VoicesNet.com Recent Poems of Jacinta Ramayah - Copyright for all poems displayed belong to author

CHILDREN OF THE SEA by Jacinta Ramayah

9/8/2009

They live in houses on stilts
high above the thrashing waves,
They fear not the dangers of
the deep, the sharks or the whales.
The water is their life, the sea their land.

They care not for high rise
apartments or mansions in the sky,
The clouds float above the
thatched roofs, the wind breezes by.
Princes of the sea, they lord over the sand.

Their tattered clothes forever
wet, splattered by the creamy spray,
Their teeth pearly white, yet
they need no paste at break of day.
The stars their mates, the sun their friend.

Sudden rain that pelts through
holes and drips onto the wooden floor,
(taunting kids bother them not)
trembling chill and noise, they abhor.
A lightning strike and their lives may end.

The children sit by the window
as lights in a distant town twinkle bright,
The old folks watch sadly, for
some will leave enthralled by the sights.
A child shapes his destiny to become a man.

HANG TUAH, MALACCA 'S WARRIOR (LEGEND) by Jacinta Ramayah

9/6/2008

Hang Tuah was a courageous warrior in Malacca town,
With four fierce warrior friends, he made it world-renown.
Pirates who plied the straits, bringing terror to sailing vessels
Were cut down by the rapier keris of Malacca’s five vassals.

So Malacca reigned in the 15th Century with no fear of threat,
Wealth from spices, gold and tin - who could surpass that?

Tuah, Jebat, Lekiu, Lekir and Kasturi – skilled in self-defence,
It was Hang Tuah they chose, to lead them in combating stance,
Though Hang Jebat equalled Hang Tuah in strength and valour,
He gave in to him for he loved him like his own blood-brother.

Malacca watched her five loyal sons fighting evil and strife
With their courage and truth, it was they who gave her life.

The Sultan lorded over the people with grand splendour,
The prime minister oversaw peace with dignified grandeur,
The country was in good hands they knew, who’d dare attack,
Business a-flourishing, no thievery, no gang-fights, no slack.

So Malacca, at its zenith of power, blossomed in great form,
Little realising its tranquillity was like calm before a storm.

Then one day it happened, Hang Tuah provoked the Sultan’s ire,
“Off with his head”, the king commanded to his prime minister,
who trembled with foreboding horror, as he had news of an enemy
waiting with guns and cannons, along the Malaccan sea.

Malacca mourned, as her child was sent off to be sentenced,
For love of his homeland, in truth and courage he had spoken.

Hang Jebat ran amok; he attacked the palace in angry desperation,
No warrior could fight him; he slashed away their life in aggression,
“If only Hang Tuah is still alive”, cried the frightened Sultan,
“He could have prevented the carnage, the deaths and devastation”.

Malacca cried, her soul wrenched apart, her strength slowly ebbing,
Two of her greatest warriors down, her weary heart a-bleeding.

The minister then disclosed a secret, Hang Tuah he did not kill,
He was hidden in a cave, honing his silat, a self-defence skill.
Hang Tuah appeared before the king, prepared to fight with honour,
While Hang Jebat gazed on at his friend with happiness and wonder.

It was a sad day indeed for Malacca to see her children in combat,
Both weary, one was going down, as his strength began to ebb.

As Hang Jebat’s breathing waned, he could not understand why.
He had done all to avenge his friend who was condemned to die,
With tears in his eyes, Hang Tuah held Hang Jebat’s hand,
“My loyalty is first to king,” he said “then to family and friend”.

Thus, when friend vanquishes friend, through pain of death,
A kingdom loses its will to survive, it takes its last breath.

ABUSING LOVE by Jacinta Ramayah

9/3/2009

He’s such a jolly good fellow at work,
alone, she bears the brunt of his anger,
a timid inquiry and swift like an arrow
his arm shoots out to violently hurt her.

The loving words he has used before to
acquire her love, are, now, unnecessary,
a docile mate, complacent and meek,
is what he thinks his woman ought to be.

People ask, “Why do women stay on with
such men without class or disposition?”
i say - it is because they find no way out,
they fear his strength and fatal retribution.

A woman who thinks it’s her fault, a man
flies into a rage, the beast in him released,
should realize that he wouldn’t lash out at
another man whose size is twice increased.

For a good woman doesn’t give her vow of
love lightly, she always stands by her man,
and he has no right to lay hands on a woman,
more so, the one he has promised to defend.

ANIMAL LIMERICK by Jacinta Ramayah

9/29/2009

There once lived a tomcat with nine lives,
In a little house with his nine wives,
Had no sons as kittens,
So no loss of mittens,
Lone dad he will be if he survives.

