a dewdrop
on the petal
of your red lower lip,
     tempting
like a drop of honey,
waiting
to be tasted
by a bee;
               imagine me,
I took it so gently,
with my lips
and avidly made mine
and heard beauty speak
to me in a secret tongue,
I am your sun, you said,
the sun that thrills you with
a warm kiss, when
it's most needed.

(1)
I posted a poem
at hello poetry -
and what happened?
Somebody started following me

I received a "notification"
(I can’t say “much to my gratification”)
that someone started following me
I think it went something like:
“Naked Blueberry started following you”



(2)
Oh what did I do?
What did I dodo?
All I did was to post a poem
and not a word from you -
O cruel menacing follower -
not a comment
not an expression of your displeasure
but you started following me
What did I do?
What did I dodo?



(3)
Sure
I may tell bad jokes
and write verse
that daily gets worse
Yeah, I may look ugly like I stole
a look from my fav Mad magazine
and once in a while I say something
about organisations -
but does that warrant you
following me
and transforming me into
a near-nervous wreck?

O Naked Blueberry
what did I do?
What did I dodo -
why do you follow me, you naked stalker?
I lie in bed now afraid
and my wife worries that
I cry out often in sleep:
“Hence, You Naked Succubus -
Follow me not!”
And I dare not approach my car
but after looking under bonnet
and boot and below the carriage
I dare not write a word now
but fear that you and your agents
will follow and stalk me
with ne’er a word, ne’er a warning

At least tell me, please O follower
O Naked Blueberry, O Protean Terminator
O **** Redberry  
and all the others in various guises
(I know you guys are all one person,
namely Lily Raw and Ready)
- tell me why you follow,
show me cause of your anger
O what did I do?
What did I dodo?
What should I do?
What should I dodo?

I don't lie
I just phrase things
Differently

I don't hide
I drop hints
Everywhere

You just
Don't
Notice

"The time has come," (the Walrus said,)
"To talk of many things:
Of heart and head,
To wretches and kings,
Of cloth and thread,
Why the lark sings,
Of blood and bread,
To love and strings,
Of dreams and dead,
What eternally springs."

They found their rendezvous in a house of secrets.
She smelled myrrh and frankeincense
Time never bound them within  its band
Space was theirs as much as they want
They went long evening walks though
winding road that went up, to the top of the  hill
ending below the yard, star paved sky,
then with a rare fervor traveled beyond light years
she embraced , he felt grace from past encircling him.

The house of secrets had numerous rooms,
not on the solid piles of reality it stood-
he suspected, though it filled mind,
Was she an apparition, creation of mind,
"What is real, what is myth?"
looking downhill at the plains, extending
far horizons, she asked in  mind's whispers
to hear her he needed no voice
birds in strange formations, he saw
flying against the crimson curtain evening spread,
they watched the drama of life, flowing with time,
never they were aware,
they belonged to two different time frames,
understanding  the undercurrents they smiled.
They walked back to the house of silence,
through different roads, to hunt secrets.