Woooh* - don’t you think
I’ve made a good catch…
I was waiting for this
You know –  there’ve been many hints…it all started
with him coming to talk about music
and we exchanged songs
and manuscripts – ah, such French songs
with smooth airs and sweetness
the Dutch cannot bring into existence;
and today too he came, as you see him now beside me
and we started with a song book he brought
and he started with a preamble about love and music
and we talked about the lyrics, and we swayed to the tunes,
and he said: “Such a song too, O fair one,
I have written” – and he pulled out this sheet
and he placed it in my hands
and he cooed: “This song is of sweet love –
And your opinion I’d like to know”
O my, my, my….my heart’s beating fast…
he’s written a declaration of love…indeed…
it’s a bad song
but good in intent
…it can be no other way…love…love…he’s declaring his love
for me…I knew…I knew it was coming…
all those hesitations today, and on so many other occasions…
all those sighs, sad faces one day and happy
and light spirit on another…a man of many words on some
and of solemn few several days…I knew…I knew…I knew…
it was coming…and here I am, looking
in suspended time
at the audience
like a Shakespearean maiden, in soliloquy –
certes beautiful, certes smart –
O help me, help me….most distinguished viewers
He’s like a mouse cat in a trap…
*Should I? Should I?

all life rolled by
all that has gone past
I saw you sit on the stone wall by the lake
and I knew – is there any other way? - what you thought about
the betrayal, the snatches of life and luminescence
from the days when you were a girl
the first day you could feel the stirrings;
all passages of life, all conversations and the promise
the pretty things, the art and the ecstasy -
but mainly the betrayal, I know, I could see it in your expression
and the pain of your children,
beings you brought forth into the world
your pain, each one
your joy, each one
and all of the darkness
the rich trees behind you, the rolling hills farther behind
and the lightness, the union of water and blue sky, by your side
but you looking farther, farther than the sky, farther than the clouds
far away, far away into your thoughts, beyond the sun,
beyond where sun can reach
all things rolled by, all life rolled by
all events, every thought -
O all that has gone past
I saw you sit on the stones by the lake
and I knew what you thought about –
how can I not? -
the betrayal, mainly the betrayal, the betrayal…
I saw you, I saw that…
I know, I know…
There can be no forgetting;
There can be no forgiving
I saw you, I saw that…
But all I could do was to walk, to walk away
carry away my false words, carry away my deeds with me…
and leave you to the distance, to the distance
To the darkness, the luminescence, the betrayals…

consider
the field is never always smooth;
there are times that the grass turns brown
and the flowers wilt and their petals
return to the ground
…consider these things…
what was a frolicing maid becomes a hag;
the virulent man shrivels and becomes incapable
and so the sky, never always clear and boundless
and so the clouds, not always childhood pleasantries
but they come into chaos and dreariness
and pile dollops of dark humor
and so our lives,
darlings, O sweet ones -
regard these things well -
and so our lives too pass from radiant days
to gasp below dreary shades
from a happy, happy song to a dirge over the dale –
and not all our rosaries and beads and prayers and faith
nothing will halt, in spite of stories they recite,
nothing will halt the sun and the passage of time
and so like the artist it is best to observe
like the artist in the field
capture the moment, savor the life
and if anything, make of one’s life a beauty
that others may pause to gaze at
as pausing to gaze at a rose, the cherry blossoms…
be you makers of beauty,
darlings, O darlings, consider these things
O sweet ones…

Water, Mother
Huang He
Vibrant Yellow Beast of fine-grained loess
fierce and breaking all bounds
like a restless dragon
Dragon with fire in its belly
and that screams out of its den
Oh Life-Giver, Death-Bringer
River, Yellow River, Huang He
with animal jaws that ****, with lingering ******
and disease even after your rage -
what brought you to wildness?
such madness and ferocity - you wave away
villages, animals, women, mothers, children
and men and soldiers and trees and life;
you re-make the landscape with few brushstrokes:
black ink, swift flows, a scroll that is left sparse
Oh you who gives life at other times
with your arms of warm embrace –
Water, Mother
Huang He
Yellow of fine-grained loess -
why do you take it all away
with clawed hands of wanton, unbridled dragons?

