"What is the Dao,
Lao Tzu?"

Says Lao Tzu:
"That which can be described
that is not the Dao"

Yes, sweet love,
it’s the days of living
of ******* and flights of fancy;
it’s the life when the moment is all there is
with no care for the morrow
and no memory of how we came here

and so sweet woman who is close
hold me by my arm over your shoulder
and hold me by my belt
and you standing nearby, O woman
just as sweet and just lovely
carry my outer garment
(you’ll have your turn with me later
when this woman has had mine)
I am not drunk
as you can see
and I am alive in the moment

and so you see time flows like the waterfall
and life is smooth and copious
and our thoughts are like wine in our blood
pervasive, all-embracing,
one no different from the other:
O there is the beauty of the maple leaves
there is the wonder of the waterfall
and there is your beauty and there is my desire
and so happily let’s allow life to flow so

nothing comes to this point
O sweet beauties
nothing passes from here
and O sweet loves
there is but the pleasure
that we see here now
what we see with all our bodies and mind

I have never been responsible
but my girlfriend said I was
I insisted I was not
and her father hired thugs
to beat me up
Isn't that funny? - the world beats
those who are responsible
and spares those who are not

Little David loses mum
in the big shop
and he runs around
and between aisles
shouting for his mum
“Monica! Monica! Monica!”
he shouts for his mum
and finally mum appears
and  she admonishes her son:
“You know you shouldn’t call me Monica,
son – always call me mum”

“I know mum,” says respectful little David
*“but you can see the shop is full
of mums and mums!”

the sun goes to sleep in the waters
below the bridge of Edo
(ah, the Edobashi)
and rises gentle over it when it is time*

it is morning over Nihonbashi now
and the golden glow of the early sun
is the smile that stretches like gentle colours
over festive banners and a geisha’s paper fan
like a girl’s smile, in her first blush of love

the thin light spreads out and finds its children
the back-bent men are there already
carrying their heavy loads
the fishermen carry in their catch
in baskets on poles
they saunter, purposeful
though the sleepy city is reluctant
after its nightly revels
and the dogs, the stray dogs are there too
at the gates of Nihonbashi
and the sun’s rays are like
the gentle smile of a mother discovering her children

Bodhidharma
comes from India
and he is in the court
of Emperor Wu
who throws a question at Bodhidharma

"I have constructed
places of worship;
I have served monks
and I have loved the faith:
what is my merit?
What is my reward?"

*"Nothing.
There is nothing for you
Deeds done with a motive
for pleasures or recognition
with intention
here or hereafter
they have no power in the face of truth"

1
dearest readers online
be forewarned
when you read a poem
there may be irony ahead
and if you don't look out
yes, it can be like you've
run against an iron pole
smack bang against the forehead
(which may not matter if you're Ironhead)
but if you're anything like me
flesh and blood and heart -
Ouch! It can more than hurt!)



2
be forewarned also
when you read a poem
it can be like
driving in a school zone
when the kids are going home -
so watch out:
irony may be walking with persona
and the literal with metaphor
and maybe a figurative pig round the corner
and sarcasm hand in hand
with opposite-of-what's-being-said



3
so do drive alert
eyes open, mind open
when in Poetry Land
O most intelligent reader
for you never know
in the thoroughfare of poetry
who you might
just bump into:
Mr Alternative;
Mr So-in-your-face;
Ms I-Want-to-Talk-About-God-Yet-Again;
Vicar There's-No-******-God;
Mr and Mrs Moralist;
Mr and Mrs Hey-Let's-Have-***-While-at-Poetry
like-they-do-in-the-back-seats­-at-the-movies -
and so on, you know:
It can be like being Alice in Wonderland
with the Mad Hatter
but you got to keep your sanity
for company

yep, stay alert
or you might just crash your Reading




4
An Afterthought

and I know
wise reader
all the above might make me sound
like Mr-know-all
but hey! - modesty's never been
the poet's professional trait
(you must think about that -
cos even the poet devoted entirely
to Subjects Divine and Holy
and of Such Lofty Things
and exuding sweet humility
is ****** arrogant -
cos they do implicitly or explicitly claim
they know what really matters,
while you or I don't)

I am one of those
who do watches
and people love to watch me -
they watch, but ironically,
they call me Watch Man

Well, for a start, I can eat watches
At a recent show
I ate 4 watches in 6 slow hours -
it was time-consuming

