Cabbages And Beans
Like the dunny door it
simply bangs incessantly
until your patience thins
You can refuse to hear
it if you fry your brains
in oil with vapid apathy
A fear is that it might be
right and sadly true but
then again it might be wind
You’ve clearly had enough
if you accede too meekly
to its patent bullying
This cringing metaphor is
brazenness acclaimed
as an incipient authority
While all I see’s a pannier
of cabbage leaves and
salty beans
© 2 February 2010, I. D. Carswell
poem by Ivan Donn Carswell
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Shopping Trip
So when are you going to go
fishing then? 115 mm of rain says
nothing’s getting done while the
anticipatory pleasure of still more
to come remains discrete
And it’s not as if it wouldn't rain
weren’t you there – although, agreed,
enjoyment couldn’t be the
same as standing out in it
soaking up your privileged share
Eight days now you have delayed
a shopping trip in case you miss
a passing shower. Claiming ‘I’m not
that obsessed about it’ doesn’t quite
ring true somehow
This pique of moribund despondency
paints your thoughts grey and makes
you live anxiously; it’s not for me to
say but you to do – at least shopping
takes the legs off such unease
© 1 February 2010, I. D. Carswell
poem by Ivan Donn Carswell
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Beans (Fun Poem 70)
Out of all the vegetables we eat,
beans are the musical of the lot.
They sometimes give out a little squeak
and sometimes a cannon’s roar
or the rat-a-tat-a-tat of a machine-gun flair.
They are known as a wind instruments of the vegetable world.
When they play,
their revelries with a pungent air
there is no denying it
beans are good for you.
They keep your enemies at bay;
sadly, they also keep your friends as well.
Everyone gets out of the way,
when they hear the trumpet play.
27 March 2008
poem by David Harris
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Fear (A Note To Self)
Fear-a corruption of logic, reason and ration-
Enemy of the mind's progress and the heart's passion;
Gratefully, this scourge too, has a most-powerful cure-
Courage-courage drowns fear and ceases its lure!
Fret not matters where there exists not, reason, nor rhyme-
Look inward, to the magic of your heart's most-inspired time;
Fate's intervention was to hasten calm-all else, it simply banishes;
Listen to this exhortation, lest the true you wither, then simply vanishes!
Should fear's apparition present, or its specter, loom near-
Over and over, in your mind's ear, shout: 'fear lives not here! ';
Patience too, may be a powerful measure against dread's hold-
As time wends, your mind shall marry with what I have foretold!
I am the wind of abiding truth, steadfast love, and most-prescient glory-
Fear me not-for I lovingly endeavor, to recite your heart's untold story!
Maurice Harris,17 June 2010
poem by Maurice Harris
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Scenes
isn’t scenes of beastly screaming
voices drown a stasis bleeding
forcing choices vilely reeking
where I cling to my own debris
caught within I hear the chaos
chorused in a choral singing
bartered hubris numbs my senses
stripping me of all true feeling
solitary innovation
calmed by complex contemplation
choosing where it will be standing
how to save itself oblivion
no-one knows her more than she does
cheating them of goals outreaching
bringing me to where I’m ceded
alone inside a crowded room
entombed within a baleful vault
no-one leaves and doors are bolted
intellect has trialled and faltered
grieves it wouldn’t have succeeded
© 28 August 2009, I. D. Carswell
poem by Ivan Donn Carswell
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Nowhere To Run
I had wanted to say scathing words
about ideology germane to female
genital mutilation; I could not see
justification pertains for an act only
inimitable as barbarous. In diffuse
debate I learned how little I knew.
If preservation of innocence is taken
to extremes there are ways I couldn’t
dream to perpetuate that blissful
state; clitoridectomy is just one which
screams the loudest distaste to my
hormonally challenged ears.
I did the reading, looked up diagrams
saw pictures of unsightly scarring too
horrendous to accept as imperatives
of racially deemed social distinction.
Innocence isn’t preserved by cutting
pre-pubescents’ non-consenting flesh.
I rested my case. Then in an easy
afternoon I learned of circumcision and
a host of procedures utilised to raise
breasts and reduce wrinkles including
genital modification not too dissimilar.
And there was nowhere to run...
