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Sunday

Treating Each Day As A Sunday

A Poem by Nikhil Parekh

God created all seven days of the week alike; to bask
in the glory of Nature’s bountiful endowment and
enjoy,
It was man who embraced a festoon of spurious
idiosyncrasies; frolicking in the aisles of divinely
heaven only on a Sunday; while he perspired worse
than a dog; on all other days…
God created all seven days of the week alike; to
poignantly blend with the mesmerizing beauty of this
colossal Universe,
It was man who murdered himself with his own framework
of rules; celebrating only on a Sunday; while he
tossed and squirmed like an insipid worm; all other
days…
God created all seven days of the week alike; to
majestically fulfill your duties; let the enchanting
stream of shimmering moonlight; pacify you beyond
eternal times,
It was man who disdainfully messed up life with
manipulative business; ruling like an unconquerable
king on a Sunday; while he literally licked the dust
of the roads; on all other days…
God created all seven days of the week alike; to
philanthropically march ahead with all living kind;
soar through the crimson clouds with a desire to be
triumphant glittering in your eyes,
It was man who coined tyrannical definitions of his
own; rejoiced and hugged his family only on a Sunday;
while critically lambasting them with his frustration;
on all other days…
God created all seven days of the week alike; to dance
in the aisles of uninhibited freedom; benevolently
assist your ailing mates in inexplicable pain,
It was man who acted more insanely than the
devastatingly insane; adventuring through the hills
only on a Sunday; while he compellingly measured each
of his nonchalant footsteps; on all other days…
God created all seven days of the week alike; to test
your true mettle on this planet; celestially sleep in
synergy with the unveiling of the gloriously star
studded night,
It was man who profoundly consulted the heinous devil;
tossing his children only on a Sunday; while kicking
them in the uncouth world outside to earn their own
bread; on all other days…
God created all seven days of the week alike; to
rhapsodically inhale the scent of roses; romance and
disseminate the gift of love; as each night descended
by,
It was man who savagely chopped his own feet with his
axe; feeling the richest man alive only on a Sunday;
while he spat irrevocably on his own treasury of
brilliant fortune; on all other days…
God created all seven days of the week alike; to
explore and unite with all the exotically wonderful
organisms wandering on mother earth,
It was man who wanted to consume knives instead of
supper; wholeheartedly unleashing his heart out only
on a Sunday; while he jailed himself and his comrades
together in a jail of claustrophobic despair; on all
other days….
And if you couldn’t listen to God; I know for sure you
would never listen to me; even if I quit life to tell
you; to live life like a king; each day of the week,
Don’t worry I have better alternatives still; you
remain blessed writhing like a commercial commodity
all your lives; while I was definitely the wealthiest
man alive; treating each day as a Sunday.

 
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Posted by on May 17, 2015 in poems

 

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A Dog on a Rock

stories for children
I saw a dog sitting on a rock one day,
The scrawniest dog in the world, I say,
Sitting on a rock under a hot sun,
Ever so hot and beginning to burn.
*
The dog had the mange or so I did think,
I could see its skin; it was ever so pink,
Hot in the sun, roasting for sure,
That dog on a rock must have been sore.
*
I wandered across to the dog on the rock,
And offered a drink from my bottle of pop,
Baring its teeth, the dog snarled and it growled,
So I beat a retreat as it started to howl.
*
Leaving dog on the rock to sit there and stew,
I thought of my skin that it threatened to chew,
Then strolling away with a skip and a grin,
I abandoned the dog with the mangy old skin.
*******************

 
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Posted by on November 6, 2014 in funny story, humor, humour, poems, rhyme

 

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Call of the Kindred

Call of the Kindred

Come to me, little mortal
I can bring you to heaven’s portal
There’ll be no sorrow, there’ll be no pain
Feelings of joy will fill your brain

*

Come to me, sweet human thing
Give me your heart and I’ll make it sing
Forget your fears, leave them behind
Forget the troubles of your kind
Come to me… yes, that’s right
Now hold still, it’s no good to fight
I’ll take your blood, and leave you dying
Didn’t you realise I could be lying?

