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Raj Arumugam Aug 2013
I got fined for littering
by the roadside –
just how unjust can the world get, you tell me!
Look, I agree I’m a *****
but think about it -
it’s just the normal thing to do

I was walking along the road
when I felt it was time
and I gave birth to puppies
by Rotweiler Road;
and this dumb guy comes up in his uniform
and gives me a ticket for littering –
well, I was really barking mad
What could I do? Well, at least I bit him on his ***,
that’s what I did!

Imagine the temerity, giving me a ticket
for littering – hey, littering is
what ******* do;
it’s the most natural thing to do!
What will you fine next? Breastfeeding in public?
...second in my series of dog poems...poem based on an online dog joke...
Raj Arumugam Jan 2012
I hate my girl
Why?
Cos she’s a *******

On every date she just messes me up
The first one we were on
I said:
“Doesn’t this date
just make you long for another?”

And she answers:
“Oh, yes – but no one else would come”

And on every date
I must pay for her drinks and food
and must take her home in a taxi;
and so *******, I said yesterday:
“You must think me the perfect fool!”
And the *******, she says:
*“I keep telling you -
you are not perfect…”
Raj Arumugam Sep 2010
I just love you
sweet woman
I saw you and I love you
I’m not a poet
or a singer
nor gifted with
skillful brushes
to convey
this feeling in my
heart and mind
I don’t even know
if the words I choose are right
or inapt
I just know
sweet angel of my heart
I just know and that’s all I want to say:
I love you; I do
companion picture: Portrait of a woman by I.N. Kramskoi (1837-1887)
Raj Arumugam Oct 2014
WARNING:  Horror*...Readers might find this poem offensive or distressing.
_____________­_


1)
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

Like the time
my parents kept on and on
about responsibility
I had to look after my things,
that made me mad

And then I decided
I must assure them
I would grow up to be responsible
make them feel confident
I must put them at ease
so I did

And the police asked me
if I knew where they'd gone
and I showed the cops my perplexity:
“They were always 
responsible
in everything -
 how could they
just go away 
and leave me like this?”

The police and lawyers searched the house
and they found the will -
my parents had left everything to me
and had put my siblings
neat in order
stretched out on the dining table
in the basement kitchen


2
Like the time
then at work
the colleagues went on
about responsibility
and they conspired:
I was irresponsible;
they were conscientious;
I was a freeloader
Ah, the judges in one's world

the judges of one's soul

and one day
they found a worker in a bad state
dead and lying naked in the clichéd
pool of blood –
in the toilet, of all places -
with the words: *“How irresponsible”

on the floor

Everyone was in a state -
I moved inter-state
I was going places


3)
Dear, oh dear

don't cry

Darling, oh darl

don't bleed


There was a time when I married
(everyone finds it's a mistake;
they either **** their partner
or, to continue living,
they **** their own spirit)
but I was determined to grow
my body and spirit -
can we not get conventional? -
so I had minced pie for a time
and no one could bring
my wife back home
you see
wifey got
too comfy
and see she had this thing
(after respectability)
about responsibility
the role of husband and father and
parent and homeowner, mow the lawn
service the loan
and all that crap –
I quite believe she was going mad;
maybe she walked away into the woods
Was that responsible of her?

Dear, oh dear

don't cry

Darling, oh darl

don't bleed



4)
I moved into the woods
built a little cabin, below the rocks
and covered by the trees;
yet I had visitors
who had come astray into the wilderness

Someone wanting space for the night:
“Is there enough room in your cabin?”
“Why,” I said, “there’s plenty all round”
I was vegetarian
but the destitute offered themselves to me -
the religious might say:
God fed me 
even in the wilderness! Ha!

A wandering woman one evening,
she offered love in return
for shelter that night
She let me lick, taste her flesh
“Bite me,” she said
offering a foretaste in our foreplay
Why would they not leave me? –
these wanderers, the intruding world

No, I had not come in like Thoreau
or the Unabomber – but maybe
like the misanthrope Timon of Athens...
afraid of my own hate; but the innocent
seemed to be drawn in as to a...an...abattoir



5)
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
This poem was previously presented as a series of 5 parts during the last five days.
I have put the five parts in one complete text for readers who might be interested in reading the poem in its entirety.
Raj Arumugam Oct 2014
WARNING*:  *Horror...you might find this series offensive or distressing if you are not used to horror.
_________________­_


1)
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

Like the time
my parents kept on and on
about responsibility
I had to look after my things,
that made me mad

And then I decided
I must assure them
I would grow up to be responsible
make them feel confident
I must put them at ease
so I did

And the police asked me
if I knew where they'd gone
and I showed the cops my perplexity:
“They were always
responsible in everything -
how could they just go away
and leave me like this?”


