(Punch is playing the violin. Judy is on the couch, listening patiently. After some time, Punch stops playing and he speaks...)*


Punch:
Oh, Judy...life's so divine
for me
since I bought this
my first violin
two days ago...

Judy:
For me too, Punch...
Life's not been the same
since you brought the violin home...

Punch:
But oh, Judy - how's
my playing?
Two days I've played
making music -
and how good it is
you've not said!

Judy:
Oh Punch -
you should play on TV!

Punch:
Oh Judy - why, thank you...
Am I so good, darling?

Judy:
No, sweetie
- it's just that
if you were on TV
I could turn off the ****** thing!

one must wonder
if the word “Punctuation”
is a relative of “Punctured’;
for, as you must have noticed,
a prose passage
with no punctuation
is as good as punctured…
poetry is cunning;
she uses punctuation as she wishes
and still remains pregnant
with meaning, if you know what I mean

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?

“Do I sense
some resistance -
a sense of injustice?”
whispers Life
folding me cold
in her ample python-coil
and she sings me her song


“The flowers bloom
in the fields, sweet love
to be gathered for your bier
Time lingers in the wings
to pull you off stage
at the moment
opportune in its Clasped Book

The worms wait patient
if you choose a burial;
if cremation’s your choice
the fires wait in quiet potential
The musicians practise
to be employed
by the survivors
to deliver you a dirge

And so my sweet love -
Live well
Night night, sleep tight,
don’t let the bedbugs bite"

“Americans” prefer two
and then one within;
The "British" think one is splendid
and two within –
as for the rest of the world,
I think,
we’re pretty easy on this

Scene One



...some time in time... bare stage except for a square neon sign on left that reads: “Aged Care Home”...on right is a rectangular neon message display with full title of the play...Urgo and Burgo bring Raj Arumugam out on wheelchair...
*



Urgo: I am attendant 1. Often known as Urgo.



Burgo: I am attendant 2. Always known as Burgo.



Urgo:  You see this creature seated here
            in the wheelchair? 
Can you believe it?

            This creature once wrote poems
            
and its poems still inhabit cyberspace.


Burgo: Oh, this creature did that?


Urgo: Yes, this.


Burgo: I think I’ve read some.

             Not that I can remember any.
             
Not a word, not a title.
 But must have been pretty good, ha?
             
To write all those words, in verse...


Urgo: I don’t know about that.
           
It’s the girls who write. And sissies.
           
And for all that, you know
           
there’s just one word this creature can say.


Burgo: Really? Just one word?


Urgo: Yes.
All right, watch this.
           Come on, Raj-i.

           Hey baby...Burgo here wants to hear you.
           
Just one poem in your one word.
           
Come on, baby - or no soup for you tonight.



Raj: Baa, baa, baa

        Baa, baa, baa

        Baa, baa, baa

       Baa, baa, baa



(Burgo and Urgo clap)



Urgo: Baan-derful, Raj...
Now Burgo,
           let’s wheel the creature back in

           and dump him in
           his corner.



(Urgo and Burgo go out, Urgo pushing wheelchair with Raj in it)





Scene Two



...some time in time... bare stage except for a square neon sign on left that reads: “Aged Care Home”...on right is a rectangular neon message display with full title of the play...Urgo and Burgo bring Raj Arumugam out on wheelchair...






Urgo: Today, Burgo, is Exercise Your Vocal Chords Day.



Burgo: No problem - Ahhhhhhhhrrrrgggggooooaaaaa.....



Urgo: Not your vocal cords, Burgo.
           
It is Exercise Your vocal Cords Day
            
for our distinguished guest currently
            
on this wheelchair.



Burgo: Ahhh...I see...



Urgo: All right, Raj-i baby...
Exercise your vocal chords 

            and entertain us with your delightful voice...



Raj: Baa, baa, baa
        
Baa, baa, baa

        Baa, baa, baa
        
Baa, baa, baa



(Burgo claps)*



Urgo: OK - that’s enough exercise for the day!
           Let’s go






(Urgo and Burgo go out, Urgo pushing wheelchair with Raj in it)






Scene Three

...some time in time... bare stage except for a square neon sign on left that reads: “Aged Care Home”...on right is a rectangular neon message display with full title of the play...Urgo and Burgo bring Raj Arumugam out on wheelchair...


Urgo: Burgo!

Burgo: Sire!

Urgo: Sire? Where in the world
           did you get such a word?

Burgo: Sorry - I thought I was in a *****
             Shakespeare play.

Urgo: Have your head examined, Burgo.
            We’ll never make it there.
            All we have is this 3rd-rate one-act play.

Burgo: I understand. I’m just a little ambitious.

Urgo: Be realistic. Don’t be ambitious.

Burgo: That’s wise, Sire - I mean, Urgo.