it is Spring
and we walk here now
on the solitary mountain path;
on the branches that were bare but yesterday
are new leaves, fresh and unfurling;
and a few sprigs scattered about
on the shoulders of the path

the rocks are shaped and weathered;
Nature’s thumbs and fingers
have pressed the earth the way its Dao flows
There is a bird on a bare branch
and another sings its song, hovering in the cool air

And we, we two -
now walking on this path in Spring –
though we strive, and though we aspire
we too are but living beings
Nature will fold and discard, after use
gently or as it wishes
after use

Da da sum
Bam bam lum
Sing and dance
jump and laugh
all the way -
it’s end of day
All light hours
we’ve worked
in the fields
bent double
Da da sum
Bam bam lum
Small breaks
in the shade we had
all the dumplings we ate
all the soup we drank –
and now, hey, hey, hey
a little each
of the rice wine drink
as we hop and jump
and sing and dance
Jump and laugh
all the way
Home, home, home
Da da sum
Bam bam lum

The Mother’s Song

under the
horse-chestnut tree
in the shade
with my little darling
are the loveliest moments
Laugh aloud
sweet angel
Wave those arms
like you’d fly like a bee
in the open
Darling of my life
this moment
will always be in my mind
like a coin closed tight
in a pauper’s palm



The Child, now an adult, remembers the Mother’s Song**

there were days
those were the days
when my mum held me in her arms
under the
horse-chestnut tree
in the shade
and there she sang me her songs
and whispered me her gentle words
and held me close to her radiant face
Those were the days,
that the time,
when my mother’s voice
filled the space
and my being
under the
horse-chestnut tree
in the shade

See, do you see?
free cat roams
free cat lives its multiple lives
curly tail and rich fur and shiny eyes
across the Korean landscape of Jeong Seon;
and do you hear?
Free cat purrs:

*“it’s nice, dear Cat God
to be free and open
and I like it I owe you no obedience
unlike those miserable humans;
in your wisdom
you make crickets and large insects appear
and I make them disappear –
you and I are equal partners in the cycle of life,
dear Cat God;
and a rat in the wild
and some water in a secluded pool
and all these fresh air and hidden nests
I like all that, I like it this way
(And I don’t a give a meow or cat-**** for humans
and their elegant cats lying on cushions)
And of course,
when the passion seizes me
in here in the open,
there’s always a ***** cat, ready and wet
and we wail and meow all night
Hey Cat God -
I like it this way, feral in the wild”

the dark-thought clouds hang heavy
above
and on the heads of the trees
that stand like lanky children in assembly
the sun spreads its end–of-day grace;
and so you will remember, perhaps
oh end of day and sun and trees
and the pensive air that envelopes all this evening -
you will remember, perhaps -
to conspire forth such an evening
the last hours of my days
if you will remember, perhaps

...the scholar in this poem's companion painting has such an unhappy expression that this poem turns out humorous almost of its own accord...


****! - there are, I know, intellectuals
there back in the distant court
who want to be exiled here to the mountains
And they’d like to lie down like this
like I’m doing now
amidst the trees, on a rock, watching the river flow
and they’d sure like this solitude and quiet
But ****! Not me! I didn’t choose this!
I was just minding my own business -
what was it - 10 years ago? and we learned men
and we were all walking in the Royal Garden with the King
and we were discussing most cleverly about such lofty matters
and I was just behind the King
when he farted
and I waved off the smell with my right hand before my face
and he turns round just at that moment, and he says:
“What is the matter with you?
Here we are the Esteemed Intellectuals of the Court
in the Royal Garden discoursing of Such Lofty Matters
and you stand behind me with a monkey face and gestures?
Out with you! Here is your choice – you gesturing monkey!
The Butcher will cut off that gesturing hand of yours
or would you rather retire now into the woods like a monkey?”
And so it was, that’s how I was sent here
about a decade ago
now in the secluded woods, far from the city
in these quiet and still mountains
and now I sing in misery to myself:
“O all things are quiet
and at peace here
in the country
There are the trees and the vines
and the birds
and the rocks, and so much time –
O but my life is misery
all undone by a Royal ****!
O ****! O ****! Why me! Why me!”