My wrists stretch on the touch of
watch bracelets
and so they made me wear many to see
how many I could wear on each wrist
20 on either wrist is what my stretch could take –
yeah, you could say,
I just had too much time on my hands
Last on show they made me wear a belt of watches
which was a pretty waist of time,
if you know what I mean

Look I’ve applied
to join DC Comics
Me as Watch Man
along with the likes of Iron Man, the Hulk
and Spider Man and such characters nondescript
But I’ve been turned down
Just not your time yet, I’ve been told

Well, so I content myself meantime
as Watch Man at Freak Shows
Doing the Time
before my Big Time
When there are enough time-savvy people
Who can recognise the genius
of those who do watches

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

Letters from Mom -  Letter 4 of 4: Life, Death, and Life*


Dear my Dearest *****

Life and Death, dearest *****
that’s what  news I’ve got for you here
in this post; sad and happy, dearie
ain’t that what’s it all about
Cos God gets drunk every other night
(just like your Dad)
life’s a mixed bag


Three of your school friends
last week
were in a pick-up truck
It was Dom who was driving
and the truck fell off the bridge
and into the water
Dom rolled down his window and got off
but the other two in the back
John and Mary, though good swimmers
they drowned, dearie
cos they couldn’t get the tail-gate opened


And your sister is now pregnant
and she’s all excited
but we don’t know if it’s a boy or girl
so we’ll decide later
if you are aunt or uncle
And your sis says if it’s a girl
she’ll name it after me –
so, she’ll be called Mom;
and if it’s a boy
she’ll name it after Dad –
so, of course, he’ll be called Dad






And that was good to hear from you
on the phone
you’re coming back home
You can run away from school
run away from your town
run away from mummy -
but you always got to
come back to mummy
dear O dearie my *****


See you soon, Darl *****
*Your loving Mom

imagine
you are walking in the cool night
and you turn round the corner
and Behold! before you is the open sky
full of glowing punctuation marks
the commas and semi-colons
and the full-stops and exclamation marks
O all so brilliant, so brilliant
O the question marks
and the dashes and the hyphens and the ellipsis
and the dots and the quotation marks double and single
and all marks floating and brilliant in the night sky
Imagine!
O Imagine!
And then what would you do -
O what would you do
when you see these brilliant marks?
these quirky marks...

Would you be astounded
and shout:
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
or would you feel confounded and go:
????????????????????????????
or be silent and say:
... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...
or be philosophical and muse:
, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,


O what would you do
when you are before the Punctuation Sky
Vincent van Gogh never thought to draw?

ask no questions:
you must obey;
and if you ask questions
you must accept all answers


there’s a teacher
and authority;
the student must ask
no questions;
just listen and obey


there’s the Parent
and children will do good
to listen and nod in agreement

you must obey
it’s good for you
it’s good for the Instructor

there’s the Great Leader
who issues edicts and reforms;
it’s nice of you to be informed
to mark and conform

there’s God in Heaven
and He’s (never a She)
given you Text Books;
school is in – and you must obey,
no questions…


there are Organizations
and Establishments;
look, it’s comfy and easy
for everybody
if you just followed
the rules and regulations
and don’t think outside
the Book of Instructions



ask no questions:
you must obey;
and if you ask questions
you must accept all answers

1
she’s the delicate head of a young woman
in Agnolo Bronzino’s drawing;
she says, ‘Look. You can look;
look, I don’t really mind;
and if you feel shy,
I’ll have my eyes and face
down all the while’
and in her charm she says:
‘We’ll leave repressed debaters
about lust and propriety far behind;
I want you to look and you want to;
that’s all that matters between us’
a man can look all the while
as she has eyes down forever;
a beauty unreachable
just a piece of paper maybe
and mostly bits of dots and pixels
in cyberspace




