The Beauty of Shamelessness
Beauty of Shamelessness
I am not in good terms
With my neighbor …
We quarrel on and off
On host of issues…
But last evening
A blood curdling scream
Made me run to his house…
I had to dispose off a small snake with a stick…
‘Why do you have to shout like this for such a minor thing? ' I demanded
‘Who asked you to come? ' He said
"To hell I will, next time" I came back breathing fire
But I know
Every time he sees a snake
He would still scream for my help
And I would still go rushing with a stick…
We are so hopelessly shameless…
poem by Syed Ahmed Shah
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The Cause of Enmity between Snake and Man
Snake, the first owner of fire.
Dog, the robber of fire.
Man the last owner of fire.
The snake gave birth first to fire.
Thus fire, the first born of snake.
Thus snake, only owner of fire long ago.
One cold evening
The man dying of coldness
The dog seen it master dying of coldness
It went to snake house and begged
The snake, the mother of fire to let
It tail get warm of fire
The snake cordially welcomed the dog
The dog twisted it tail on fire
The tail caught the fire
The dog jumped over the snake in door
Ran quickly to it master, the man
The man took the grass and wood
And lit up the fire
The fire lit up in man’s house
And it extinguished in snake’s house
The snake come to get fire back
But the man attack the snake
The hostility between man and snake
Began then
poem by David Aoloch Bion
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On a Wet Day
As I walked thinking through a little grove,
Some girls that gathered flowers came passing me,
Saying -- "Look here! look there!" delightedly.
"O here it is!" "What's that?" "A lily? love!"
"And there are violets!"
"Farther for roses! O the lovely pets!
The darling beauties! O the nasty thorn!
Look here, my hand's all torn!"
"What's that that jumps?" "O don't! It's a grasshopper!"
"Come, run! come, run!
Here's bluebells!" "O what fun!"
"Not that way! Stop her!"
"Yes! this way!" Pluck them then!"
"O, I've found mushrooms! O look here!" "O, I'm
Quite sure that farther on we'll get wild thyme."
"O, we shall stay too long; it's going to rain;
There's lightning; O! there's thunder!"
"O shan't we hear the vesper bell? I wonder."
"Why, it's not nones, you silly little thing!
And don't you hear the nightingales that sing --
Fly away, O die away?"
"O, I hear something; hush!"
"Why, where? what is it then?" "Ah! in that bush."
So every girl here knocks it, shakes and shocks it:
Till with the stir they make
Out scurries a great snake.
"O Lord! O me! Alack! Ah me! Alack!"
They scream, and then all run and scream again,
And then in heavy drops comes down the rain.
Each running at the other in a fright,
Each trying to get before the other, and crying,
And flying, and stumbling, tumbling, wrong or right; --
One sets her knee
There where her foot should be;
One has her hands and dress
All smothered up with mud in a fine mess;
And one gets trampled on by two or three.
What's gathered is let fall
About the wood, and not picked up at all.
The wreaths of flowers are scattered on the ground,
And still as, screaming, hustling, without rest,
They run this way and that and round and round,
She thinks herself in luck who runs the best.
I stood quite still to have a perfect view,
And never noticed till I got wet through.
poem by Franco Sacchetti
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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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SnAkE oN mY bAcK
snake on the ground slithers. The plains scream out in fear, it slides onto my back and forces out my red tears. into my thought i can now see how foolishly i used to be. I remember the snake on my back and how i remember i should have fought back. The trees dance in scilence the fire now devoures the plains, the snake told me to forget my name. I threw the snake off my back with no sound forcefully it lay dead by the ground. Now i can feel the snake beneath my feet.
poem by Ben Sparaco
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The Wrangler
ONE day a shameless and impudent wight
Went into a shop full of steel wares bright,
Arranged with art upon ev'ry shelf.
He fancied they were all meant for himself;
And so, while the patient owner stood by,
The shining goods needs must handle and try,
And valued,--for how should a fool better know?--
The bad things high, and the good ones low,
And all with an easy self-satisfied face;
Then, having bought nothing, he left the place.
The tradesman now felt sorely vex'd,
So when the fellow went there next,
A lock of steel made quite red hot.
The other cried upon the spot:
"Such wares as these, who'd ever buy?
the steel is tarnish'd shamefully,"--
Then pull'd it, like a fool about,
But soon set up a piteous shout.