Sir, most honorable one…
It is not in fear or disgust
or in disappointment or revulsion
no, Sir, it is not of such causes that I have
sought the solitude of these hills and rocks and trees
and the lake that whispers ever, even as I lie down to sleep;
but O most revered passer-by -
in the hustle and bustle of our lives in the capital
and in our cities, even there I found an embracing silence
that I could not ignore;
and I saw the shallowness of activity
and I saw the ambition of superficiality;
and let it be what word philosophy or ritual or religion
may call it, whatever labels Organized Thought revels in -
that Silence I found nameless and formless -
and even in the midst of activity
I found inactivity
But Sir, as you ask,
the Impatient saw Rebuke in my Silence
the Virtuous found their Guilt in my Quiet
the Enlightened glimpsed their Darkness in my Stillness
And so it came to be that natural outcome,
society receded from me
Most Honorable Sir, it was not I that left it…
And ah, here you find me now,
insignificant, part of the whole, still, and as content
as the dust that you might find on a blade of grass
amidst the natural wideness that is here…

Come, come, come
I’m only a young boy
I just came to pluck an azalea
on this fine, lovely day
and you - Oh, you came
shouting at me
and you threatened to call
for the men and the servants
to give me a beating

Come, come, come
I’m only a young boy
I just came to pluck an azalea
and you started beating me
and you struck me on the chest
with your soft left hand
and then you let it slide down
And then you pounded me on my shoulders
with your gentle fists
and then you let them slide down
And now we are in this azalea dance
O this impromptu Dance of Azalea
between you and me
Your hand in mind
You in mock-aggression
and I now in complete realization
O this improvised Dance of the Azalea
just you and me, as we go round
and round

And what the end in your eyes?
I see, I see, I see it in your eyes –
a quiet corner below the rocks
a gentle spot, softened by grass and flowers
Oh you teach me this Dance of Azalea
Come, come, come
I’m only a young boy
I just came to pluck an azalea
and you teach me the art of love

you know, dear moon
in the previous place
I used to see you
every night you wanted to;
see you out the window kitchen
or even as I went up the stairs to bed
or I would step out into the garden
and there you’d quiver in the sky
and shine in the river
and there was just you and I
and not a thought in my mind
and you’d even wake me
with your gentle fingers over my face

but now there’s no high window
to let me catch a glimpse of you
and the shuttered windows will not let you through

if I step outside,
the street lights are too bright
and the crude houses rudely prevent you

it is rarely I have a glimpse of you now…
is it any wonder, dear moon
I am nowadays described as grim-faced…
*and now-a-nights, what about you?

1
just a stone’s throw
from the gates to our village
is the washing place
at that secluded turn of the river
with scattered rocks
rocks some giant children of times long ago
must have played with and thrown about
as our own children
scatter sand about in the open grounds


2
and here at the washing place
here the young mother
sits on a rock
and plaits her hair
with her infant by her side;
and perhaps two women
wash and beat some clothes
and opposite, another
does her share of the work
her lower garments
rolled up to above her knees
and she wrings the clothes,
washes and wrings the clothes

And above, on the highest rock,
above on the rock lies our Village Pervert
always ready, always hiding
peeping down at the women as they work
Oh, our Village Pervert –
what shall we do with him?
we’ve thrown stones at him
the village kids spit at him
the men put him into the water
for over half an hour
the Village Elders have counseled him
and he has been refused food
and his parents have driven him out of home
But still he will not change
and he will be there on the rock
always eager to watch the women at work
always just a look at white flesh of an arm or leg
*Oh, what shall we do, what shall we do
with our Village Pervert?

in those days
I scrambled like a rat
ran like a tiger, slithered like a snake
and I walked in the halls of awards
and achievements
and I made connections and I aspired
and I built from one link to another
and the ambition was the reality
and I ran swiftly, as the horse
and then time dealt its blow;
and here in seclusion
with the mountains in the elbow of the clouds
and the pine and dragon rocks all about me
here I am amidst its voices and stillness
and its melody or cacophony as it chooses
and here silence is become the reality
and often
often, when what is inside the mind surfaces
and time gone lingers awhile like a scent on a bush
*I stop to see what lies within
beyond one’s circumstance and conditioning

it’s a wild life
of magic and tales
of light and radiance
dreams and darkness
firebird, firebird
will you bring it all for me?
firebird, firebird
will you transform all things for me?
what we dreamt yesterday
was once reality, what we never imagined
is current, and eats us day by day
desires fade and palaces appear
demons roar, and sirens kiss us
and induce *******,  and bless us with erections
firebird, firebird
let all whispers come real
firebird, firebird, firebird
let time stand still where I want it to be
clouds are rocks and earth is liquid
my flesh burns and the Princess of Far-off gyrates
Mean King objects and the Jester holds court
Kingdoms collapse and new ones come in their place
dreams, dreams, dreams die
and are re-born in the Heavens in Our Heads
*firebird, firebird
burn the ground
and let illusion and reality be one
firebird, firebird, firebird
let despair be hope, and love be lust
one the other, the other the one

