Said the TV’s weatherman,
a bright bloke on grey suit,
and with weeping eyeglasses,
“There’s probability of precipitation.
It’s going to rain from coast to coast.
Umbrellas, raincoats and rain boots
Are cheaper on Ebay.
Order from Amazon . . . galoshes and
calabashes...
It shall rain from Jerusalem to Jericho.
And no one shall be spared from the
sprinkles — be they Republicans
or Democrats.
Blonde or raven-haired.
So plan your wedding when a spell of
sunshine borrowed from Africa
falls on one and all, like the bright light
on the road to Tarsus.
Pray against a jealous tornado
which plans to disrupt graduation ceremonies
across wayward universities.
If you cannot pray, tweet.
Heaven also hearkens to tweets.
If you doubt it,
ask the birds
whom the Lord feeds".
It must have been made
and rejected
in times grinding gears –
a knobby irregularity,
a leftover of smelt and dross.
This is all there is
a gobbet of oven clinker,
but behind it I sense cracked teeth,
soot seared across burnt eyeglasses,
blackened bones,
for after the gas came the flames.
Here it is,
a fragment long convulsed
from its own incineration,
an irregular rake-off, smithereens
dragged across a blind stone floor.
This tittle of slag once had to fit something
the rough rim of an iron door perhaps
behind which an old furnace
still cools in faraway minds.
A ferrous chip chiseled from a gulag,
or a souvenir from an SS campfire meet.
There is always something left
after the unthinkable,
always some spicule of irregularity,
detritus to explain or confound
as we toss it back into the fire again.
The two fell in love almost too quickly
Rich and Carla
Carla and Rich
Wanted to get married
After only three weeks?
Rich’s mother and sister were invited to Carla’s folks for supper
On the book shelf was a marvelous photo of Rich and Carla
Rich’s mother’s feelings were hurt; she did not have that photo
“Lovely picture of Rich and Carla,” she said to Carla’s mother.
“What picture?”
She pointed it out.
“That’s not Rich and Carla, that’s Carla and Donnie, her ex.”
Rich’s mother looked a bit closer at the photo.
She walked closer to the photo.
Same hair, same expression, same eyeglasses.
The hair stood up on the back of her neck.
Our baby is ten months old
Today I heard a loud clinking sound in his mouth
Chased him around the room
Wrestled it out of there
It was a pair of eyeglasses
One lens was gone
I hope they are my readers from the dollar store
I have nineteen pairs of them lying around the house.
If they were my husband’s bifocals, I had better stay mum
Baby dug up the asphalt driveway last month
An English cream retriever, who cannot leave anything alone.
efficient Eddie eliminated evil Edna’s eyeglasses
flustering Frannie Florence, furthering father’s frankness forever
generous Ginnie gave glasses glorious glam, gluing garbage
hallow Hal hinted heroics, having Henry’s huffy habits
ideas ignited, illuminating idiocy in Illinois, Iowa and Idaho
juicy judgement jockeyed jointly, justifying judicial jury
we call her quirky girl, but her name is Sue
She has striped socks and striped shoes
Her curly hair is in all kind of rainbow hues
She wears pink eyeglasses with hearts said Lou.
And a red cape, don’t forget that said Sam.
Sam has a bit of a crush on our heroine, he is a lamb.
She is so cutesy petootsie, you will love her too!
This was said by many who spoke of little Sue.
Quirky girl, I thought that was my own name.
But here was a girl who has much more fame.
The whole school knows her, and she is clever too.
She has a sense of humor and a big smile, our quirky Sue.
Snail travels to Japan in the fanciest way
We see him traveling, he’s cutesy today
He is wearing a camera around his neck.
He stops to give the emperor a genuflect.
His hat is from Australia, his eyeglasses from the wild.
He scoots around old men, he picks up a lady bug child.
We flowers surround him, admiring his ensemble of beauty.
It is our Japanese privilege, not our tradition or duty.
Snail travels to Japan in the fanciest way
We see him traveling, he’s cutesy today
He is wearing a camera around his neck.
He stops to give the emperor a genuflect.
His hat is from Australia, his eyeglasses from the wild.
