my poem

rhyme

i held as the essence of a poem

rhythm

a music, i added to my lines

images and metaphor

spices, i sprinkled over

a song sweet

i hoped, would emerge

my ugly face

i saw like a broken vase

discerning in my art

my derelict self

before i come of age

i look for a paper

and a publisher

now to boost my visage

henry victor     11.02.2006

today

i am not posting a poem

i need to revise, myself

today, eliminating

much i wrote in the past

i chose wrong words, theme

and faulty rhyme, forcing

in too many alliterations

strengthening suppositions

seldom i let go, but with care

and un-forgetfulness, hoarding

my hurts, instead walking away

from the folly of yesterday

  

henry victor         17.01.2019

i build my today

divorcing the lunatic asylum

of yesterday that gave my roof

bed, food, and park to roam

around as my best comfort

i build my today in the thin air

on nothing, hoping my heart

will soar into tomorrow, better

than my many yesteryear

in the name of good human

husbanding, fathering, later

in a grandiose lunacy of owning

my name i helplessly stole earlier

henry victor          17.01.2019

glory of nothingness

 

silly thoughts and worthless dreams flooded my mind

yesterday, and this morning too, like pounding waves

leaving me to lick my lips to taste its saltiness;

vain glory of poetry is that which i am seeking

in this world, walking on roads paved with eggshells

and leading to nowhere, an absent heaven!

poised moments do surface in that ocean, but to dive

leaving the shore and light into the darkness of depth

a Dutch courage i lack; for what if the road does not continue

to that peace and nothingness i crave with great intensity;

hell if i end up without Sylvia Plath being there!

© henry victor     24.02.2006

meaning

those events, joys and pains

that you send on my way

are designs that you, the unseen artist

scratch, sketch and etch

that i may ponder in my heart

the secret

intentions of that invisible artist

but never am i permitted

to publicly interpret

to proclaim

the meaning of artistic events

making me a mute

in the very presence of your absence

© henry victor     17.12.2008

another poet

time moves swiftly like a rolling stream

waiting not for me, or for my pal

carrying with it only the top soil

leaving behind persons in vain dream

i a lousy sheep roll on a warm bed

letting go the moving with no dam

chasing flies sitting on a lazy ram

without to that goal running ahead

at best i cry for that spilling milk

like a poet composing empty words

at worst i’m like those naughty gods

unconcerned for those weaving fine silk

© henry victor     09.05.2003

lend me

lend me your eyes

as i drive through your garden
that i may see
what you see

lend me your heart

as i pass through this life
that i may love
what you love

lend me your feet

that i may walk
where i may find you
that i may at least once wink at you

© henry victor     31.07.2003

combining

i lack no strength, courage, hope and love

but a sense of purpose, in my heart is absent

to translate abstract godly virtues into acts

putting merits in a fleshy body, mind and soul

making human values to become a living being

walking, talking, dancing and singing with joy

to combine into a single feathery bird, those two

the dancing peacock and the singing cuckoo

or the eagle soaring higher to dive into chasm deep

and the hen scratching surface and embracing chicks

to protect from that devious, dirty raven who steals

not just the light but every little creature on this soil

© henry victor     19.08.2010

poet’s meaning

it is necessary not only to see

what the poet said

but also

what the poet meant

© henry victor     20.04.2016

as i am

i come to you as i am

with all my inabilities to control my thoughts

with all my fears of future
with all my conflicts with arrogant men and women
with my limitations of language and logic
with all my inadequacies to influence even an ant

with my need to plead

to connect with the source of all life
with my desire to see you work
to justify and defend my cause

i close my eyes to behold you

i enter into silence to hear you

show me your face

speak to me your mind
provide me with a vision
that you provided the ancient prophets

i know that the call to the ancient prophets

came with a call to drink the cup of pain and suffering
if i need to drink that cup of pain and suffering
give me the strength to gulp it
and give me that poise
that comes from knowing for sure
that it is your will that i am ‘drinking’

and give me the words that is wisdom

to speak to others and self
with courage that is unbending
and peace from far beyond my universe

i am just a small man

a man from that insignificant town
with that little lake
and the little forest beside my home
the two sources
that shaped my early understanding of my world

now i stand before you

take me, shake me, and break me
i am yours
but give me that one lasting assurance
that i am yours
let me walk with that bold knowledge
of knowing that i am that clay in your hand

then i would cease to demand

the finished product i would want to be
for it is your being that matters me most
 

dew on my lawn

like my mouth watering after a spicy dish

when my stomach is empty, last evening
my heart craved that highway leading
to nature’s carving the million-year-sculpture

that unambitious hard work, Grand Canyon!

