Pain Pleasure and Paradox in Poetry: A Verse Compendium

  'Mirror on the wall

  Something wrong and unreal

  It's dark in the hall.'

  In Our Little Village

  John Chizoba Vincent

  Born on 18th May 1990, John Chizoba Vincent is a poet, actor, novelist and D.O.P. from Nigeria. He studied mass communication and theatre art from Helen Paul Theatre and Film Academy.  He has two beautiful books to his credit, Good Mama and Hard Times. He has featured in movies and stage plays around Iagos and has done a commendable job directing a few. Blessed with the gift of creativity, he hopes to leave a rich legacy behind. “In Our Little Village” gives a vivid description of life in a village. The poem talks about the dangers involved in not informing little ones about the consequences of their deeds.

  In our little village Nkporo,

  We live in harmony and help each other.

  We share among ourselves the golden rules

  And neighbours remember their neighbours.

  We play hide and seek at our leisure time

  Creating kite and building houses with clay.

  When the elders are around the corner, 

  We play calm and whisper little to each other

  As they eat kolanuts and drink palm wine.

  Boys must not look at girls eye to eye, 

  And boys must not talk to the girls

  Because we were told it is bad

  But never were we told why it is bad.

  At night, we stay separately

  Under the mango trees to listen

  To the moonlight tales of 'Omalinze'

  After, boys dance along with boys

  Girls sing 'kpakpangolo' along their paths.

  They never told us why girls must

  Be separated from the boys.

  Until we go wild and nasty,

  In our games we meet;

  We feel the girls emotions and feelings.

  We entangle, caress and watch them groan

  And moan passionately in our arms.

  We disobey the elders and fall in love.

  We try to see what the elders were

  Hiding from our today's eyes.

  So we deep our fingers into where it ought not to go

  Because the elders never told us why the boys

  Must not be with the girls.

  Boys meet girls behind the elders,

  The pleasurable experience becomes sweeter.

  We mingle and entangle with them for sometimes

  Behind the village 'Iroko' trees and boys

  Put girls in the family way because the elders

  Never told us why the boys must not look at the

  Pretty girls in the eyes.

  Today is Very Boring

  John Westlake

  John Westlake (Profanisaurus) is a poet from Crawley, West Sussex in South East England. Born on 11th April 1984, Mr Westlake is a prolific writer with close to 350 poems to his credit. He is blessed with a remarkable sense of humour, but as Westlake himself admits quite candidly, in real life, it has landed him in trouble on many occasions. Written in December 2014, “Today Is Very Boring” is a random poem about a supposedly boring day. The events that occur are implausible but it would be amusing if it could ever come true.

  Today seems to be very boring

  nothing much is going on

  despite the fact that my sea urchin shells

  have adopted a shark for their son

  My fridge has become pregnant with the washing machine

  while picking poppies with its ears

  it wants to give birth to an egg cup

  despite my suitcase's jeers

  The doctor came round this morning

  to check on the eyes of my shelf

  the chiller jumped up and ate him too

  and sneezed out a bank for wealth

  My socks have spent all the money

  on jellyfish and rainbow wine

  the police were called to arrest it

  and charged a micro penny fine

  The wine had been drunks by my t shirts

  battling my shoes for a laugh

  my trousers asked my hair for a loan

  as they want to beat up a giraffe

  My towels have formed an alliance

  with my hoodies and my boxes

  together they killed my mirror

  who were hunting banister foxes

  My pillows have run off to join the library

  and the Austrian navy

  they stole three stairs of whiskey

  and left my toe nails the gravy

  Yes today is very boring

  the butter has just killed my bread

  my vodka bottle has refilled itself

  and I'm going back to bed.

  After Depression

  Kassem Oude

  Kassem Oude (1955 - ) is a poet and teacher from Baalbek, Lebanon. He teaches French at an elementary public school. He regards himself as forever a student. He loves novels and novelties and believes that poetry is an expression of personality. Five years of psychological illness has shaped his writing and fortified him to face challenges boldly. At peace with himself, Oude today lives happily sans a pill. In “After Depression”, the poet tells us about the stages of his mental rehabilitation and recuperation. The poem beautifully juxtaposes the before and the after.

  Like a man was in jail

  In his cell still alone

  Went out and did prevail

  Back to life and its dawn

  Fears from chest did disappear

  Open to me the heaven gate

  Mind acute and so clear

  All my time recalculate

  People around become nice

  Full smile my face regains

  Luck to me opens twice

  In large joy I remain

  Every minute of life counts

  Little things have meaning

  Like more rain after drought

  Returned love as sacred being.