Urgo: Well, this creature in the wheelchair,
            for example...It was ambitious...
            and it had a great fall...
            it never knew how to be realistic...
            But more of that, later - first, what Day is it today?

Burgo: It is We Tickle Your Foot Day, today.

Urgo: You learn fast, Burgo.

Burgo: Thank you, Urgo.

(Silence)

Urgo: Well?

Burgo: I’m very well, thank you.

Urgo: You idiot! I mean if you know it is
           We Tickle Your Foot Day, today -
           then what should you do next, you knave!?

Burgo: Oh. Ok.

(Burgo kneels before Raj, takes off Raj’s shoes and with a feather tickles Raj’s feet.)

Raj (laughing): Baa, baa, baa
                              Baa, baa, baa
                              Baa, baa, baa
                             Baa, baa, baa


(Burgo puts Raj’s shoes on again, and his feather back in his pocket and stands up.)



Burgo: You mentioned ambition
              and this creature that sits on the wheelchair.

Urgo: Yes, it is time to exercise my vocal chords.
           This creature forgot, like all creatures,
           we come alone, and we go alone.

Burgo: Ah, at last! - hints of a Shakespearean play
             albeit we’ll never make it into one.
            With ambition, loneliness and all the Lear madness.
            Will we have the lewd parts too
            and rich imagery of body parts?

Urgo: Perhaps...perhaps...but let us stick to the ordinary ...
           This creature was born in 1derLand
           but was washed ashore to foreign shores.


Burgo: Good, good...like Paris, son of Priam and Hecuba?
             O Paris, washed ashore to Sparta
             O so well-loved and nursed by Helen.

Urgo: Yes, except this creature is more akin to the Wanderer
            like Oedipus, or just the indistinct Mendicant,
            the Samurai with no master, a ronin,
             all cursed to wander the face of the earth...

Burgo: Oh - are we in Shakespeare yet?

Urgo: We are in deep ****! That’s where we are!
           We all are.
           Burgo - let us stick to the banal like hamburgers.
          This creature forgot that
          and dreamt of things like poetry, ideals -
          and therein is the moral of the story for you:
          we come alone
          and alone we go
          one at a time we come
          and each we own, and each faculty
          one at a time they go.

Burgo: So let us stick with the banal
             eat our burgers
             and pick our teeth after.
             Do they supply toothpicks at takeaways
             in your country, Urgo?

Urgo: No, we recycle them, Burgo.
           We just pick up discarded ones from the ground.
           Like some nations pick up cigarette butts
           from the bins.
           Waste not; want not.


Burgo: Oh, if this scene goes on any longer
             it might become Shakespearean, Urgo.

Urgo: Ergo - we must go.
          But let us allow Raj to have the last word,
           since this play is entitled
          “ Raj Arumugam, (a one-act tragicomedy)”.
          Idiot of a son! What kind of fool-writer will have a play
          with his own name as the title of his play?!

Burgo: So, Raj-i, you egocentric ******:
             You have the last word in this scene...
             You really put words into my mouth, you ****!

Raj: Baa, baa, ba
        Baa, baa, baa
       Baa, baa, baa
       Baa, baa, baa


Urgo: All right, Let’s go, Burgo.
           Bring him in -
           Let’s drop him in bed
           and may he drop dead!



(Urgo and Burgo go out, Urgo pushing wheelchair with Raj in it)




Scene Four



...some time in time... bare stage except for a square neon sign on left that reads: “Aged Care Home”...on right is a rectangular neon message display with full title of the play...Urgo and Burgo bring Raj Arumugam out on wheelchair...



*


Urgo: Burgo!


Burgo: Urgo!


Urgo: How long has it been since
           you started work here?


Burgo: 3 months, Urgo. Why?


Urgo: Well, show me a game...I’m bored...a new game...


Burgo: Well, have you played wheelie bin?


Urgo: No.
But Oh I love to delve into world culture.

           Show me.


Burgo: Well, let me show you.

             A wheelie bin is a bin with wheels
             and you put ******* in it
             
and you leave it outside on the kerb
             
and the garbage guy in his truck collects your *******.
             
So this is the game.



(Burgo pushes wheelchair round the stage and sings.)



          This is the way we 
wheel out our wheelie bins
           
this is the way we 
wheel out our bins
           
early every Thursday morning


           This is the way we 
leave our bins,
            our wheelie bins

            this is the way we leave our bins
            
out on the sunny kerb

            every Thursday morning



(leaves wheelchair on kerb)



           This is the way we empty our bins

           this is the way we empty our bins
           this is the way empty our bins
           every Thursday morning



(empties the wheelchair; Raj Arumugam  drops onstage)




Urgo(joining in):
 This is the way we 
pick up our *******

                                  pick up our *******
                                  
this is the way we do it

                                  this is the way 
always we do it

                                  early Thursday morning!



