Please refer to my post @ https://ifeelshadows.wordpress.com/2012/07/16/my-idyllic-village-experience/ for a background to the story.
Time to walk the open streets of poetry
Though many preferring safety-sheds and lookouts.
However, the monkey struts in it
Having mastery of arts,
And immune from trial in court.
The wisdom of the Creator.
The beauty of art.
Is the writer just a creator of words,
Bored with the very essence?
And, knowing there is no end to words,
Shouldn’t there be enough to go round?
(Give hear, you unemployed ones!)
And, now, some will say:
Some writers have command of the literal world.
And after the elaborate journey into literal insanity,
Won’t the mad poet get bored?
(Wonder if his rants are not considered insults
To the job description of the writer.)
Won’t he then do what he knows best
-Thinking and writing like one who loves monkey soup!
- The Mad Village Poet 6 (ifeelshadows.wordpress.com)
- Explained -The Mad Village Poet 4 (ifeelshadows.wordpress.com)
- The Mad Village Poet 4 (Original) (ifeelshadows.wordpress.com)
English: St. Christopher, Pott Shrigley (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
A fair weather alights,
At dawn after calm dreams;
A day that starts aright,
And makes a man placid as a stream.
But behold baneful blackness,
Brutely blasting abroad blessings,
Bestowing but brief brightness,
Bequeathing but belated blessings.
Caring Christ carry Christopher’s crosses;
Clearing clouds, cast clarity;
Competently cutting crippling curses;
Completely cover cum ceaseless charity.
Dusks dawn and days end.
Dear Lord bid danger subside;
Dress wounds, dinner and bed;
Dwell and guide, beside and inside.
Please refer to my post @ https://ifeelshadows.wordpress.com/2012/07/16/my-idyllic-village-experience/ for a background.
Original(O): “How fast time runs! Can it overtake fate?
Are they even in a competition?”
Explained(E): Having to report to the hospital everyday, devote time to prepare for my specialisation programme in Psychiatry, and sit by the window of opportunity to charge my gadgets in the village left little time for all else. So, time really did run by; but, I was making good use of the time. Besides, one can’t exactly skip the days of preparation. So, landmarks of progress are achieved with time. Both time and life’s achievements work hand in hand.
O: “The rain falls on the sun. The rivers run fast and dry.
The seas overflow and cease.
Who can see the end of it all?”
E: I wrote this after half my time was done, and I was re-living how much had passed. The rainy season clashes in on the dry season. The river I saw one moment, in the rainy season, running fast and over-flowing left no prints in the harmattan. We all just come, to leave the earth. None lives forever on earth. True it will all end one day, but who here now can claim will see the end of the earth?!
O: “I am just a lonely man, tired of keeping the company of a biro and book.
Boring speechless brothers.”
E: I slept alone in the bedroom in a large cottage hospital compound, which is usually deserted in the nights and on weekends. Make no mistake though, because I wasn’t FEELING lonely.
O: “Who can tell a good story? Maybe a good tale of boredom.
Whilst I shamelessly flaunt my hatred for writing poems.
And am I to regard myself as a thinker.”
E: The above are just as stated. And I have always been careful about calling myself a poet. Except of course I speak as a particularist!
O: “Are Homo Sapiens better than Neanderthals? Are spirits better than mortals.
Does the cup of immortality come cheap?”
E: well, homo sapiens have the superior biopsychosocial system. But, along with it comes the issues of ghastly wars, heartbreaks, social discrimination/seggregation, etc. As for immortality, it also comes with boredom(when you do same things, eg. fight wars and endlessly exist, year after year. Or millenia after millenia! I wonder how many men would still pursue life itself with passion when they realize they are all going to live forever. I also wonder how many couples will stick together after aeons of living with the same person. The pursuit of immortality in this plane of existence is wreaked with it’s own freaky ills also. But, what do I know?! Am I even to regard myself as a thinker?
O: “Is boredom so costly?”
E: from another pespective, someone who has had a very stormy life would give anything for a lazy change of life; a very simple life; a sweet relief from the heartaches and torments and pressures and lacks!
O: “Am I just another croaky bull-frog, or a quiet cute toad?”
E: Am I just another self-aggrandizer trying desperately to blow his trumpet and set up a plate for himself -as a writer? Or, am I just quietly acknowledging my deficiencies?
O: “Tiredness comes easy; sleep comes hard.
And because of the delay, I have to waste precious ink,
And shed blue blood on white dress.”
E: Sometimes, I’d be writing at 2am with the torchlight, tired at midnight, but not feeling sleepy at all. And I’d try all sorts rather than jus placidly wait for sleep to meet me idle. I was using blue biro(blue blood) to write my drafts on a white paper(white dress).
O: “Many days of some man’s short life are crowded with boredom.
So, let me broadcast my boredom. Or, is it that obvious?”
E: The first line is as meant. As for the second, I guess it’s clear I was just bored and trying to pass the time till sleep came.
O: “Oh! And not a bored fellow who has enjoyed reading this piece to tell me that.”
E: As meant. Hehehe!