Solinquair, 1996

 
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Posted by on October 30, 2014 in Halloween, poems, vampires

 

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Ghost House

I dwell in a lonely house I know
That vanished many a summer ago,
And left no trace but the cellar walls,
And a cellar in which the daylight falls,
And the purple-stemmed wild raspberries grow.
.
O’er ruined fences the grape-vines shield
The woods come back to the mowing field;
The orchard tree has grown one copse
Of new wood and old where the woodpecker chops;
The footpath down to the well is healed.
.
I dwell with a strangely aching heart
In that vanished abode there far apart
On that disused and forgotten road
That has no dust-bath now for the toad.
Night comes; the black bats tumble and dart;
.
The whippoorwill is coming to shout
And hush and cluck and flutter about:
I hear him begin far enough away
Full many a time to say his say
Before he arrives to say it out.
.
It is under the small, dim, summer star.
I know not who these mute folk are
Who share the unlit place with me—
Those stones out under the low-limbed tree
Doubtless bear names that the mosses mar.
.
They are tireless folk, but slow and sad,
Though two, close-keeping, are lass and lad,—
With none among them that ever sings,
And yet, in view of how many things,
As sweet companions as might be had.

……………..

 
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Posted by on October 30, 2014 in Halloween, poems, Scary

 

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You are old, Crazymad Writer…

A very old man at the Crazymad Writer's blog

“You are old, Crazymad Writer,” the youth said,
“And your hair has become very white;
And yet you incessantly stand on your head—
Do you think, at your age, it is right?”
*
“In my youth,” Crazymad Writer said to the son,
“I feared it might injure the brain;
But now that I’m perfectly sure I have none,
Why, I do it again and again.”
*
“You are old,” said the youth, “As I mentioned before,
And have grown most uncommonly fat;
Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door—
Pray, what is the reason of that?”
*
“In my youth,” said the sage, as he shook his grey locks,
“I kept all my limbs very supple
By the use of this ointment—one shilling the box—
Allow me to sell you a couple?”
*
“You are old,” said the youth, “And your jaws are too weak
For anything tougher than suet;
Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak—
Pray, how did you manage to do it?”
*
“In my youth,” the writer explained, “I took to the law,
And argued each case with my wife;
And the muscular strength which it gave to my jaw,
Has lasted the rest of my life.”
*
“You are old,” said the youth, “one would hardly suppose
That your eye was as steady as ever;
Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose—
What made you so awfully clever?”
*
“I have answered three questions, and that is enough,”
Said the writer; “don’t give yourself airs!
Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?
Be off, or I’ll kick you down stairs!”
**************

 

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I once had a pain in my toe

I once had a pain in my toe,
That would come and then it would go,
That’s how it stayed for all of my days,
The pain at the end of my toe.

A note: I don’t have a pain my my toe anymore.

I don’t have any toes, not even one.

You see, I have gone to heaven.

 
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Posted by on October 10, 2014 in funny story, humor, humour, poems, rhyme

 

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There was a country called Reilly

Reilly

There was a country called Reilly,
That was incredibly slimy,
It thought it was smart,
Keeping all in the dark,
Until it fell down in a hole, did Reilly.
*
While in the bottom of that dark place,
Reilly thought about its life; its fate,
About the jerk it had been,
To all it had seen,
So it promised to be good, did Reilly,
*
Suddenly, a stick falling into the hole,
Presented a way to escape from it all,
Freed from that dark space,
Reilly forgot its promise, though great.
And returned to its bad ways, did Reilly.
*
One day when Reilly was alone,
It forgot to cover its dank home,
It was an incredibly hot day,
And the sun shining brightly away,
Dried up that country – Reilly,

The moral of my story is this,
Treat everyone you meet with a wish,
That their life is just fine,
Untroubled by lying,
Don’t end up like silly old Reilly.

*****

 
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Posted by on September 16, 2014 in funny story, humor, humour, poems

 

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There once was a country called Twerp

99 cent eBooks

There once was a country called Twerp,

That did all it could to usurp,

Other countries and states,

But all it created was hate,

What a silly old country is Twerp.

*

 
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Posted by on September 11, 2014 in funny story, Limerick, news, poems

 

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There once was a country called Maul

Little green Man

There once was a country called Maul,
That wanted to keep and have it all,
They thought it was fun,
Keeping other countries down,
That fool of a country called Maul.

*************

 
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Posted by on September 10, 2014 in Limerick, poems, politics

 

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The Crazymad Writer got stuck in the lavatory

99 cent eBooks

Oh, dear what can the matter be?

Crazymad Writer got stuck in the lavatory,

He was there from Sunday to Saturday,

Nobody knew he was there.

*

The first bad day was ever so grim,

Sat there; it was incredibly dim,

Away from the light ‘tween bowl and the rim

And nobody knew he was there

*

The third bad day was really no better,

Stuck inside, looking for paper,

All he could find was a bricklayer’s scraper,

And nobody knew he was there.

*

The fourth bad day was a terrible mess,

Stuck in that place, amidst smell and cess,

Then he slipped on the floor and hurt – you can guess,

And nobody knew he was there.

*

CONTD

Can YOU write the next verse?

 
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Posted by on September 4, 2014 in funny story, poems, Song

 

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