Peacefully a dog sat wagging his tail,
Fireworks blast and he began to wail,
Crawled under a chair,
Sounds followed him there,
With earplugs on, he stayed under a pail.

A frog, a prey it did espy,
Its tongue flicked out and caught a fly,
The food was yummy,
Look out, you dummy,
A hawk is watching in the sky.

Saw a horse gallop and neigh,
Got on its back, it said nay,
Fell on my fanny,
That wasn’t funny,
Couldn’t walk straight the whole day.

A bear came by and caught me in its grip,
Looked it in the eye and gave it the slip,
Climbed a tree to get free,
It was right behind me,
I wish I had not gone on that zoo trip.

(Limerick A short sometimes bawdy, humorous poem consisting of five anapestic lines. Lines 1, 2, and 5 of a limerick have seven to ten syllables and rhyme with one another. Lines 3 and 4 have five to seven syllables and also rhyme with each other)

A DAY'S NORM (QUINTAIN?) by Jacinta Ramayah

9/29/2008

Tomcat at five caterwauls,
Baby stirs and bawls,
Morning calls?

Sun beats down on sandy dune,
Ice cream topped with prune,
It’s high noon?

Table set in lichen blue,
With a love so true,
Tea for two?

Shadows stay in nooks and walls,
Lights lit up in malls,
As night falls?

THE UNREAD TROUBADOUR (homograph) by Jacinta Ramayah

9/27/2009

Please listen to this tall tale I would like to tell
Of a minstrel aged 30-or-so called William Tell
A tall man he was, had not learned to read nor spell
In a fair, with his pet fish in a bowl, he did dwell
Wearing a bow tie, he spun yarns as he sat in a dell
Young and aged folks listened agape as if in a spell
His tunes and remarks so witty, his actions so snell
His songs of agape he shared, all he would ensorcell
Trinkets from various lands to sweet maids he’d sell
Children loved sweets and toys made from seashells.

One day, a lied he had to sing, he knew German well
The crowd, that he had lied, began to scream and yell
A stare; and the loud noisy crowd he was able to quell
From his throat came a sound just like a tinkling bell
As the bass swam, his deep bass voice began to swell
Melodiously loud as if from the sea like a groundswell
He did bowl the crowd over, as the notes rose and fell
A learned bard they realized he was, not an unread skell
The folk song ended, they cheered and wished him well
With a flourish and a deep bow, he bade them farewell.

(homograph – same spelling, different meaning and pronunciation)

OF SLEEP (double ethere) by Jacinta Ramayah

9/25/2008

Thoughts;
Be still!
Pervade not
the weary mind,
Yesterday’s mistakes,
Tomorrow’s dreary bills,
Dealing with today’s deadline,
Pictures criss-crossing the brain, will
destroy much-needed sleep planned so fine,
Insomnia! Don’t creep in and take your fill.

Count the sheep jumping over yonder hills,
Multiply numbers quick, one to nine,
Drink hot milk and gulp two round pills,
Read aloud some rhyming lines,
Watch a boring film reel,
Hear music divine,
A short stretch drill,
Lie supine,
Thoughts; chill,
Zzzz….

A COLD WELCOME (syllepsis) by Jacinta Ramayah

9/24/2009

His welcome was as chill as the frost that mornin’
He closed his eyes and heart to the plea on their face
His humour was thinner than the state they were in
The fireplace was dimmer than his hot blazing gaze.

His warm coat snug like the income he’d been makin’
His toast uneaten became bland like his countenance
Gave them the cold shoulder tho’ cold they were feelin’
He was the poor-spirited lord facing four poor orphans.

(syllepsis – a word that can be used in different meaningful ways)

RUBBISH (terza rima in iambic pentameter) by Jacinta Ramayah

9/23/2009

The thrash is strewn all over dwelling place
Annoying cats are having time of lives
No hands to help, the angry worker says.

Foul flies are settling down with babes and wives
Ferocious dogs are gnashing food in bin
One’s vigour down the drain, but germ survives.

Am tearing hair as maggots clamber in
Disgusting stench pervades the simple air
Frustrated neighbour wipes off friendly grin.

Impulsive winds blow garbage here and there
Surroundings make not homes a pretty sight
Masked faces surface those who leave their lair.

If magic burn out thrash ere morning light
The sun would smile and make the world so bright.

(Terza rima - 3-line stanza. Chain rhyme - aba , bcb, cdc, ded, e-e.
Iambic pentameter.)

