The changing guests, each in a different mood,
Sit at the roadside table and arise:
And every life among them in likewise
Is a soul’s board set daily with new food.
What man has bent o’er his son’s sleep, to brood
How that face shall watch his when cold it lies?—
Or thought, as his own mother kissed his eyes,
Of what her kiss was when his father wooed?
May not this ancient room thou sit’st in dwell
In separate living souls for joy or pain?
Nay, all its corners may be painted plain
Where Heaven shows pictures of some life spent well;
And may be stamped, a memory all in vain,
Upon the sight of lidless eyes in Hell.
A cat stalks amongst stalks;
monkeys like old men, fingers unpick
your banana hands, curious and careful.
Too much expression.
Don’t worry, have a curry.
And from a coach window glimpses of a land
where a skeleton boy sleeps or lies dead under palm.
And the red earth chokes.
Follow the waterfall to mango pickle
down river to a jungle boogie rhythm
you ain’t ever heard before.
Cobra skins and coy carp,
the sound of cicadas amasses.
A stand still in traffic, its ‘crush’ hour
its okay to beep even if it will never get you anywhere.
A treasure trove of trinkets, a myriad of jewels.
All you see is money,
all I see is you wanting money.
Dusty rags from sandy bags, the face of
desperation is ugly.
Temples carved into caves
as markets coloured like an artist’s palette.
An elephant’s eyes say more than this poem could.
why am i
in the midst of
satisfied by it?
Standing in the silence of loneliness,
I ponder a life with others,
A day in the sun with friends,
With family and lovers,
But instead i wait patiently,
Patiently longing for an inclusion,
Far away from my...
see our skies
are wide, immense
and our skies point
to the open, to the all-inclusive
we cut ourselves off
we confine, we restrict and narrow
and lock ourselves
in manufactured identities, in dogma
and squares, in boxes, in stifling corners
When I tell You "fuck you" - I'm offering everything that I am.
Sometimes in flippant defiance.
Sometimes in submission.
Sometimes in love and appreciation.
Adoringly, exasperatedly, imploringly.
Body, soul, mind, heart, inclusive
Fuck You very much.
It's my kind of declaration.
The revelations of numbers
Spawn inclusions in the mind
And matters of the heart
Start tapping in time
To the beat of the soul
The rhythm of the whole
The streets of the mystic
Where the wild waves roll
We look to our past
And what the future remains
To be written again
At the top of the page.
Russian black grass and an ornate pattere garden
pheasants basking in uncertainty
culpable designs eyeing towards Yellow book inclusion,
asks more than the obelisks shadows casting down the acers,
the mia crocus still a red mist
before laying the asphalt driveway.