I buy her cheap
can't buy expensive.

It's a gift she says
to give my spirit a lift
you buy low
it gets high on my love

don't ever think
price has a place in happiness.

She wears the imitation
and the mirror explodes
into thousand stars
with the gift of joy
now not only hers
but inexplicably
spread all over me.

==============
why we love flesh so much?
forgetting the eternal Soul
what is wrong with our goal?

Written by
~~~Jawahar Gupta~~~

The drama is Korean and called "Save The Last Dance For Me."  I loved it until the final episode.


(sonnet #MMMMMMDXIII)


I watched those silver curtains whose thin veil
Down in the valley blotted trees with thence
But ghostly figures 'hind thet rainy sense
Of nowhere, while the greener Maples' tale
Just whispered on this hilltop like to scale,
And thought dreams were too pretty hence
Wrapt up with love in those refrains, til whence?
But how we punished these in sheer betrayl.
La.  Why must even dramas skew in poor
Excuse the heroine?  She suffered to
Effect and then some, 'til when fin'lly fer
All that they had all, she was crippled through
The villain.  Wherefore must we ruin as twere
E'en that?  The rain gone, midnight glowrs, deep blue.

23Jul17

Chancing to look through an old file, I'd forgotten the pleasures of matching wits with an intelligent man who actually has working brain cells, not just these "primal urges" 99% of men own.  I'm sick and tired of all these monkeys.  Go tell some other woman she is ****.  I wasn't dressing to please you, but me.




(sonnet #MMMMMMDXIV)


As blue skies, shadows 'non cavort from hence
Beheath the watchful eye of, own a tale
Of cloud battalions floating like to scale
Upon that purest sea frame what? I thence
Bewail Jean Yves and O! his wiser sense--
Lost on the wings of hours gone ere we'd hail
More than keen matching wits when time'd avail
Us, yes, a man with intellect's defense.
"God's gift to women," ah, I laughed as twere
Oer what he swore is merely truth, 'til who
Shall now console me, eh?  Most men in poor
'Scuse are dull blockheads, never thinking, to
A fault such beasts that only want to stir
Yes, "primal urges" oh! what shall I do?

24Jul17a

Silhouettes emerge from the night lunar tide
lives still wriggling in their net
ghostly figures from the sea silken wide
reaping riches from the waves in spate.

The night a luminous smile wears
the belly is fired up for a bite
dried leaves would burn under stars
brewing another day under moonlight.

Mariners when not venturing into deep sea
release passions on the shallow shelf
harvest hope though the catch is measly
breathing in the winds the aroma of kelp.

I feel having long belonged to this place
wading breakers in the phosphorus' glow
gathering in my net a strange happiness
craving home when the tide is low.