(Urgo picks up Raj Arumugam and drops him in the wheelchair)



(Urgo and Burgo clap, applauding each other.)



Burgo:
And now, Urgo - for the ritual
             of 
Raj Arumugam’s final words in the scene...
Is that right?



(Urgo nods...)



Burgo:
  Sing, you Sir in the Wheelchair.



Raj: Baa, baa, baa
       
Baa, baa, baa

       Baa, baa, baa

       Baa, baa, baa




Burgo: Oh, you spoil the fun! Let’s go.






(Urgo and Burgo go out, Urgo pushing wheelchair with Raj in it)




Scene Five

...some time in time... bare stage except for a square neon sign on left that reads: “Aged Care Home”...on right is a rectangular neon message display with full title of the play...Urgo and Burgo bring Raj Arumugam out on wheelchair...


Urgo:
          Let's leave him here tonight;
         some fresh air might do him good

(Urgo and Burgo leave, leaving Raj on his wheelchair.)

(Long silence.)


Raj: Baa, baa, baa
       Baa, baa, baa
       Baa, baa, baa
      Baa, baa, baa



(Raj has a thought. His thought is broadcast as a message on the rectangular neon light display: “Hey guys, come back...Another word is coming back to me.”)

(Long silence)


Raj:
**** **** ****
**** **** ****
**** **** ****

(Raj has another thought. His thought is broadcast as a message on the rectangular neon light display: “Another one’s coming back...maybe my mind is coming back.”)


Raj:
**** **** ****
**** **** ****
**** **** ****

(Long silence. Lights fade. Darkness. Curtain...)

come beasts
fat and well-bred
and positively yummy,
get in line and on the truck;
and here speedily at the abattoir
or your head on the chopping block
we in our infinite human kindness
we shall read you your animal rights:
You may stress out
on the conveyor belt;
and you may bleat or snort
according to your nature;
you may shake and struggle
and you may do
a final dance of trembling limbs before the slaughter;
and most important,
you have the right to remain silent…

read me literal, dear reader
please - for I never transcend
beyond the obvious
I am in the physical, embodied and whole
and so cannot go into things figurative
or metaphorical,
satirical, persona-cast, parodic or symbolic
Irony, I've always known, is some contraption
wrought by an ironsmith

and so to me, dear reader
"He's got the whole world in his hands"
is a ridiculous proposition, makes no sense;
and Isaac Newton was obviously
suffering from concussion
from the literal apple
that hit him ******* his head
when he extemporised:
"If I have seen further it is
by standing on the shoulders of giants."
Bah! Humbug! - a scientist and you believe in giants!
Come on Newton - you're nuts!  Stick to apples!

read me literal, dear reader -
so when I say my wife is an angel
I mean she's dead and she floats around me
making ****** sure I don't get hitched again
till I too become an angel, or fiend,
however it may come to pass;
and the guy who tells me: "Nice day, isn't it"
when it's raining cats and dogs
is obviously some crazy *******

I see you
gentle red and white
peach blossoms
delicate like the life
one holds in one’s heart
like the name and beauty in
each one we know
and the transience of oneself
that we see in the quiet of each passing day;
gentle red and white
peach blossoms
I see you
quiet ones
like life in all forms one observes
that blossoms and takes its place in its day
and that resurfaces in the energy of species;
I see you
gentle red and white
peach blossoms
the same radiance runs
through you and me

I have seen it, O world,
I have seen it as one sees the clouds
or as one feels water naked in the cool lake  
at the break of dawn
I have felt it as one feels the grapes
seized with savage hands and crushed against one’s teeth
O I have seen the rise and fall of pain
and greed and name and fame
and I have lived the grand ways of the world
of favor and office and recognition
and reward and loss and desertion and days of merry company
and years of desolation and years of patronage and commission
and I have cupped young soft flesh in both my hands;
and I have seen loss, death and growth and promise
and stealth and destruction and infamy
and I have seen genius and I have witnessed mediocrity
and you know, I have amazed and I have disappointed -
as you, O world, as you have disappointed and amazed
I have seen the pageant of emotions
of the rise and fall and the transition and journeys
of all thought and ambition and desire and want
O world, I have seen you and you have much of me
and we have struggled and we have cursed and approved
and we have raised our heads and we have looked the other way
and you have heaped praise and dispraise
and I have created and I have destroyed
and I have cut my own canvas into parts –
but still, O world, still,
if you look at me, if you look –
you know, you know
*I, Rembrandt,
I am always the Monarch

The other day
my colleague came up to me
with his iPad
and he said, “You love Rembrandt?”
“Uh ha,” I said
“Well, look at this google image.
This is Rembrandt’s Parents Making Love”
And I looked at the image he had conjured
and sure enough there was a portrait of
Rembrandt’s parents in bed, you know,
doing that, doing it…
Rembrandt’s Parents Making Love

And I protested: “How can that be?
That’s not a Rembrandt, no!”
“Sure it is,” said my colleague.
*“That’s what they are making.
It's definitely an artist’s conception.”