The police and lawyers searched the house
and they found the will -
my parents had left everything to me
and had put my siblings
neat in order
stretched out on the dining table
in the basement kitchen
1 of 5
2nd poem in the series to be released 24 hours from the release of poem 1
Raj Arumugam Oct 2014
2
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

Like the time
then at work
the colleagues went on
about responsibility
and they conspired:
I was irresponsible;
they were conscientious;
I was a freeloader
Ah, the judges in one's world
the judges of one's soul


and one day
they found a worker in a bad state
dead and lying naked in the clichéd
pool of blood –
in the toilet, of all places -
with the words: “How irresponsible”
on the floor

Everyone was in a state -
I moved inter-state
I was going places
poem 2 in a series of 5
Raj Arumugam Oct 2014
WARNING*:  Horror...you might find this series offensive or distressing if you are not used to horror.

3)
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

Dear, oh dear
don't cry
Darling, oh darl
don't bleed
There was a time when I married
(everyone finds it's a mistake;
they either **** their partner
or, to continue living,
they **** their own spirit)
but I was determined to grow
my body and spirit -
can we not get conventional?* -
so I had minced pie for a time
and no one could bring
my wife back home
you see
wifey got
too comfy
and see she had this thing
(after respectability)
about responsibility
the role of husband and father and
parent and homeowner, mow the lawn
service the loan
and all that crap –
I quite believe she was going mad;
maybe she walked away into the woods
Was that responsible of her?
*Dear, oh dear
don't cry
Darling, oh darl
don't bleed
3 of 5
Raj Arumugam Oct 2014
4)
I moved into the woods
built a little cabin, below the rocks
and covered by the trees;
yet I had visitors
who had come astray into the wilderness

Someone wanting space for the night:
“Is there enough room in your cabin?”
“Why,” I said, “there’s plenty all round”
I was vegetarian
but the destitute offered themselves to me -
the religious might say: God fed me
even in the wilderness!
Ha!

A wandering woman one evening,
she offered love in return
for shelter that night
She let me lick, taste her flesh
“Bite me,” she said
offering a foretaste in our foreplay
Why would they not leave me? –
these wanderers, the intruding world

No, I had not come in like Thoreau
or the Unabomber – but maybe
like the misanthrope Timon of Athens...
afraid of my own hate; but the innocent
seemed to be drawn in as to a...an...abattoir
4 of 5
Raj Arumugam Oct 2014
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
5 of 5
Raj Arumugam Oct 2014
1
Tom learned a trick
at the playground:
Just say to any adult
"I know your secret"
with a knowing air
and they'll pay you
to keep your mouth shut

2
so Tom said to Dad:
"Dad, I know your secret"
and Dad said: "Oh God!
Son,  don't tell your mom!"

And Dad gave Tom $10

then Tom said to Mom:
"Mom, I know your secret"
and Mom said: "Oh God!
Son, don't tell your Dad!"

And  Mom gave Tom $10

that evening when the priest visited
Tom said to him:
"I know your secret!"
And the priest answered:
"Goodness me, my son -
I never thought your mom would tell!
Whatever you do, my dear son,
don't tell your Dad!"

And the priest gave Tom $100
and promised more
yes, moderately irreverent...but humour comes in all shapes and sizes...
Raj Arumugam Oct 2010
I’ll go to this restaurant
cos today I’m eating low-fat
and healthy;
I want to glow and eat safe
and be on a diet
and take some weight off my body
and so trim some fat off the burden on
the National Health Plan;
so I’ll go to a healthy restaurant today
they serve fresh and they spell out
fat contents
for each item
so I can choose carefully
and conscientiously;
and the menu board tells me which sandwiches
have low fat
and which burgers offer health
and which meat burgers are approved
by the Heart Foundation;
and so I’ll eat healthy today
and so here I am
so can
I have one of your low-fat burgers, please…?
Yum, that’s going to be really healthy…
Yes……with double cheese…yes, make it double meat…
And can I have plenty of sauce
and add that creamy sauce special too, please….?
more of that sauce please….more….more…
…more…continue till I tell you to stop…
….thanks….and
is it too late to add bacon and sausage?
Yes…thanks….yum…that’s really healthy
And yeah, why not? – three cookies
and a large cup of the post-mix syrup…
Yum…that’s healthy and good…Thanks.
That’s yummy…I feel good…
Also could you pack a takeaway
of the same stuff
for me dinner, please?
Raj Arumugam Sep 2010
I’m a stamp -
no, I didn’t say “I’m just a stamp”,
or “I’m but a stamp” -
but I am a stamp
a postage stamp, that is;
unique and proud, in my own class,
for I’ve carried queens and kings and emperors
(I still do)
and I carry Presidents and Poets and Rock Kings
and Pop Kings
and Musicians and Legends and Heroes
and Gods and Nations;
and I carry **** blondes
and old dames who’ve dedicated their lives to others