"Pray what's the matter?" the shopman spoke;
The other scream'd: "Faith, a very cool joke!"
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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Oscar Hummel
I staggered on through darkness,
There was a hazy sky, a few stars
Which I followed as best I could.
It was nine o'clock, I was trying to get home.
But somehow I was lost,
Though really keeping the road.
Then I reeled through a gate and into a yard,
And called at the top of my voice:
"Oh, Fiddler! Oh, Mr. Jones!"
(I thought it was his house and he would show me the way home.)
But who should step out but A. D. Blood,
In his night shirt, waving a stick of wood,
And roaring about the cursed saloons,
And the criminals they made?
"You drunken Oscar Hummel", he said,
As I stood there weaving to and fro,
Taking the blows from the stick in his hand
Till I dropped down dead at his feet.
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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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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Grandfather Says
"Sit in my hand."
I'm ten.
I can't see him,
but I hear him breathing
in the dark.
It's after dinner playtime.
We're outside,
hidden by trees and shrubbery.
He calls it hide-and-seek,
but only my little sister seeks us
as we hide
and she can't find us,
as grandfather picks me up
and rubs his hands between my legs.
I only feel a vague stirring
at the edge of my consciousness.
I don't know what it is,
but I like it.
It gives me pleasure
that I can't identify.
It's not like eating candy,
but it's just as bad,
because I had to lie to grandmother
when she asked,
"What do you do out there?"
"Where?" I answered.
Then I said, "Oh, play hide-and-seek."
She looked hard at me,
then she said, "That was the last time.
I'm stopping that game."
So it ended and I forgot.
Ten years passed, thirtyfive,
when I began to reconstruct the past.
When I asked myself
why I was attracted to men who disgusted me
I traveled back through time
to the dark and heavy breathing part of my life
I thought was gone,
but it had only sunk from view
into the quicksand of my mind.
It was pulling me down
and there I found grandfather waiting,
his hand outstretched to lift me up,
naked and wet
where he rubbed me.
"I'll do anything for you," he whispered,
"but let you go."
And I cried, "Yes," then "No."
"I don't understand how you can do this to me.
I'm only ten years old,"
and he said, "That's old enough to know."
Lip-Stick Liz
Oh Lip-Stick Liz was in the biz, That's the oldest known in history;
She had a lot of fancy rags, Of her form she made no myst'ry.
She had a man, a fancy man, His name was Alexander,
And he used to beat her up because he couldn't understand her.
Now Lip-Stick Liz she loved her man And she couldn't love no other
So when she saw him with a Broadway Blonde, Her rage she could not smother.
She saw him once and she saw him twice But the third time nearly crazed her,
So she walked bang into a hardware store, And she bought a brand new razor.
Now Lip-Stick Liz she trailed them two For she was tired of weeping;
She trailed them two, in a flash hotel And there she found them sleeping;
So she gashed them once and she gashed them twice Their ju'lar veins to sever,
And the bright blood flowed like a brook between. And their lives were gone forever.
Now Lip-Stick Liz went to the p'lice And sez she: "Me hands are gory,
And you'll put me away in a deep dark cell When once you've heard me story."
So they've put her away in a deep dark cell, Until her life be over
And what is the moral of the whole damn show, I wish I could discover.
Chorus:
Oh Lip-Stick Liz! What a lousy life this is.
It's a hell of a break for a girl on the make,
Oh Lip-Stick Liz!
poem by Robert William Service
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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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The Quarrel
Our quarrel seemed a giant thing,
It made the room feel mean and small,
The books, the lamp, the furniture,
The very pictures on the wall--
Crowded upon us as we sat
Pale and terrified, face to face.
"Why do you stay?" she said, "my room
Can never be your resting place."
"Katinka, ere we part for life,
I pray you walk once more with me."
So down the dark, familiar road
We paced together, silently.
The sky--it seemed on fire with stars!
I said:--"Katinka dear, look up!"
Like thirsty children, both of us
Drank from the giant loving cup.
"Who were those dolls?" Katinka said
"What were their stupid, vague alarms?"
