i have an ongoing
love affair
with words
that roll around your
mouth

luscious, langourous
lilliputitian letters

sensual syllables
slick- sliding off
the tongue

ecstatic explosions,
erupting, erogenously
exciting, eager exclaimations,
of enraptured exualtations

organic, original orientations
of teeth and tongue
producing oodles,
of apogeic anomolies

my affair
accomplishes much
for little

it is you see
just a not so secret love
of letter, line, jot and tittle.

a casting eye upon a word
and i am set rushing
down a path
reserved for those
with terms, descriptive,
and names.
that in themselves,
decry
wordlove.

lexicographers and bibliophiles
phoneologists, linguists, polygots,
jonguluers, wordsmiths scribes
poets.

all possess this
heartstringed
tangled knot,
spiderwebbed
feeling,
for words.
which, we then,
endevour to spin,
into inkstained beauty,
to ensare
ourselves ...and others.

******! dali,
the clock's
sliding off
the wall...
again.

piccasso,
you *******
you blest
me with
three *******...
but nothing to
hold it all

van gogh,
whose
going to
clean up
all that straw
and blood.

and
munch,
do you
wonder
that
i
scream!!!

1
Pitch dark night.
He stood atop
the tallest bell tower
in the city of his heart,
insanely pleading
to the starlit sky
to come down
and kiss his brow,
shocking him to the core,
he saw two evil eyes staring
above the shadow
of two dark vulture wings,
just in a flash
abruptly he left
trying to erase the moment
from memory altogether.
For the first time
in his short unhappy life
he learned one has to be patient
till the wings grow
by self acquired magic.
2
Moonlit night
foamy waves of soft light
splash on the shores of tender hearts,
standing alone on the village green
he waited for the angel,
he dreamed to descend
firmly believing she would be there
the moon suddenly grew bright,
the breeze brought
the scent of incenses
he heard bells sonorously ring,
was it real or an enchanting dream?
rustling of soft wings told him
about her presence
for a divine moment he thought
he saw her gentle eyes
flashing quickly at him;
a moment of grace
like a huge dew drop
enveloped him for ever.

Copy right

Which sublime symphony,
makes me fully forget
I am a limited being
rooted on the earth.
The booming wind's
the running water's?
or the serenade that cascades
as the wink of a million stars
filling the limitless skies?
which blue evokes,
the hue of my inner world,
the sky's or the sea's,
perhaps the turquoise of her eyes?

On the meadow green,
the grass under my feet,
is resilient, never lies low,
and the sun at dusk
showers gold dust over it.

Now, I feel a lightness, no word can tell,
I am ebullient, feels omnipotent,
on newly acquired wings, I hover up,
the evening silver star, waking up,
at the far corner of the sky
extends her hands
to invite me to her boudoir.

Ethnic Cleansing


You
Blinked in the sun
The laughter ended
Young children lay
Seemingly bathing
As blood ran
From their wounds
Seeping into
The bright green grass
Turning it black
like your soul
You
Gun in hand
Dry eyed
Wept imaginary tears
Imagined fears
Fulfilled
Children’s lives stilled

Mary's son is here and my, what a flutter!
Folk come from far and near, just to hear:
say some a Rabbi is he, others, the Christ;
quelling the ghosts, he turns water wine,
the dead walk back to life at his command.

Mary's son is here and my, what a flutter!
He's cast his glance wide, this humble
son of a carpenter, is too, a fisherman wise:
he pours forth his love, like none ever can,
to his disciples, he's a friend and kinsman.

Mary's son is here and my, what a flutter!
Where they see sin, he only sees the light,
and nothing can anger him but unholy
commerce in the temple right. Who'd have
thought, God's son, was thus in our sight?

Mary's son is here and my, what a flutter!