Contemplation Height
by
Adam Elias Zain
Copyright 2014 Adam Elias Zain
All rights reserved
No part of this publication may be used or reproduced in any form or manner
Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author
To Mother and Father
Contemplation
Height
Contents
Introduction
A Handful of Poems
Sole Survivor
Power-cut
My New Best Friend
The Artist
Anger Management
Somerset Levels
Beard
Another Day at the Office
A Stroke of Luck
She’s the Boss
Bereavement
Marshmallow
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Introduction
There’s always room for a little poetry in anyone’s life. Many feel that poetry is not for them, but these people are wrong. I would argue that perhaps they’ve just not found the right kind of poetry to suit them. It’s all about taste, I guess. Some people like tea, others prefer coffee, others would choose orange juice.
Poems are a bit like clothes; you don’t have to like everything sold in the shopping malls, but you will probably find something that floats your boat. And you’re (generally) not going to walk around naked. And there, just like clothes, everyone needs poetry.
Except the nudists.
Maybe.
A Handful of Poems
Sole Survivor
Amidst a destructive storm’s chaotic rush
Hanging valiantly in a tranquil hush
Dry and warm, in its skintight jacket
If anyone can, the banana can hack it
Power-cut
The lights are not working
The staff are ill
The electrics are off
And trading is still
The power is out
The computers are broke
The Internet is unavailable
And tills have choked
The phone lines are down
There’s no customer rush
The shopping mall is quiet
An unfamiliar hush
Everything is off
Business has come to a stop
So the boss took the time
To give the floor a good mop
There were no buyers today
So he thought he’d make the most of it
Maintaining a spring in his step
Smiling, despite no profit
But only moments later
A discovery ticked him right off
When he went to the fridge and found
His lunch too had gone off
My New Best Friend
It started as an innocuous meeting
Paula introduced us over cups of coffee
I wasn’t interested but my friend insisted
And what she showed me, admittedly, impressed me
I attempted not to look moved or amazed
I really didn’t want Paula to know
When Paula asked what my opinion was
I just replied that it was so-so
Paula looked at me knowingly
I was impressed with whom Paula had brought along
But we moved on to talk about something else
As I accidentally burnt my tongue
That night, I lay awake in bed
My mind was occupied elsewhere
As my husband slept beside me
The poor soul was completely unaware
I secretly revisited Paula’s friend the next day
Careful not to get caught as I knew this was wrong
We sat hidden in a quiet corner of the restaurant
Listening to the romantic background song
Our coffee meetings became more and more frequent
And soon enough, we started working together
Then we could meet each and every single day
And we spent many nights too, in the company of each other
We even started going on holidays together
Somehow still managing to keep things quiet
My husband occasionally noticed my odd behaviour
But I kept blaming menopause or my new diet
Eventually I opened up to Paula
She vowed such things happen in life
I never once thought this would happen to me
But apparently, such things are rife
This was wrong, just plain wrong
My secretive behaviour, satisfying my desires by stealth
I know that over time, the youthful romance dies
But I was not only cheating my husband, but also myself
I was ashamed to admit it to my loving husband
I had no idea what his reaction would be
Twenty-two years of marriage, and three children
What if he doesn’t want me? What if he abandons me?
Shamefully, heart pounding, I told him about my new best friend
The conversation was surreal and strange
Thankfully, he confessed he too needed reading glasses
All because age had made our reading vision change
The Artist
A wonderful painting
An incredible sculpture
Something artificial
Something from nature
Art has many forms
But who is the artist?
Is it the hand that produces?
Or the mind that sees it?
Anger Management
He doesn’t look happy today
Woke up on the wrong side of the bed
He’s fuming, he’s angry
That’s why he looks so red
If you go anywhere near him
You will feel a hell of a pain
So it’s best to let him just be
Until he’s calmed down again
No need for anger management
Just let time do its thing
Soon enough he will come around
And all will fall into normal swing
What you have to understand
And this is the crucially important lesson
Is that an angry spot should never be popped
It should just be left to lessen
Somerset Levels
Pouring down, chucking it down
Flood levels rising on the ground
Blistering winds, freezing cold
Houses wrecked, just can’t hold
People in wellies, protecting their goods
Frantic panic, protecting livelihoods
Helicopter view, will it be of any use?
Is it worth fighting, or best to let loose?
Beard
The rough look, unkempt.
It works for some.
The tidy well-groomed beard
Works better for others.