2
could we have lived
darling,
in the same space and time
I might have followed
where you beckoned;
I might have beaten
Agnolo Bronzino
with a Michelangelo skill;
but now perhaps I’ll
copy and paste
and post
my image beside yours somewhere in cyberspace
and perhaps when I’m not watching
my image will walk over to yours
and you might look up at my avatar
and you’d say:
'Sweetheart, what took you so long?'
And the two of you might just run away
like cheeky teenagers
and run through various sites and
run across everyone’s screen;
and as the two of you get along
and chat about times and love
and the arts of love and such matters
I might be asleep or be at a meeting
and I’ll have a strange feeling
a cool sensation all over my body
and I’d say to whoever is beside me:
*'You know, something’s happened in cyberspace…
a strange love thing between an image of me
and the delicate head of a young woman…'

all night
loveliest moon
all night just past
and many before
and all nights now
I stay awake
and look out
at the dirt road
that leads to my door;
all night I stay hopeful
and though many nights
you shine bright
and the path is lit up
all night I did not see her come
nor did I hear any knock at the door;
all nights
loveliest moon
I wait
but you do not bring her home;
your gentle rays
loveliest moon
your gentle rays extend far
and surely
you touch her cheeks too
and so will you not
light up the way
for her to find again
the dirt track up to my door?
or persuade her
with the power you have over minds
over the living and dead
O light up the way
loveliest moon
and do the impossible
and bring my dead love back home

the English tutor
sits with Tommy at the table
and Sam the cat sits opposite

today they are practicing their vowels

every time the teacher
says: “Tommy, give me a word
with a vowel or two”
Sam the cat interjects:
*“Meow…meow…meow!”

STOP
We don’t need Science. STOP.
We already have all the answers.
STOP.
Stop all inquiry and research.
ALL ANSWERS IN OUR HOLY BOOK. STOP.
We have all the visions and the dreams and the formulae
in our Holy Books and in our religions
and in all that is Revealed by the ALMIGHTY.
Stop! Stop Science! STOP! God has spoken to us
And the BOOK says BOO! to Science.  
STOP! STOP!
God has appointed the Few to teach the Many.
Listen to the BLESSED and the HOLY ONES.
STOP.
IGNORE SCIENCE. Be ignorant of Science.
Silence SCIENCE. STOP.
STOP SCIENCE. We know all there is to be known
in our Holy Book. STOP. We will explain it to you.
Trust God and listen to those appointed by GOD.
Everything you’ve always wanted
to know is all in here. STOP. In the Holy Book.
Our Places of Worship have got it all. STOP SCIENCE.
STOP INQUIRY. Inquiry is sin. STOP. Science is against the Holy.
STOP. God does not like Science. God gave us a mind to obey
and to think only of God.
Think mindlessly about GOD. In Mindlessness is Salvation.
LET your MIND be ALWAYS of GOD. Think NOTHING ELSE.
STOP. STOP Science.
Science is endless questions. STOP. Religion is Pure.
Religion is the word of God. Science is the ACT of the Devil. STOP.
Listen to the priest and those who are holy. STOP. Obey Religion.
STOP. Obey God. STOP SCIENCE. Obey God. STOP.
Stop inquiring and research.
ALL ANSWERS IN OUR HOLY BOOK. STOP.
LISTEN. DO NOT INQUIRE. OBEY. STOP SCIENCE. STOP.

at last, I’m dead, now a light ghost in the dark
an energetic, leaping ghost
and I’ve got abundant hair
and it’s always shiny and radiant

over here
one never worries about
eggs and shampoo, and making such concoctions
And it feels always light
airy, floating at will, gliding with ease
And one lifts off into the air
and one flies (I don’t need to worry
about ground control,
and foul weather is fine with me)
And I never worry about clothes
it’s always the same, and they stay fresh and smooth
all night long, all hauntings along
- Woooo! Woooo! Hooooo! Heeeeettrrrr! -
And nails - wow! Do they grow!
and they take care of themselves
and you don’t need those pesky, nosy manicurists!
But the best – oh – the best – is the jump up into the air
and to descend, to pounce so effortlessly
on unsuspecting males
right in the darkest of nights
to pounce on them, as it seems, from nowhere
from up, up, up ever so light from high in the air
and with my ghostly touch
to feel them shrink in their pants
- Ha, ha, hooooo! Heeeeettrrrr! -
and to bite off their you-know-what –
a fruitful and eventful end to the night…
they taste like cucumbers,
with water, minerals and fibre and all…
- OOOOObbooo…TooTooo! Heeeeettrrrr! -
- ah, the joys of being a female ghost –
it is light revenge on those men of dark hearts

the would-be monk
(fervent, eager, so into-it)
came knocking at the
Buddhist monastery
but no one answered

the would-be monk
saw a sign
there in the shadows
that read:
“inquire within”