© 6 February 2010, I. D. Carswell
poem by Ivan Donn Carswell
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Curator
My life’s a museum of memories buried
in a mausoleum to matrimony kept
scrupulously clean – there is no distinction
between exhibits and things living
I am Curator as well as main exhibit in the
open-all-hours public gallery that nobody
views though entrance is freely exchanged
for tea and sympathy
I expect it stay this way until ‘The Company’
gets made an offer it can’t refuse whereon
I will merge with the grateful trees afforesting –
acknowledging arboreal dreams
© 9 October 2009, I. D. Carswell
poem by Ivan Donn Carswell
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Song of the Little White Girl
Cabbage tree, cabbage tree, what is the matter?
Why are you shaking so? Why do you chatter?
Because it is just a white baby you see,
And it's the black ones you like, cabbage tree?
Cabbage tree, cabbage tree, you're a strange fellow
With your green hair and your legs browny-yellow.
Wouldn't you like to have curls, dear, like me?
What! No one to make them? O poor cabbage tree!
Never mind, cabbage tree, when I am taller,
And if you grow, please, a little bit smaller,
I shall be able by that time, bay be,
To make you the loveliest curls, cabbage tree.
poem by Katherine Mansfield
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zz Vapid Versus Viper
If “Vapid” thou call me
Then “Vapid” let me be
Better to be ‘Vapid’
Than a “Viper” like thee
poem by Mary Havran
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Delinquency 01
You can do Web crosswords where
you know most of the clues already
Or sit distanced with headphones
attached, keep the World at arms
length in timelessness preserved
by ‘Definitive America’*
Or you can write, absorb more
of its waste, and listen – which I do
I am amazed at innocence buoyed
in pure voices of those young men
lyrically celebrating our age
Guilt was not invented by their music
and the words were the same used
to describe our visions
Tears well-up in soaring strains of
‘The Last Unicorn’, I am raised and
at peace with my delinquency
© 30 January 2010, I. D. Carswell
* Audio CD (Jun 29,2001)
compiling ‘America’ tracks from
the 70s
poem by Ivan Donn Carswell
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Peace Enough
it is impossible to discern
real ties between unwritten
shopping lists, injured shoulder
and mild depression –
so I rest easy
I know, I know, the
tamarillos need picking
they glare from unmown
grass beneath the trees
with angst restrained
been a hard week, grass
growing out-of-control
social calendar stealing
what little poise remains
I could be excused
which I won't be, there’s
always that self-righteous
bloody-mindedness playing
devil’s advocate – defence
against deference, so I’ll fail
but you will never know;
now if this shoulder would
relent maybe I’ll find peace
enough and contentment
in your epic victory
© 16 January 2010, I. D. Carswell
poem by Ivan Donn Carswell
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Bangs
Bangs
Above your eyes your hair hangs
Blow my mind your royal flyness I dig your bangs
Bangs
To drape across your forehead
To swing concordant angles as you incline your head
Once with a girl I fell in love sometime ago now she had...
Bangs
Are that on which the world hangs
Im only holding your hand so I can look at your bangs
Bangs
Are like a pocket t-shirt
As casual as that while fully intentional
And in case you think Im here cause I like making chit chat
Just remember what I said the moneys under your hat
Bangs
Are that on which the world hangs
Im only holding your hand so I can look at your bangs
Bangs
Above your eyes your hair hangs
Blow my mind your royal flyness I dig your bangs
Bangs
To drape across your forehead
To swing concordant angles as you incline your head
And although I like you anyway, check out your haircut
A proscenium to stage a face that needs no makeup
Bangs
Are that on which the world hangs
Im only holding your hand so I can look at your bangs
Im only holding your hand so I can look at your bangs
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wind, Light, Leaves and Men
wind
leaves
they dance
with each other
they carress too
you hear the sound
of their love making
each time they meet
light joins in
to enrich the dance
and become one entity - laugh
louder than the sea
leaves - they are the dream of
wind and light comes true
wind, light, leaves
whenever they gather
men, animals join in their fun
take away one
and the world cries to an end
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Prayer, Conversing With God
A conversation made with Him
Before I call He answers -
He knows me so well, it seems
He always listens to my prayers.
For while I am yet speaking
My loving God, He will hear
All of me before Him baring
With nary a doubt nor any fear.
'Call unto Me and I will show you
Great and mighty things'
All of this I have proven true
So with all my trust I keep on praying.
I pass the waters and have not drowned
Went through the fire and was not burned
The Mighty Yahweh had me owned
His Love and Faithfulness I yearned.
Before they call I will answer, while they are yet speaking,
I will hear.'