It’s something to rub or scratch
When deep in thought,
Or something to play with
When sat in boredom.
It’s something to accessorise
If one is so inclined.
It’s something practical and warm
When weather is about.
It changes colour with time
Often making one look wiser.
But if the colour appears ageing
You can always change it back.
It has multiple benefits and uses
And it’s open to improvisation.
But one thing it certainly is not
Is wi
ckedly evil or concealing.
So please, don’t be pogonophobic,
Become a pogonophile.
Accept it. Embrace it even!
Love the gracious beard!
Another Day at the Office
The Wellbeing Officer asked
What is the matter?
Across the office
Ceaseless chitter chatter
All phones utilised
Constant clitter clatter
Flailing hand gestures
Incessant nitter natter
Reeling off the tongues
Feverish jibber jabber
Reporting to the bosses
Grovelling blubber blabber
Raining outside
Persistent pitter patter
The horrible workplace
That is the bitter matter
A Stroke of Luck
Her speech is slurred
Memory and recollection blurred
Her pen fails to write
Despite her mind’s continuing fight
And just for a moment, she remembers
And she gets a tingle in her fingers
The memory remains for only the shortest while
But brings with it a content, satisfied smile
She’s the Boss
The minute I think, ‘I like that’
She says I can’t have it
She does that each and every time
Irrespective of how much I want it
I thought of going to a restaurant
A candle-lit romantic meal
But she declines every time
She no longer cares, I feel
Ice cream in the summer
I am never allowed any
She denies me even that
Despite everyone else having many
An all-inclusive holiday I thought
Just the break we need
Knowing the answer will be ‘no’
I didn’t care to plant the seed
And when I looked at the new car
She was already shaking her head
It was quite simply just the price
Not that it was the colour red
And although the house was a perfect size
And had a generous games area
She wouldn’t entertain it at all
And wasn’t open to the idea
That classic suit, brilliantly made
Perfectly fitted with a waistcoat
I didn’t even bother convincing her
Knowing the idea wouldn’t float
The Swiss watch oozed with style
And it instantly caught my eye
But when I looked around to ask her
I just decided not to try
The minute I think, ‘I like that’
She says I can’t have it
As you know, I’m not talking about my wife
I’m talking about my wallet
Bereavement
Everyone forgot, and no one fed the rabbit
Many didn’t even care to remember
Colin would normally feed the rabbit
But Colin’s time came sooner than expected
The family are upset, and understandably in shock
Struggling to come to terms with the sudden loss
What does one say to the weeping bereaved?
What precisely does one say?
Some have a gift; they say the right things
They pitch it perfectly, with a warm message
They have a certain style, almost charismatic
And it instantly soothes a grieving soul
Others struggle to utter the words of their sorrow
They struggle to enunciate their condolences
The lump in their throat paralyses their tongue
But their genuine affection is visible through their eyes
Some people prefer to write of their feelings
The pen allows them to say what the tongue cannot
Their mere presence signifies their heartfelt sorrow
And the pen helps deliver their sincere message
Then there are those who struggle to express emotions
They struggle to open up, irrespective of circumstances
Neither tongue nor pen will convey their message
And only they know of their true distress
Others are unable to visit the bereaved
Circumstances prevent them from being able to attend
They almost have an unfortunate double adversity
In the sad loss to the family and also their own absence
Death; the only guarantee in life is indeed the end of it
And the loss that results has to be lived with
Support for the bereaved comes in many forms
And prayers for the deceased can be delivered at any time
For those familiar with Colin and the family, the loss is the same
Expressed by speech or silence, in presence or absence
There is no doubt a good man is always sorely missed
By family, friends, neighbours, and the pet rabbit
Marshmallow
What a wondrous creation
The mighty marshmallow
The squidgy squishy
Enjoyable edible pillow
Pretty in pink
Or the white delight
Like a floating cloud
So airy and light
The satisfying sponge
Gentle and smooth
Just the thought
Makes one groove
Lightly dusted
Powdered outside
The contentment it brings
Cannot be denied
Stuff the mouth
Gratifyingly chewy
Enter the sticky centre
Divinely gooey
From the outside in
An amazing transition
Astonishing and profound
An incredible sensation
Message from Michael Jackson
You’re a marvellous delight
It doesn’t matter
If you’re pink or white
You’re so lovely to chew
Adorable to swallow
So, please, never change
Oh sweet marshmallow
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