I’ve borne with no complaints
the weight of genius
and soldiers and founders of nations
and martyrs; and I do not discriminate
and with like gusto and color
I’ve carried tyrants and murderers and charlatans
and once-were-legends now the shamed;
and look, I can encompass the universe
and within the shapes formed by my perforations
I’ve held together flowers and birds
and all wonders of nature
I am each a poem, a work of art
I’m a stamp -
no, I didn’t say “I’m just a stamp”,
or “I’m but a stamp”
(What? You heard me the first time, did you?
Well, I’ll say it again for emphasis!) -
but I am a stamp in my own right, unique and proud -
though, I acknowledge,
the image of Royalty or Heroism or Greatness has
not saved me from various knocks and hard presses
and the ******* bin!
But then, so have mighty royal heads rolled!
but look, hee…heee….heee…
I can be absolutely adorable,
and I just love, love it when you lick me;
and often too
I’m a collector’s item
increasing in value, and even with artistic merit -
though no doubt, there are countless with no idea
of how so darling precious I am
which is I why
I say proudly again:
I’m a stamp
no, I didn’t say “I’m just a stamp”,
or “I’m but a stamp”
(And what? Why do I repeat myself?
Well, there are thousands of copies
of one issue, aren’t there?) -
but I am a stamp in my own right, unique and proud
and I’ve created worlds all of my own
with pen pals and commerce
and industries and clubs round me;
and I’m not alone, you know,
well-supported by relatives
like prepaid postal envelopes, post cards,
letter cards, aerogrammes
all of us served loyally
by unquestioning Gurkha-style postmen and women;
and I’ve brought hearts and minds together
and I do it in a day or days and or weeks
and if I feel like it, I even arrive decades later! –
and there’s nothing you can do about it!
And oh yes, I can see, you’re prone to neglecting me -
you ungrateful scoundrels! -
first replacing me with cold
Franking Machines,
and cheap, unimpressive, unimaginative franking marks
and with postage meters
imprinting an indicia;
and all of you now
deriding my world as snail pace
in your world of instant e-mails -
but I persist, and I still am of much use
for - listen carefully -
and I say proudly again:
I’m a stamp
no, I didn’t say “I’m just a stamp”,
or “I’m but a stamp” -
but I am a stamp in my own right, unique and proud;
and if you, once in a while,
want to show me your loyalty –
come to a local post office and lick my royal ****!
Raj Arumugam Oct 2010
1
I don’t know
about you
but my fingernails
they keep growing
like Pinnochio’s nose;
I pare them
and keep them neat and short
and when I look again a week later
they’ve grown and seem to say:
So what you’re going to do about it?
It’d be alright if you were a woman,
but as a man
everyone expects you to keep us short and neat.


Oh, I just can’t bear
these decades of nail-taunting
and my computer calculations show
a quarter of my life is wasted trimming my fingernails
and with a quarter in sleep
half my life is gone between nails and snores

Well now -
I’m never again cutting my fingernails
I’ll just let them grow
and grow;
and as far as I care
they can grow like Jack’s beanstalk


2
Sure, the concerned
amongst you might say:
Oh, that’s not a good idea
to let your fingernails grow

But to you, I say:
Have you even considered
the advantages if I had long fingernails?
I could literally reach out to you
wherever you are
and not just through the internet
but with the help of GPS technology
and google maps
I could locate you precisely
and give you a tickle!
Now, wouldn’t you love that!



3
And when I’m famous
a fingernail celebrity
and people come to meet me
and want to shake my hands
I’d say: Hey, shake my nails instead!

And if I’m walking in the streets
and anyone wants my help, I’d say:
Yeah – you scratch my back
and I scratch yours!


4
And of course you might say
(Oh how so concerned you are):
But how will you use your keyboard
to type your awful nail-biting poems?
And so I say to you:
Hey, where do you live?
In a cave in Siberia or what?
Haven’t you heard of speech to voice technology?

