery;
the Lord who gave us hearts to know we love?
Should we approach you as the Lord of Self,
whom we all know when we relax, become
more our known self, in silence, rest, or company
that sparkles round a table built of happiness?
Should we approach you as the Lord of Consciousness
in whom we live and move, and be; yet never see
for you’re the seeing in ourself; to whom we wake
and know, and stand securely, watching all?
I ask You for the sound of some new yet eternal name;
that sound by which all quickly know themself
and talk once more from hearts forever free,
of what we are, and know, and love to be.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Sonnet: A Bit of Patience
A bit of patience works out miracles;
A bit of patience puts off arguments;
A bit of patience problems well tackles;
A bit of patience preserves monuments.
A bit of patience can avoid hatred;
A bit of patience cools one’s anger off;
A bit of patience marks well good kindred;
A bit of patience makes many to laugh.
A bit of patience keeps good friends at peace;
A bit of patience can avoid big wars;
A bit of patience can jealousy cease;
A bit of patience can avoid big scars.
A bit of patience gives good advantage;
A bit of patience is good heritage.
poem by John Celes
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Love Will Keep Us Together
Love, love will keep us together;
Think of me babe whenever
Some sweet talking guy comes along singing a song --
Don't mess around, you got to be strong,
So Stop, 'cause I really love you,
Stop, I'll be thinking of you --
Look in my heart and let love keep us together.
You, you belong to me now,
Ain't gonna set you free now;
When those guys start hanging around, talking me down,
Hear with your heart and you won't hear a sound.
So stop, 'cause I really love you; stop, I'll be thinking of you --
Look in my heart and let love keep us together, whatever.
Young and beautiful someday your looks will be gone;
Others turn you off who'll be turning you on?
I will, I will, I will
I will be there to share forever;
Love will keep us together.
Said it before and I'll say it again, while others pretend,
I need you now and I'll need you then.
So stop, 'cause I really love you; stop, I'll be thinking of you --
Look in my heart and let love keep us together, oohh
Stop, 'cause I really love you; stop, I'll be thinking of you --
Look in your heart and let love keep us together, whatever.
I will, I will, I will, I will.
song performed by by Nickelback
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Dying Flower
Each Flower Petal Slowly Dying
Light Whispers Of Death
Hanging In The Brisk Afternoon Air
Lightly A Petal Floats Towards The Ground
A Gust Of Wind Quickly Whisks It Away
One By One The Flower Becomes Bearer
As Each Petal Vanishes.
The Day's Become Darker
The Nights Lighten
And The Flower Becomes Lonely
Till Eventually Only A Stem Remains
To Show It's Cycle Of Life.
The Flower Willows Towards It's End
The Petals Become Scarce
What Once Used To Be A Colour Delight
Now Hangs In Deaths Mist
As An Emerald Waiting...
Waiting For The Last Petal To Die.
Finally The Emerald Stem Dies Away
And Slowly Decay
For Again One Day
It Shall Show Its Colours
And Whistle In The Wind
With All It's Petals In Full Bloom...
poem by Ian Humphreys
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Cultivate patience.
Patience must be to read a classic.
Patience must be to enjoy music.
Patience must be to bed a woman.
Greed must exit for patience to enter.
13.07.2012
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Anger and Patience
Any time I don't understand something
Or feel unhappy with the way things are going,
Anger steps up, 'use me; let me help'
And I used to give Anger a lot of free rein,
Till I noticed Anger wasn't all that useful
And generally tended to only make things worse.
Now I try to rely more on 'Patience'
As Patience doesn't keep clicking that counter,
Adding up every resentment of the hour.
Besides, I can look straight into Patience's face
And not have one clue what Patience is thinking of.
You know, Anger could learn something from that.
poem by Patti Masterman
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The Sound Of Lost Love
*Heart sound*
An Indian’s drum
Thunder in the sky
The bass in a song
*Heart sound*
The sound of love
*Heart sound*
*Heart sound*
Gunshots through the air
Bumps on the road
Sticks of dynamite
*Heart sound*
The sound of love
*Heart sound*
*Slow heart sound*
Glass breaking
The ripping of paper
Nails on a chalkboard
*Slow heart sound*
The sound of lost love
*Slow heart sound*
poem by Paul Celano
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The Gnat Nebulae
Full pummelling fisticuffs
Stitch over stitch
In and out
Imperceptibly kaleidoscopic
Swirling from ear to ear
Sporadic
Thrumming mystical notes
Notes of whisper
Whisper in the ear
Now a bothered swish of clawing
Cleaving slipping fingers
Immalleable rolling universal ball
Microcosmic needle into
Macrocosmic wool all
Silently thudding kneading pulling
Sealing a sin all opened unforgiven
Eternally whispering to a few
And never really heard
Pummelling sewing the invisible centre
Round and round the darkless sun
Only the end that began
Only a scratch and a bother
What bother to scratch
For scratching bothers
Bothers a scratch
Scratch and not to bother
Scratch Scratch Scratch
Dedicated to J.C. Alldridge
(©: T. Wignesan - Paris,1957; from T. Wignesan. Tracks of a Tramp. Kuala Lumpur-Singapore: 1961; first pub. in 'Forum Academicum', University of Heidelberg,1957)
poem by T. Wignesan
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Sonnet: My Inner Voice
When mind tells me, ’I am punished enough,
And it were better I followed the world, ’
My inner voice cries, ‘Patience, tho’ ’tis tough’.
