Example of Old Poetry and Poems

AFTER RAMAYANA

try those singular muscles, the easy ones first
just a few simple ideas - use small words -
don't worry about the spittle - see how they sit on paper
nobody's seen you do it, so go ahead
unembarrassed

don't worry overmuch
if you have nothing to say. did you ever
when you could never stop?
try a story!

what story?
any story. don't you know any stories?

I knew many. they were stories once. then they became real.
what's wrong with that?

how can you tell a story different from the way it happened?
and they all happened messily -
no storyline even by the time they finished
they bored even those who lived them
what's left in them?

you are left
awakening from long paralysis
won't it be fun to leap and wrestle
muscle words into shapes they would never accept?

I remember first when words were given to me
I used them to curse one who had destroyed
(what I thought) was supreme nature in
(what I thought) was momentary callousness
and exultance of power.
I killed then, not the first time I killed
and was overheard

- September 4,1986

umashankar manthravadi





RAMAYANA (the Jersey Version)

A few thousand years ago,
In a land no longer found,
The poet Valmiki climbed out of an ant hill,
And wrote the first poetic sound.

Twenty-five thousand verses long,
The poem's still going strong;
An epic allegory for human display,
Called 'Ramayana, '
Rama's Way.

Rama's King Father wanted Rama to be King;
Rama was to rule everything,
But be it illusion, or be it real,
The Dharma wheel is stronger than steel.

And the Bears would sing:
We fight that's all;
We fight worse than ever;
We will fight til we die,
And feel no pain.

We fight that's all,
We fight worse than ever;
We fight til we die;
There's no surrender.

Rama was exiled fourteen years;
His coronation turned to tears,
Cos his Daddy made a deal a long time ago,
Push came to shove,
And Rama had to go.

His brother went with him;
So did his wife,
His brother, his defender,
And Sita, the love of his life.

I'm not going into all the names,
But a lot of heroes went up in flames,
Brought on by a war that should never have been,
The result of Ravana's sin.

Ravana,
Ravana -the Demon King.

Ravana, who was no friend of Time,
With his Empire in Lanka,
His riches, women and wine,
With his armies,
With his weapons,
And his magic in the mix,
He took out Heaven,
Just for kicks.

And to Ravana, Sita was,
A ten mind bender,
With her breasts so full,
Waist so slender,
With eyes so dark,
Skin so gold,
Her Mother was Earth,
Or so it's told.

His ten heads thought Sita a must,
So he kidnapped the Goddess;
He did it for lust.

Ravana made a deal with the Gods long ago;
He used to lop off his heads,
Just to give 'em a show;
They blessed him and told him,
He couldn't be killed,
By any other God,
Which gave him the thrill,
Of wiping out Heavenly Hosts by hand;
To retalliate,
The Gods sent Rama,
As a man.

'Ramayana, ' Rama's Way.

Valmiki's war version
Took thousands of pages,
Full of majesty, miracles,
Monkeys and sages,
But the bridge to the tale,
From darkness to light,
Was Hanuman, Son of the Wind,
A Monkey of White.

Hanuman, Son of the Wind.

Leaping the sea, like eternaty,
Hanuman, Son of the Wind,
Leaping to Lanka,
Discovering Sita,
And there the war would begin.

An animal army of Monkeys and Bears
Against a Demon Army with all their wares.

We fight
That's all,
We fight worse than ever;
We fight til we die,
And we feel no pain...

Truth upholds this earth;
Truth makes fire burn;
Truth upholds our birth,
And Death, as we turn;
Truth makes the sunshine,
Makes the ocean kiss the shore;
Lies... lies make war.

So as the sun rose
With all its charms,
Monkeys and Bears
Died in each other's arms,

And Demons by the millions
Also died in the sun;
Such was the price
For the war to be won.

And the North wind swirled,
And it blew out the light,
As Gods gathered
To witness the fight.

Ravana in armor
Woven in black,
Readied himself,
For Rama's attack.

A brief history of Rama:
Before he was a guy,
He was the God Vishnu.
You could tell he was different,
His color was blue.

Ravana used rain,
As part of his attack.
If you cut off his head,
He'd just grow it on back.

Rockets collided
With Ravana's mace,
Till Rama pulled out
A bamboo case.

Inside was a God sent arrow alone,
One that could rend gateways to stone;
Rama thought, 'Kill him I curse, '
The bow string rang the whole universe,
And the arrow stuck in Ravana's heart,
And there, flesh and spirit tore apart.

All was still...
No one said a word...
No tide in the ocean...
Nothing stirred,
And nothing
Was left,
Worth fighting for,
And so,
Ended
The wreckage...
Of the war.

Now it gets a little checkered and dicey at the end,
Everybody figured Ram and Sita were friends,
But he abandoned her one day in the weeds.
He did it for the people;
He did it for their needs.

And that's where Valmiki, the Poet comes in,
Climbing out of his ant hill,
He saved Sita then;
He kept the girl from jumping
Into the water by the shore;
He took care of her,
And the twins she bore.

And he taught those twins to sing
His twenty-five thousand verse song;
They sang it to Rama,
At a gig that took a year;
Everyone gathered 'round for the 'Ramayana Song'
And to Hanuman, the Song brought a tear;
He was thinking about Sita... Sita.