so
the would-be monk
went away immediately

we are the refined
the delicate, the rarefied
the genteel, whose words
are etheral and our thoughts
exclude all things physical

for us the ideals, the pure
the clean and the pristine
conventions suit us best
and the unquestioned
fits us like custom-made gloves

our lives are regulated
there's something in it
for each of us
we have all the answers
and for sure, we are the ones
going to Heaven

couretsy marks our birth
and everyone walks about
with the Dictionary
of Respectable Words
when we kiss
we don't exchange fluids
and when we have ***
we are dispassionate


we bring civilisation to the world
and we sunbathe in idyllic beaches
and we plan to tour the moon soon
we are tourists really all our lives
and when we are not, we polish our cars
and bemoan the State of the  Environment


we are the refined
the delicate, the rarefied
the genteel, whose words
are etheral and our thoughts
exclude all things physical

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

this is the life...oh, reading
daylong and in candlelight
and perusing scrolls and poems and the Classics
and the Analects,
it tires one...but this, sitting in the veranda
and with fresh air
and the gentle breeze and one’s mind light and easy...
and contemplating a rose
or seeing the green of a leaf...
the mind cleared of ideas and vague abstractions
and the weight of words and persuasion,
O this is the life...
the mind sits still now
in itself
the being in
the quiet of an evening
the satisfaction of solitude
in an emptiness, a presence
beyond books, thoughts and patterns
this is the life, this is the moment...

time passes, does it not,
trickling away in drops, from a leaking tap unnoticed
imperceptible, drops of our days and months that
tsunami into years

we might grow more cynical or wise
we might allow the animals to howl or to transform
or we might eliminate hierarchy and symbolism
and see plain and clear past the allegory
what is left of the experiment
(an unintended one, an unknowing participant even)
the residue, the remains of the years –
what chemical composition do we have?
What has transpired here? -
as clueless as we are of the first expansions
the time when the universes arrive in another cycle;
or perhaps we could see everything in the cocksureness of faith
and drag on, in suspension, leave in doubt or in certainty –
each but a conditioning, a myth,
the truth shrouded in symbol and plainness
O sweet loves,
Time wraps us in its mysterious archaic cyberspace
an inner space that draws a roar, a bark, a howl
and we have justifications, visionary words, systems
to put everything into perspective
like a Titian framed so elegantly in an esteemed museum

1
See, Nasrudin leads his followers
through the streets and alleys
through the markets and the houses of prayers;
and see, Nasrudin shakes his head and ***
and all his followers shake their heads and bums;
see, Nasrudin sticks out his tongue and rolls his eyes
and all his followers stick out theirs and roll their eyes
and Nasrudin shouts:
Hee hee ** ** ha!
And all followers shout:  
Hee hee ** ** ha!


2
And the Visiting Intellectual asks Nasrudin:
What are you doing
leading these people like donkeys
through the streets?

And Nasrudin replies:
I am leading them, Sir
to Heaven or Enlightenment as they will

And how, queries the Intellectual
will you know
they have reached Enlightenment or Heaven
as they will?

Each day, Sir, says Nasrudin,
*I look to see who is no longer following
and such ones have reached Enlightenment
or have gained Heaven, as each desires…
and now Sir, if you don’t mind,
I must go lead a few more hundred
running round the coconut trees
screaming:  
Hee hee ** ** ha!

John’s going to be
a first-time father
and he calls the hospital
late in the night
and he screams into the phone:
“My wife’s going to deliver! Help!
She’s screaming! And she says something
about contractions! Help!”

And the duty nurse at the other end
with her cool voice intones:
“Tell me - is this her first child?”

And the anxious first-time father screams:
*“No! No! This is her husband!”

all monkeys
of all nations!
stop your chatter
and listen to me mutter
my ancient tail

1
in earlier days
**** Kong
went to Hong Kong
to look for kang kong
and there she met
King Kong

the first second
they saw each other
their hearts went
****! ****!
the second second:
****! ****!
in short they fell in love
with each other’s Zong Zongs
and night and day it was all Sing Song
and the earth trembled
with their rumble of love
and construction workers thought
the piling was done
and straight away
***** skyscrapers appeared
and so incidentally was born
modern-day Hong Kong

2
within three months
**** Kong felt
in her womb
a Trong Trong
and an incessant noise:
Pong! Pong!*
Pong! Pong!
and on the tenth month
by the lunar calendar
out came Pink Kong -
and so consequently was born
the game of ping pong


and so ends my story of beginnings
and now that
my tail is curled
you can all go home
you ding dongs!