1
poor Rachael
married for love
Now twenty years through
and ignored by the hubby
who’s given up work
and sits at home drinking all day
No more kind words to Rachael
never a gentle look,
but just sarcasm and imbecilities all day
Will not even come out for a walk
with Rachael;
no desire for fresh air
just sits there drinking and farting -
Poor Rachael, she never comes back
to fresh air or a kind look






2
Rachael is out today
with a mission to make her life pleasant
“A pet is what I’ll have,”
she says to herself
and she’s in a pet shop now
looking at an exotic bird

3
“That there,” says the shop owner
“is a bird rare and unique;
let me demonstrate”
And straight he says to the bird:
“Zasala, the table!”
And Zasala flies straight and swift
to the table – and appecks* and demolishes
the table as swift as you can say “***!”
“Zasala, the broom!”
And Zasala flies straight and swift
to the broom – and appecks* and demolishes
the broom as swift as you can say “****!”


“I’ll take it," says Rachael, with a smile
Poor Rachael, she hasn’t smiled in years


4
“Darling,” says Rachael
the moment she gets home
“Look what I’ve got –
an exotic bird, Zasala!”


And straight Rachael’s clueless husband says:
*“Zasala, my foot!”

Tell me anyone
Caesar or Pharaoh
Emperor or Beggar
Saint or the ****** -
tell me anyone,
if you ever found life
stable, smooth and fluid

Let's dance then
with clothes of silk
and a life of ease
let's throw our arms about
our feet like a deer in a run
a life smooth and refined
for that's the best we can do

Let life sway as in a dance
Let there be energy in purpose
and intent
And take a leap -
never a bow
Let your hair fly
and your clothes in the air
A life light and nimble
for that's the best we can do

Tell me anyone
Caesar or Pharaoh
Emperor or Beggar
Saint or the ******-
tell me anyone
if you ever found life
stable, smooth and fluid

you need a moment, sometimes,
a moment can be a series
of seconds that add up to forty winks;
a moment of quite, time away from
the clamor and the crowd and the hungry
away from the brightness, the lights
and the demanding, and the conversations
and questions, and queries and routine
just away from people to think a little perhaps
to drop into the quiet of oneself
a moment in the chair, elbow on the table –
could have shut the door, you know,
so the creak will wake, alert you, maybe;
could have had a fruit (did you?),
or could have moved the spare chair round
so any intruder would have to move it
which would have served as ample warning
and you could’ve said: “Oh, how dusty in here,
just cleaning up, nearly finished…”
but maybe you’ve your own devices and stratagems
whatever, we’d just say now, looking at you
the way Vermeer’s left you for us, dear girl asleep,
you sleeping, retired into this quiet, into this room
in your corner, elbow on the table,
you in the chair, leaning sideways
we’d say, seeing you:
*you need a moment, sometimes,
a moment of quiet, time away –
hey, good on you…

we are going
this day in the gentle light
master and bullock
down the dusty path
an anonymous villager
and his sturdy bullock
far in a village in India
for there’s work to be done
like many a villager has done
and beast and master
out determined in the days
when the land must be worked
to nurture its people
across China, Egypt and Mesopotamia
and nameless lands
they have done this
and we do
now this day that is ours
through the winding ways
to the fields
to the end of the day
I the villager and you the bullock
Come, we shall work the fields
as countless have done
and as many more will come to do

Go Giryeodo, painted by Kim Myeong-guk
maybe in 1650
radiating a story, still today
riding the donkey
trees behind
the mountain track treacherous
Go Giryeodo
mind clear and attentive to all that is
There is no mind here
that is obsessed by sin
and sharpened doctrines
like the ones on the other side of the world
Detached and collected
rides Giryeodo
There is no sense of destiny or ambition to reach Heaven
There is no Theology, no Thick Books that attract Thick Heads
Giryeodo rides
Donkey at its own pace
free, no encumbrance, no demands
there is no Book, there is no Text
there is no authority or Weight that fills
The mind of the rider Go Giryeodo, painted by Kim Myeong-guk
no perversions of religion and conversion
that fills the minds of those on the other side of the world
Fills them like the Devil fills their Books and Speeches
Gentle, uncaring,
no sense of timing
riding since 1650, perhaps before
riding perhaps into timeless-ness
Not caring for an end of time
go Giryeodo, painted by Kim Myeong-guk
riding the donkey
riding the donkey
trees behind
the mountain track treacherous

