Amnesia (Poem by Vinh Nguyen)

Just another poem I’d written thus far.  Enjoy!!!

From the inception we forgot who we were,
thus we reinvented who we were over and over again,
we’d written fiction to be in place of history,
so we could at least believe we once got a root,
we’d written of the Great Flood that drowned our past,
perhaps, we had created such fiction over and over again,
just so we could at least feel a past,
without a past it’s hard for us to imagine a future,
because our identity is very much rooted in our imagination,
and so we could care less about the Great Flood,
which was mythically created by the mystics,
to pull us out of the greatest, deepest, amnesia,
and into a glorious present in which we could look back,
and say that we had once lived gloriously,
but the glory will continue on,
into the future we are heading for such a glory,
even if the future will be of another Great Flood,
perhaps, even then we might still be able to reinvent,
a past of now in which it does not matter if it’s true,
because this amnesia had got nothing on us,
for us, we are colorful,
for us, we are bold,
for us, we are innovative,
for us, we are imaginative,
for us, we breathe in amnesia as air,
and keep on moving forward,
into the unknown future that we are now already imagining of,
a glorious one indeed!

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Freak of Nature (Poem by Vinh Nguyen)

Just another poem I’d written thus far.  Enjoy!!!

Shunned by the mass,
an ugly duck quacked,
a freak of nature at that,
incomprehensibly quacked.

Quack, quack, quack!

The mother duck would quack,
encouraging the other ducks en masse,
to scold the ugly duck, quack, quack,
how useless the ugly duck at that.

Quack, quack, quack!

Poor ugly duck quacked in silent,
hoping the other quacks would die down,
unabated quacks would siren,
scolding the ugly duck as a clown.

Quack, quack, quack!

Came an old man Darwin,
taking a pity on the ugly duck,
using his Darwinism for the win,
confessing that he is in luck.

Quack, quack, quack!

The mother duck would quack,
Darwin would adore the ugly duck,
the other youngins would quack,
Darwin professed the freak is his luck.

Quack, quack, quack!

Angrily, other ducks got rowdy,
the mother duck demanded an explanation,
Darwin professed he is lucky,
to see a freak of nature in action.

Quack, quack, quack!

The mother duck would agree,
agreeing that the ugly duck is a freak,
Darwin would disagree,
saying that a freak isn’t so a freak.

Quack, quack, quack!

Other ducks would quack,
old man, you are so crazy,
freak is a freak, quack, quack,
otherwise this doesn’t explain nicely.

Quack, quack, quack!

Darwin laughed and replied,
it’s beautiful to see nature in action,
creating something different once in a while,
freak of nature is an evolution.

Quack, quack, quack!

Yes, it’s also a revolution,
rebelling the old, boring, outdated nature,
nature often starts a new experimentation,
potentially, creating a freak for a new measure.

Quack, quack, quack!

So quack away while you can still quack,
as the freak hasn’t yet realized he’s beautiful,
once he does you would fear his quack,
for his quack will be most wonderful.

Quack, quack, quack!

In their boring ways the ducks went on quacking,
believing the old man is a freak of nature,
thus they would go on quacking,
how the ugly duck is a freak of nature.

Quack, quack, quack!

Darwin failed to enlighten the lame ducks,
in sadness he humbled away,
years later, disease killed many lame ducks,
while the ugly duck flourished away.

Quack, quack, quack!

Ugly duck with wife seeded newborn freaks,
proving Darwin is right, they went on thriving,
ugly freaks became the new measuring stick,
long gone the lame ducks once were quacking.

Fever Of Unholiness (Poem by Vinh Nguyen)

Just another poem I’d written thus far.  Enjoy!!!

So clear you can see through,
to the bottom of the freshest lake,
so pure the fish haven’t had a clue,
near boiling temperature boils the lake.

How pure should a virgin be,
so to not hurt a virginity pride?
There she goes clueless as she be,
heart beats till temperature rises too high.

Steadily, she calms herself,
swearing not to swear under her breath,
oh, holy, please do not let me be someone else,
please purify me with your holy breath.

Too pure to even notice,
her world is being shaken to the core,
a shaken soul possesses by a fever of unholiness,
frustrating much as she can’t take it anymore.

Is it sane for one to be so pure?
A virgin’s fire would not yield to the wind,
as if the wind is a disease and never a cure,
thus a virgin begs her holiness to banish the wind.

Without the wind her world is empty,
her seeds are withering away in a silly stillness,
austere and ugly world she creates for her virginity,
yet she struggles to truly erase her fever of unholiness.

Gray Hair Thinker (Poem by Vinh Nguyen)

Just another poem I’d written thus far.  Enjoy!!!

Gray hair thinker yearned for younger days,
despite hard labor which cultivated wisdom through ages,
splitting gray hair man idly sat through his days,
after a forest maze, he finally had arrived in old age.

Ironically, he did not find his heaven,
even though he was sure he would find it in younger days,
then he was full of confidence and arrogance,
then he thought he could be forever gay.

As he sat lonely by his little remaining, expiring days,
a eureka moment flooded his gray hair dome,
if he could just feel this present in his younger days,
by now he would have found heaven as his home.

“Oh, heaven, why thou are so elusive?”
the harder the chase, the more elusive thou would become?
Let heaven be evermore, so elusive,
the gray hair thinker smiled of what he had become.

Meeting Up With My Deja Foe (Poem by Vinh Nguyen)

Just another poem I’d written thus far.  Enjoy!!!

Sleepless night,
my head spun in paranoias,
darkest night,
predicting doom and gloom, untold phobias.

Aye, …got not one prediction,
but chapters had been written in the night,
woven details spun into paranoid imagination,
predicting there be yet a darkest night.

Aye, …did not have a deja vu,
yet, feeling inside groped the sleepless path,
untold phobic predictions in a deja who,
aye, …was much sane as a darkest knight to be had.

Who would ride into the darkest night,
knowing there would not be a sunrise,
yet, giddy-up and on with the ride,
senselessly, groping for hope in sleepless night.

There wasn’t a map to chart the courses,
yet I felt the future had already been told,
on the delusional steed I rode through gorges,
meeting up with my deja foe.

To Fly Or Not To Fly, It’s One’s Own Decision (Poem by Vinh Nguyen)

Just another poem I’d written thus far.  Enjoy!!!

Here I spread my wings, preparing to fly,
by my side, she felt dire,
I asked her “My dear, are you ready to fly?”
she said “Why, me why?”
I told her “It’s a different world up high,”
but she said she got a different world inside,
I asked her “Why don’t you fly?”
She said “You don’t know me inside,”
my wings were spreading wide,
her wings were nowhere in sight,
to up high I flew high,
staring down, seeing her looking up at the sky,
finally, her world and mine were different in height,
but I could feel she was so happy inside,
thus I knew I was forcing her inside,
one should only fly when wings spread wide,
otherwise one could be just all right!
Her world and mine were never meant to collide,
my wings spread wide up in the sky,
she ran hard on the ground just to see me flew up high,
I flew hard and mighty high,
she ran hard with a hearty smile,
it was me forcing her inside,
but she was fine all along, on the ground and inside.