but my sober soul suggested something else
to run around prompting a Nikon, or a Canon
a pair of better eyes and mind, a larger book

to photo-write, to note, to store to play later

and with others, also advertise my, already
overweight and extra-large ego lost
this morning like the dew on my lawn!  

21.07.2014

last noon and last night

last noon i bent my inflexible frame to sit

down on my driveway with my grandson

the little boy, to draw with sidewalk chalk
flowers that never droop, bees that never suck

adding the easy crocodile beside the baby

and endlessly much more that he scribbled
until the energy within tempted him to spill
beyond the safety of my patience, my control

and last night you sent your heavy dark clouds

to completely wipe out our creative expressions
as if getting rid of the monstrous dinosaurs, bad
land creatures, to give space for prickly cacti bed!
 
29.06.2014    

abyss

my wings faltered and into an abyss

i fell from where i saw a deeper hole
within the cave of my heart, and more
i lingered there, i saw more craters

bigger, creating a deep void within

and the more i pondered that hollow
within the more frightening it became
and the gulf outside too stretched afar

i thought then with what shall i fill

that chasm deep within my soul!
from that drift, an alienation i am
how do i free myself, my being?

henry victor     01.07.2002

 

jammed cento

retreating from the world, all i can do

where no man has seen the third hand
and i meet the Bishop on the road, and
i caught this morning morning’s minion

in an upper room at midnight

when i watch the living meet my last
Duchess painted on the wall!
oh, my love is like a red, red rose

for which the thirsty earth soaks up the rain

and flee from me that sometimes did me seek
with Chieftain Iffucan of Azcan in caftan!
Milton! you should be living at this hour!
 
henry victor     10.04.2013

floods and sludge (again)

cooking food, cleaning pots, pans, plates

and other cutleries surged, overflowed
like a spring river in my April days
and nights with no pause even to evaluate

either their relevance, or the quality of my life

that now carried floods and sludge with speed
though i, like brother Lawrence, the sage
applied my heart and soul working to bleed

without counting the cost but rejoicing

in my washing feet cracked and dirty
a relevant, realistic imitation of Jesus
than that ritual on Maundy Thursdays

that made my ego bloat every spring;

but neither the current work with great love
satisfies my soul where springs a still
small voice that i hear not clearly to change

henry victor      03.04.2013

 

floods and sludge

cooking food, cleaning pots, pans, plates

and other cutleries surged, overflowed
like a spring river in my May days
and nights with no pause even to evaluate

either their relevance, or the quality of my life

that now carried floods and sludge with speed
though i, like brother Lawrence, the sage
applied my heart and soul working to bleed

without counting cost but rejoicing

in my washing feet cracked and dirty
a relevant, realistic imitation of Jesus
than that ritual on Maundy Thursdays
 
that made only my ego bloat year by year
but neither the present work with great love
satisfies my inner person whose still small voice
i hear not very clearly to change my path

henry victor      21.05.2012

my new home

justin, my three-year old grandson
with his lego pieces built a house
on my coffee table, and a garden
beside, and for my car a driveway

who will cook in this house
from him i queried, for which
he responded quick, ‘thatha’
responding with similar speed

also to my second question
who will eat here
‘justin and thatha’
with no doubts about it

henry victor     12.11.2012

Note: The common Tamil word for grand-father is “thatha”.

leech

leech, that boneless, the loss

of purpose inching to suck
all the blood from my soul
has begun munching my mind

already weakened by a lack

of exercising, a disciplined reading
with dishing out to followers
acquired wisdom, the sweet cake

being stagnant too long in one

spot and anchored in a dead
love makes it easier for leech
to bring life to a screeching halt
 
11.08.2012