My case
I wouldn't overstate
enough has been said
it would but exacerbate

I'll walk away
let others their story relate
each life is a polarity apart
it defies all debate

I see the message in your very eyes
the portal that leads me to paradise

' Leisurely'*
      a keyword
      in my vocabulary

Between the pretty and ugly
I'll choose the latter for sure
I wouldn't fade like beauty
somehow I'll longer endure

Life is not a sum
whether we add or subtract
divide or multiply
there's never a sure outcome

We are not born
to be blessed
but to wrest

As none is completely self- dependent
            each subsists in some form of prison

Life is very much about
   unpleasant people and circumstance
   such has to be tolerated
   though it's soaked in nuisance

Brutality
   the worst scourge
   of humanity

Grant me not wisdom
but freedom

I've grown too old
with others to argue
though they claim
the false to be true

That which is noteworthy
must be home-grown
the wisdom of the world matters not
I must seek my own

Let there be light
the world is shrouded in darkness
it will banish the sorrows of night
and its accompanying sadness.

Each heart is a silent candle
a nascent flame in waiting
when love has come to settle
peace and joy shall adorn every morning.

There's no reason
for harshness
though unkind is life
which is more minus
than plus

to be born
is to strive
but the suffering
ushers in
the self-becoming

there's no reason
to take aim at life
after the worst storm
chaos is no longer rife

the heart aches
only to rebuild and flourish
man is larger than destiny
his spirit never does perish.

*** is the most intimate conversation
but is lost so often in translation
the couple's minds are in alienation
the union yields no sublimation.

Time is telling
but the heart
will not yield-
the clinging
to what went before
transcends reasoning

in intransigence
the loving and the hating
the coming-together
and the parting

memory plays tricks
in its condoning or rejecting
love vacillates in doubting
hate revels in exaggerating

how is a life measured?
what makes for good living?
futile is philosophising
what life does is eluding.

Look not beyond
aren't we each
a myth of time?
how mysterious
is our coming-in
a chancy outcome!

who was the first
progenitor --does it matter?
each life started
as a seed somewhere
struggling to be survivor

myths are more real
than what people believe
they tend to perpetuate
even if such do bring grief

each coming-in
leaves a mark though
unnoticed--the world
continues to evolve
towards what
none would ever know

Let your words dance
to the tune of your heart
they belong to each other
they never stand apart

a poem is a celebration
not just a piece of verbal art
herein is life crystallised
where beauty dwells never to depart

Old age doesn't need
to count the days
its heels are dogged*
by time's unyielding pace

old age is a creaking tree
it can't hold well to its place
it has to give way somehow
that eager saplings will replace

old age has told its weary story
all it wears is wrinkles on its face
despite the vagaries of past seasons
it has tasted the lips of grace

old age is the letting go
the acceptance of the very last phase
no remorse or regret should it know
neither does it need hanker after any praise.

Evening church bell
  chimes across village playground
   kids quickly rush home

Clothes hung for drying
    under a clear sunny sky
    a crow sits thereon

Bell of ice-cream truck
  children stop their play in park
  dogs watch on and bark

Puppy leaps ahead
mum pushes pram in meadow
humming lullaby

Birds coo from house-tops
smoke gently drifts from chimneys
evening sets late

Gardens are alive
   housewives begin their pruning
   while their children sing

Multi-coloured masks
only eyes are visible
words inaudible

Old man sits on bench
his dog chasing a wild bird
he smiles as he smokes

Wind blows o'er meadow
carpet of flowers shaken
of red and golden

Kids blowing bubbles
drifting over springtime air
echoes of laughter

There's something
I find inexplicable
about a bridge

even the smallest
the most remote
the oldest
neglected
forgotten
dilapidated

especially
if it's wood-made
( that of metal
doesn't appeal
to me)


who had been
before me?
what was
their each story?

it's not the crossover
but a symbol
of life, of time
of an unknown individual
an unrecorded chronicle
shrouded in memory
and mystery

a tiny lad was I then
on my lonely way to school
bird-songs I heard
mingled with the water's murmuring
somehow I always felt happy

I return now
after half a century
the wooden bridge
has collapsed
there's a sign that reads:
' No entry'

still there remains
that tall oak-tree
in silent majesty
a bird-song drifts
in the cool air
sounds so familiar
the water is placid
as before-- the row
of wild flowers
has survived time

on a half-broken
chair I sit pensively
lost in reverie.

I'll quietly walk away
such that none would notice
the actors are too loud
and proud-- they displease


by their own voices
these people are self- betrayed
scarcely do they know
they are artificially made

how they overtly indulge
in  priming their self-image
the audience stands up
to embrace their message

if I haven't walked away
my heart could have bled
yet I well imagine
such malaise would widely spread

I will not
be weighed down-
nothing in life
is too heavy to bear
the then and now
is everyone's thoroughfare
each step leads
to the  beyond
the time of somewhere

the heart might be shaken
but there's no room for despair

no harness is called for
the will shall not be broken
whether the self is here or there

for man is larger
than circumstance
on the grimsome face of fate
he's unafraid to stare

endless it does seem
Via Dolorosa but somehow
its secrets courage will bare

when the darkest of hours
have been transversed
victory shouts and belongs
to those who dare!

Louise is 85 and lives in a retirement home in Melb.  She wrote to me yesterday as she was relieved that C19 cases had fallen dramatically.  She added HAPPY DAYS ARE HERE AGAIN!


We'll set aside the gloomy night
happy days are here again
come and play in the sunlight
let's sing in sweetest refrain-

love will ever shine bright
past sorrows will not visit again
all blight will no longer be in sight
life will be absolved of pain

It's not worth the poetry
      unless it touches on the heart of humanity

It's far from the mark
     an aroused feeling or a noble thought
     unless the right chord is struck
     no beauty would be wrought

There's no season for ripening
  I'll just continue with my writing

So many times I did fail
   I tried, over and again, I tried
   often to little avail
    I cried, silently I cried

A big vocabulary
     is far from a guarantee
     of good poetry

Don't force the words
don't exaggerate
it bespeaks of struggle
the reader it would not ingratiate

My poetry is never great
         at best,  only readable
         I'll be more than elated
         if someone finds it pleasurable

Write what you can
       never be a charlatan

Write to express
not to impress

Betrayal
should not be
in our vocabulary

done to others
is ignominy
of self---a tragedy

such would
an imprisonment be
the betrayer would never be free

the life worthwhile
embraces humanity
in its true authenticity

Appetite
but for what?
to what allied?
why such?

Let life not be
multi-syllabic
as for me
it'll be fine to be mono-syllabic

this only--
that I should be authentic
words too many
would be an unwise pick

Seek merit
forget benefit

Ambient forest* at even-fall
a song it sings so sadly
sunset has taken hold
the heart grows weary-

night is a relentless shutdown
silent hours stir love's memory
lovers will drift into dreams
what would be their story?

Write, free yourself and be happy!

Beyond self
a reaching out
to life and further
to the unknown
the universe
is the poet's home--

each poem
bears marks
less of joy
much more of sorrow
scars that heal not
the heart that is torn

let love be
the light
in life's darkness
let it be
the anthem--

if love abounds
wouldn't a new world
be born?

There's beauty in the latent
I will wait, I will be patient