Poems
2 + 0 + 1 + 7 = 1 [sonnet]
It’s time to clear the air — to wipe the slate;
to cleanse our lives from interfering strands;
to free ourselves from those who vacillate —
from those who drain us with their vain demands.
Naked Knees [a poem-prayer]
May I never have my knees securely underneath
the fleeting table of this passing world,
imagining that it’s the only way to be.
May I never live without a dream adventure
taking me to distant reaches way beyond
where I have ever been or ever wish to see.
May I never follow spineless grey neutrality
but always, with the utmost clarity,
may I refuse to take the level easy way;
instead to walk on stony tree-lined unworn
bridal-paths where mediocrity & all the other
dark hypocrisies could have no sway.
Please stop saying Sorry [poem]
I’m wond-er-ing who made you feel
you have to say “I’m sorry”
almost every time you speak?
Who almost crushed you so
the sparkle from your eyes
and roseness of your cheeks
were wiped away? In other words,
who is it that decided it is better
that your personality be weak
so he could minimise your flow,
keep you in your place & thereby
curb your spirit — exercise control?
More than Less [poem]
the morer that I know
the more I realise
I do not know
though
better still to say
the morer that I know
the more I see just
how much more is
through the door
for bigsmall me
to grow
The Petalled Path of Light [poem]
A rrested by the forces of raw unlaw & rank disorder
L eaves its mark upon the soul as if defiled; and then
M olested by misunderstanding fickle fingers full
O f dead men’s digit-bones and barnacles born in
S ecret by some accident of misbirth, I search for
T etracycline substitutes to cleanse my aching soul.
The Call of the Wild [poem]
Never mind the thorns or prickles!
To hell with every spine or thistle!
Screw the bristles, points or prongs,
needles, barbs and aculeus, spicules!
Nothing never ever comes for free;
and least of all in matters which,
collectively, are known as “love”
to people such as you and me.
My Crumpled Coat [poem]
When on that hill, I hurled my worn-out body, broken,
to the floor, I heard a hollow sound of absent love
which mimicked curlews singing mournful over
moorland as they soared above me
tangentially jaggéd to my gaze
and I — alone as always
in my crumpled coat
(a strangled regent
dangling by a wire
wrapped around
my throat) —
will always smile,
break out my joy, for I have had those scars
since I was just a boy (and am still now,
today, though now with stubble on my face I chase
the dreams I harboured then) and wonder when
that curlew sound will cease (I long for peace).
From the Sun [poem]
The only thing
that’s going to change
this broken, crazy,
dazed and fading world
is one humungous
ghastly shock
beyond what’s ever been
experienced on earth before —
some cataclysm or disaster,
jolts to haunt us ever-after,
something which will throw us
all down to the floor —
an angel of death
going door-to-door
Continue reading…
Dear Universe [poem]
Dear Universe, are you now mocking me by
thrusting forth a form before my failing eyes
that you already knew would mesmerise me as
the long envisioned countenance to galvanise
my dormant seeds reluctantly to spring to life
and turn from dark to light the course which
they had taken for perhaps 1000 years before
(or maybe you are testing out my readiness)
[I’ve watched with in ter est the sparkling trail]
but yet would now sprout leaves to no avail?
The Beauty of Darkness [poem]
Some think of light as love
and, by implication,
they must think of dark as hate;
while those who think that
light equates with truth
must, by inferential logic,
think that dark is only lies.
Still others soundly say that
light is representative of
knowledge sacred or profane
and thereby do assert that
ignorance and darkness
are from tributary veins.
The Naked Troubadour 