gentle girl
in checkered shawl
in Safonkovo,
the artist's village

charming girl
and of delicate smile
in your simple rustic clothes
like any other girl everywhere
with her dreams, her loves
flowering in time, coming of age
with nature's rhythms

girl of desires and wishes
and warmth and good heart
anonymous, unknown
and growing and marrying and begetting
and loving and nurturing and passing
in time past, another age
another clime

and this your lovely smile
that reaches us from your village
this the beauty of you
O girl in checkered shawl
in Safonkovo
the artist's village

this look of you, Venetsianov
sends from the distant past -
this
I breathe in like
I breathe the fresh air
on an early Spring morning,
O darling girl of Safonkovo

Z is useless
Like an appendix
It's not like English'd collapse
if you threw Z to the dogs
(you couldn't call it a sacrifice):
we'd still communicate
we'd still fornicate

it's like if your doctor cut
your appendix and threw it out
you'd still eat and ****

so, useless Z -
like many parts in the human enterprise
like your religion, your ideology, your prejudices:
it's there,
in the human system
but each a Z;
part of a strange assembly

What's this poem about?

not about this
not about that
no views
no judgment
no aspirations
no declarations
no proclamations

these lines
acting as a poem

somewhat of a method actor
born of parents in the theater
thrown out into the gutter

maybe will grow up
and crawl back into the theater
to specialise in Shakespearean roles
a little of Chekov, some of Eugene O'Neill

under the birches one may sit
under the trees
perhaps on a rock, a stump
in the quiet
in the solitude
in this light
The Japanese umbrella by one’s side
One in one’s best clothes
here may one sit
in one’s time
as if all of life has been a journey
to this single point, to this one place
One on one’s own, having come into the world so
and all relationships and realities coming to this
in the midst of this, one may sit
with the light, and colors and with the earth
and the sky and the water
as if finding one’s place in this life, on this radiant earth
amidst the breathing trees and the creeping moss and lichen
one may come to one’s poise and silence
a moment beyond thought and emotion
one coming into one’s own
a transcending of pain and disquiet
a coming into peace, into stillness and seeing it all
all things, all movement, seeing all as it is

Diogenes is in his tub
in the street corner
and a servant of
The House of Vines
comes to him

'My Master,' says the servant
'bids you, Diogenes, dine with him
this Saturday night'

'I will not dine with him,'
says Diogenes
'Tell your Master so'

'And why is that?'
asks the servant
'My Master will want to know'

'Tell him,' says Diogenes
crawling back into his tub
*'The last time I dined with him
in his house
he did not express proper gratitude'

"Do you notice,"
says a passer-by
to the begging Diogenes,
"that people rather offer alms
to the lame, blind and maimed?
They do not offer alms
to a philosopher like you.
Why is it that you think?"

"That's because,"
says Diogenes
"people think one day
they too might become lame, blind or maimed -
but they never think they'd
ever turn to philosophy
So they ignore me..."

Diogenes has traded
philosophy for riches
and poor Diogenes must beg -
for neither does he want to belong
to any organisation

and so Diogenes begs

and this man in the street
says to the begging Diogenes:
"OK, I'll give you money
if you can persuade me"


"Persuade you?" says Diogenes
*"If I could persuade you
I'd persuade you to go
jump off the nearest cliff"

A man comes
from the next city
seeking Diogenes
'O Diogenes,
I have come in search
Of wisdom…
Can you write me a Book
and give that to me
so that I can cherish wisdom
all my life?'

'You fool!' says Diogenes
*'If you were hungry
you would not eat the painting
of a meal but the food itself -
and yet you seek the Book
but not the wisdom…
Discard the Book;
see the truth!'

'Say Diogenes,
how is a Wise One
to be known?
Can you tell me
how a Wise One
might look like?'*

Diogenes looks skyward,
strikes a pose
and strokes his beard

Diogenes is walking past
the crowds and the stalls
in the market

the butcher has caught a man
stealing meat
'Oh,' says the thief
'It's my fate to steal -
do not punish me! '

'Oh,' says Diogenes,
'if it's your fate to steal
then it's your fate to be beaten!'