Mike and I were best of friends
and we drank together
and walked home together
And we’d walk along the railway tracks
and Mike
was always the more observant of us two
Yes, I always looked up to him
He’d be first to point out any irregularities
and so he’d say:
“There sure are a lot of steps
along the way”
And I’d concur
and I’d say:
“Yes, Mike…
And the problem is
the ****** handrails
are so low down”

And you know what
Mike is gone
and I still walk back
along the railway tracks
and the ****** idiots in charge of the railway
after all these years
they still put a lot of steps all the way
and worse –
they still put those ****** handrails
so low down…
Some people never learn;
they never change

I shout these things aloud
And I look up to Mike as I say these things
as I walk alone

1
Dear Poet Friend at HP
(I don't know your name, as the name you use at HP is in a typo I can't decipher.)

* I welcome your question and comment as it gives me an opportunity to explore this issue of plagiarism. It will indeed be useful for everyone.

* This is my modus operandi: I take a joke from online and I convert it to poetry. The language is mine; I give the joke a context, even alter its spirit, create characters and by the time I'm finished with it, it is a new and original product.
If I took the words exactly as they are and passed them off as my own, then that is plagiarism. I never do that.
Plagiarism is taking another person's words and phrases and work and passing them off as one's own. That is not what my work is about.

* Take the example of Shakespeare. His "Julius Caesar" is actually based on various sources. So is his "Romeo and Juliet" and other plays like "Othello". Do we charge him with plagiarism ? No, as he has used his own language and puts each material from various sources into his own style. I have taken many jokes and I have put them in poetry, in my own style, in my own narrative. It shows a great lack of understanding of Literature to call that plagiarism.

* You might ask why I do not have a note at the end to indicate the poem is based on a joke found online. I used to do that (see my older poems) and decided for purely aesthetic reasons to keep notes to a minimum.

Kind regards
Raj Arumugam



2
Would it be fine with you if I posted your comment along with my reply as a separate post on my page? It will benefit everyone to consider this issue.
If you are not agreeable to my including your view in such a post, then I will simply post my reply possibly entitled "Reply on being charged with plagiarism".
Thank you

Kind regards
Raj Arumugam

report this poem
it's deviant
it may teeter into f-word terrain
and it's not what one might
think a poem ought to be

malign this poem
it's mutant
it does not have form,
history or conventions
it doesn't refer to a point in the world
it's self-referential
(no comment on poverty or humanity
no evaluation of terrorism or social ills -
it's not even about love
or about the poet's first-world woes)

and so pointing back at itself
it's like ******* -
which is always a crime, always has been;
de-construct this poem
for it drifts into no meaning -
it does not help humanity transcend

useless, uninspired, with no legitimacy
it must not be -
report this poem to have it removed

you got to respect your parents -
they gave birth and brought up kids
without Google or Wikipedia
without going on Safari
and without parading your
baby bottom on social media

and you, in your time,
you run to web-search
every time you get a pimple

Hey dad, you got to admit
life's tougher on kids nowadays
and you and mom had it easier
in your time as children

How's that,  son?

Well life makes more demands on today's kids -
you didn't have social media and twitter
and Likes and the need to do one better
and all these demands on time like indie videos
Sure, they might sound trivial -
but hey, surely your parents pooh-poohed
trends in your time

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!”

restroom...
that's more like it
rather than a word like toilet...
I mean it's really cool
it's a place where you rest;
so here I go
to this ample restroom
newspapers in hand
pillow and blanket
a mattress as well
and a milkshake...
ah, this feels so good...so restful...
a restroom anytime
rather than a toilet

The people waiting
stare when I come out
and I say:
"What are you staring at?
It's restroom, right?
So I had a good rest, a sleep
and so on..."
Oh, those strange people;
they're too stressed out
to have a good rest...
maybe they should queue outside a toilet...