And suddenly we turned and laughed
And rushed into each other's arms.
poem by Katherine Mansfield
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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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Scream And Shout
Yeah
All right
Oh yeah
Oh, come on boys
Your lights sheen nothing like sparkles
You look like you're toast
Put you hands up in the air
Treat me like a host
I wonder if you're ready
But I can't hear you breathe
My nerves are not quite steady
But you will only see that
I want more
(I want more)
So give it all
(Give it all)
Scream
Scream and shout
Lose your minds
Let it out
Take me higher
Higher
Higher
Scream and shout
Coats are smaller in this asylum
I can see what's on your minds
Looking for some truth
Is what you really want to find
Cause we are pure escapists
Yes times are getting tough
We just want to rock and roll
We can't get enough
I want more
(I want more)
So give it all
(Give it all)
Scream
Scream and shout
Lose your minds
Let it out
Take me higher
Higher
Higher
Scream and shout
Hahahahahaha!
You see that from the front row
We are shapes of things to come
You're handcuffed to your seat
And there is no place left to run
Your brains are in our power
We ponder as we feed
A healthy dose of metal
And that's all you'll ever need
I want more
(I want more)
So give it all
(Give it all)
Shout to the car
(Shout to the car)
I want it all, yeah
Scream
Scream and shout
Lose your minds
Let it out
Scream
Scream and shout
Lose your minds
Let it out
Out
Out!
song performed by by Quiet Riot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lesson
Whenever my mother, who taught
small children forty years,
asked a question, she
already knew the answer.
"Would you like to" meant
you would. "Shall we" was
another, and "Don't you think."
As in "Don't you think
it's time you cut your hair."
So when, in the bare room,
in the strict bed, she said,
"You want to see?" her hands
were busy at her neckline,
untying the robe, not looking
down at it, stitches
bristling where the breast
had been, but straight at me.
I did what I always did:
not weep --she never wept--
and made my face a kindly
whitewashed wall, so she
could write, again, whatever
she wanted there.
Anonymous submission.
poem by Ellen Bryant Voigt
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A.d.d
She told me that she had A.D.D
I asked her what was one plus two, she said: "three"
I was so impressed that I asked her again
What was seven plus three, and she said: "ten"
I asked her more additions and she got them all correct
She was very intelligent by what I could detect
Then as I tried to talk to her more, but she got distracted
I then tried to get her attention then she overreacted
She then told me something that threw me for a shock
Her having A.D.D, wasn't what I had thought
She could add quickly and correctly which was true
But paying attention to others she could not do
She was easily distracted from the projects she was on
And also forgetful from the tasks she's undergone
She said she is sometimes forgetful from day to day
Then she looked at me and asked; "what did I say? "
I asked her some more questions and she never listened
So I spoke directly to her, and her eyes they glistened
She spoke to me, then she called me someone else's name
"And I don't like to follow instructions! " to me she did exclaim
"I won't finish my work or duties or chores and I never will"
"Only thing that helps me, if and when I take a small pill"
"I will avoid the things that will take a lot of mental strain"
"As this is who I am, and my thoughts and my brain"
Then I asked her what was one plus one and she said: "two"
She then looked at me and walked away, and said: "adieu."
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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My Groupie
I read last Saturday in the
redwoods outside of Santa Cruz
and I was about 3/4's finished
when I heard a long high scream
and a quite attractive
young girl came running toward me
long gown & divine eyes of fire
and she leaped up on the stage
and screamed: "I WANT YOU!
I WANT YOU! TAKE ME! TAKE
ME!"
I told her, "look, get the hell
away from me."
but she kept tearing at my
clothing and throwing herself
at me.
"where were you," I
asked her, "when I was living
on one candy bar a day and
sending short stories to the
Atlantic Monthly?"
she grabbed my balls and almost
twisted them off. her kisses
tasted like shitsoup.
2 women jumped up on the stage
and
carried her off into the
woods.
I could still hear her screams
as I began the next poem.
mabye, I thought, I should have
taken her on stage in front
of all those eyes.
but one can never be sure
whether it's good poetry or
bad acid.
poem by Charles Bukowski
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The Day I Got My Finger Stuck Up My Nose
When I got my finger stuck up my nose
I went to a doctor, who said,
"Nothing like this has happened before,
We will have to chop off your head."
"It's only my finger stuck up my nose,
It's only my finger!" I said.