And so, dear friends,
I don’t know about you
but it’s long nails for me
and if somewhere in the world
as you are driving or reading a book
or while at a picnic
if you see nails reaching out to you
from across the oceans and skies
and giving you a tickle,
you know it’s me, your nail-some friend….
Raj Arumugam Oct 2014
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
Raj Arumugam Oct 2014
I was at the interview
and it was the final moments,
I knew

and the Owner Manager
sat back in his seat
and he thought awhile and deep
and he looked me straight in the eye
and he said: "We need someone responsible.
Do you think you are that person?"


"Sure," I replied with confidence
*"In all the previous places where I worked
whenever something went wrong
people always pointed to me
as being the one responsible"
this is a companion piece to my previous poem: "I'm not responsible"
Raj Arumugam Oct 2010
you might get a chill in bed
if you leave the windows open
in cold nights
and push away the quilt or blanket
all through sleep;
you can get comfort and peace
for a while at least
digging into bed
and covering yourself in
like an ostrich with its head in the sand;
you can get sick in bed
or you get, over time,
a bad back
in a bad bed;
or you get *** in bed
and or get lots of love;
you get coffee in bed,
or breakfast;
but you can also get
thrown out of bed;
or if you’re convincing enough
you can pretend to be sick
and they’ll even bring dinner to you in bed;
and you can have dreams and nightmares
and so travel even while in bed
and live every unknown layer in your mind;
you could, let’s face it, die in bed;
or if still alive
you can get wet dreams
and so get wet;
you can get sweet words whispered
or words uttered that split the bed;
you can spend time in bed
you can make plans in bed
and create empires or just build castles in bed
though there’s no sand or rocks about;
and you can dream in bed and work out your
inhibitions and delusions;
you can get ideas in bed
inspiration for a poem or the next great novel;
you can get
hugs and kisses
snuggles and pillow talk;
and pillow fights and sleepovers;
or perhaps, if you’re just born,
the comfort of lullabies
what you can get in bed; a poem conceived while in bed
Raj Arumugam Jun 2012
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
ART: "Indian villager with bullock," pen and ink on paper, by the Anglo-Indian artist George Chinnery.
Dated between 1808 and 1822
Raj Arumugam Oct 2013
And so in days past
the Zen Master sat with his disciples
in silent meditation
and a Divine Being appeared before them all
and addressing the Master, the Divine Being said:
"Hey, listen you - yeah, you, the Eminently Bald
For your patient and sustained meditation
I offer you a reward
Choose what you like:
infinite wisdom, infinite beauty, or infinite money"

"Infinite wisdom, of course," said the Master, promptly
And so it was done, and the Divine Being disappeared
as Divine Beings usually do

Silence followed and then one disciple dared to speak:
"Oh Master, tell us something
now that you have Infinite Wisdom"

There was no pause, and the Master said:
"I wish I'd chosen Infinite Money"
I thought I'll come back - and how appropriate, when one is coming back - with a Buddhist joke...
Raj Arumugam Mar 2012
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
poem based on painting by Jeong Seon or Gyeomjae (1676-1759) (Korean)
painting title: A secluded house near a valley in Mt Inwangsan (인곡유거도 仁谷幽居圖)
Raj Arumugam Oct 2010
I will not sing you a song of praise
O gentle moon
there are too many modern people around
too many enlightened minds tonight
they reckon they don't need your light;
there are too many elect
and too many going to Heaven
and if I sang in praise of you
they will throw their Blessed Books at me
and they will say
'You moon-worshiper, you go to hell!'
(they fancy words like idolator)

O so most divine moon
O godly moon
O most sacred moon
I shall not sing in praise of you;
there are too many bloodthirsty wolves around
Raj Arumugam Oct 2010
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’
companion painting: Remote Valleys and Deep Forests (detail 1), dated 1678 Liu Yu (Chinese, act. ca. 1650–after 1711)
Raj Arumugam Oct 2010
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’
Based on the painting: Remote Valleys and Deep Forests (detail 1), dated 1678 Liu Yu (Chinese, act. ca. 1650–after 1711)
Raj Arumugam Apr 2014
The smoker
I bought some rare cigars;
had them insured against fire
And by three months later
I’d lost them all
in a series of small fires
But the ****** insurance company
wouldn’t pay
so I sued them


The judge
I’ve looked at all the evidence
and I accept the cigars had been
indeed destroyed
by a “series of small fires”
and so I order
the company to pay the insured
the sum of $15 000


The insurance company
We paid - we didn’t
want a prolonged legal case;
but now we are taking  the client
to court
as it’s clear through
the very evidence he submitted
he caused the “series of small fires”