in remote valleys and hills
and in the forests
where we scavenged
we knew not what we looked for
and what we wanted;
we talked long in open grounds
and discoursed under the trees
and in the night skies
and wondered what the breeze
and the winds spoke of
and what was written on the lakes;
and then we said:
'we have found nothing in these;
let us try
civilization;'
and so we wander in cities now
and we look for entertainment
and we consume and fight
with boredom
with fat and restaurants
and centers to make us well-presented
and we say
in the height of our city wisdom:
*'Let us have our revenge on the
country and the remote valleys
and hills and the deep forests
Let us lay them bare
and eat them from this distance
while we are safe in our cities’

1
I take a day off and
I drive my grandma to the mall
You’re the best grandson ever, she says
You make time for me

And so she walks from shop to shop
armed with her shopping list
She throws each item into the trolley
and ticks off against her list
Two hours, three hours, four pass
and she smiles to me and says:
We’re done! Let’s go…

2
And so we go to the car
and I help her load
every item in the boot, and in the back
and just then, she says:
Oh, no – we got to go back;
there’s one more thing I’ve got to get!

But grandma, I say,
You had a list and ticked off each item
and you’ve bought everything

But you silly boy, says Grandma
*I haven’t bought you anything
Because I forgot to put you on the list!

last year
when Jane was just 4
I took her out to the shops
and we sat in the meals area -
me with my coffee, and Jane with her lolly -
and this sweet, genial old lady
stooped down and spoke with Jane:
"My, what a beautiful girl you are
How old are you, sweetheart?"

and Jane showed her four fingers;
the old lady collapsed, and died of shock

one year on
and Jane will still not tell
how she got the *four fingers

yeah, that's just right
early in the morning
at the self-check out
while I'm waiting my turn
(I have reason to believe you don't see me)
you stop awhile stabbing items
on the screen
to dig your nose
and you have such relief and satisfaction
and then you  continue stabbing
you finish, you are on your way -
thanks a lot, it's now my turn

*You have a nice day, won't you?

Kintaro, wonder-child
with just a bib of red and gold
often red-naked;
Kintaro, child of nature
of the Ashigara mountain
friend of rabbit, monkey, squirrel,
tanuki and fox
Oh Kintaro! save us from this wild carp
so gigantic no human can tame
or catch -
Oh Kintaro! Super child, child of thunder
sent by red dragon of Mt Ashigara -
Oh subdue the Gigantic carp,
Oh Kintaro – save us!

and see now Kintaro comes
leaps into the waters
and Kintaro fights the carp
Kintaro subdues the monster
and the waters leap out
and flow like rivers
and they fill lakes and ponds
and Kintaro has subdued the carp
and we are all safe now again!
Thanks to Kintaro!


and so may all boys be strong
may all boys be brave
like little boy Kintaro
like mighty, mighty Kintaro

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

over the fence
my neighbor asks me:
Where are you from?

My passport says
I’m Citizen,
I reply
It also records where I was born
but really, I’m from deep inside

Neighbor does not chat to me anymore
and seeing me on our walks
Neighbor nods warily
and crosses over to the other side

Could you be polite to people?
my wife admonishes me daily

But I’m puzzled
*Why don’t people want to know the truth?
I am, after all, from deep within
Aren't we all?

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?

INTRODUCTION
someone's following you online here,
and you want to know why
Well, here's why...take your pick


POSSIBILITIES*

1)
Oh, I follow you because you look good
and though I never read your poems
I come back often
year after year
to see if you age at all


2)
you don't use your real name
you use a moniker or pseudonym -
and I'm just  going by the desperate hope
you are Obama or Putin incognito
and you might give me asylum one day
if I'm outlawed by one or the other

3)
I'm in jail for life
and this is the only way I can stalk anyone

4)
I was hoping you'd reciprocate
and follow me too -
so why the hell don't you, hypocrite!?

5)
I'm your ****** boss in disguise
and I'm at this site keeping track
of how much office time you waste here,
you ****** loafer!

6)
I'm actually your wife
and I got a thing or two to say to you
about all those comments
you've written for the women here
Same old liar here and at home, aren't you?
Just wait till you get home...