Heee! Heee! Hooooooo…..
Well, Hello, lovebirds…making love are we?
One on top of the other
still with flesh and organs all intact
and making all sorts of crude noises
and getting into this messy business –
getting your bed sticky and wet with sweat;
ah, you beings of flesh and blood and ecstasies
unlike me
just bones and a mere ghost me now living
lonely and in airless worlds
sent there by you my wife under that man
and you the man who helped poison me -
now you are over my wife
and you raise your **** to the gods
Hheeee…heeee….heeee… Heee! Heee! Hooooooo…..
Well, Hello, lovebirds…making love are we?
I’ll be back every time the two of you fornicators
make love in my bed – shame on you, you murderer;
you took my wife, my home –and can’t even afford
to buy a new bed;
and you even use the condoms I left in the wardrobe...
Heee! Heee! Hooooooo…..
but I’ll be back every time the two of you close each other
like two palms raised in prayer ;
and I’ll pull the mosquito net down a bit and peer in
to see the two of you naked in bed
and I’ve got a bony tongue
long enough to lick the both of you!-
and to see me with my horrendous eyeballs
your phallus will shrink immediately;
and that woman, my former wife and eternal betrayer,
who mixed poison into my rice and shrimps
- every time she sees me, in her shock and fear
she’ll **** you out of bed, every time for sure...
Heee! Heee! Hooooo….
Well, Hello, lovebirds…making love are we?
Heee! Heee! Hooooooo…..

Rice cakes!
****!
Rice cakes for dinner, rice cakes for lunch!
Rice cakes for breakfast!
****!
Don’t they have anything else in this house?
house after house we’ve lived in Nihon*
and all we get to steal from our honorable
but ignorant human hosts
is rice cake and more rice cake...
I hate living in Nihon!
You know, I hear the Dutch and the British
and the Americans give cheese to their mice
even on their ships -
but rats! - what do we mice get
in our honorable land of the rising sun?
Rice cakes!
****!
Rice cakes for dinner, rice cakes for lunch!
Rice cakes for breakfast!
****!
Look - I don’t know about you - but I’ve had it!
I’m leaving Nihon forever
and I’ll jump onto one of these ships
that now more commonly visit Nihon’s shores
and end up in Britain or Holland eating cheese
and live on a Mouse Cheese Pension maybe for the rest of my life,
O cheese! cheese! - rather that, you know
than rice cakes for dinner, rice cakes for lunch!
Rice cakes for breakfast!
And what are you so composed about?
Lying there on the floor, looking so pleased with yourself -
are you coming or no?
OK...you stay here and join some Zen temple
and eat vegetarian rice cakes all your complacent and placid life -
but I’m going this very night
to the West
to feast and dine on cheese,
like an English gentleman perhaps, all my life...

I dreamed last night
I was rich and famous
glowing with love
radiant with money;
I don’t know how I hit jackpot
but the riches and love sure hit me

and my lackeys
they gathered round
and after some reverence
and obeisance
(some revived from ancient customs
as befitting a man they deemed
heir to the riches of
China, India and Japan)
they all said:
“Honorable Lord,
what shall we do
with your boundless fame
and your untold wealth? ”

“Give my wealth, ”
I declared, “to the 1%
cos Obama plans to tax them more
And give my fame
to the anonymous 99%
cos they obviously crave for attention
And I myself," I said,
“shall retire into Monastery Zen“

sure, wise guys, it was all but a dream;
and subsequently my wife woke me up
with the wham! of a broom
“Get up! ” she screamed
*“Go forth and get a job -
and stay away from those
lazy Occupy-This-City-and-that-City people! ”

My robot died yesterday
May 14, 2035
A little tap and a squeeze
on my shoulder
and it gasped:
"Goodbye, master -
I'll see you in Heaven"
And then a few clicks
and a few kicks
and it lay down still and silent

And at its funeral
I intoned all 3 final words
with the deepest love and gratitude:
*"Rust in  Peace"

you know I slept
twenty years
and woke to find
all things changed


when I sleep now,
though only a few hours
each night,
I wonder
if it had not been better
if I had slept forever


I had not known
trouble in my long sleep;
and I was not bewildered
by a world
that is strange and distant
though I move in it all day long


I had not known
any care or worry;
nor had I to think where
my next meal was to come from
or hang over things like
what today's contemporaries
fret about:
things like retirement funds
and aged care; and a will
that will be ample and fair


I had not known
people of strange ways
when I slept;
I had not to condone
the conceited and those whose
only concern is self-interest;
and men and women of twisted emotion
and hell-bent on ****** and blood
and lust;
and a lawn that must be trimmed


and in my bear-sleep
I had no encounter
with the fool, the arrogant, the ambitious
and the tyrant and the greedy;
all I knew in my long sleep
was quiet, oblivion and bliss
and so I ask myself often
as I sit in the shade of the tree:
*I wonder
if it had not been better
if I had slept forever?