And Diogenes beats him

And Diogenes is an outcast
not wanted by society;
his mind is way too far
and he doesn't belong -
and where does he come from, anyway?
and they don't want teachers like that;
and the men and women of Dignity
have made sure he stands at the periphery,
as far outside as possible


'O why do you beg,
Diogenes?'
asks the butcher

'I'm a teacher,
Old Butcher, '
says Diogenes
'I beg in order
to teach'

'And what
do you teach?'
asks the butcher

'Generosity,'
answers Diogenes
*'Do you have some bones
and meat you can spare?'

And Diogenes is in his corner
and this young man
new Philosophy Graduate
of the Academy comes up to him
and sits beside him on the steps
of Raphael's School of Athens
and the young man says to Diogenes:
'There is no such thing as motion, Diogenes.
I shall prove to you through complex philosophy.'

And Diogenes gets up
and he walks away from
the School of Athens
and he goes to his tub
at the end of the marketplace

See, Diogenes is in the market
It is busy, crowded
usual Sunday crowd
busy, busy at the market;
some come to buy meat
and some to pick pockets
and some to ogle

see - suddenly Diogenes
jumps into the crowd
and he shouts:
"Men! Men! Quick - quick!
We need some help!"

And 6 men jump forward
to help, 6 sturdy men
all strong, eager and ready

and Diogenes spits in their faces
spits as quickly as he can
and swiftly crouches as low as he can:
*"I asked for men!
Not scoundrels!"

So what city do you belong to,
to what tribe, to what ethos and religion -
to what state, Diogenes?*

I have none
and so I am free -
but if you must have a label
to understand me
you might say: cosmopolites
…but beware of labels…

And they asked Diogenes
how he'd like to be buried
and he said: 'Just scatter my parts
well outside the City'

'But, Diogenes,
then the wild creatures
will get to the parts -
you don't mind being eaten
up by the creatures? '

'Oh, I hadn't considered that -
just provide me with a staff then
with which I might chase away the creatures'

'Oh, but Diogenes -
how will you do that when you are dead? '

*'Oh, I hadn't considered that…
Well then, but why should I worry
what eats me after I'm dead? '

1
well, there's this turkey
in the bush and it sees a tree
and there is seized with a great desire
to reach the topmost of the branches;
but no matter how it tries
it can only land on the first branch

"Try a little of my droppings, "
says the bull below the tree
"My droppings are packed
with vitamins and lots of energy"

2
"Thank you, Mr Bull, "
says the turkey
and eats some of the droppings
and straight feels the energy
and flies up to the first branch
and it goes to the next
and higher on to the next branch
And on and on
with so much zest and power
till at last the turkey reaches
its desired goal - right to the top


3
And from afar in the field
the farmer sees the turkey
and he shoots it down with his gun
"Will be good for dinner this day! "
he says



And the moral of the story in Aesop style:
******* might get you far and high
but someone will smell it sooner or later

In the midst of something crucial
diminutive But
butts in -
Oh, don't you hate that? -
just when evolution is expressing itself
and here's But to bring in devolution;
and so I told BUT recently:
But me no Buts
X me no Xs
Just **** off…
But…
But…
But…
Oh don't you know when you're not needed?
Look here - I'm in the midst of watching that
**** **** of that damsel across the green field
and here you come butting in
It's her swaying **** I'm watching;
now, you - flick off!
But…
But…
But…
And exasperated, I said:
OK - What?

But that's not a woman's **** you're watching;
it's a bull across the green field -
put on your glasses, and you'll see what I mean

And sure enough
with my glasses on I could see
But had a point -
still, But takes away our illusions
and so I vent my fury on But:
OK, wise guy - so I can see it's a bull;
Now get your bull off somewhere else
But…
But…
But…
Oh, the diminutive, persistent But -
it follows one like one's own ****!

