Poems

Ah, poetry! The stuff of life! The joy of self-expression!

And I'm just getting started!


To the Party Pooper
by Uday Gunjikar

I was having such a good time
Until you showed up
And ruined my party.

You rained on my parade,
You arrogant, selfish, heartless oaf!

May you rot in hell
And may sadistic worms
Burrow through your skull
For all eternity!


To the Plagiarist
by Uday Gunjikar

I spent so many hours
Inventing original ideas—
The gems of my thoughts—
The condensation of my dreams—
The expression of my soul—
So many hours
Of loving toil
And midnight oil
Burned in dedicated pursuit
Of creativity.

Only to have it brutally plagiarized
By a witless profiteer
And traded
Like some tawdry commodity
On the common market!

I should sue the crap out of you
And make you pay
A bloody ransom
For your crime!
And maybe I will!

Except that I don’t have the time
Or inclination
Right now
To waste
On a futile struggle
Over niceties
In a drawn-out judicial process.

But don’t push your luck, scumbag!
I just might change my mind
The next time around
And take you for all you’ve got!

I love your stuff, Uday!

VCR

The time would be right now,
in my world,
this room full of remarkable spirits,
trapped inside,
a rectangular glowing boxcar.
We can't find any time for us.


My Contribution To Noise

We are fooled by our ears
there is never any silence,
such a dream, seconds away.
Quite the mechanical world.
Behold, it is upon thee,
stuttering,
graciously playing a record,
keeping lost animals dancing,
through a cloudy place of chemistry.
Installed, isn't everything mainly electric,
except battery operated vehicles,
all of it is fooling our eyes,
we are desensitized.
Mechanical worlds don't play,
in widescreen.
The perfect idyllic atmosphere,
we're on an elevator,
just heading there.
Going up or down,
never any silence in the mechanical tower,
not all floors are completely soundless.
Outside, there is never any silence.
When we are dead and below the earth,
there is still never any silence,
and we don't keep our ears forever then.
So what is fooling us?


Happiness

Happiness heals however hurt you are,
and the rain will wash the pain,
down the troubled street I see.
Standing still and silent, I summarize,
everything I've experienced,
and outside, the day is dark.
But when the clock chimed the time,
and then continued to tick tock,
my wait wanted to end,
and just as I thought it would, it did.
The room filled up with
the sweet, soft, sugary smell.
The daily delivered delicious donuts
here at last, after time had passed.
The delivery guy drives away with the
rain that's driving the pain,
away from me.
It's time that I munch on my lunch.

I don't think I'm a good poet in the least, but I wrote this. Do not rip it apart. Thank you.

Marta
by (you don't get to know my real name, sorry)

Six years
all that's left is this picture
your Janis Joplin smile

...short, no?

__________________
"You, me, everyone...we are all made of star stuff." - Neil Degrasse Tyson

https://shawnsmovienight.blogspot.com/

Monkeypunch: short, brief, to the point, and very, very poignant. Sometimes what is left unsaid speaks louder than what is said! I was very impressed!

Jason, thanks for the appreciation. Your work is impressive too!

To the Slanderer
by Uday Gunjikar

If you have
A case
Against me,
Show me the evidence!
Voice your claim
In the public eye!

But don’t go spreading
Vicious lies
And malicious rumors
About me
Behind my back
To ruthlessly brutalize
My good name,
To savage my reputation,
Alienate my friends
And loved ones
All over a pack of lies
Concocted
By the deranged, twisted mind
Of a malevolent scoundrel
Without conscience
Or heart—
Bent on malice
Without cause.

Slander
by Uday Gunjikar

Empty words
Echoing through the air
Without substance
Or form,
Containing the essence
Of a multitude
Of lies.

The perverse renderings
Of a deranged imagination—
Character assassination
Through malicious fabrication
Provokes a morbid fascination
Amongst the general population

A sordid crucifixion
Of innocence
With empty words—
Empty lies
Without substance,
Without evidence,
Without logic,
Without meaning,
Without reason or sense.

Hatred
Without cause
Inflames the eye
Of the slanderer.

Guilt and innocence
Bartered and traded
On the marketplace—
Sold to the highest bidder
Like some base commodity.
Justice perverted
Through the commerce
Of greedy liars
Plying their perverse trade
In the gloomy dungeons
Of a profane,
Perverse
Industry of deception.

Human Rights
by Uday Gunjikar

I have the right
To express myself,
To think for myself,
To act for myself,
To be myself—
To be alive
And free
And happy.