He scoots around old men, he picks up a lady bug child.
We flowers surround him, admiring his ensemble of beauty.
It is our Japanese privilege, not our tradition or duty.
I look in a mirror and see the old man,
I was told was there from fourteen years old.
I’ve become my father,
eyeglasses in every room so as not to waste
precious time searching for them.
Newspaper and magazine articles stored in boxes
never to be looked at again.
Poetry thoughts, written on the backs of books,
scraps of paper, most times.
Unable to be deciphered even by me
once I get around to it.
I’ve become my father,
six pills a day, caffeine-free coffee,
egg substitute, unable to work, new gadgets,
rambling on, and on, and on.
Quietly waiting for death, of which
I’m not afraid of anymore.
she is a bundled up cat
I have to give you that!
all snug and warm
Cozy, without any harm
grandma’s given her a scarf with a bit of blue
bundled cat is wearing her eyeglasses too
aren’t those glasses prescription? I ask Granny Inez.
Yes, but no one will give my cat an eye test she says.
I roll my eyes and the cat tries to follow.
Having a cat take my place is kind of hard to swallow.
You love her more than me, I accuse my Grand.
She smiles and they dance away with a Mariachi band.
A cup of tea is life
_____________
Red daisy and on it, your hand's impression
the tree trunk, squirrel and the sun in a session
lifting the paddy root with an edgy sickle
A teacup and the lips in a morning cohesion
The horse ready; the rider too pulls his socks up
Circling two lips, the bird is whistling up
With back on the tree, the sun catches the larks
The clock on wall striking seven and half
A cup of tea is life, and a sickle is the yield
Two dogs came running from across the field
You walk down the street wearing large eyeglasses
Behind the dark tinge, a strategy is concealed
A suggestion through metaphors or images is poetry.
A concrete meaning is perhaps not necessary
©? Probir Gupta
26 February 2023
You stepped into the garden
arrived the Bougainvillea of the spring
stanzas of poetry
You're putting on the big eyeglasses
lips on bouquet get concealed behind
the maze of metaphor
In the nest of deep green leaves
the bud is in a swell
waves of poems rhythmic
In the flute, the serotonin circuit
igniting the flames of an orange
the flavour of a sonnet
The chiselled shadow of your face
on the light brown tea
my lips for the poetry
____________________________
25 January 2023
*Image of Eyeglasses & Book by Pixabay.
the armitage
a decent soul blest a grant of images, illustrates beginnings reflecting throughout, occasions from the first expended journey when the hourglass stretched... abandoned worn diaries fragmenting chapters riddled with episodes, loosely bordered in leather, amassing dust...twilight dreamingly drifts near midnight twinkling stars, drooping its points into dawn's golden sleigh and graces a constant star...alone neath natural light swapped for lonelier nocturnal light, and a smile on a face dons from smiles narrowly shared, yet gently eyes serve an absence, and untouched renewed breathes life,
a paired life courses
here and there prompts everywhere ~
on earth earning wings
2023 February 05
It Means A Lot To Me
~Regina McIntosh
*HMS.
Silver candlesticks and other thingamabobs
Of questionable use in these modern times,
And riffraff scattered throughout in gobs
Most are reminiscent of long-ago pastimes
Of younger years spent happily gallivanting
Around the globe in search of new ventures
Now I spend entirely too much time, daunting,
Searching for my eyeglasses or my dentures
And trying to figure out how to dispose of
The knickknacks and what-nots I’ve collected
Not enough drawers I can into them shove,
On shelves they are dusty and much neglected.
I’m thinking that’s what my executors are for
So, I’ve designated a few people who will care
Who will make an inventory and open the door
For an estate sale, when I have gone over there
Time comes when my collections are scattered
To the four winds and have lost their meaning
Folks enjoyed them in my home, I was flattered,
But, now I am doing some necessary cleaning.
Written July 23, 2022
*Image of Battle of the Little Bighorn by History.com
To See Or Not To See
General Custer had a sentry,
A man of trust whose name was Henry,
He lost his spyglasses,
Used his blurred eyeglasses,
Yelled, "Those Indians sorta friendly."
2022 June 01
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