The judge*
I find the insurance
company’s former client
guilty of arson;
and furthermore I order that
the man serve prison
a year each for each count
and so, to make it clear,
to see past all the smoke:
that’s 24 years in jail for arson
poem based on the following from a website:
A CHARLOTTE, North Carolina man, having purchased a case of rare, very expensive cigars, insured them against (get this) fire! Within a month, having smoked his entire stockpile of fabulous cigars, and having yet to make a single premium payment on the policy, the man filed a claim against the insurance company.    - Urban legends, ASK>com
Raj Arumugam Oct 2010
in the absence
of your rays
dear Sun
the fearful
created God
Raj Arumugam Jan 2012
1
in the fish market of religions
and faiths
and suppositions and declarations
and fierce revelations
much of the commerce is done
on the principle:
Who shouts loudest
and shouts longest
and shouts often-est
gets to empty the most pockets
of bewildered customers


(You always empty their minds
first)

2
You never lose in this fish market
Even the quiet ones
the ones of mild manners and timid ways
can trawl a good number
of faithful customers

3
You can sell fresh fables
or smelly old tales –
they are all good commerce

4
Of course some slap you
right in the face
with their fish:
That too seems to catch customers…

I think you stun them with one blow
and they remain stunted all their lives
Raj Arumugam Oct 2010
when I was little
and learning
mostly being conditioned
and being shaped
in the image of my makers
I was in awe;
and when I dropped all conditioning
and all authority
now I know
one is equal to anyone
and there is no being
but acts according to its capacity:
there is not one more than another
Raj Arumugam Oct 2010
Come, we shall rest here
a while
and slip into the quiet and calm
and peace of the hills
and the trees and the streams;
we’ll live into stillness and silence
and see what it is to die to thought
and to the day and night
and to each past and intention;
here we shall abandon left and right or center
and all the million causes
and concerns and justification and structures
that we always gave attention to;
we shall have natural pace here
at least for the while
and see what it is to be away
from the roles and formations we are seduced into
and to be dead to all things that form
human exchange and all ideas and established creed
and convention and sanctity;
and see what it is to be dead
to all things that **** life;
we’ll be here a while and possibly
for some time as it pleases one
and shall return perhaps not as the regular sun
but as a cloud unexpected, irregular and in its own time
companion art: Scholar Viewing a Waterfall by Ma Yuan (Chinese, active ca. 1190–1225)
Raj Arumugam Oct 2010
in Indonesia and Malaysia
they call her Pontianak:
she’s the cool hantu, spirit -
she lives in the banana trees;
she died in childbirth
and as she did she saw the joy
in her husband’s eyes
and so she hangs out in the nights:
she wants to eat every unfaithful man’s heart



1
the poor woman died
giving birth to a child
and still the woman lives
a ghost, undead –
to seek her revenge on men
for they showed no care, no love


2
so do not hang your clothes
outside to dry
for Pontianak will sniff you out
and will not rest
till she eats you inside out




3
she loves men -
well, it’s hate
and so she loves to eat men;
and so men, when you are alone
and you see this beautiful woman
alone in the dark somewhere in the deserted streets
and there’s the scent
don’t give in to the charm
for that’s Pontianak
and she’ll smell horrid after
but you’ll be severed body parts by then


4
push a needle with string
into the banana tree
and wait at the other end
with the string ending in a cup -
and you’ll hear Pontianak laugh and screech
in your improvised phone
in the middle of the night



5
and you never know -
your neighbor’s gorgeous wife
may be a Pontianak;
a hantu tamed with
a nail in her neck;
a gorgeous babe
till the iron nail is pulled out
introducing Pontianak (she who died in childbirth) - a legend popular in Malaysia and Indonesia...the word 'hantu' means ghost...
Raj Arumugam Jan 2012
I am Sarah Malcolm -
yes, the one they call the Irish Laundress
and the jury found me guilty of the murders
(the Infamous Murderess)
of Mrs Lydia Duncomb,
Mrs Harrison and the servant Ann Price
in Mrs Lydia’s chamber
at the Inns of Court in the Temple;
and the jury only needed 15 minutes

and there was disbelief when I admitted to robbery
but not ******
and there was disgust
when I said the blood on my clothing was my own menstrual blood
and not the blood of Ann Price:
I had broken a taboo in talking of menstrual blood
for, as they say,
only loose and the not so virtuous women speak that way

and of course even after the judgement
I have been deemed even more guilty
for I am of a different Communion
of the Catholic faith, not Anglican -
just as the Ordinary, James Guthrie described me
in instructing me here at Newgate on the Christian faith;
and I have earned the name now of many
as the evil, barbaric, and stubborn woman