I have the right
To make mistakes
And be forgiven
Through faith.

I have a voice—
Identity.

I have the right
To be.

I have the right
To be
Human.

I have rights
For being
Human.

Tyranny
by Uday Gunjikar

The oppressive fist
That pushes you down
And crushes your dreams.

The iron slab
Of injustice
That
Rams
Your face
Into the dust,
Making you choke
As you inhale the fumes
Of political corruption.

The leather boot
That treads on you
And tramples your spirit,
Destroying your hopes.

The wooden club
That knocks you senseless,
Into grovelling submission.

The coldly calculating,
Manipulating,
Invisible eye
That controls your life,
Destroys your relationships,
Defames you with lies,
Humiliates you in public,
Corrupts your thoughts,
Pulls your strings.

The web of lies
That torment you
With empty guilt
Over nothing.

Big Brother’s
Watchful eye—
Invisible control—
Loss of identity.

The Profiteer
by Uday Gunjikar

"What does it
Profit
A man
That he should gain
The entire world
And forfeit
His very soul?

Or what can a man
Give
In exchange
For his soul?"

When you sell your soul
For trivial merchandise—
For immediate gain—
For personal profit—
Perhaps the cost
Far outweighs
The benefits.

Deception
by Uday Gunjikar

The unseen web
Of lies—
Manipulation—
The electronic hiss
Of white noise—
Static—
And dynamic—
That conceals
A network of deceit.

Electronic poison
Filters silently
Across the still air.

The flash of images—
A face,
A voice,
A silent explosion
In a remote land.

Concealment,
Containment,
Silent coercion,
Hypnotic persuasion,
Subliminal molestation.

The Terminator
by Uday Gunjikar

A fist punches
Through
A car windshield.

The cold,
Mechanical,
Inhuman,
Blank stare
Of a machine of death.

Single-minded,
Relentless,
Inexorable aggression
Without provocation
Or cause
Or meaning
Or mercy.

“The sole purpose
For my existence
Is to destroy yours,”
It seems to say
As it deliberately hunts
Its fleeing quarry.

The human animal
Scampers through the shadows
Seeking refuge
From the piercing stare
Of the ruthless,
Relentless,
Oppressive
Death machine—

Digitizing the world
Into a sequence
Of electronic signals—
A data stream
To be computed,
Calculated,
And manipulated
Into an instrument of torture
And sudden destruction.

A mechanical endoskeleton
Encased by human flesh.
A cold, inhuman eye
Shining in the darkness—
A malevolent beacon
Signaling impending,
Inescapable,
Certain doom.

Arnold Schwarzenegger
Excels
In a classic screen performance
As the Terminator—
A James Cameron film
With Linda Hamilton
In the starring role.
A brilliant film
From start to finish.

Politics
by Uday Gunjikar

The feral howl
Of the untamed mob—
Crude violence,
Profanity,
The savage glint
Of teeth bared
In a barbarous guffaw—
A profane gesture
Coupled with a sneer
And a hollow chuckle—
Sadistic pleasure indulged
In the brutal suffering
Of the common man.

A politician smiles
Knowingly
With icy, deliberate calculation—
His chill voice
Provoking mayhem—
A strategic maneuver
To boost his ratings.

His advisors cackle,
Lurking in the shadows
Behind his podium.
The speechmakers
And image-consultants
Smile and nod,
Twitching expectantly
In breathless anticipation
Of the politician’s
Sharp,
Ringing
Electronic voice
Cutting through the icy wind
Like a Toledo blade.

The politician smirks,
Recalling the syllables
Of his speech—memorized
To perfection
The night before.
He parts his lips—
The crowd roars—
He smiles once more—
Raises his hands,
His fingers pointing
Towards the sky.

“I must preserve
My own credibility
At all costs,”
He silently reflects,
“Even by ruthlessly destroying
The credibility of my enemies.”

“Nothing must stand in my way—
I rule supreme!”

He raises his hands
And speaks with eloquence
Of his political agenda—
“Tomorrow, we go to war . . .
Or build a bridge . . .
Or raise taxes . . .
Or triple the deficit . . .”
It matters little what he says—
The untutored mob—
The media’s pawn—
Screams and yells
Regardless.

The politician smiles
Obviously pleased
With the success of his endeavors.
His oratorical skill
Has served him well.
He glows with pride
As his cronies
Pat him on the back,
Shake his hand
And congratulate him.
“For he’s a jolly good fellow!”
They chant with one voice.
“For he’s a jolly good fellow,
And so say all of us!”