7)
Well, I'm a ****** academic
who never gets creative
so I'm collecting all your poems
and I'll publish them in my name
and there'll be praise all round for me
as academic, and poet, and novelist too
(the novels I steal from my students)

8)
you scratch my back
I scratch yours

9)
Why do I follow you?* -
but aren't you my mum?
You never taught me
to let go of your apron strings

10)
actually, it was a mistake, see
I was on my smartphone and I went
tap, tap, tap
and my index finger fell on "Follow"
and I'm too darned lazy to set it right...
that's how I ended up following you


11)
My cult tells me
the Messiah is here at this site
so I just follow everyone
in case it happens to be you -
it is you, isn't it?

OK, I can no longer say
I’ve got a receding hairline
and sure everyone can see
the plain fact, the bald fact -
but there are pleasures, you know

I’ve saved heaps on hair gel
and shampoos and conditioners
(enough I think
to fund my retirement)
and I can actually feel the cool air
(no one can call me hot-headed)
and the great thing now
is everyone says with all honesty
I’m **** as Sean Connery
(what they actually think
or say behind my back
is none of my business)

but the best blessing of all
is I never need to look for my comb
(I confess I was always misplacing it)
and so I don’t need to reach for my wife’s comb
and so she lies as still as a cat
and she doesn’t need to roar
like a lioness
first thing in the morning:
Don’t you dare touch my comb!

Ah, the blessings that linger
like so many halos
in eminent baldness

you ask if I will not write
a love song for you
if I will not sing of true love
and your beauty and tenderness;
you ask if I will not
hold out the stars to you
and sing of fictions like the soul
and the moon's sway over our eternal beings;
no, sweetheart -
I will not gather roses from the verse of centuries
and I will not hold out to you the songs of yore
and thoughts and conceits repeated
until the very lies have become the truth -
but of true love always I shall sing for you
O sweetheart mine who in my company endures
ordinary words and no stardust rhetoric;
O sweet and innocent love
a true love song I sing always for you;
inherited verses and worn-out conventions
I renounce before you;
and in my song
there are no
hand-me-down ways in love and passed-on ideas
no hyperbole and no sweet lies and fantasies
but I sing a true song of love
a true song of love I sing for you -
O beloved mine who has to do
without the routine verses

there is desire
and there is the flesh
there is nature
and there are the compulsive drives
and there are you and I
and the life given us these years

and so I sing my true love song for you
sweetest beloved;
you dearest beloved
who endures my ordinary words
for you I sing,
O you so cherished and much beloved,
my true love song
always for you
who have to do
without the routine verses

5)
I know
once I was just like you
I was young and furious too
the world was too much
everyone made you feel
so hopeless, you think you could ****
I know exactly
how you feel

And now here we are -
I have come into your space, your cell;
gates and doors
yield to my fingers, if you must know
(always good with my hands,
good with my teeth)

And we are here
each against one's wall -
and each wants to know
who is responsible
for this mess
Who made all this?
Who was insane to give us all this?
It was a mad God
or a meaningless universe –
either way, there is no responsibility
You and I are agreed

Here we are
each against one's wall
considering who will eat who...
*Make your move; I am famished

so my donkey died
and in my grief I lay it on the best table
and I drank and drank

and people who came to mourn
brought some hay
but some of them said, after two days
(and I was still drinking-mourning):
You can't just leave that lyin' on the table

That's not a lion, you idiot!
I retorted to each one of them
That's my donkey on the table!
And so I'd demonstrated my ability
to stay sober
and retain my ****-picuity
in spite of days of grief
and like me I am sure you too
cannot but marvel at people's inability
to distinguish between a lion and a donkey

"Daddy,"* says my 4-year-old
"There's a monster under my bed"
I laugh and I hum
an extended wooooo sound
and to amuse her, I look under her bed
"Daddy," says my 4-year-old under her bed
*"There's a monster on my bed"

My husband
is a bozo
He always blows it

Just last night,
we got into a taxi
and he went back to the house
to let the cat out
and while waiting
I told the taxi driver
who asked what was happening:
“Oh, he’s gone in
to say good night to my mom”
(sure I lied, there was no one in –
but I  didn’t want the taxi driver to know that)

And soon my husband got back into the taxi
loud and boisterous and cursing as usual:
“Oh, sorry I took so long…****! That
stupid thing was hiding under the bed
and I had to push her with that broomstick
and then I used the bamboo pole
to get it out of hiding!
I was gentle and careful, of course.
She can sometimes be a *****!”

