The setting sun weaves a poem,
blossoming
unsung trochaic along the river basin
(Nurulhuda Junction. Teesta)
Sometimes it feels quite an estranged thought to realise that living is a mundane day to day thing to sustain. The welfare causes are demanding all those intricate , subtle personal delicate feelings, into a powermonger possessive expositional ownership, for no good understood parameter.
The book was well versed. Muzzammil was lying on his bed, half awakened. He took his glass pairs off. A pair of opaque spectacles, with the littlemost effort, both the bifocal parts are often sweaty. He was waiting for his wife’s special morning tea, everyday. Remote area in the suburban side, every day newscaster is often quote a belated story there.
December, 2025
I test the gum
And the scum
That came from
So many feet
Scrape the blood
And the crud
Between mud
Smooshed on concrete
I sample spit
Ample birds***
All with a flick
Of the wrist
Coz I’m your local
Wearing bifocal
Antisocial
Sidewalk chemist
I run a lab
And own a lab
Called Ahab
And when we walk
I grab a glut
Of cigarette butts
Ahab sniffs mutts
We rarely talk
I test the muck
Assay green yuck
Prod black guck
With tender care
Then it’s all tagged
Labeled and bagged
But I can’t drag
It to a fair
Data is sorted
Then transported
Where it’s reported
By sidewalk chemist
But the town hall
Says I have some gall
With my folderol
And I’m promptly dismissed
I’ve paid my dues
Been on the news
With great reviews
Now for an encore
I’ve been promoted
To test the foetid
And sweaty coated
Men’s locker room floor
mama why must I be alone;
all of the other girls got there boy and gone;
with me left here all alone;
is it because my looks haven't shown;
some call me homely;
the reason why I'm lonely;
The cuteness of my black sisters
Whom which loves each and everyone of their misters
Why must I be alone
Oh, Lord, mama is there a boy for me
I wear bifocal glasses
I hide in the back of my classes
Everyone talks to the beauty queen
Oh, I wish I was one of them
tell me why I must now cry
For a boy I want to say honey "I'll be yours, I'll be your guy
My, my, my why....
The cuteness of my black sisters
Whom which loves each and everyone of there misters
Why must I be alone
Oh, Lord, mama is there a boy for me
tell me why I must now cry
For a boy I want to say honey "I'll be yours, I'll be your guy
My, my, my why....
Mama is there a boy for me
10/11/70
written by James Edward Lee©1970
written @ North High School in 1970 in creative writing english class
If only once you agree IF ONLY YOU AGREE
I can fetch moon and stars,
Oyster pearls from the deep
And all the comfort of this world.
If only once you agree!
Stay assured I can’t do a bit.
Believe me, I'm still a novice!
I do not know,
How to deduce you?
How to amuse you?
How to seduce you?
But out of nothingness
I know one thing for sure
I can love you in all seasons and reasons.
Like my perfumed hanky, my bifocal specks
My medicines and my obsessions;
You go with me, flow with me.
Licking the raw wound
I savour the flavour of your lips.
A thousand women's breast smelled dried blood;
I long for the jasmine fragrance of yours.
I can’t survive without loving you, thinking of you,
If you drift away like a Semul seed
And ever decide to stop loving me some day
Please do me a last favour;
Leave behind your love-- then part
Where ever, with whomever you please.
PARIMAL KUMAR DAS ©
Semul is a tropical tree which disperse seeds in cotton like material
There once was a good hubby named Nick,
on his wife, he tried to play a trick-
Hot wax on the table,
was willing and able,
but sick wifey came down with a tick.
So he dumped out the wax in the sink,
was so frustrated he just didn’t think-
Wax jammed the disposal,
then dropped his bifocal,
he couldn’t see so all he did was wink.
Wifey’s sore bum then started to swell,
with one eye closed shut, Nick just couldn’t tell-
So he got real clever,
pulled disposal lever,
hand got caught on his bum and he fell!
Now the happy couple was a mess,
still didn’t love each other any less-
Tick on wifey’s hurt bum,
hubby drowned in some rum,
welcome to the moronic express!
Syllable count: 9-9-6-6-9
Limerick Contest
June 6, 2017
Playbill: Sept 8, 2001
Time gives a bifocal view to the written scenes of life.
Mental screams of past strife.
Broken pencils lead to scenes being inked, unable to erase.
Scenes misplaced.
X-ing out terms, words piercing through providing a Seeing Eye glass for transparency able to entertain those in the balcony.
Casting call for the supporting roles
Contact list full but cell phone providing no service, alone.
Curtain call;
first scene;
the first cut;
Depression rolls down her arm-pain dripping to the floor.
Living has become her anesthetic
Inherited this dis ease of dejection
Pierced flesh unable to mend, bandaged in rejection
Second call-Healing on the horizon
Head to the sky she prays for the intoxication of faith
To be healed from the genes she had held.
Final cut-Faith birthed.
You shall live and not die
©A.N.U October 31, 2014 A.N.U Experience, LLC
All rights reserved
There they sit, those mocking reminders, on my nightstand table.
I wish I could just throw them out, but I find that I am unable.
There they sit, reminding me, of the life that we once shared,
Before the tragic, life-changing attack, on towers no longer there.