A RAY OF HOPE (roundel in iambic pentameter) by Jacinta Ramayah

9/22/2009

Within the deep abyss of dark despair
A shaft of light illumes the cloudy mind,
It lifts the soul with warm effulgent air
A ray of hope from Gracious God divine.

On bended knees, a sinner peace to find
A prayer he wings to God, his soul to bare,
A fervent hope, a ray to earth inclined.

Here none to hear his cry and none that care
The Lord above doth listen to all mankind
Show praise to Him alone so men may share
The ray of hope from Gracious God divine.

(Roundel - 11 lines - A B A R ; B A B ; A B A R ; where R is the refrain)
(iamb – one unstressed syllable followed by a stressed syllable
A line of iambic pentameter is five iambic feet in a row)

MOONLIGHT THOUGHTS by Jacinta Ramayah

9/2/2010

You will the tides to encroach onto unsuspecting land
You steal a look as couples smooch on gleaming sand
You light the path of travelers from evil shrouding fogs
You listen to the howling of wolves and baying of dogs.

Lunatics turn wild as you wander into their fuzzy brains
Werewolves bite deep and leave behind bloody stains
New, full or waning you’re such a beautiful blonde sight
No wonder poets are kept awake writing odes of delight.

Like a timid child hiding behind a mom’s apron strings
You peep, appear and flee in periodic monthly swings
Don’t pull away, dear moon, we love your sweet face
And if you leave mother earth you may be lost in space.

VOICE OF CONSCIENCE by Jacinta Ramayah

9/2/2010

Even before creed asserted its power
when cavemen ruled the day
the voice of reason lurked in the mind
it was that, that paved the way
gave humans choices to be good or bad
made them what they are today.

When a man puts his conscience aside
and acts as if in God’s will
he wages war on fellow human beings
he learns to hurt and kill
it matters not if he forfeits his own life;
he has had his fill.

People who start their day in prayer
yet deflect from a decent goal
with deeds unkind and crimes mean
that will soon take their toll
it is death of their conscience and
a waste of their human soul.

THE REAPER'S RIDE by Jacinta Ramayah

9/2/2010

The motorcyclist zooms in and out,
he rides so fast
Like a daredevil from hell he tears by,
the wind whizzes past
The reaper is out to get the cool guy,
the dice is cast
But he always seems to get away,
he doesn’t bite the dust
Though that guy has luck on his side,
it is not going to last.

The reaper floats by the biker’s side,
he is ready to strike
Has to get his job done and move on,
a job he doesn’t like
He knows he doesn’t have to wait long,
a guy on a fast bike
A sick old man is a tough nut to crack,
he’d yell ‘take a hike’
A young and reckless teen is easy bait,
he’s just a little tike.

The reaper watches biding his time,
his scythe in his hand
the guy not knowing his life is short,
his ways he doesn’t mend
then one night racing with his friends,
he speeds round a bend
in the glare of the oncoming car he sees
the reaper make his stand
as his past flashes before him he knows,
his life is going to end.

DUBIOUS APOLOGIES by Jacinta Ramayah

9/2/2010

He waylaid and robbed bystanders off their money;
a hundred times before,
he abused innocent children with cigarette butts;
a pastime he did adore,
her maid was stupid she couldn’t learn new things;
that made her so mad,
she hit and burnt her, scalded, punched and kicked;
she hurt her maid bad,
they planned, murdered, threw the corpse in a bin;
then went on their way,
they hijacked a bus and blew numerous lives to bits;
they just walked away.

He, she and they have been carrying out sick deeds;
done without a care,
laughing at the thought that they had gotten away;
no-one else did dare,
then, their dastardly deeds are brought into the open;
they are dragged to court,
falling on their knees, to the victim’s family they cry;
their tears fall fast and hot,
their apologies resound with many a promise to atone;
‘sorry’ to them that died,
it’s only now that they plan to turn over a new leaf;
we are taken for a ride.

LOST SMILES by Jacinta Ramayah

9/2/2010

Rows of faces look on
etched with despair
both tips of their dry
lips are tilted down,
lines across foreheads
a perpetual crease
their smiles have dried
up to form a frown.

They lie on beds clothed
in jungle green attire
there are tubes placed on
their necks and lungs,
they are in constant pain
that only death will ease
painkillers are placed on
their parched tongues.

It is visiting time, family
members gather round
the bed, comforting the
person they hold dear,
if only they could reduce
their loved ones pain
some say a prayer, others
look on with quiet fear.

A sudden cry, nurses and
doctors rush forward
a frantic attempt to save
but life is ebbing slow,
the doctor shakes his head
whimpers and weeping,
wretched death has come
it is sad tears that flow.