ISAIAH 65: 24
Copyright Cynthia Buhain-Baello
February 25,2010
Philippines
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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The Poem Is A Metaphor/ For Whatever The Poet Needs It To Be
THE POEM IS A METAPHOR / FOR WHATEVER THE POET NEEDS IT TO BE
The Poem is a Metaphor
For whatever the poet needs it to be-
It need not know its own name
Or its destination-
It simply may suddenly appear
And take us to a place we’ve never been,
To a connection we never would have found on our own.
The Metaphor is a vehicle of transport for the Soul
And he who spells it out literally
Grounds it.
Why then oh why is this where we all be?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Sacred Space
even sacred space has room that's
not invasion proof - there's liberal
confirmation raids incurring greater
anguish now occur most every day;
from where I stand the pathway's
trampled smooth by errant feet
competing in unseemly haste to
dump their woes and beat retreat
they ask of me a counsel I abide in
wisdom of the ages scribed in gothic
script declaiming options lost by
overcrowding private life; yet to
tell them where to go is not the
kind advice they'd want to hear
© 29 August 2011, I. D. Carswell
poem by Ivan Donn Carswell
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Sidewalk at Night
Fear is a place we go
when we don't know
fear is the man
in the shadows
behind that bush
or that memory
or that time
walking in the peace of the streetlights
down the sidewalk
waiting
for fear to jump out
grab us
and pull us deeper
into the metaphor
just close your eyes
and get lost in the metaphor
of blue skies
and fearless dreams
poem by Ray Katherine
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You Said You Fear Love
you said you fear love now
for yesterday it has betrayed you
and you almost died
alone and bleeding
not healing quickly
like what others do
with their wounds
you fear love and you promised
not to hurt yourself once more
you're extra careful
you learned your lesson and true
you shy away from love
and when it gets near you
you shoo it away like a little bird
calling your name by your window
you refuse the rose i sent you
you close your door
you wear a veil to hide your eyes your tears
you always walk behind me
and then change your way
simply to avoid me
i am tired and lonely and sick of your evasions
i write this letter and leave you a note:
my dear try hate, why not try having so much hate?
or jthese slices of indifference
taste them all and swallow them whole
try all these reverses
and then tell me what is the difference.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My Black Eye Pea Stew
Did I mention,
My black eye pea stew to you?
Well...
This is what you do.
Boil your water,
Add sliced smoked turkey butt.
With seasons you prefer.
I like to mix in olive oil with butter first.
Before adding apple vinegar...
With Old Bay and a bit of salt,
Then soy sauce...
To allow my taste buds to burst.
Add your black eye peas.
Speckled butter lima beans.
Kidney and black beans too!
I also enjoy cooking with onions...
Green peppers, carrots and celery.
For a flavored taste,
You simply can not refuse!
Well...
You can 'try' making attempts.
But licking your lips,
Is not too convincing of a defense.
'May I get some more? '
You sure can!
After I get to taste it myself!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Soon I knew the craft of experimental physics was beyond me - it was the sublime quality of patience - patience in accumulating data, patience with recalcitrant equipment - which I sadly lacked.
quote by Abdus Salam
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Authority Song
They like to get you in a compromising position
They like to get you there and smille in your face
They think, theyre so cute when they got you in that condition
Well I think, its a total disgrace
Chorus:
I fight authority, authority always wins
I fight authority, authority always wins
I been doing it, since I was a young kid
Ive come out grinnin
I fight authority, authority always wins
So I call up my preacher
I say: gimme strenght for round 5
He said: you dont need no strength, you need to grow up, son
I said: growing up leads to growing old and then to dying,
And dying to me dont sound like all that much fun
Chorus:
I fight authority, authority always wins
I fight authority, authority always wins
I been doing it, since I was a young kid
Ive come out grinnin
I fight authority, authority always wins
I fight authority, authority always wins
I fight authority, authority always wins
I been doing it, since I was a young kid
Ive come out grinnin
I fight authority, authority always wins
Oh no
Oh no
I fight authority, authority always wins
Chorus:
I fight authority, authority always wins
I fight authority, authority always wins
I been doing it, since I was a young kid
Ive come out grinnin
I fight authority, authority always wins
I fight authority, authority always wins
I fight authority, authority always wins
I been doing it, since I was a young kid
Ive come out grinnin
I fight authority, authority always wins
song performed by by John Mellencamp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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