  A Sweet Sixteen

  Khalida Bano Ali

  Khalida Bano Ali (1950 - ) is an acclaimed Pakistani poetess. A housewife from Karachi, Miss Bano Ali is renowned for simple poems that resound with implications far beyond the scope of a woman’s life. The versatility of Bano Ali not just as a writer but also as a woman is copiously established in the diversity and profundity of her poetic utterances. “A Sweet Sixteen” bears ample testimony to her dexterity and craft. When a sixty-four year old poetess suggests that she is in her sweet sixteen, there is a lot to learn and appreciate in that. The poem suggests that age should be earned, not taken for granted, literally. Age is not just a number; it is a perspective and an attitude.

  I am only forty eight,

  I don't count the years before I met you,

  My life started when I met you,

  Or I am even younger than that,

  Because I subtract the time passed,

  That I lose due to your absence,

  A careful calculation,

  I passed only sixteen years with you,

  So what's wrong,

  If you find me only sixteen,

  A sweet sixteen!

  Forever

  Leloudia Migdali

  Leloudia Migdali was born in 1959 at Itea, Greece, a nice little city close to Delphi, 'the center of world'. After her schooling, she pursued a course in English Literature at Aristotle University, Thessaloniki, Greece. She has been teaching English for the past 29 years, in primary, secondary and high school as well as in the Maritime College of Galaxidi. Along the way, she also acquired a postgraduate degree in Teaching English as a Foreign Language from Patras University. Poetry and writing has always been a passion and a preoccupation for her. “Forever” explores the possibilities of forever, both literally and metaphorically. The presence of the loved one is an experience that lives and dies in dualities, at times even in paradoxical binaries.

  I see you and me together, forever

  Walking barefoot on soft seashores, forever


  Holding hands under the moonlight, forever

  Listening to the silence of the night, forever

  Speaking no words, still talking so loudly, forever

  Our hearts dancing, tuned in the same rhythm, forever

  Feeling each other's presence so close, forever

  Merging into each other's eyes, forever

  Wondering if this is truly us there, forever

  Two hearts, two small islands in the middle of the infinite, forever

  I see you and me together, forever!

  Second Chance

  Lopamudra Mishra

  Lopamudra Mishra is a post-graduate in English hailing from Bhubaneswar, India. Born on 8th of January 1981, Miss Mishra has found time to read and write poems. At present, she is the Director of Credit Alliance Services Pvt. Ltd. “Second Chance” is all about giving oneself a second chance to have a fresh beginning. The poet churns out one paradoxical image after another to drive home the dire necessity to have a second chance. Life may not offer such a chance, still.

  The waves of thoughts coir my stress to a tangled web,

  Silently I move with my feelings folded;

  The cool air between you and me slowly unburdens as tear traces,

  As we miss the passionate days of cheerful braces.

  Untimely rain pours its shower with a passionate wish,

  You drive me crazy as the time's sting moves in its ring,

  I could guess you, like me fumbling in expressing words of longing,

  Now our silence speaks with heated air of passion,

  Still mute with our emotions, we move ahead without expressions,

  The chillness in our feelings may erupt like lava one day,

  But things may turn another way, so speak your heart to me,

  Let me hear ,the words very dear, that will give comfort to my ears,

  I want you by my side so that I will share my stress and smile for my fear,

  Start our love with rising sun rays, let it burn like a fiery ball of wire,

  Never our misunderstanding to hinder our feeling,

  Let’s give a second chance to our story, let’s have a new beginning.

  Alone but not Lonely

  Lyn Paul 

  Lyn Gay Paul (1965 - ) is an Australian poetess who began writing poetry during her stint as a Funeral Director. Despite being associated with the funeral industry, and despite her early interest in death poetry, majority of her later poems are about a difficult childhood. She has firm faith in the ability of poetry to heal wounds; to her poetry is a therapy that helps her unburden. “Alone but not Lonely” is a beautiful expression of the poet’s faith in the anodyne powers of poetry. There are so many people in this world with no one to call their own. The poet, on the other hand, is fortunate to have true friends to laugh and share stories with. Through a succession of paradoxical images, the poet articulates the broken thoughts that shook her up when her whole family unit underwent a change.

  Alone but not lonely

  Broke yet not poor

  Down, yet not out

  Smiling, but not laughing

  Blessed yet not enriched

  Hurting though not pained

  Hearing but not heard

  Risen yet not rising

  Old but not elderly

  Living..... Though, Not alive

  Sweet and never sweetened

  Angered though not angry

  Fearing..... but not afraid

  Awake and often woken

  Beautiful, Inside and out

  Anxious to lose these anxieties

  To find again real life

  Honest...Yes

  Too honest

  Now

  Hungry for success

  Alone but not lonely.

  The Maze

  Manu Mangattu

  Manu Mangattu is an Assistant Professor in English at St George’s College Aruvithura, India. Born on 21st of December 1985, he inherited a penchant for poetry and flair for writing from his parents. He calls himself a brooding romanticist in poetry, a disinterested debutant in fiction and a morbid classicist in criticism. “The Maze” is a loose Shakespearean sonnet that pokes gentle fun at the queer English collocation ‘found missing’. The poem sees language itself as a maze – on the one hand language charms and mesmerises with its endless possibilities; on the other, language perplexes and annihilates with its predilection for paradoxes and oxymora.