THE CHEROOT BOX by Jacinta Ramayah

9/16/2009

He would sit on a derelict chair
placed at the side of the front door,
a box beside him, full of fat cheroot
and dry matchsticks, lay on the floor.

In his sixties, he’d sit from dawn till
midnight, with just boxer shorts on,
and slip in to lie on his mat in the
hall when the others to bed had gone.

Twirling a cheroot near his nose before
lighting it, its scent he would savor,
a hacking cough as he inhaled, smoke
filled his lungs with sweet pungent odor.

Children called him ‘a poet next door’
I’d say ‘the neighborhood sentinel’
for he knew what went on, who passed
through, many a mishap and quarrel.

His four-year-old grand daughter often
kept him company sitting by his side,
at the strident sound of her mother’s
voice, in playful mischief she’d hide.

Her fingers on her lips she’d make him
an accomplice to her childish pranks,
while her mum searched, in she’d sneak,
a peck on his cheek to show her thanks.

Haven’t seen him for a while, the box
lies forlorn, burnt matchsticks astrew,
the child takes a whiff, in desolation
she realizes his absence is long overdue.

SOLAR RANT by Jacinta Ramayah

9/11/2009

Oh! Mister Sun, it’s you.-

So it looks as though you’ve decided to turn up here again
you packed up your bags a month ago and left us Mrs. Rain
went down for a walkabout and raced off to the other side
to torch the beautiful land there with your fatal razing pride
while here the earth was enveloped with mighty rising water
and poor folks took to higher grounds for fear of going under
you’re acting like a teenage boy with hormones raging wild
been around eons ago can’t you be more friendly and mild
nobody dares get close to you for your glance will shrivel
no one may look you in the eye for your stare is formidable
you came by the other day but then suddenly took a break
clothes are mildewed and it’s just too much for me to take
won’t you stay here awhile sir we need a lovely rise and set
hey where are you off to Mr. Ray I haven’t finished yet...

DEATH'S DILEMMA by Jacinta Ramayah

9/11/2008

Creed has a way of uniting people
as well as setting them apart,
If you are not in accord with the others,
their contempt can break your heart.

Some decide that a soul is lost after death,
if one’s belief does not conform,
if it is not one with their way of thinking,
you’re in error, your way is not in norm.

And there’d be no place in heaven for you
though you’ve lived in righteousness,
your good deeds not credited in death,
Gone! Because of your foolishness

If it is possible for prophets to speak
in tongues, to people of every land,
though every believer be of different
tribes yet be able to understand…….

Wouldn’t it be possible, then, in death,
for the Omnipotent Almighty,
to take on the form, that your whole life,
you’ve always believed Him to be?

FACEBOOK by Jacinta Ramayah

8/31/2009

Caught my daughter up till three in the morning
Screwing her eyes at the computer,
What is this I asked “Face-lift”?
“Facebook, ma! It‘s a place of sharing wonder.”

‘What happened to your blog?” I asked and ‘Aren’t
you supposed to start one for me?”
“This is something new and interesting,”
she said. “Let’s go through this joyful activity.”

One caught my eye where she had written about her
brother wanting a new motorbike,
And the encouraging comments she received
to be strong and “Don’t allow him to do as he likes.”

“You can’t be revealing secrets about your family.
Everyone is going to read and poke fun.”
“What do you think you are doing, ma,
when you send poems to the net about your son!”

(Can someone out there suggest a suitable repartee?)

AN ARRAY OF BOOKS by Jacinta Ramayah

8/31/2009

Taking time off to peruse my books,
they have been laid aside for a few years,
wiped the dust off the plastic covers
and straightened the numerous ‘dog-ears’.

Roberts, give me your tale of mystery and love,
Heyer, I miss your Victorian humour,
Lustbader, you whet my appetite for thrills,
oriental mystique and gory murder.

Smith, take me with you to the beautiful land
of Africa with its gold mines and treasure,
Sheldon let me cry over beautiful heroines, their
courage and the schemes they maneuver.

Oh, Rowling if only I could wing my way with
you through a land of magical wonder,
And you Orczy, you amaze me with the disguises
of your hero and his near-death adventure.

Higgins, Ludlum, Archer and Follett
yours are the epics of man’s strength of character,
Deveraux, McNaught, Cookson and Howard
may I follow where your women dare to venture?

If I only I could - but it would take pages to write
an ode to all the fabulous authors,
A salute to all of you for giving us the beauty of words
the whodunit and romances – ‘Viva la writers’!