Rama figured out those twins had to be his,
So he sent for Sita at a moment of bliss;
She showed up at the gig for what it was worth,
And then she dropped out of sight,
With her old Mother Earth.

Everybody thought it was a little bit strange
To see Rama smile;
Everybody thought it was a little bit strange,
To see him take a cup of wine,
But he knew he would see her after a while;
He knew it was just a matter of time,

Because Sita was a form of Lakshmi,
And Rama was Vishnu too,
Eternally together, forever intertwined,
Doin' them things:
Gods and Goddesses do.

He knew as the clock ticks away,
He and lovely Sita,
Would be together someday.

And we...

We fight, that's all;
We fight worse than ever;
We fight till we die,
And feel no pain.

We fight;
That's all;
We fight worse than ever
We fight til we die,
There's no surrender.

richard jarboe



MAHABHARATA

The world wanders in ruins -
Evanescent wonders seven - incessantly inundated
By tortous roars
The seven seas converge at the edge
Of apocalypse

Pulse on the waves to the
Indestructible edifice
Where in the ancient temple
The scroll is unrolled
I will cruise on the pursuit
To the sacred ganges
Where the river will gurgle the eternal songs.

Decked with epic grandeur
I have to wander from shore to shore
I have to plunge into strange depths
Be blinded by alien motes
For the voice etched on rocks.

Kojo Owusu



The Marriage of Heaven and Hell (excerpt)

In seed time learn, in harvest teach, in winter enjoy.
Drive your cart and your plow over the bones of the dead.
The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom.
Prudence is a rich, ugly old maid courted by Incapacity.
He who desires but acts not, breeds pestilence.
The cut worm forgives the plow.
Dip him in the river who loves water.
A fool sees not the same tree that a wise man sees.
He whose face gives no light, shall never become a star.
Eternity is in love with the productions of time.
The busy bee has no time for sorrow.
The hours of folly are measur'd by the clock; but of wisdom, no clock can measure.
All wholesome food is caught without a net or a trap.
Bring out number, weight and measure in a year of dearth.
No bird soars too high, if he soars with his own wings.
A dead body revenges not injuries.
The most sublime act is to set another before you.
If the fool would persist in his folly he would become wise.
Folly is the cloak of knavery.
Shame is Pride's cloke.
Prisons are built with stones of law, brothels with bricks of religion.
The pride of the peacock is the glory of God.
The lust of the goat is the bounty of God.
The wrath of the lion is the wisdom of God.
The nakedness of woman is the work of God.
Excess of sorrow laughs. Excess of joy weeps.
The roaring of lions, the howling of wolves, the raging of the stormy sea, and the destructive sword, are portions of
eternity, too great for the eye of man.
The fox condemns the trap, not himself.
Joys impregnate. Sorrows bring forth.
Let man wear the fell of the lion, woman the fleece of the sheep.
The bird a nest, the spider a web, man friendship.
The selfish, smiling fool, and the sullen, frowning fool shall be both thought wise, that they may be a rod.
What is now proved was once only imagin'd.
The rat, the mouse, the fox, the rabbit watch the roots; the lion, the tyger, the horse, the elephant watch the fruits.
The cistern contains: the fountain overflows.
One thought fills immensity.
Always be ready to speak your mind, and a base man will avoid you.
Every thing possible to be believ'd is an image of truth.
The eagle never lost so much time as when he submitted to learn of the crow.
The fox provides for himself, but God provides for the lion.
Think in the morning. Act in the noon. Eat in the evening. Sleep in the night.
He who has suffer'd you to impose on him, knows you.
As the plow follows words, so God rewards prayers.
The tygers of wrath are wiser than the horses of instruction.
Expect poison from the standing water.
You never know what is enough unless you know what is more than enough.
Listen to the fool's reproach! it is a kingly title!
The eyes of fire, the nostrils of air, the mouth of water, the beard of earth.
The weak in courage is strong in cunning.
The apple tree never asks the beech how he shall grow; nor the lion, the horse, how he shall take his prey.
The thankful receiver bears a plentiful harvest.
If others had not been foolish, we should be so.
The soul of sweet delight can never be defil'd.
When thou seest an eagle, thou seest a portion of genius; lift up thy head!
As the caterpiller chooses the fairest leaves to lay her eggs on, so the priest lays his curse on the fairest joys.
To create a little flower is the labour of ages.
Damn braces. Bless relaxes.
The best wine is the oldest, the best water the newest.
Prayers plow not! Praises reap not!
Joys laugh not! Sorrows weep not!
The head Sublime, the heart Pathos, the genitals Beauty, the hands and feet Proportion.
As the air to a bird or the sea to a fish, so is contempt to the contemptible.
The crow wish'd every thing was black, the owl that every thing was white.
Exuberance is Beauty.
If the lion was advised by the fox, he would be cunning.
Improvement makes strait roads; but the crooked roads without improvement are roads of genius.
Sooner murder an infant in its cradle than nurse unacted desires.
Where man is not, nature is barren.
Truth can never be told so as to be understood, and not be believ'd.
Enough! or too much.

William Blake (1757 - 1827)