"I see what it is," the doctor replied,
"But we'll still have to chop off your head."
He went to the cabinet and took out an axe.
I watched with considerable dread.
"But it's only my finger stuck up my nose.
It's only a finger!" I said.
"Perhaps we can yank it out with a hook
Tied to some surgical thread.
Maybe we can try that," he replied
"Rather than chop off your head."
"I'm never going to pick it again.
I've now learned my lesson," I said.
"I won't stick my finger up my nose -
I'll stick it in my ear instead."
poem by Brian Patten
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Go to hell
Go to hell, go to hell'
Blasted one young teen
"What am I doing on net? "
"You are doing nonsense, I bet"
Taken a back for a while
Fumed and just disappeared the smile
was I so unwelcome or wrong?
Had I no place to find friends among?
I am in my teen, and not yet twenty
you may have lived with years plenty
"Are you not ashamed' to be on net"
"Dear you can blast, but have we ever met? " I asked
No, but you have commitment a sin
Put your ideas in just dust bin
Whether be it pot or simple tin
I will not let you allow to score point or win
I said "Dear calm down"
You aren't the only one in town
You may frown, eyes may turn brown
Not only 'hell', but use and add another noun
Not only sex on phone but nudity too
Still may be there simple purity to be true
Why do not you make point or just clarity?
What can be best quality to justify? I argued
"No then also, you just go to hell"
You need no alarms pr bell
It will be bad if you stick here and perform well
"Consider it right now and jump in the well" She argued
Oh, dear teen, you are simple kid
You know not and have no lid
Candle can be lit and not just ignite
"If you have will power and ideas definite" I tried to cool her down
Fear not for a while from simple man
Freedom may be right but can't force a ban
Never do or suffer from narrow thought
Danger may be lurking but always to be fought
I thought for a while but did not cave
Honor was at stake and was absolutely necessary to save
Things may be right but not put in right prospective
She was foolish teen but not subjective
it is always good to be friends on line
Some of the fears can allayed or sidelined
the prestige and status should be respected
One must realize and certainly introspected
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Unto Me? I do not know you—
"Unto Me?" I do not know you—
Where may be your House?
"I am Jesus—Late of Judea—
Now—of Paradise"—
Wagons—have you—to convey me?
This is far from Thence—
"Arms of Mine—sufficient Phaeton—
Trust Omnipotence"—
I am spotted—"I am Pardon"—
I am small—"The Least
Is esteemed in Heaven the Chiefest—
Occupy my House"—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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DYSPNOEA (short story)
"He's choking" I cried
looking at that sixty plus old man in a dhothi and a tattered wet shirt.
"Dyspnoea! " commented my friend Rajan
staring at him.
"What's dyspnoea? " I yelled.
The rain-lashed black-top road
was looking like a crawling snake..
That desolate bus-shelter beside
that village road was damp and leaking.
The old man settled on the cement bench
was panting, coughing and staring into the skies as if he's waiting to see the angels from heaven or agents of the Hades.
His wife was pressing his back and telling..."Wait...the rain will abate soon...it won't take much time."
I cried at her, "Give him his inhaler! "
"What's inhaler? " she asked.
"I mean inhaler; O' God! " I cried.
"How do they know about inhaler? " Rajan said coolly.
Ignoring my friend, I cried again,
"Don't you have any medicine ready...
Something like deriphyllin or salbutamol? "
I didn't wait for her reply...rushed into the rain and reached the street corner and asked a passer-by, "Where's the medical shop here? ", "No medical shop here...in fact up to a distance of 20 kms" he replied. "No medical shop? ! ! " stunned I shouted aloud.
He added, "That old couple live in a small hut. Even a small rain is enough to make them run. They come to this bus-shelter and remain till the rain abates...it's usual for them...don't worry...once the rain abates they go back to their hut"
Returned to the bus-shelter and cried at her
"Take him to the town by next bus...his condition is serious. We're riding on a motor bike. It's too risky to drive him town"
We returned to town, but remained my heart guilty.
"I could have done better than leaving that old man like that"
I thought.
Next morn, Rajan called over phone, "Read today's news...that old man died"
(In India there are hundreds of villages where no medical shop is available. This poem is based on a true incident. Rajan is a real name of my friend who is a newspaper correspondent.)
poem by Sathya Narayana
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