This extra-suffering makes my heart cold.
When mind tells me, ‘I must avenge my foes,
Who made me suffer without a reason, ’
My inner voice cries, ‘Patience, forget woes.’
God will teach them in His own way lesson.
When mind tells me, ‘Tis time, be worldly-wise, ’
My woes are mainly due to poverty;
My inner voice cries, ‘Patience, Be soul-wise! ’
That’s the way you earn your Eternity!
When mind tells me, ‘Your mind and body’s weak! ’
My inner voice cries, ‘Patience, God will speak! ’
(7-29-2000)
poem by John Celes
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Falling Down
Is this world spinning round
Has this ship run aground
What's that shape
What's that sound
That's just me falling down
Some of us are free
Some are bound
Some will swim
Some will drown
Some of us are saints
Some are clowns
Just like me they're falling down
Well I lied to the nation
While my reputation ran dry
From my lungs to my liver
I clung to the river bank's side
Yeah well I'm back in the water
Doing what I oughta
Trying to lead an ordinary life
Is this world spinning round
Has this ship run aground
What's that shape
What's that sound
That's just me falling down
Some of us are green
Some are brown
Some are lost
Some are found
Sight unseen baby
Sound on sound
Pray for me I'm falling down
I was lost in the jungle
Crossed over enemy lines
Well I got me a red nose
By sleeping under hedgerows at night
Yeah well I tried levitation
Flying in formation
Heaven kows the weight of this crime
Is this
Is this world spinning round
Has this ship run aground
What's that shape
What's that sound
That's just me falling down
La
song performed by by Tears For Fears from Raoul & The Kings Of Spain
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Patience—has a quiet Outer
926
Patience—has a quiet Outer—
Patience—Look within—
Is an Insect's futile forces
Infinites—between—
'Scaping one—against the other
Fruitlesser to fling—
Patience—is the Smile's exertion
Through the quivering—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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There Is Nothing That Can Compare
There is one thing I've learned,
About the acquiring of patience.
It seems always more appreciated,
When vacationing.
And when taking all the patience one has obtained,
To enjoy every minute of it?
There is nothing that can compare.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Sounds that should not be missed
Sound of blossom of a flower,
I desire to hear,
the sound of nature.
Sound of rain's glassy water drop,
over a roof's top,
the sound of joy.
Sound of beat of our heart,
through our ears caught,
the sound of wonder.
Sound of delicious supper in boil,
after a great day's toil,
the sound of hunger.
Sound of a mother's loving ballad,
hearing the cry of her toddler,
the sound of love! ! !
poem by Shyam Balaji
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Give me back my name
tell them i'm gone
tell them i'm gone to change my name
give them any name
i'll not give them another name
tell them i'll not take my father's name
no more father than i'm my own
i do not create
i'm not responsible
i have no ownership over my makings
so i'll take this name i've got
for the moment
tell them
and i'll go short-changed to be cast again
yes
tell them i'll go and change my name
not have my name changed
and come out again unchanged
tell them again i'll not take my father's name
yes
tell them that
tell them i've gone to change my name
my very own name
and yet keep the name i've gone to change
yes
tell them that
tell them when i'm there
i'll see why josephus broke the essenic law
why marx the mighty essene changed his name
and note
why the ribonucleic-acid embargo in between
why the dna father-son short supply
i am a cell lodged in the molecular-memory-millennia
i'm the agent of growth and decay
i see the cells strung out in an embryonic fantasy riddle
while intercourse was still permissible
i proclaim
i propound
in my genes the spermatic stimulation
the evolutionary process
the woman the link-breaker
keeps it all going longer and longer
until i stand and transmit
until we reach out into the micro-wave length
listen in on ourselves
in the multi-macro-cosmic network:
the tv stations
the electronic transmitters
the nether-world subliminal messages
all shall interlock
and we remain tuned in
sitting bolt-tight-up
in our nudging squeezing cells
no more afearing nor doing
no more no less that is
than sucking a python diet
we'll do without rousing sex-play
courtship nor foreplay
or even sans monetary excuse
we'll do it for ourcells
in ourcells
by ourcells
then i'll not have to go away
nor will you have to tell them
‘he thinks he's gone to change his name
his only name
and quite probably not take his father's name'
rendes-moi mon nom unique
(©: T. Wignesan,1965 - London, from the collection: tell them i'm gone. Paris: 1983; rev.2012)
poem by T. Wignesan
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What Time Are We Living In
It's not if but since the future can be told
To a broadly verifiable degree
What time are we living in: present old
Future or has it all gone past already
Don't tell it for honours to politicos
They hanker after two-bit history lines
Don't even whisper it to military macros
Lest generals decorate brows with vines
Don't spill the truth to those who slaughter
With God on their bloody bleeding minds
For they will leave none alive hereafter
And lease Heaven out to kith and kinds
Time is but a ruse of passing moments
The more it unfurls the more the laments.
© T. Wignesan - Paris,2005-2012. (From the collection:
Poems Omega Plus,2005-2012)
poem by T. Wignesan
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