now, I was just minding
my own business
brought up by very virtuous parents
steeped in a culture ancient and proper
and graced with divine revelations;
the lotus forever growing pure
even in muddied waters;
and so minding my own business
and vowed to matrimonial chastity in mind
never looking at another woman
and never thinking of another ever

I mean no one thought
looking at Mona Lisa
even in my younger days
was ever bad; they simply said:
Oh, Mona Lisa…what a painting!
so I went about years
chaste, pure and I think, angelic,
until these women come into art books
and now more readily in cyber-life
like Rembrandt’s Bathing Woman -
oh, how could I not look?
She, Hendrickje, more natural and
more come-here-you than
today’s airbrushed digitally enhanced beauties…
O Hendrickje, Hendrickje,
entering the water
and lifting up her dress
so it won’t get wet
but O – was that really her intention?
Or perhaps to entice Rembrandt further?
Or to look at her own reflection?
and then what about us, full-blooded men of latter-days –
O Rembrandt, what have you done?
how can I not look, and look?
and come back to look again?
and under pretence of aesthetics I trace every
limb and curve of Hendrickje, O Hendrickje –
I become a Rembrandt of sorts,
just tracing lines on her image

O these cyberspace beauties
they corrupt my high ideals
And Rembrandt says across the ages:
“Remember you your traditions and virtue…”
And the morally upright say:
“Hey! She was Rembrandt’s woman!”
And I can only quip: “Yeah - she was!”

and leaving it at that
with O Hendrickje, Hendrickje,
gazing at her own reflection
and I wondering what she sees –
well, after Hendrickje, O Hendrickje
am I safe? you think?
Then come the women of Japan –
for instance
A woman Applying Powder
while Hashiguchi Goyō sketched and mixed his paints -
and why? Oh why, Hashiguchi Goyō?
why do you release these sirens, these women
this Woman after her Bath
this Woman combing her hair -
O these mistresses of the arts
O why release them
on my sensitive and pure
and morally upright mind?
O why you do corrupt
such a one
such a noble mind
that centuries of spiritual values jousted one another
to produce? Such a delicate specimen as I am.
Or may be
all these women should be deleted from cyberspace
and only decent women with quizzical smiles like
Mona Lisa should prevail…
Sure, we don’t know what she’s smiling about
but at least Old Lisa’s not as dangerous
as youthful Hendrickje, O Hendrickje -
or
as the Woman Applying Powder
baring her shoulders and her Japanese *****…
I mean, how can I not look?
and come back again to look?
O my adulterous heart!
but delete them all
or black them out
or cover them all up from head to foot
(technology can do wonders nowadays)
so
I can just be minding
my own business
brought to you by very virtuous parents
steeped in a culture ancient and proper
and divine revelations
the lotus forever growing pure
even in muddied waters;
and I’ll end up in Heaven after all my Holy Days
and for my Eternal Holidays there
I’ll be given all the virgins I’ll ever want

the day we lost A
we all went without apples
and the doctors had a field day

Anna was completely lost
and she sounded like
a mathematical notion
gone wrong;
Ali had an identity crisis –
he wondered if he was Chinese

And horrors – we didn’t have any articles
so you couldn’t say “a pen”
and you could only say “’n oven”

The bills still came in as all days
(don’t you worry about that)
but World Soccer had to be cancelled
as they didn’t have a ball
And the women
they pulled the pants off the men
and laughed:
“Where are your *****? All you’ve got are blls!"

And so the appalling day rolled on
a-less and aimless

but hey, there was one consolation:
there were no arseholes  
leading the nations of the
world that day