The playbill dated, September 8, in the year 2001;
The last time we went on a date and enjoyed a life of fun.
Three days before he started work in the Trade Center Towers;
If only I had known that day, my life would change in hours.
The cell phone with his last voice mail, which I will never erase;
His calming message, I can replay, next to a picture of his face.
I wasn’t there to answer it when he said his last “good-bye”
It still sits beside my bed always there to make me cry.
A pair of his bifocal glasses that he used to read at night,
Completes the set of memories when my life was still alright.
I know it’s been almost 15 years, and people say I should let go
But I don’t want to forget this man, who I used to love to know.
There they sit, those mocking reminders, on my nightstand table.
I wish I could just throw them out, but I find that I am unable.
Just like you to make a last minute date,
leaving me a quickly scribbled note,
before tossing aside that broken campaign pencil from last year's election--
I remember you snapping it apart
when you found out your man lost.
I laughed at you peering through your old bifocal glasses,
frame twisted awkwardly,
making you look somewhat frog-eyed.
"Let's see that production you mentioned.
Meet you at 7:30, the Lyric; dinner afterward."
I did an "Oh, goodie!" and left for work.
You never arrived; cell phone going straight to voicemail.
I stared at the playbill, September 8, 2001,
gave up and drove home, worried . . .
The police found me here,
telling me the details in their flat, official way;
three days later, your funeral . . .
a whole world grieves with me
for today American changed,
today, everything changed . . .
Faye Lanham Gibson
Copyright, October 3, 2014
Gather round and listen in to a story I once saw in a show It was called
THE MAN WITH THE BIFOCAL GLASSES
now the play bill was dated Sept. 8 2011
It was about the redneck who didn't want to admit he need glasses
let alone bifocals but he kept falling down and rolling around
He tripped on a broken pencil and split his pants well he was wearing
underwear with a hole in them and that was quite a site
He tried to duck tape it closed but it stuck to his butt cheeks
Then he needed help to try and get the tape of his trailer hitch
But the man he call on his cell phone to help him told that he
couldn't help him it look just like he did a pretty good job
fixin the crack in his butt all by his self but he told him
He wasn't trying to fix the crack in is butt he was tryin' to
fix his britches he just had a hole in his underwear and the tape
stuck to the crack in the butt so now can he pull it off
Well that lead to another can of worms
He told him he couldn't do it cause he was afraid when he did
it would hurt him so bad that this man just might poo his pants and he
didn't want to take the chance of the fall out
The New York skyline glimmered in the sun
Saw September 8th 2001
was printed on the playbill in her hand
Happily she sought her name written there
At long last she had achieved top billing
Singing an aria she twirled around
Her costume spread in a circular swish
Then picking up a broken pencil stub
She marked a misspelling in the address
Cell phone buzzed, reverberating loudly
Spurring Joanna out of her bubble
It was the director of the opera
Heard, "Hi Jo, reviews predict a long run!"
Donning her new bifocal sunglasses
She appraised her mirrored "star" reflection
Imagining a brilliant future.
Contest: Chopped Updated
Sponsored by: Craig Cornish
YACKETY-YACK
This broken pencil was just a nub – no longer usable.
I wanted to jot down the amount of this playbill dated September 08, 2001.
However, I decided to save the amount in my contacts of my cell phone.
These bifocal glasses are working to well.
I am observing a pigeon dropper slight of hands.
I am now walking down the street of angst.
Somebody had deliberately ticked me off.
Muscle spasms occurred.
I call my husband for him to come pick me up.
Disgusted by my lack of control, I begin to analyze my reasons.
Via conclusion, I derived that I am not going to be cheated out of a good life.
__________________________________________|
PENNED SEPTEMBER 30, 2014!
"P's" are ImPortant
Have they been Putting on their bifocal
When great People want to get very vocal
And for all of them to be well-understood
Should speak carefully if they only would.
For many, may find a Perfect plan
On bad behavior Please Place a ban
Whether either in Past, future or recent
Remove all exPosure which is indecent.
So Probably maybe each and every TV show
In Popularity will start and grow and grow
The letter "P" Presumably is imPortant
Or would have a hard time being omniPotent.
PS. God wants People to say all of their Prayers
Which should and must be done in many layers
So you can be saved and then to heaven go
Or else the way will be awfully, Pretty slow.
It seems there's no more running,
As more time sneaks up behind us,
The youthfulness we once possessed,
Has sunk so deep inside us...
That though we feel so young at heart,
Our age shows on the surface,
Each mirror that we look to blame,
Has finally found its purpose...
Reminding us what used to be,
And what may could have been,
Dividing every wrinkle seen,
Between bifocal lenses...
But as my legs get weaker,
And my stride becomes no longer,
Its me who bless each preacher,
Since my soul has gotten stronger..
That is when I thank the Lord,
For the life that he has given,
Then turn around to face the world,
Through the eyes of all the living...
you've got lined, leathery face,
astigmatic eyes well in place
behind what your generation
calls lennon bifocal sensation.
you still got a patch of dark hair,
but a closer, careful look there,
roots the tint of stainless spoon,
you need another dye job soon!
I wish I had bionic eyes
Or binoculars so I could espy
My blond in the shower
Viewing her passionate flower
With long arms I'd gladly dry
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