About Me

!nversed Poignancy!

...I am an eclectic amalgamation of many seemingly paradoxical things. This can be exemplified in both my seemingly endless persistance on many topics and arguments, as well as my careful cautiousness on other topics and arguments. This is largely due to how astute I am of the topic: more knowledge, more persistant; less knowledge, obviously more cautious. I also have times of obsessive compulsions regarding certain things (mostly just my thoughts, however)...

Life and Death

!nversed Poignancy!

Life

An assembly

Possibly impossible

Perfectly interchangeable..

Death

That lives most upright

Beyond the unspoken

Neither a squiggle nor a quibble..

She and Me

!nversed Poignancy!

She

A daffodil

Tyrannizer of me

Breaking the colors of dusk!..

Me

The rising sun

Infringed with violations

The impurity in the salt..

Love and Poetry!

!nversed Poignancy!

Love

A puerile desire

Buried in the heart

Never leaves..

Poetry

Sentimentally melodramatic

Cursively recursive

My thoughts idiotic!

"You're a teacher?" she asked. "What kind of students do you have?"

"Smart ones," I answered with a smile.

"Uh... I mean what nationality."

"Mostly Hispanic. Mexican Americans, you know? I actually had to speak Spanish to get my job."

"Oh!"

"Some African Americans."

"Mmm..."

"One American Indian."

"Ah..."

"And a number of Asian Americans."

"Yes, but don't you teach any real Americans?"
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Freedom

Scribbled by Bharath C On August 13, 2006 0 Thoughts have been Sprinkled!, Your Take?
Alone, I had escaped. Alone, I was free---almost.

I tunneled until the roof collapsed. Half buried, the moonbeam caught my eye. I jumped up and ran. Sirens wailed. Guns cracked. Dogs howled. I dove into the water. Drifted downstream. Across the border. To freedom!

Still, that other night returns. Knife plunging. Blood staining my hands, my face, my soul.

Alone, freedom eludes me.

M. Stanley Bubien
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Rainbow..

Scribbled by Bharath C On August 08, 2006 0 Thoughts have been Sprinkled!, Your Take?
Don't you want to find
the key to eternal life
reach out for me
and show that you need me
and I will give to you
that what is most wanted
the key to a happy life

It is just an illusion
that you are free
come and see me

This life could be paradise
but we have lost
our will to see and feel
what living is to be
there is no meaning
when we no longer can dream
of something that we don't know
what it is like
we have no sense of the past
I can tell you about everything
but do you want to listen


Under the rainbow
we are all born into life
but there are only a few of us
that are truly living
but we want to help you
to find your lost heart
you just have to turn your life
in another direction
everybody can change
but don't wait
it can be much too late
come and see me and I will
give you victory

Don't you want to find
a way to expand your mind
so you can be able to understand
how to get a real good life
or are you really pleased
with all the misery

Poetry...?

Scribbled by Bharath C On August 06, 2006 0 Thoughts have been Sprinkled!, Your Take?



We'll begin with box, and the plural is boxes,
But the plural of ox should be oxen, not oxes.
Then one fowl is goose, but two are called geese,
Yet the plural of moose should never be meese.
You may find a lone mouse or a whole lot of mice,
But the plural of house is houses, not hice.

If the plural of man is always called men,
Why shouldn't the plural of pan be pen?
The cow in the plural may be cows or kine,
But the plural of vow is vows, not vine.
And I speak of a foot, and you show me your feet,
But I give a boot... would a pair be beet?
If one is a tooth, and a whole set is teeth,
Why shouldn't the plural of booth be beeth?

If the singular is this, and the plural is these,
Why shouldn't the plural of kiss be kese?
Then one may be that, and three be those,
Yet the plural of hat would never be hose.
We speak of a brother, and also of brethren,
But though we say mother, we never say methren.

The masculine pronouns are he, his and him,
But imagine the feminine she, shis, and shim.
So our English, I think you will agree,
Is the trickiest language you ever did see.

I take it you already know
of tough, and bough and cough and dough?
Others may stumble, but not you
on hiccough, through, slough and though.
Well done! And now you wish, perhaps
To learn of less familiar traps?
Beware of heard, a dreadful word
That looks like beard and sounds like bird.
And dead; it's said like bed, not bead!
For goodness sake, don't call it deed!

Watch out for meat and great and threat,
(They rhyme with suite and straight and debt)
A moth is not a moth in mother,
Nor both in bother, broth in brother.
And here is not a match for there,
Nor dear and fear for bear and pear,
And then there's dose and rose and lose –
Just look them up – and goose and choose,
And cork and work and card and ward
And font and front and word and sword.

And do and go, then thwart and cart.
Come, come, I've hardly made a start.
A dreadful language: Why, man alive,
I'd learned to talk when I was five.
And yet to write it, the more I tried,
I hadn't learned it at fifty-five.

[An alternative version quotes the final couplet as:

And yet to write it, the more I sigh,
I'll not learn how 'til the day I die.]

What a fabulous poem! But such a shame no-one knows the author/s. So yes, English is crazy, and we have poems like this to remind us!

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