And
before I forget
there's one more thing
Last night And dropped in
like out of the blue
Maybe from the night sky
or just like an unannounced visitor
And walked in, let itself in
And jumped onto my lap
And it said,
though first it looked at my face like some lover,
And said:
And?
And, I said, there are things to be done…
And? said And…
And I'll have to make a list first;
And then prioritise…
And?
And then start…
And?
And then finish…
And was quiet a while
And then And said: And?
And then there'll always be
more things to be done, I said
Always an And…
And?
And, I said, then I'll have make a list again
And prioritise
And then start And then finish…
And it never ends…And it continues…
And And gave me a smile, smug and so satisfied…

And so it goes…this And…though you think And is gone
And just then, when you least expect it,
And is back…And so it goes…this And…

The End…
Oh, no not really The End…it's The And…

And
before I forget
there's one more thing
Last night And dropped in
like out of the blue
Maybe from the night sky
or just like an unannounced visitor
And walked in, let itself in
And jumped onto my lap
And it said,
though first it looked at my face like some lover,
And said:
And?
And, I said, there are things to be done…
And? said And…
And I'll have to make a list first;
And then prioritise…
And?
And then start…
And?
And then finish…
And was quiet a while
And then And said: And?
And then there'll always be
more things to be done, I said
Always an And…
And?
And, I said, then I'll have make a list again
And prioritise
And then start And then finish…
And it never ends…and it continues…
And And gave me a smile, smug and so satisfied…

And so it goes…this And…though you think And is gone
And just then, when you least expect it,
And is back…And so it goes…this And…

The End…
Oh, no not really The End…it's The And…

home is on the other side of the river
this evening as we row
singing the songs of our village
rowing back
as the sun goes to its own home
and each creature and life seeks its own
and we
from the same home
rowing across the river
let us sing
for the joys of the world
the songs of the birds
and the green of the earth
and love and ease and quiet
they await at home,
on the other side of the river
this evening as we row
singing the songs of our village
our home, our portion of earth
that lies yonder
past the water, just a while more
to the evening embrace of one's love
back home on the other side of the river

home is on the other side of the river
this evening as we row
singing the songs of our village
rowing back
as the sun goes to its own home
and each creature and life seeks its own
and we
from the same home
rowing across the river
let us sing
for the joys of the world
the songs of the birds
and the green of the earth
and love and ease and quiet
they await at home,
on the other side of the river
this evening as we row
singing the songs of our village
our home, our portion of earth
that lies yonder
past the water, just a while more
to the evening embrace of one's love
back home on the other side of the river

often the solution
is easy, simple


1
I went to the local psychiatrist -
the first consultation was free
and I said:
'I got a problem -
every night
I fear there's someone
below my bed
And when I look underneath
I fear someone's on my bed'

The psychiatrist nodded
at the end of the hour
and said:
'Easy, now just come and see me
2 hours each, twice a week;
will cost you $100 each hour
and within 2 months
I'll have you fixed'

It didn't sound so
simple
or easy on my wallet
so I didn't go back to my shrink



2
Three weeks later
the shrink saw me
at the shops
and she said:
'Why didn't you come back
to see me
about the phantom below your bed? '

'Oh, '* I said, *'it was all fixed
easy and simple
The waiter at my local bar
he just told me
to saw off the legs of my bed
and that fixed the problem
quick, plain and easy
and he gave his advice for free'

Yeah, the boss called me in
he sat there drumming on the table edge
with his fingers
and then asked me how long
I'd been here
and I said: "5 minutes"
"No, no, " he said. "I mean
how long have you worked for me? "
"Oh, " I said, "12 months"

"And what did you tell me, " he said,
his arms folded
"at the job interview? Didn't you say
you have 5 years' experience in this kind of job? "
"Yeah, " I said

"Well, I've just checked and you never
had experience before
This is your first job!
Explain! "
"Well, I learn fast…" I said
"See, I've fitted in so well. No one's noticed."
"No I don't mean that! " he said,
drumming on the table edge again
"Why didn't you tell me the truth? "

"Oh, " I said, *"cos the job ad also said
I should have imagination
So now, Sir, I've got experience
and you very well know I've got imagination"

it’s been ages, since I retired
from the palaces of ambitions and envy
and the centers of power

unyoked myself of all relations
and what is praised as love
but is the self seeking satisfaction
in the other

and removing myself came here
in discrete voluntary exile
built myself
a little home
amongst the mountains and solitary woods

and the humble folk since offer me food
and provisions
for what I might teach their children
of calligraphy and brush work


the years have gone past in non-action and peace;
but here too there is the occasional tension:
a road to be built to the Capital City
demanded trees and woods and two hills;
and the soldiers and distant police turn up at the doors
to inquire who lives here
and why I am alone


but still, the years pass gentle
and my silence and solitude
time offers me
with a smile

You know kids laugh
at simple things, innocent
and a world before care and
worry
and so let’s laugh awhile here
with the kids

1
What color is a burp?

Hey, it’s burple!