The following morning,
A button is depressed,
An order given,
A salute snapped—
With a deafening roar
A supersonic jet
Releases
A 20 ton
Nuclear device
Over a hapless
Third-world nation.

Devastation—
Mutilation—
Carnage beyond imagination.
Body parts lie scattered
Across the charred landscape—
Skeletons with fragments of flesh
Still half-attached
Lie contorted in heaps
While at the crater of the blast,
All that remains
Are charred markings on the soil—
The frugal remains
Of bodies completely vaporized
By the raw intensity
Of the blast of heat.

The politician smiles.
“Success,” he muses,
“My ratings will soar!
The people love me!
I am a god!”

He pauses.

“No,” he thinks.

“Not A god.”

“I AM God.”

“When people pray,
They pray to me!”

He smiles, a toothy grin.
“I like the sound of that!”
He mutters to himself
With quiet satisfaction.

“Maybe that could be
My campaign slogan
For the next election.”

"Art consists of limitation. The most beautiful part of every picture is the frame."
-- G.K. Chesterton

Isn't it just? Is there anything more beautiful than a 16:9 aspect ratio? Black bars on the screen? Widescreen? Open ended endings? Time limitations? Budgetary restrictions? Lack of equipment?

Sigh. Wonderful. The best part of art is the limitations. The best part of the limitations is the challenge. The best part of the challenge is the experiment. The best part of that is the ingenuity of it all.

__________________
www.esotericrabbit.com

Reflections Upon Stubbing my Toe against a Door
by Uday Gunjikar

I stubbed my toe
Against a door
And silently reflected,

“Ow!
That hurts!”

Love
by Uday Gunjikar

Love
is
Ecstasy
When you have it . . .

Bitterness
When you have lost it . . .

Savage Beauty
by Uday Gunjikar

She had the beauty
Of a wild, exotic rose
And the savage
Cruelty
Of a bush of thorny briars.

The Pain of Passion
by Uday Gunjikar

I loved her
With a deep,
Fervent,
Desperate
Passion . . .

Until she
Sadistically
Cut my heart out
And fed it to a wild pack
Of barking,
Hungry dogs.

The Statesman
by Uday Gunjikar

A cold, cynical
Man of the State—
A methodical,
Machiavellian
Political machine
Whose life consists
Of an endless series
Of calculated,
Legalistic,
Strategic maneuvers
And commercial transactions
All designed
To further his pursuit
Of personal gain—
Political power—
Domination—
Control—
Manipulation.

His soul
Is totally, utterly, completely
Hollow—
Empty—
Dead—

Devoid
Of Poetry—
Romance—
Feeling—

Of the wild, unbridled,
Burning Passion
Of the Poet.

Expensive Lies
by Uday Gunjikar

Since time immemorial,
The rich have always been
Hell-bent on
Persecuting
The poor—
But nowadays, it seems,
They prefer to hire
Expensive lawyers
To do the job
For them.

Perhaps the outright oppression
Of the past
Was preferable
To the convoluted,
Twisted
Web of lies—
The tapestry of deceit—
That conceals the crimes
Of the wealthy
And powerful
In modern times—
For then, at least,
The evil
Was apparent.

Imprison the poor,
If you must,
In ghettoes—
Enslave them
In concentration camps—
Shoot them in the back—
Burn them at the stake—
Throw them to the lions—
Crucify them—

But please—
Don’t feed them with
Expensive lies—
Perverse rationalizations
Blandly to justify
Inhuman
Malevolence—
Like a fresh coat of paint
Over a rusted car
Or a beautiful face
Masking
An ugly, rotten heart.

Heroes and Cowards
by Uday Gunjikar

The hero
Puts his own
Life
And personal welfare
On the line
To help others
Whenever he can.

The selfish
Coward
Cynically finds,
In another’s crisis,
The perfect opportunity
For personal
Profit.

Ruthless Bastards
by Uday Gunjikar

It seems, sometimes,
That
Ruthless Bastards
Control the world—
Cold-blooded
Politicians
Who have no
Guilt
Or shame
Or conscience
Over what they do—
Sadistic animals
Who shamelessly
Manipulate
And destroy
Human lives
To get ahead—
To serve their own
Political needs.

The terrorist—
Monster though he may be—
Doesn’t stand a chance
Against
The local politician—
The friendly guy
With a smiling face
Whom we see on TV,
Wrapped in the flag
And grinningly
Patting little children
On the head
With a patronizing air.

