Dr John Celes Poems

A poem is a fine way of speaking from one’s heart
Of anything under the sun or things you can imagine,
Things real or surreal, from fantasy, beautiful or ugly,
By word-painting or word sculpting, afilled with emotions,
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Who knew the kind of stuff, I was made of?
Who thought would flow my numbers, this much fast?
And now, the world around me dare not laugh;
As Indian Sonneteer, my spell is cast.
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Lucky am I, a well-talented youth;
Umptine talents I possessed- is the truth!
Talents, God has given to all of us;
He decides to defer or allow use.
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When mountains’ cut and granite stones are made,
And Iron’s got from ore deep down the Earth,
And wood is sawed from trees of Everglade:
Thus, skyscrapers in cities get their birth!
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Oh, to what has this world come to, these days?
Nations expanding nuclear arsenals!
Terrorists and drug-lords active always!
Bomb culture fast spreading its tentacles!
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But who will bell the Cat, a nasty Cat;
Who's blind to reason, logic and fairness?
Who devours mice but will not touch the rat;
And blames others for his own carelessness.
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The family norm is small and risks are high;
The busy parents pamper, pet and spoil;
The children never knowing truly why;
They fret and fume and burn the midnight-oil.
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Lo, when I see a new obituary,
Untimed demise of one of great repute;
Or a sad man's Auto-biography,
A family- feud due to a land dispute.
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The world I see is stranger than I knew;
Most people seem to have no heart at all;
The trust and fear in God, man must renew;
No one is prudent to avoid a fall.
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