I'd like to talk about I -
ergo, a poem about I
I write I poems
therefore I am
and I'd like you to read about I
and then another poem about I,
ad nauseam
Look, if I find I so obsessively interesting
I don't see why
you should not love my I
I am unique, and I mean I -
so you should find I;
and I reiterate
I'd like to talk about I
a poem about I
each ubiquitous I poem
the equivalent of a visual selfie:
the I-am-eating-cornflakes-now type
or I-am-constipated-now type
I am I's favourite - I follow I
so I'd like you to read about I
You will surely find I
(cos I know I best)
a pleasure to eye

it has been long, this voyage unintended;
one like a branch thrown into waters, into the currents of time
taken on, pushed on to unseen shores
from one continent across oceans to islands and continents
afloat always on the merciless drive and unfeeling, impassionate forces -
though sometimes the shores seemed clear, there seemed to be a destiny,
there seemed to be a will and things bent to it, and things shaped to a plan
it appeared one has arrived, one had arrived, the journey ended
one’s destination come –
but there was no announcement for passengers to disembark;
each clutches a valid ticket, but each ticket blank
the signs and boards all blank, all unmarked
and yet one was carried, one is falling, falling, one is afloat
in perpetual motion, seeming
like the leave that falls
like the sparrow that falls
like the maverick meteor that flies
and  I am so;
and I have given, I have received, I am done -
but is it done?
Are we there yet?
Are we home yet?
Oh it has been long, it has been exhaustive
But is my work done? Is it time?

the forest takes one
for a quiet walk in the morning;
of oneself
and the solitude and the path and the trees
and the air and the stillness and the undefined sunlight;
a moment of lightness, an instant of calm;
did one come from the walk?

in remote valleys and hills
and in the forests
where we scavenged
we knew not what we looked for
and what we wanted;
we talked long in open grounds
and discoursed under the trees
and in the night skies
and wondered what the breeze
and the winds spoke of
and what was written on the lakes;
and then we said:
'we have found nothing in these;
let us try
civilization;'
and so we wander in cities now
and we look for entertainment
and we consume and fight
with boredom
with fat and restaurants
and centers to make us well-presented
and we say
in the height of our city wisdom:
'Let us have our revenge on the
country and the remote valleys
and hills and the deep forests
Let us lay them bare
and eat them from this distance
while we are safe in our cities’

I'm going home,*
says the bat
at the break of dawn
Going straight
to my hangout!


Yawn...says the cat
...stretch...stretch...stretch...
*Is it morning already?
Let's see -
what's to eat at home...?

(1)
Shall we join the ladies?

the ones who want to talk about the weather
The whingers, the ones who want to talk about your kids
and who’s got-married to whom...
The powder-appliers and erudite in the latest cosmetics
Old Nennie
who knows the accounts
from 1995 to 2001
and who’s lost it all other years
Young *****
who’s all about her children
And Decrepit Winnie whose children are all Ministers
and grandchildren all Politicians
She Who’s talking about Fat
and who is the Mother of all Fads
and which baby is born in what Esteemed Family
and which is legitimate, and which not

(2)
Shall we join the men?

The lecher, the money man, the one
who’s hot in the latest pants,
the one who’s scratching his crotch
The dandy and the one with ants in his pants
and Catch Up Jack who can tell you who lives where
and who earns how much and whose car is Posh
and who is not worth anything
And Old Joe who can’t let go;
Earnest Man Proper
who answers in farts;
the men who are all sport, who form the Drunken Fans
must gamble
and lay a bet on everything that moves, flies or creeps
whose eyes are roving to the other side;
the man whose religion is to convert
cos he’s so uncertain he must drag others along
And his intellect is false from the start



(3)
*So, shall we?
I rather find my own company pleasant;
besides, I prefer to *******

the hyphen
though not as huge as an elephant
still does gargantuan jobs
for amongst a host of things it does
it can bring words together
to make them one
as in “face-to-face discussions”
or “three-point turn”

1
The Old Miser
my husband is dying
and he makes me promise
I must put all his money in his coffin
when he dies

O my legal third wife
the only one surviving -
you must put all my money
secretly in my coffin

Sure thing, sure thing
you Old Miser!
You made me suffer all my life
and now in your death
you want to bring away all the money
Sure thing, sure thing
you Old Miser!


2
Now, he’s dead
and I’ve arranged for his funeral
and while everyone’s busy
with all these preparations
I dutifully take all his money
from the hiding place
which he whispered to me
with his last breath
and he bit my ear and he snarled:
Put all my money
in my coffin


Sure thing, sure thing
you Old Miser!
You made me suffer all my life
and now in your death
you want to bring all the money away
Sure thing, sure thing
you Old Miser!


3
So I take all his money
and bring it to the bank
and deposit it in my name
and make a cheque out for 10 million
and put the cheque below his head

Sure thing, sure thing
you Old Miser!
You made me suffer all my life
and now in your death
you can take all the money away
Sure thing, sure thing
you Old Miser!