A vision – Interrupted.

An Adonis awakens

Desire quenched
In the embrace of a lusty lover…

Now that was your idealism
To think of him
As …

“A youthful soul
Enchanted by the musings
Of an ageless wisdom”

Oh, do cut this crap
This phony table talk

…

The morning sunlight

To replenish,
That stock of
Spent desires…

Now that was your idealism
To think of that
As…
“A blessing
To youth, beauty and wisdom
For a union divine”
Oh, do cut this crap
This phony table talk.

11/1/2008

Poetry Reading

As expected,
The only one who has turned out
At the poetry reading,
Is a dilettante poet,
Who presumes he can galvanize
Well bred hearts
With affected words,

There is no one for audience though
In this supposed social potpourri,
- For culturally ignited minds,
Than just the pantry
Clearing up the remains,
Of forgotten biscuits and cakes
Vestiges of another cultural exchange,

Where are they the poets?
Suppose their wives had reminded them
That there was much house work to be got done,
Better things to do with ones breath
Than waste it reading idle thoughts,

Where is the audience?
Those determined few,
Suppose their friends had reminded them
To make better use of their time,
Study stocks, invest and make returns
Than waste it over bankrupt thoughts,

And all of this was for such good reason
That even the Gods saw no injustice here,
And had the dilettante poet come alone
- A lesson for his presumption.

10/1/2008

The Hour fantasies a meeting with the Minute and hopes to be together again.


After our interlude at 12,
With you and me
And Miss Second,
- To trigger the gong bell
We parted…

We made headlines for that stock today,
“Such a propitious listing
At a premium of sixty
An irrational exuberance”
Is what the papers said…

Since then,
I have been
Urging Miss Second
With Sisyphean tales,
That make futility
Resonate with such meanings,
To keep her at her rounds
And bring us together again.

8/1/2008.

Sunlight envy

Sunlight that
Skims across your face,
As you imagine,
The colors
You would sprinkle,
A truce of togetherness
With chaotic forms,
Fed on the memories
Of a million frustrated desires,

That sunlight
Must wonder in anxiety,
Why must you be so giving?
To be yet again
A walking tombstone
Of another wasted desire?
When you could so easily
Have it affirm a loyalty
To gently age with you
Just skimming the surface of desire.

7/1/2008.

Desire

So, now that,
That thing,
That had you,
Impatient and desiring,
Is yours,
Where are you now?


The chase over,
The hunt hunted,
And devoured,


Surely
Must fulfill you,
And return you
To an eternal sleep
Of blissful contentment,

Or
Can it
Never be so?
You - never unwanting?

Or
Nor can you,
Nor your hunt,
Ever plumb,
The depths,
Of that abyss
Of desire
Inside of you.

6/1/2008

Tomfoolery of a Pedant and the Maiden's Repartee

“Would it have been better?
If we were just two thoughts
Suspended in some thought sphere
Communicating without need
For sight or touch
We would feel no distance then
We would not need
Visuals – that sight needs to feed upon
Touch – that form needs to feed upon
Disenchanted with both sight and form
With only the intellect
We communicate
Until it too dissolves
In some exuberance of Love”

To all that she smile and tells him
“You are so full of nonsense, my dear
To think you can love like that
When all you have ever cared about
Are just my embraces and kisses”
5/1/2008

Happiness

To that piece of wisdom you smile upon me:

“To be happy
And enjoy life
No matter
How things be”

I am first a little guilty
Of all my endless cribs
That never seems to end,

Then a little solemn
To the truth in that piece of wisdom,

Until bored of both
Guilt and Solemnity,

I resolve a jump
And do a little jig
To a song the FM plays,

Which has me out of breath,

And also terribly out of tune
To all thoughts of
What happiness is?

Perhaps happiness
Is contained in everything else,
Except in the thought
How happy am I?

4/1/2008

About a coin

(A cameo)

The coin you chose to dispense with
In that moment of generous pride,
Having found gleeful acceptance
On a cold dry crust
Of a dirty, uncared, unwashed palm
Is now being dispensed choicelessly,
Into smooth, gentle, perfumed hands
That mechanically slots it into partitioned chambers
And hurriedly hands back a loaf
Now being devoured by
Three children and a mother,
Who bored of asking themselves and others around
Of what business they have to do in this world
And having found no sufficient answer yet,
Have for the moment chosen to forget that question

And consume their thoughts on whats before.

3/1/2007

Time retarded

for N

You would like to think
Of us as being time retarded,
As withered stumps of time,
Like a wrinkled face
With half an eye or
A worn out shoe
With its pair lost
What can be done?
Nothing at all.
Seek consolation for inaction?
We have even exhausted the pleasures there
Seek redemption with action?
Our knees are too weak to stand a conviction
What could be done?
Nothing at all
You would like to think
Of us as being time retarded
As withered stumps of time
To which I would say
I could not agree more with you my dear.

2/1/2008

I

The Rag Pickers song.

We, the rag pickers
Have gathered here today -
At this deserted stand
On this wintry New Year’s Day,
And out of the heap of rubbish
We carry so faithfully in our sacks
We have sorted the choicest paper,
And made a little mound
Over which we have sprinkled
With some mumbo jumbo
A little kerosene,
Which our gem of a picker
“Rag-hu” found in a bottle
Lying outside the department store
Of Mr. hmmm… Miser. hmmm…
Of Mr. Miser whatever…
(What do we care for names today?
For daily associations on this day
When the years change)

We the ragpickers
We are glad
We attract attention today,
Even from those important men
In their important suits
And their more important cars,
They smile at us,
Perhaps we remind them of their less important days
Those happier days, those days spent
In the gentle winter sunshine,
Nurturing immodest dreams over modest tea.

Here come the men from work
With their weary faces and shivering limbs,
What better convenience than
To huddle around us
And stare at these blazing flames,
With a little resisting – supposing a trial by fire,
Or a little surrender – supposing a nurturing,
Even the policeman on duty has joined us
For we gladly miss his absence today,
And all we do and all we really wanted to do
Is circle around these ever dying flames,
Shouting a little merriment,
And wishing a happy new year ahead
Before the rubbish that feeds these flames is ash
And ashen is our faces again
As we go about picking your rags
On days in the New Year ahead.

II

The waiting

A cow
Stands attention
At a bus stand
On a wintry morning
Its eyes fixated ahead
Oblivious to any sound
Like a pilgrim
Meditating
On his journey ahead.

1/1/2008