And now Mr Hogarth sketches and paints
that you might have a view of me;
and the appointed date is 7 March 1733
when I will be executed...
and these lines I add to the picture
that you might remember me
poem based on steel engraving of Sarah Malcolm (1710-1733) by William Hogarth (British, 1697-1764)
Raj Arumugam Sep 2010
the flowers of spring
are not as lovely as you;
the mountain air in solitude
not as pure as you

I saw you only once
in the Grand House of the Lord of the Lands
and we exchanged glances as you sang
And though you sang
from a printed text for all
your eyes gave me
songs of longing and love


O where are you now
most gentle beloved?
I hear your owners move you
at the request of the Grand Lords
and though I
come to so many sessions
in which you might sing
and hoping each night
I might see you again
as I carry cups and meat for the feasting Lords
and that there as you deliver them the songs in the texts
I come that
you might look again at me
and give me the songs in your eyes


the flowers of spring
are not as lovely as you;
the mountain air in solitude
not as pure as you
companion picture: Flowers of Edo: Young Woman's Narrative Chanting to the Samisen, Woodblock print by Kitagawa Utamaro
Raj Arumugam Oct 2010
I see you moon
this cool autumn morning
you sing over the river and trees
and you are supported
by your dance troupe of stars
Raj Arumugam Nov 2014
1
I see you, ya
I may be finger-punching
my smart phone at the dining table -
but darling, I see you, yeah
We’re seated at the table
you say something
but you think I’m listening to
Taylor Swift on Youtube
True - but hey,
I see ya, I hear you
I hear both of you
I multiply, I multi-task you see

2
I’m walking along the shops
I’m pushing the pram
with my baby inside
and I’m updating status
on the phone too
and getting that download –
but hey, stranger round the corner
I see you, ya, don't ya worry; yeah I see
my baby and I see you
stranger round the corner –
but hey, watch where your going

3
hey - I see you guys, I see you
no doubt all day I sit
in my couch tapping away
on my new supersize phone
but I’m smart hey – I see you guys
I see you my darling at the kitchen –
get me another coffee, will ya
And I see the kids glued to their sets
and little Toby our kitten
curled at my feet – why, thank you
for the coffee;
darling, can you
put a few cans of beer in the fridge –
see? I see ya, yeah…I see you all
and with this, I take leave of you my friends at HP for a while...till mid-January 2015 or so...hey, but I see you!
Raj Arumugam Sep 2012
you’ve been nice
you’ve heard me sing
and you’ve offered praise
for what you like
(and ignored me for what you don't)
But you mustn’t think
you’ve heard me deep
or you’ve known me now
For it’s always
someone else singing
depending whose voice was last heard
whose blade keenest, whose skills superior
who has fingers extending from the murky past
You’ve been nice
you’ve heard me sing
but you mustn’t let me convince you
no matter how hard I try
it’s me you hear
for I’m just a valley of echoes
(are we not all?)
and a scarecrow over which linger
vultures and such scavengers
never a thought of mine
not an emotion of mine
is the subject of my song
but the words generations have spun
to make myths and radiant lies
that I can sing, and you can acquiesce
I’m just the voice of conditioning
And you too, as you listen and concur
we are but
our conditionings singing
it’s the past singing
it’s not me
it’s not you
though you put a face to it
and we put our names to it
you’ve been nice
you’ve heard me sing
and you’ve offered praise
for what you like
(and ignored me when you don't)
but you mustn’t think
you’ve heard me deep
or you’ve known me now
for it’s always
someone else singing
companion painting: "Concert" by Lorenzo Costa (1460 – March 5, 1535)
Raj Arumugam Jun 2014
don't you hate it? -
when you write a poem
and you adopt this persona
you use "I"
(yeah, the first person)
and your reader is so ****** literal-minded
and takes the "I" to be "you"
and comforts you, or winks at you
offers heavy commiseration
or provides motherly or
fatherly advice
or grandpa's advice
(as the case might be)...
and you want to scream:
Hey, it's not me!

it's like the novelist
who's asked by their readers:
Is this novel about your life?

*Hey, it's not me! It's not me!
...thinking aloud, for all of us...meant to be helpful - not directed at anybody, and not referring to any specific instance...same applies to my next  poem...
Raj Arumugam Oct 2010
if a 100 years from now
one might read this poem
and my other posts
and one says:
‘Wow, how marvelous
these writings’
Then I’d say:
‘You never learn, do you?’




