Don't go zig-zag, jibber-jabber,
Prabhu Iyer
Prabhu Iyer
Feb 20      Feb 21

Dont talk to me about sense-vense -
do you, or do you not?
tell me this much;

Don't go zig-zag, jibber-jabber,
zither; look I don't care of

this caste-vaste, mummy-daddy
and the society;

We could might never deny this,
pow-wows cannot measure this,

do you, or do you not?
That is, is all there is.

The Indian girl is talking sense into her beau.

Echo-words such as 'sense-vense' are common in colloquial Indian English

Mixing in English echo-words (jibber-jabber etc) the dreaded double copula (Is-IS) and the double modal (might could), for dramatic effect.

Oct 9

Zig-zagging through the trees
She is running
Doesn't know why, or where, but she is
Then she stops
She looks around
There nothing there.
She begins to relax
But then the world starts to fade to black
And she starts to fall.

Apr 13, 2014

I'm kinda tired of having these reoccurring dreams about you and waking up and you're still not here.
what ever happened to predictability?
I'm torn between the two. Between what's wrong and what's right.
I was happier then.
Or was that me? Or am I now me?
Like holding water in your hand.
Would you go back to then? Just beginning then?
Would you?

Apr 14, 2012

they don't know like he does how her bottom teeth overlap at the front like boat sails / or that three moles on her thighs are the perfect example of an isosceles triangle / they don't know that when they sleep their feet fit together like bunch of bananas / or that when she traced circles in his hair it made a direct imprint on his soul / that's why they say she's not worth it / that's why he knows they are wrong.

Mar 20, 2014

Your name sits on the tip of my tongue,
Along with bitter aberrations
Of love and loathing.  
Your name  commingles in my veins,
And tips my stomach
Like a tugboat in a hurricane.
In the years I have grown,
I have been shown the difference
Between the good and the bad.
I exhausted the arms on the clock
Arranging daisies of adoration
In the souls of those who were rotten.
Even the one I thought was impeccable
Has placed me on a shelf of old seashells
And bottled ships.

Mystery intrigued me,
3 zombies walking with a ragged stagger,
talking guttural sounds,
wanting to know if I had any zig zags?

I looked at the hats into the eyes,
thought and said "No, don't smoke guys" and they,
stumbled by, hunger for a smoke
mounting; I had spoken truthfully, never have, never will.

I stopped and turned to stare, they asked,
an older woman, who didn't slow down or say a word,
looking ahead, the day walkers approached
a couple of construction types at the bus stop, who
patted themselves down and shrugged.

Their pace became more erratic, as they were
denied, they sped up, getting
twitchy as they weren't flesh eaters but they
were addicted to smoke and
rolling there own, the heat and flavour, they savoured.

The knew what it would feel like as soon as they...
Amazing what grows out of a few tobacco seeds,
oh and what seeds have you sown...

Changed the title used to be Tobacco Seeds
Zig-zag was the last word
May 6, 2014

Zig-zag was the last word
in the picture dictionary on
the old forgotten bookshelf
of my childhood.

These roses on the flower beds,
planted a decade and a half ago -
run zig-zag like a bee on a hunt.
Much like, your love
for me.

I zig zag across the room to your bed,

Another night,
Another array of dismembered emotion.
I zig zag across the room to your bed,
And join you as we lie,
Naked in our flaws together;
Perhaps, a peculiar vision,
Confusing, yet compelling.
Look at my eyes,
Look into your eyes,
I smile and then you smile,
Nothing else exists.
And eventually the eyes begin to close...
Infiltrate my dreams, won’t you?
Rescue me as I drift away.

Another day,
Another array of dismembered emotion.
I zig zag across your room to the door,
And leave you lying naked in your flaws.
Perhaps, a peculiar vision,
Confusing, yet captivating.
I smile and wave good bye,
The world begins to resurface,
And eventually, I'm lost inside the haze.
Infiltrate my soul, won't you?
Rescue me before I fade away.

Another night
Another array of dismembered emotion.
I zig zag within my head because you are not around.
You leave me lying naked in my flaws;
Perhaps, a peculiar vision,
Confusing, yet convincing.
I force a smile,
As your image in my head begins to tear at the edges.
Infiltrate my mind, won't you?
Rescue me before I stray away.

i zig....i zag
Roger Turner -author

my body clock
has run aground
a good nights sleep
can not be found
counting sheep
over fences bound
i'm wide awake
instead of sleeping sound

sleep it comes
when it should not
i'm fearful that
i might get caught
a nodding off
a fight i fought
sleep when i should
can it be bought?

my body zigs
instead of zags
i'm wide awake
my eyes have bags
my inner spring
has stopped and lags
my nerves are shot
i zig....i zag

i lie in bed
one eye i close
i'll trick myself
my brain won't know
asleep, awake
which way to go
i'm half awake
my spirits low

If i am half asleep
i guess
i'm half awake
as well at best
there's the answer
to my sleeping quest
do half of both
i must confess!!!

for Ashlee Baracy and Lauren Podell
Zig, zig, zag, on his violin.
Claire Rubbelke
Claire Rubbelke
Jul 28, 2013

Zig, zig, zig, Death in cadence,
Striking a tomb with his heel,
Death at midnight plays a dance-tune,
Zig, zig, zag, on his violin.
The winter wind blows, and the night is dark;
Moans are heard in the linden trees.
White skeletons pass through the gloom,
Running and leaping in their shrouds.
Zig, zig, zig, each one is frisking,
You can hear the cracking of the bones of the dancers.
A lustful couple sits on the moss
So as to taste long lost delights.
Zig zig, zig, Death continues
The unending scraping on his instrument.
A veil has fallen! The dancer is naked.
Her partner grasps her amorously.
The lady, it's said, is a marchioness or baroness
And her green gallant, a poor cartwright.
Horror! Look how she gives herself to him,
Like the rustic was a baron.
Zig, zig, zig. What a saraband!
They all hold hands and dance in circles.
Zig, zig, zag. You can see in the crowd
The king dancing among the peasants.
But hist! All of a sudden, they leave the dance,
They push forward, they fly; the cock has crowed.
Oh what a beautiful night for the poor world!
Long live death and equality!

The text comes from the poem "Égalité, Fraternité...", part of Jean Lahor's (a pseudonym of Henri Cazalis) l'Illusion.
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