2
What jam can’t you eat?

Hey, you can’t eat traffic jam, can you?



3
OK…the bird laid 100 eggs…
Guess what she said just after?

Hey, she said: Oh boy! – I’m egghausted!


4
Now what do you give
your neighbor’s dog if it keeps barking all night?

Well, give it a Barking Ticket!


5
And a duck goes out to eat
And what does it get after it eats?

Hey – what else? It gets a bill!




And so did you laugh with the kids?
good….
next time on our program
we’ll laugh with
grandma and grandpa;
*bring your own dentures

1
Hey blogger, poet...no photo, ha?
hmmm...no photo...
not even a nose, no eyes
no part or whole...well, that's OK, I guess...

I know there’s a reason - security, privacy...
Or maybe you’re actually
President Obama
masquerading here as a blogger
President Putin practising his English
seeking Russian ******* on the poetry front
Or a Chinese Politburo member
checking out if anyone from Falun Gong or Tibet is here
or a Coca-Cola spy
checking out what new drink
you can concoct for contemporary poets;
or maybe you’re Elvis Presley
retired in Risikesh
with a fair amount of hashish
and a daily dose
of the Anglo-Euro-American girls
who just don’t want to go home

so you don’t want your photo on;
we understand; that’s fine…


2
Or you're just a good woman
in some old-fashioned part of the world
who made a pact with your jealous husband:
OK, no photo, you can blog;
You put photo, you’re out!
And you poor thing, your mother-in-law
sits there during the
supervised half-an-hour
allotted to you at the computer;
and then gives a complete report
when your husband comes home:
She’s been talking to this strange man in Australia –
He’s got a South Indian name but he looks aboriginal
– and your husband turns to you
and he says Who is this idiot Raj Arumugam
you’re reading?
What's going on between the two of you?

Whatever the reason or whoever you’re
fact is I'm human
and
I just can’t help wonder once in a while:
Hey, how do you look?


3
Or all right, you take a shot
and for some strange reason
no picture ever turns out right;
it never captures the true you – does it?
(Come on, you can’t give the world
the wrong impression
of an ogre when you really look
better than the made-up
Bollywood or Hollywood heroes and  heroines)

Whatever the reason or whoever you’re
fact is I'm human
and
I just can’t help wonder once in a while:
Hey, how do you look?

4
Or maybe you’re just the best husband in the world...
You know – handsome, rich, secure government job;
does all the cooking at home and still manages to go
to work and earn decent money and
gets the wife some bed-coffee everyday
before you’re off to work - and so, you know,
your wifey doesn’t want to lose you so she says:
No picture, darling; blogging is OK;
all those international evil eyes looking at you
will make you sick
...especially people with glasses...
(when the real text, you and I know, is:
Oh gorgeous hubby of mine -
I don’t want to lose you to some blogging *****!)


Whatever the reason or whoever you’re
fact is I'm human
and
I just can’t help wonder once in a while:
Hey, how do you look?


5
But then it doesn’t really matter –
your company’s good enough;
just look at your screen
and flash us all a smile

1
the lawyer and doctor
meet at a social function
"I just hate it, "
says the doctor to the lawyer
"At social gatherings
I always get people asking
me for advice
and information,
when they know I'm a doctor…
I bet they do that to you too…
How do you deal with these people? "

"O yeah, " says the lawyer
"They do; and I do give them advice
when they ask
and the next day
I send them the bill"


2
The doctor thinks it's a good idea
and goes to his office the next day
to practise what the lawyer had taught him
And he sits at his table, ready to begin
and there right before him is the bill from the lawyer

I walk alone now
unlike as in the days of long ago
when there was company and the crowd
and there was clamor and noise…
but smiling time dispersed all things and beings;
time forked the paths
as many as veins in a leaf
and made each man and woman and child
shake hands or hug and wave goodbyes;
and so I walk alone now
in solitary ways


I let all things go
the past and pain and sorrows
and the yearnings and mind's hustle and bustle
And so one is on the path that opens at one's feet
And the earth and the trees
and the air and sky and the water and clouds
keep the still heart company
in one's long walk to one's own shed