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 Jun 2013 jackonary
Raj Arumugam
(1)
There’s one thing I must get off my chest
that’s bothered me now
even 50 years on
with the passage of time –
my English teacher then
she always told me when I grumbled
homework was too difficult,
she’d tell me: “That’s a piece of cake”
And I’d go home discombobulated how
anyone could eat paper
or homework
and she said this not once, but every time:
“It’s a piece of cake”


(2)
And my parents and I looked at it
every which way and from every point of view
and concluded in our Perfect Ancient Native language:
“This English teacher is a loony. She is wooly-headed.
She is the lamb Mary lost, silly and muddle-headed.
How can homework be a piece of cake?
Anyway, we don’t eat cake – we eat samosas.”


(3)
And yet the English teacher would put her nose
up in the air
and remonstrate: “It’s a piece of cake!”

Oh yeah, would you like tea with it?

Now, my parents, bless their Ancient Souls,
have gone on into the next world
And I’m left wondering about the secret madness
of that English teacher
who’d ask me to eat cake when I expressed genuine concern…

Well, my parents have passed on, as I said,
and I’ve moved on
as is plain and radiant to see
to master idioms and vocabulary
Punctuation, the catenative verb and Usage;
and, as for that wooly-headed English teacher,
I’m sure she’s moved on into
a comfortable nuthouse
where the staff makes her eat her cake,
and make her think she can have it too -
cos that’s what they do to nuts, and such instances

(4)
And now that I have got that off my chest,
I can comfortably resume memorizing
Volume 3 of theOxford Dictionary
as  I perambulate
and copy 100 entries from Fowler’s “Modern English Usage”
as I victulate
which is all part of my nightly ritual
since she told me to do so some 50 years ago
(cos I happened to look at her Union Jack knickers
when she sat high on the table, and I stood up *****
cos that's what they made us do in the cinemas)
- and that helps to put me into a state of dormancy, to hibernate
till the sun ushers in a new day for me  –
and a new cake for that wooly-headed English teacher,
she, I can presume with certainty,
elegantly reposed and superannuated


Now, I’m glad I’ve got this off my chest
and mastered my idioms and phrases
and I can go eat my samosas
- don't you think the teacher was mad? -  and by George! -  I'm as sane as King George 3...?
 Jun 2013 jackonary
Raj Arumugam
with all these advances
in neuroscience
it’s time you numbskulls
learn a little about your brains

1
First up, you must know
your brain’s made of the
right hemisphere and the left hemisphere -
and what do they say to each other
when they can’t agree with each other?
“Let’s split.”

2
You know the neurons
(no, not morons – neurons, you *****) –
now, why do they love emails?
Cos they love sending and receiving
lots of messages, these neurons do

3
Now, you 100bn-deficit no-brainers -
do you know what
your brain does
when it sees a friend across the street?
Yes, it sends a brainwave…

And when does your brain get afraid?
Yep, when it loses its nerve…

And be alert - never give your brain a bath
cos you don’t want to be brainwashed, do ya?

4
You get fired, baby,
you don’t work any more;
but your neurons -
they get working when fired

5
And for more advances in neuroscience
you might want to consult your nearest
neurosturgeon*…


with all these advances
in neuroscience
it’s time you numbskulls
learn a little about your brains -
while I get back to slicing these donors' brains fine;
or making them into soup -
just part of the trade, you know, of neuroscience
...mostly jokes from online sources...some dark humour too from neuroscience...I do claim some brainwork, transforming the jokes into verse...there's an art in stealing ideas, you know...
He came to me one night
when I was cold and alone,
I was halfway through with it,
an inch from the bone.
He whispered so gently
as he laid me down on the bed,
"what aspect of life
put these thoughts in your head?"

"I don't breathe like I used to,"
I told him, as his image blurred,
"I ask for their help
but they don't say a word."
His vice like fingers
clamped onto my wrist,
"Not on this night, child.
You don't die like this."