Saddam Hussein—
That brutal tyrant—
Is a patsy
Compared
To the average
Patriotic scoundrel
Who fights abroad
Supposedly
For the free, democratic
Way of life—
While flagrantly violating
Every democratic principle
In his own homeland—
Denying freedom,
Civil liberties
And human rights
To his own people.

Josef Stalin—
Adolph Hitler—
Hirohito—
Mao Tse Tung—
Osama bin Laden—
These are names
To be feared
And despised
Beyond a doubt.
But perhaps
Even these evil men
Pale
In comparison
With the likes of
George S. Patton—
J. Edgar Hoover—
Joseph McCarthy—
Lyndon B. Johnson—
Richard Nixon—
Not to mention
The White Knights
Of the Ku Klux Klan!

I love America—
The land of freedom
And opportunity—
Of liberty
And justice
For all—
Where we all have
The rights
To life, liberty and
The pursuit of happiness.

Which is why,
All the more,
I despise
Tyranny
In whatever way, shape or form
It may take
Or with whatever lies or deception
It may mask itself.

Let freedom reign!
And may the world be
A better place
As a result.

Spitfire
by Uday Gunjikar

With cold, ruthless,
Mechanistic ferocity,
The tiny
World War II
Fighter aircraft
Fires bullet after bullet
Of malice,
Venom
And destructive vengeance
Without mercy.

The spitfire veers
In the cold, dank air
And begins its next volley—
A relentless onslaught
Of mechanical rage.

Like bullet
After bullet—
Lie
After lie
Bombards the brain—
Knocking you senseless—
Overwhelming you
With sheer intensity—
A deluge of deception—
Wave after wave—
Bullet after bullet—
Of distortion,
Corruption,
Perversion
Of the Truth

The spitfire,
Levelling its wings,
Grabbing the icy wind,
Scowls at its victim
And with a
Predatory snarl
Of its engines,
Begins anew—
A never-ending cycle
Of venomous, destructive lies
Spitting out
Ceaselessly,
Relentlessly,
And, ultimately,
Meaninglessly.

And in between
The sputtering chatter
Of machine gunfire,
It seems to groan
As it repeats
The monotonous refrain,
“If you can tell
A whole lot of lies
In quick,
Rapid
Succession,
You can convince people
Of pretty much
Anything . . .”

As i was going up the stair
i met a man who wasn't there
he wasn't there again today
i wish, i wish he'd stay away

__________________
The wold is full of kings and queens
Who blind our eyes and steal our dreams
it's heaven and hell

Why don't your poems rhyme, Django?
I thought you said you had to go?
Why haven't you left since you said you would?
But really, would you leave if you could?
MoFo is a lifestyle, not an activity.
With lots to do and lots to see!
People have come, and people have gone,
But you stay forever, or not for long.
Like Moulin Rouge, you hate it or love it,
But at the moment, all I can do is sit.
I can think about the war, religion, abortion,
And if the rich should pay more than their portion.
I've learned so much and come so far,
that I can't reach to raise the bar.
I'll need many elders to help me gain wisdom,
And to whatever it takes to get heaven to come.

__________________
"I bet one legend that keeps reoccurring throughout history, in every culture, is the story of Popeye."

Bravo!

Great job Grace... the last six lines are fantastic! Your mama should be proud.

Thank you! I seem to have a flare for this!
Anywhere I go, MoFo's something I'll miss.
My mama is proud, as proud as can be!
Proud for all her children (but most of all, me!).
I've never really gotten used to this unlikely talent,
And I enjoy the compliment, but let's not get our priorities bent.
It takes time, effort, and a strong will to get through in life,
Or you can cruise through school and live a life of strife!
It's all because of my father, he's taught me everything,
Even though on 2 different fingers, he put a wedding ring.
He's taught me well, but what I've learned on this site,
Is that, with lots of caffiene, you can stay up for 3 nights!

Bravo, Gracie, your stuff is very impressive!

Incidentally, poetry doesn't have to rhyme, or even have meter. Strictly speaking, poetry is just honest self-expression. So, in my opinion at least, poetry doesn't have to have rhyme or meter. It just needs to flow well.

Incidentally, I didn't leave MoFo, nor do I dislike it. It's just that I was very busy at the time and decided to take a hiatus from the board. However, I do keep checking back regularly, when I find some time, and, occasionally, such as now, I even post on MoFo.

Toose, take it easy!

Talk to you guys later. Adios for now!