If a 100 years from now
one might read this poem
and my other posts
and one says
‘Hmmm…what *******
writing all these silly stuff’
Then I’d say
‘You never learn, do you?’



But if a 100 years from now
one reads this poem
and one says
‘Hmmmm...well, that’s interesting
but let me do my own thinking’
Then I’d say:
‘Humanity has come a long way’


And if indeed you now
in contemporary time
if you should read this post
and you should say:
‘Look, let me do my own thinking’
Than I’d say:
‘Yes, surely, the next 100 years is do-able’
Raj Arumugam Jul 2011
It flows
people gape but do not see
it flows
they rather postulate
and grasp at comfort-ideas
and doctrine and theology
and build systems of beliefs
and fantasize in the hereafter
But it flows
not with a beginning
or end
or with a start or finish
with promise or tension
but of its own nature
disinterested
in its essence
and expressing itself
as it glows
it flows
in the mountains and the falls
and in the rocks and in the leaves and in the air
it flows
and in the beholder too
in intelligence and consciousness
so that the beholder and subject are one
It flows
poem based on painting “White mangrove” by Hashimoto Gahō (August 21, 1835 - January 13, 1908)
Raj Arumugam Sep 2014
My artist friend
Grisham John
(you'll hear more of him
and see his works soon enough)
has been working on nudes
(I mean artistically,  of course);
and with his co-operative models
he's produced a series of fine nudes
(please, keep a literal mind as you read me)

just the other day
Grisham John decided to have a break
so he told the day's model to dress
and would she make some tea and just talk
he needed to just relax
and they sat in the studio just chatting
but suddenly he heard his wife return
from the shops
and he speed-muttered to his model:
"Quick! Undress before my wife sees us!"

*You know,  artists do see things differently
poem based on a popular joke
Raj Arumugam Oct 2014
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?
this happened to me at the shops early morning a few days ago
Raj Arumugam Sep 2010
it’s the time of the parochial
baby
tread with care;
it’s the time of fear and violence
walk with eyes
before and behind you

the barbarians are everywhere
tearing down libraries;
there are demon contortionists
who can bend Truth and sense;
and there is violence
blessed by God
and justified in anyone’s Holy Book

there is a man
who looks at how you dress
and look;
there is a team taking notes


the mindless are everywhere
and they want to eat your minds;
there is blackhole-distortion
and everything you might hold dear
is taken to be twisted and turned

look to your mind baby
look to your heart;
there’s the dread of Satan
who walks in God’s clothes;
they try and take what you got
and give you salt and sand to eat


it’s the time of the parochial
baby
tread with care;
it’s the time of fear and violence
walk with eyes
before and behind you
Raj Arumugam Oct 2010
I’ve stopped writing
serious verse
cos every time I try
it only gets worse


I’ve stopped writing
on dignified subjects
and such proper themes
for every time I try
I roll down laughing
and the Public Library staff
lead me out by my ears


I’ve stopped pontificating
on divine matters
and such holy subjects
as mentioning God
and Angels, and Heaven and Hell
cos every time I try
we have such propagandists
quoting scriptures
and holding up revelations,
all these drugged believers
abusing reason and religion
after they’ve finished
with the children


and I do not discourse
on noble subjects
and themes befitting heroes
and great nations
for every time I try
the language slips to f-starters
and the idiom of the slums and gutters
and the curses of the homeless



so I sing about
what pleases me
and those who are easy
read if they will
cos they know
it doesn’t matter if they do or don’t ;
for the sun will still shine
the next day
and they’ll find better poems
in each sun ray
that pierces their skin
and wakes them up to life
Raj Arumugam Oct 2014
I visited your page
to read your poems
(I thought you'd like to know)
but they were so lost
in a very long list of poems
by so many other poets
and so down and down I went
digging and digging
to find you
in your page

but hey, it was too much bother
(yes, you can take me to task for it)
diving so deep to find you
so I just aborted and clicked away

Don't blame me -  I can only hold my breath
for so long when I go free-diving;
and if I dig too long, I get a bad back
I thought you might like to know
Raj Arumugam Oct 2010
I waited
sweetheart
and I have waited
but you have not come
I waited early
and I waited past
through the retreating light
and the late hours of the night
but you did not come
O I have waited
all eternity
but you are not
to be seen

