P.S: It’s Fairy-tale Tuesday on Twitter, and this is my poesy contribution to the weekly fairy twitter feast for those of you who take a fancy to fanciful elements and dwell in the beauty of the mysterious nature.
Tag: literature
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the secret of the sea
In the wilderness of the great ocean
Lies a secret script of the Fate of Man
Sealed in the silence of tidal motion
In dissimulation of the opprobrious plan
Harboring the secrecy of the Age of Man
That gods so have kept to themselves alone.
The Ages of Man, the Plays of Man
On the Stages of Acts in Humanity –
Those gods wrote and watched for fun
In the theater of Comedy and Tragedy
As the Wheel of Fortune decided what
Would be played the next, and whatnot.
The heart of the ocean sends a pulse thru me
Of the secret hidden in the watery main
With the sunny breeze that pushed Odyssey
To sail forth against the forces of the divine
To find and write a new Age of Man to witness
The victory between the Scylla and Charybdis.
P.S.: This is a poem written out of my existential crisis in the reflection of Herodutus’s theory of the Age of Man. I am not a fatalist but a believer of luck as Shakespeare was. I believe that time and chance are what ascribe to the fulfillment of your ends in life or for the nonce. Didn’t Thomas Alba Edison also corroborate that a genius is made of 1 percent of ingenuity and 99 percent of efforts? I want to embark on an Odyssey to claim my own destiny.
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vertigo of words
Words inviting, the eyes accepted
the spirit willing, the heart exalted
the mind laboring, the brain revolted
against the lust of learning to be learned;
Woe was to her as her will yet essayed
Amid the vertigo of cogitation whirled
Like a never-ending merry-go-around
Swiveling her head in pandemonium.
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gentle giant
A gentle giant in the maze of darkness
Sees the darkest corruption of the heart
alloyed in the putrid puss of proud violence
Writhing his pulsation of life like a serpent
Twisting the veins that carry life to his breath
Pounding the dome of his sovereign palace
In a morbid frisson of the ecstatic dance of death
Amid the cries of the man in a maze of disgrace
Unarmored, unguarded, unprotected, unheard
As the rampant madness of murder with passion
Possesses the man with the corrupt heart blinded
By outgrown white heat of hatred with unreason.
P.S.: It would have been my first day of returning to the office after the partial end of stay-home order in California had my brother not told me of a civil unrest situation in Downtown LA where my job was located; the subway station I always use was closed, and a curfew would be enforced in LA Counties starting from 6:00 PM, which would affect my returning home via trains.
Behind all this commotion lies another intermittently continuous police brutality exercised against the socially disenfranchised or marginalized – or to put it more blatantly – invisible, and therefore ignorable. The demonstrations were egged on by the inhumanly aggravated handling by the police of George Floyd, a former promising college basketball student who had eked out living by working as a security guard until he was laid off due to Covid-19 lockdown.
I don’t care what Floyd’s past sins are. I don’t need to know his character assessment to reason the initiation of Floyd’s arrestment by the police in the first place. What I see from the video of his undignified death posted on the New York Times attests to the manifestation of how prejudice aided by the unbridled zealous passion of the heated moment can lead to the destruction of humanity. The more I watch the tragedy, the more I see the man’s pathos and the oppressor’s inhumanity. How could you do that? This alone matters to me. Hence this poem is my elegy to Mr. Floyd.
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wandering star
A puerile quest for a mirage, he rebukes
A pristine request of the heart, she decries
and begins a Ballard of a plain girl unknown;
Since her star in the Milky Way lost
its trail of Manifest Destiny shining the brightest,
the heiress bereft of her heavenly bequest
Without a speck of stardust has not been
As others were – she has not seen
As others saw – she has not known
As others knew- she still can not find
Where the tides of the ocean by wind
Arise, rush, roll, and reach with the surge
The silent silverly soil with the urge
When the lost high star finds her at last
And returns her overdue gifts of the best.
P.S. I feel intimately acquainted with Charlotte Bronte, her fictional alter ego Jane Eyre, and Janice Sessions, the plain girl created by Arthur Miller in their quiet deportment, delicate feminity, sentimental loneliness, and plaintive want of beauty. They are, in fact, my spiritual sisters in whom I can confide my inmost feelings, repressed emotions, and provocative thoughts guarded by my own conceptions against the acerbic opinions of the brutish, insensitive rabble. Nevertheless, the aforesaid sisters all had the breakthroughs that led them to fortune, luck, happiness however it might have lasted or whatever they might have been. I feel that I am kept away from anything wonderful or even remotely felicitous ever happening to me by some unseen forces of godly or evil beings. Alas, woe is to me! Shakespeare believed that our lives are governed by the stars above us and that there are tides in the affairs of man, which taken at the right time, they will lead man to fortune. What with such cold reception of my first published e-book and what with my regret of having published it at first, I wonder when I can meet my tides and sail away into the wide ocean to reach the land of my destiny.
Dear Reader: Hey, there! Thanks for visiting my blog and reading my post. And if you express it by pressing the button into the bargain, my spirit will surely be uplifted from the rut of my so-called life. And if you are further intrigued by my e-book recently published on Amazon Kindle and drop just a few lines of your thoughts about the story upon reading (but no words of derision or sarcasm), I will feel like a millionaire without the actual sort of money in my bank account. It’s only 57 pages in total, so the book won’t take much of your precious time. Just click on the below book cover with one touch of your fingertip, and it will lead you to the place where the story begins via wondrous witchcraft. Many thanks for reading with my whole heart! Best, Stephanie
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