  I was found missing since last Sunday night.

  I ransacked the shelves and checked with my neighbours.

  They confirmed; so the news must be right.

  Thank God! I was fearing something far worse.

  Nay! It isn't as bad as it sounds mate,

  For, earlier, I missed being found by them.

  But now, they find me in a missing state,

  And search for me as if I were a rare gem.

  I never knew these scribes loved me so much.

  See, my kins, for me they pledge a huge sum.

  For the News, my pic they touch and retouch.

  Ah! I never thought I looked so handsome.

  Found missing! Lo! You now envy my state.

  That same mirror awaits! Now take the bait.

  Alone Together

  Margaret O'Driscoll

  Margaret O'Driscoll (1960 - ) hails from Cork, Ireland. She is a very busy mother of seven and grandmother of eleven. Her poetry has been published in many anthologies and magazines and one is reproduced for a UK English Literature GCSE publication. “Alone Together” is self-explanatory; it tells a sad tale of being alone despite being together. The title might technically serve as an instance of oxymoron but life is such that there is nothing paradoxical about the experience of being alone in company.

  Alone together

  Together apart

  Sharing a space

  Disconnected at heart

  Alone together

  For many years

  Connections in common

  Intersection of spheres

  Alone together

  Separate life

  Just on paper

  Husband and wife.

  One and Many

  Nassy Fesharaki

  Nassy Fesharaki (1947 - ) was born into the rugged mountains of Iran, but destiny took him to the snow-capped Canada. Travelling widely has helped him acquire a cosmopolitan outlook, vis-à-vis an encounter with diverse cuisines, cultures, and citizens. Fesharaki takes pride in calling himself a member of humanity sans borders. Quite naturally, his poems journey through time and space. Fesharaki regards his poems as grounded on reality. “One and Many” gives us a sneak-peek into a poet’s take on the God-particle. In the spirit of Arthur Schopenhauer he concludes, “monkey is trees, you are I”.

  Close your eyes

  How to read?

  There’s no need.

  You can think

  Only think

  There’s a barrel

  It is big

  It is large

  It’s huge

  It is a pool

  Now shake it

  Shake it fast

  Now faster

  And faster

  Very fast

  Making waves

  Millions per second

  Open eyes

  Look inside

  Can you see?

  Microscope

  Get all aids that can help

  Imagine

  They kiss, hug

  Also fight

  So often

  They are one

  Virtual

  This being

  In oneness

  Superstrings

  After time change natural

  A being in real

  That is called

  God particle

  Base of life for us all

  We are one

  In the base equal, monkey is trees, you are I.

  First Goodbye

  Nivedita Dubey

  Nivedita Dubey (1996
- ), is a budding writer from Rangapara, Assam. She did her early schooling in Mathura. The poem “When I set out for Lyonnesse” by Thomas Hardy moved her deeply on one momentous epiphanic day. Since that day, she has never had to look back. For her, writing verse was first a hobby; later it turned into a passion and a vocation. Besides poetry, she is interested in reading books and travelling. Presently she is pursuing her bachelor’s degree in English literature. “First Goodbye” is an autobiographical piece. The poem makes a foray into the poet’s own heart-rending experience of having been forced to leave her birth place after getting married. The poem is an honest and frenzied account of the hysteric thoughts that passed the poet’s mind during her departure.

  Noisy streets whispered farewell

  Whose tears had dried me up

  Its light my darkness ceased to be

  Far from me, in me it took me to

  Sun’s shade it’s I pretended as first

  So as to with joy I could lament

  Its shrine my atheistic bow I gave

  Its air I didn’t breathe but exhaled

  Strong wind to my departure blew

  Scant when my mind withdrew

  My movement it despised or me?

  Too futile a question to indulge in

  Elated with grief at dreams leftover

  Futile friends and enemies amiable

  My overflowing fist their residence

  All that, here my survival aided

  Just a matter of seconds remained

  Note of thanks I chocked to utter

  Too good to curse that ailed

  I to my pathway aligned

  Its last glance I remembered as first

  So as to with joy I could lament.

  The Tale of Love

  Nosheen Irfan

  Nosheen Irfan was born in Lahore, Pakistan on 13th of March 1978. A secondary school teacher and a voracious reader, Irfan turned to writing rather late. Her dream is to become a professional writer. For the time being she attains gratification in expressing herself creatively so that her voice will be heard somewhere. She acknowledges that literature has had a great formative influence upon her, broadening her perspectives and giving her exposure to great geniuses of yore. “The Tale of Love”, as the title suggests, tells a tale of love. Despite the insincerity of her lover, the speaker needs him, for without him her quill goes dry and her verses lose rhyme. Note how the poem uses archaisms and rhetorical questions to great effect.