I slept for twenty years
comfortably below the tree
up in the quiet mountains
and all that time
I lay in a sleep
as deep as before
I came to my mother's womb


and yes, I had dreams
in those two decades of sleep -
but no, I did not dream of angels and heaven
or guiding lights and stars
but simply dreamed
that I shed all forms of thoughts and ideas
like one sheds one's clothes
before one enters a placid lake



and I dreamed often
there were no thought patterns and creed
no dogma and beliefs
and there were no ideas and organized religion;
and there was no form or shape
nor a past or future or time;
no sets of thought to cling to
and therefore no questions or answers:
and I entered so the lake of silence


and having dreamed that
having entered the lake
you will understand why
I do not sit in church or group;
why I do not seek or conform
and why I have no interest
in all these books you wave
and these revelations you espouse;
and simply no interest
in all these things you preach




I slept for twenty years
comfortably below the tree
up in the quiet mountains
and all that time
I lay in a sleep
as deep as before
I came to my mother's womb

Robots know when to behave
1
Robot walks into the pub
and the arrogant human waiter says:
“Hey, we don’t serve robots”

But the robot smiles, and says:
“Sure – but you will, eventually”



Robots know when to be naughty*
2
Robot each finds a seat
and the program sends up the heat
and the drama unfolds

She Robot:
Hello baby, you wanna touch my mouse,
don’t you? Sure, your lips say 0
but your titanium-bolt eyes say 1


He Robot:
Oh yeah, you sure get my drive hard
especially when you flash your software
O Baby, nice bolts - you wanna *****?
Look, I touch your mouse, you touch my joystick

She Robot:
Look, you show me your source code
and I show you mine…oh, wow –
are those for real?
Or you got upgraded at Silicone Valley?


HeRobot:
Enough of chat, babe –
where can I crash on you tonight?
my docking station, or yours?

in your painting
there is the rock
that nature’s licked into two plates
and that slides into the lake;
the rock carries with it the branches
with its show of flowers
like a suitor come to woo the hands of the gentle lake
and in the clear water below
two fish are active in their element -
they are objective, they are like scholars

and I am here, dear Bada Shenren,
three hundred years after you
(the dead have ever been my friends)
I too am come out again to see the world
like you did after forty years,
dear Zhu Da -
but like then as now, the world is not kind
to the recluse who comes to meet it

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

run home
run home
butterfly;
run run
fly fly fly

there’s rain and hail
and the wind blows wild;
what are you doing
flitting idly by?

run home
run home
butterfly;
run run
fly fly fly

duck for cover
excuse the expression;
hide under a tree
or go sleep under the leaves;
have you no sense
of impeding danger?

Oh run home
run home
butterfly;
run run
fly fly fly

the wind blows hard
and you’re being blown around;
what happens if
a tiny hail stone
swings a hole in a wing?
or worse,
oh fragile beauty,
I don’t want to be here to see
a hail stone the size of a child’s fist
land smack on your gentle head

so run home
run home
you silly
playful butterfly;
run run run
fly fly fly

…1966…Malaysia…


1
I’m on my scooter
back home to my village after work
in town
and it rains
and I take a short-cut
people have told me about;
and along the way at a bus-stop shed
I see in the moonlight
a woman waving at me

I stop and she says:
“Please give me a ride
and drop me home;
I’ve missed the bus…
Just the first house on the right
straight down this track…”

2
I see her face and her form -
O She’s beautiful
and I offer her my jacket
and she sits behind me
and I ask her for her name
and she tells me it is Salma;
it’s a beautiful name
and I love the fragrance she exudes so close
and sometimes, as we ride down the dirt-track,
her body brushes ever so lightly against my back


3
I stop at the shed that is her house
It is still raining
and Salma jumps off the scooter
and with a wave she runs into her home
I am happy –
she has my jacket
she is beautiful
and I know her home
and I have a reason to call on her
the next day…


4
It’s Sunday the next morning
and I ride to Salma’s house
and an old woman opens the door
and she listens to my tale
and she is shocked I’d want to see Salma
and she takes me into her small home
and she shows me
Salma’s photograph on the wall
and she asks: “Is that her you saw?”
and I nod shyly
and the old woman cries
and she says:
“I’m Salma’s mother;
Salma died three years ago…”




5
And Salma’s mother takes me behind the house
and there behind the trees she shows me Salma’s grave
and there on the grave is my jacket…
“She died three years ago,”
the woman cries..
I run; I run…
and I ride my scooter like crazy;
I don’t want my jacket back…
and I’ll never ride this way again…

It’s Meeting Day
and Sam and his Dad
are with the teacher
at school

and the teacher
compliments Sam –
but she has one 'but’ ;
Sam has a predisposition in class
to use too often the word: “****”

Dad hears this and turns to Sam
“You little ****! How dare you
use such words? Stop your
**** mouth from
using **** words like that in class,
you little ****!”

And then Dad turns to the teacher
and he says with a smile of assurance:
*“Don’t worry, Miss – that will fix
that little ****!”

