Biography of Tan Pratonix
The majority of the 125 poems here were written in my youth, between the ages of 17 and 19. Then I stopped writing poems; perhaps the Muse died, or you might say I killed the Muse. Then after a long period of barrenness the Muse awoke again and I started writing poems in 2006. That was when I got on to Poemhunter.
There used to be a nice group of poets and reviewers in those days, ten years ago, and I got encouragement from quite a few of them. There were some critics also, but their criticism was purely from a literary and artistic point of view.
Things have changed in 2015-16. The Ninjuns have got in and Poemhunter seems to be going into a rapid decline. I don't find real poets here; you have to search hard to find them. Well, I hope to find a good group of friends, like I had way back in 2006.
I am hoping to find a better poetry site which will welcome 'crafted' poetry, instead of mere 'gush' or reckless torrents of emotion.
Tan Pratonix's Works:
All poems are copyrighted. Please do not publish any of the poems without my permission.
Tan Pratonix Poems
Trigonometry began When Sine and Cos and Tan [The latter, a perfect gentleman] Agreed to work in a Triangle.
In Praise Of God's Good Earth
Hoosh, whoosh, The wind is up, The birds go whizzing by, And all around
The Little Boy On Bodrum Beach
(Lines written spontaneously after seeing the photo of the body of a little Syrian boy washed up on the beach of Bodrum, a Turkish resort town, as the family were trying to escape by boat to Greece. Tragedy of the 5 year old Syrian Civil War.3rd September 2015) The little boy (A Kurdish toddler
A Hand Reached Out From Heaven
A hand reached out from heaven, It strove to touch my head; Then I was just eleven And I ducked and turned and fled.
A Brief Romance
Between you and me Is a long stretch of sea Preventing us From communicating with each other
Where no birds breathe, bird-magic breathes Bird-beauty, bird-spirit, bird-splendour, And brings where no bird wings, Wing-beats that woo me to wonder.
It was in Ruwenzor I found the Bashan bull, The purple-headed mount Was bathed in misty blue.
September clouds Gather over the graying city Ready to attack
Every day Melanie May Walks down the shore, Along the bay.
Thoughts Of Fishes In A Glass Tank
Bound by four hard glass walls The fishes in the glass-tank think: 'We have all We need - food to eat, water to drink;
Hands, expressive hands; The gold bands around your wrists Make beautiful hands.
Suppose I was living on the bank of a river Where ladies occasionally would come for a ride In a boat with a friend or relative or lover; And under the trees (all cosy inside,
Just those few months of sunshine Squeezed in by a protracted winter And a long chilly spring
Reminiscences And Regrets
The smell of crushed mango leaves Takes me back to more than forty years ago, To early schooldays, When little boys in khaki shorts stand
Onky Bonk the Blessed Frog
Preaches Sunday morning at six
To his co-brothers in the bog
On Christian Ethics.
Faith and hope and charity
Are the essence of the Christian creed;