Before I could figure out
what I thought he meant,
he opened his mouth,
"my dear, be patient.
For life is a hurdle
in the relay of death,
your time on this earth
is not over yet.

"When you reach the finish
then I'll come for you,
but until that moment,
here's what you'll do;
each problem that throws
itself in your sight,
promise me you won't
give up with no fight.

"The days when you
think you're over and done,
just look in the mirror,
you've already won.
Because you made it this far
through so many years,
you've conquered your demons
and outweighed your fears.

"The pills in the bottle
can wait a while longer,
because with each passing day
you've gotten much stronger.
I don't offer my help
to little girls who suffer,
I'll be breaking the hearts
of the ones that love her.

"Do you see now, child,
what I'm saying to you?
Your time is not up,
your life will ensue."
I bit down on my lip,
and nodded my head,
and just like that,
he disappeared from my bed.

That was the time,
that Death saved my life,
so if you ever want to end it,
just remember his advice.
Don't think of the pain,
and how it'll end soon,
because Death talks a lot,
when he enters your room.


a.d.
i keep stumbling over my heart
i find it wrapped up in my bed sheets-
begging to stay asleep
so it can keep on dreaming.
i find it in the doorway
after a late night bath,
let's do the math
one bubble
two bubbles
a tub full of bubbles should make it happy.

it lays all over the place,
begging for more.
my heart,
it lays in the middle of the kitchen floor
like it's waiting to be quenched-
one cup
two cup
three cups and it shows me the door
and says there's a whole world out there waiting-
waiting for more.
 Jun 2013 jackonary
sunflower
When you were five years old
And your favorite color was pink,
You wanted to be a princess,
Played with barbies in the sand,
The world was your playground,
And you didn't know how to be sad.

When you were seven years old
And your favorite color was all of them,
You wanted to be famous,
Cried when your Grandmother died,
The world was small,
And you were learning what sad was.

When you were nine years old
And your favorite color was purple,
You wanted to be a rock star,
Read ghost stories with your best friend,
The world was full of possibility,
And you never cried.

When you were ten years old
And your favorite color was black,
You wanted to be alone,
Screamed when your best friend was murdered,
The world was a scary place,
And you never stopped crying.

When you were fifteen years old
And your favorite color was blue,
You wanted to disappear,
Made scars appear on your arm,
The world was no longer happy,
And you faked not being sad.

When you were seventeen years old
And your favorite color was who gives a ****,
You wanted to no longer be alive,
Stared at walls for hours at a time,
The world was your purgatory,
And you didn't know how to be happy.

When you were nineteen years old
And you no longer had a favorite,
You took a gun to your head,
Pulled the trigger,
Your world was no more,
And you felt no pain.
 Jun 2013 jackonary
Samantha Page
I would love to say I am one of those people who just doesn't give a ****!
I would love to say that it doesn't hurt or bother me..
when people say "people like you"
are what's wrong with America...
I would be lying...
I don't know why-
Why I care what they think
or that they hate us!
Or, think we are disgusting...
Or, that we are so different from them.
I shouldn't care!
But, I do....
Just the same
I should not feel inadequate
or sad because I cannot give you a baby...
But I am...and I do...
Part of me feels that moving somewhere
that we could get married would change things...
That somehow the whole population
wouldn't be like that.
I know that I am just kidding myself-
I know that people will have their views no matter where we go.
But, it doesn't stop me from wishing-
That we were not considered so different...
Because we love someone of the same gender...
And for those that think this is what we have chosen.
HATE, RIDICULE, HARDSHIP, SEPERATION
WHO WOULD CHOOSE THAT?
I wouldn't, I didn't!
It chose me, God chose me!
To even begin to try to think I could fit in
to your lines defining "normal" is ridiculous.
It would be impossible....
Besides that fact that I would never be albe
to lay with a man-
I have already found love.
Yes, LOVE! with a woman..
And no, neither of us are perfect...
But, together....we make a perfect couple.
Like two weights on a scale we balance...
AND I LOVE HER!!
AMERICA CAN GET OVER IT!!!
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