The Creative Writing teacher
has sniffed out a cheat
and she glares at Tom and barks at him:
“Tom – each word in this writing
you submitted
is exactly the same as the one your
brother Sim has submitted”

And quick as a leaping dog comes
little Tom’s answer:
*“Yeah – it’s the same dog!”

times change
but it's always
the same old problem


The Past
"Grandma, I'm marrrying
a black guy," said Lucia
"What the hell!" cursed Grandma

The Present
"Grandma, I'm marrying
Mike,"  says David
"What the F^^^!" curses Grandma

The Future, c. 2035
"Grandma, I'm marrying
a robot," Lucy says
"What the #^@!" Grandma curses

one comes to this life
and one must seek comfort
and ease and one’s status
and this comes through careful nurture
and meticulous culture;
wealth and power flows from one to another
and one’s ease comes through the discomfort of the other –
the fool must fill the coffers of the cunning;
the weak must prop up the strong
and so this is the secret of life
and one must seek a group that can sustain one
and one must sustain that group too
and so keep all others in place under thumb, toe and fist
and so that the ease one comes to in life
flows constant like the rich living rivers

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 woman
you must satisfy man’s desires
and fill the pockets of your master

You have not learned this
and you yearn after
your husband and children
far removed;
and ungrateful to your owner
you run off from the quarters

It takes time
woman
it takes energy and resources
and money to drag you back
and it stirs rebellion amongst the other girls

It is simple, you see:
you must satisfy man’s desires
and fill the pockets of your master;
and it is even simpler:
You break a rule
we break your feet;
we cut your tendons
so you can never run
You’ll be made useless to yourself
if you are determined to be useless to the owner
And you’ll be an example
to the other girls
an example to inspire fear and obedience



Come woman
teach by example:
you must satisfy man’s desires
and fill the pockets of your master

play us a tune
O delightful playful woman;
your pose and your head turned in casual ease
and your shamisen held in theatrical style
all that spontaneity is itself a performance -
but still, play us a tune;
bring down your bachi and pluck at the three strings
and bring us from Japan distant
and Japan past
O bring us the delights of life
that exudes radiant on your face and limbs…
Play your shamisen;
begin, O delightful playful woman

Mapel retired, and felt old
within a week;
and so she went for a walk
and in the neighbourhood
she saw an old man on his rocking chair
at his porch
yet  seeming young

And so Mapel asked:
"What's your secret
that you look so young
and sprightly? "

And the old man replied:
"My secret? I smoke daily
and drink countless glasses
I eat no vegetables
and meat is all I put in
Exercise is unnecessary
and watching TV is better than sleep"

"How old are you?"asked Mapel
amazed...

*"Oh, I'm twenty-five"

see how life flows
how time embraces
things pass, and the words we use
to justify things
to eternalize, to spiritualise
they trap us, do you observe;
beings pass, things lose their joints
bodies relinquish their hold;
and even space withdraws into itself
all things it brings forth
if you observe,
dear wayfarer, and friend
what appears before and what stays and what subsides;
not led in your mind
manacled by Thick Books and Principles
and The Book of Words and Light of Truths
if you put all things aside
(you need nothing in all worlds)
and you observe
you see all things glide
like the cloud that appears in the sky
dances with winds, not to please anyone
and then passes;
and so do you, so do all things pass;
and always there is the stillness that embraces
do you observe

1
when first I saw moving images
of bugs and insects and butterflies
on a screen in the classroom
I screamed that I might need
to go see the school nurse
but my teacher said:
'Don’t worry, kid;
that’s television…'


2
when I saw images on my mobile phone
I burped aloud
my sense of wonder
and asked the girl if I was seeing things;
and the sales girl said:
'Please sir, it’s no wonder;
that’s just mobile technology…'


3
When now I see my end
at the height of my H1N1 fever
and I tell my wife:
'Four and twenty fair virgins
all blondes
they beckon me…'

'Darling,' my wife says,
with her knuckles smack on my head:
'That’s just your imagination
in your old age and desperation…
Now, you’re really seeing things!'

is one capable of observing with no projection of one’s mind and thoughts and ideas onto the observed? can one actually observe?
or does one see what one wants to see? does one look and see what is before one, or does one drag what one observes into one’s belief systems and one’s vision and preconceived notions and philosophy?
one is conditioned
by beliefs and documents
and is shaped by culture and religions
and revelations and dogma
and one sees everything merely
in the shape of what one believes in;
but can one merely observe what stands before one?
is that possible?
is it possible for one to stand before the sky, before the colors, before the setting sun and the trees - and to see what is before one? or must one always interpret everything one sees, so that one never sees
what actually is?
can one see beyond one’s beliefs
and one’s faith and one’s conditioning
and beyond the forms
and beyond the shaping words of revered Holy Books
that the leaders and organization put into one?
can one see with a free mind?

is one capable of observing with no projection of one’s mind and thoughts
and ideas onto the observed? can one actually observe? or does
one see what one wants to see? does one look and see what is before one, or
does one drag what one observes into one’s belief systems
and one’s vision and preconceived notions and philosophy?
one is conditioned
by beliefs and documents
and is shaped by culture and religions
and revelations and dogma
and one sees everything merely
in the shape of what one believes in;
but can one merely observe what stands before one?
is that possible? is it possible for one to stand before
the sky, before the colors, before the setting sun
and the trees - and to see what is before one? or must
one always interpret everything one sees, so that one
never sees what actually is?*
can one see beyond one’s beliefs
and one’s faith and one’s conditioning
and beyond the forms
and beyond the shaping words of revered Holy Books
that the leaders and organization put into one?
can one see with a free mind?

1 HIS SONG

His song was always:
I see no good
see no kindness
in the world
I see no hope
I see no gentleness
nowhere all round me


2 THE SCENE

and now he lies
bowels dismembered
His intestines
making a nice O
on the floor;
his limbs like sticks
stretched out
pointing towards the only door



3 POLICE VERDICT

*some evil
got him

see our skies
are wide, immense
and expansive;
and our skies point
to the open, to the all-inclusive
and yet
we cut ourselves off
we confine, we restrict and narrow
and lock ourselves
in manufactured identities, in dogma
in barriers
in differences
and squares, in boxes, in stifling corners

OK, it's weekend, right...?
it's time for rest and recreation
after all the five days of hard work, right?

and you know,
an idle mind is the devil's workshop, right?

And so just a little fun
quickly, secretly online to a yummy site
that promises to show
online now prospects:
****, gorgeous and want to;
and so I sign in, click
and see who's ready in the neighborhood
I choose: closest proximity!
and yummy!
there's the picture of this gorgeous babe!
But oh my God! that's my wife!
and I look at her across the room
and she looks at me
across the room, her eyes now off her laptop -
and she says: What were you doing?
And I say: What were you doing?

Oh well, all's well that end's well...

OK, it's weekend, right...?
it's time for rest and recreation
after all the five days of hard work, right?

it just hit me
how dead
snail mail is

Going on this trip
I told my grandson,
with measured exaggeration:
“I’ll send you a letter
the moment I get there”

“Yes, send me an A,”  he said

in the beginning
was BamiBami
He the True God
the One God
He wanted everything for Himself
this BamiBami
so He weeded out all competition
and ate all the food at Cosmic Meat
Yum! Yum!
said BamiBami
More! More!
Yum! Yum!
and Mighty He fell sick
and He had no mother to make Him chicken soup
and He had no woman
to scream Him out of His Indisposition
But He had One Predisposition
and so He
vomited the Sun
and He vomited the Stars and the Planets
and the Cosmos
(and He vomited with such vehemence
the cosmos and the stars and space,
they’re still moving outward)
and then He turned round and He made one final *****
and He vomited the Earth and all its creatures
that includes you and me
and think about that,
that makes you puke
(say Hi Puke
to your fellow human pukes…)
and since then we’ve always puked
look around, and you’ll see the muck and puke
we’ve even gone nuke
All Praise be to BamiBami
He of the Divine Puke

and that’s how we got here
not by a fluke
but by a puke

1
‘My, my,’
said the wolf one day
seeing its long shadow on the ground.
‘How big I am, how powerful I am.
Why, I’ve grown bigger
than any lion or bear.’

And with that
the wolf walked about
with a lot of pride
and arrogance


2
Soon the Wolf met a lion
in the shades below the trees
and the Wolf sauntered very leisurely by

‘My, my,’
said the Lion to the Wolf.
‘You’re looking very calm and confident.’

‘Oh, yes,’ said the Wolf.
‘The reason is clear to see:
since the last time you saw me
I’ve grown bigger and stronger
than the bear, the elephant and even you!’


3
‘Oh, yes,’ said the Lion,
‘indeed you have grown bigger and meatier
and possibly tastier than any!’

And with that the Lion pounced
on the self-confident wolf
and made a meal of its ****
and the wolf was cut down to size
in the mighty Lion’s tummy

SHAKESPEARE'S MARRIAGE

November 1582

William Shagspere,18
of Stratford
marries
Anne Hathwey,26
Of Shottery

and six months later
the timer bell
at the oven rings
and out pops a fine young baby -
lovely Susanna

OK, time for village gossips
to exercise their tongues



SHAKESPEARE'S WILL


William Shackspeare dies 23 April 1616
and as a reasonable father and gent.,
makes his will and his wishes known
bequeaths items and money
and property to those he has known
(as he pleases)
and to Anne Hathaway,
says William Shackspeare in his will:
"I gyve unto my wife
my second best bed with the furniture…"




ANNE HATHAWAY DIES*

Anne Hathwey dies 1623, aged 67

O bodes it well, Will
to marry one older?

Many pleasures there be in such a match;
many are the plays born thereof…