I have searched after
at all the places
we met and where we picked flowers
and I searched past the hills where
we lay and dreamed of lives
and exchanged hopes and desires
and I walked in the paths and ways
and in the shade below the trees
but nowhere
sweetheart
you are nowhere to be seen
O I have waited
all eternity
but you are
still not come

though the moon glows
and the sun shines in its time
and the flowers bloom
and all things happen in nature's march
you, sweetheart,
you are not to be seen
you do not come
Raj Arumugam Mar 2012
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
...do remember as you consider the poem that to be alone is not the same as being lonely...
(companion picture: Landscape with a Solitary Traveler by Yosa Buson)
Raj Arumugam Sep 2014
always wanted a part
in a film
so I asked a director if he'd give me a break
and the director told me: "Break a leg"
and I thought he'd meant me to get
experience for a disaster movie
(sort of Stanislavsky's method acting)
so I did

but I never got a part;
the director just laughed and waved me away -
but at least I was in the cast for weeks
Raj Arumugam Oct 2014
1)
I was a blowfly
for weeks
in my previous birth
with metallic olive-green sheen
and wings and all


and my friends and I would fly
into the local bar
every eve
and we'd always be courteous:
"Bzzz....Is that stool taken?"

2)
Now that in this birth I'm human
I think many of us (man or woman)
can learn a thing or two
about manners from my blowfly life:
Always ask before you take a *stool
poem based on a joke I found online
Raj Arumugam Feb 2012
the Japanese beauty of Edo
she sat delicate in the garden;
she observed the cheery blossoms:
the beauty
the stillness
the quite
and
the blossoms faded almost days after
and the beauty -
O she too followed the way
of the blossoms;
and here I am ages after
and I long for the beauty
impossible to touch
and who sat in the garden
poem based on painting:
"Woman seated under a cherry blossom tree" by Kuniyoshi Utagawa (1797-1861)
Raj Arumugam Feb 2012
out goes
software developer
web designer
computer ****
mercahndise managers

vacancies now:
virtchandise manager
cloud transformation officers
outcome aggregator
data evangelist
sensemaking analyst
sales ninja
digital dynamo
happiness advocate
online community facilitator
web funster


*you ready?
poem based on article from "The Age" online, 25 Feb 2012
Raj Arumugam Aug 2013
I placed an ad
outside my office
offering a job in my small company:
The applicant
must be computer literate
and possess secretarial skills
and must be bilingual

(and proudly, I added)
WE ARE AN
EQUAL OPPORTUNITY EMPLOYER


and this dog came in
and indicated with barks and snout
he wanted the job;
and proved with paws and limbs
and tongue and tail, and with various barks
he had all the skills

Astounded, I put up all sorts of barriers
but the dog could not be stopped by any one
And so I finally said:
“You have demonstrated your skills, sure;
you have barked – but you don’t seem
to know any other popular language…
I can’t offer you the job  -
I need someone bilingual!”


And the dog replied: *“Meow!”
poem based on an online joke
Raj Arumugam Jan 2012
Where Purity is the Covering of All Flesh
and no private part of the human body
may be shown
and thus where the lack of Purity is Dishonesty
and therefore are Dishonest Paintings
wherein are depicted female ******* and such
buttocks and navel
and where genitalia female or male
asleep or awake
and such are shown
and crotches and such flesh and curvatures
may arouse
such being Dishonest Paintings
the Eminent Guardians of Purity
announce multiple positions vacant
of Reviewer of Dishonest Paintings
and so to cover up with black paint any signs of *******
and so of any other part of images in such paintings
as buttocks cover up with black paint
and so on each Dishonest part of human anatomy
to be covered with black paint
and in this task one always to use a firm, long brush -
the longer and firmer the better for the Soul -
so that
one may not come too close to such obscenities
as coming close one may be aroused to ***** desires
in male
(Females need not apply for said position
for such lascivious creatures are always
in a state of wet desires)
and so in covering with black paint
the Sanctity and the Will of Heaven prevails
and human souls transported to Divine Ecstasy
at the sight of paintings with black holes
corrected by expert Reviewer of Dishonest Paintings
and such positions to be filled
by honest men firm in their resolve
and long in stamina and determination
they should arrange their own transport
for various locations in the Holy Empire
for indeed Various Positions are available
and while the renumeration is handsome
derived from confiscation of properties and means
of the Perpetrators
of those Works of Perfidy and Damnation
those Artists who produce and who engender
Dishonest Paintings and such Works
and far more too included in Renumeration
is the Seat of Purity in Heaven -
O the pay shall be Eternal Heaven
Apply directly and in person
at the South Wall of the Grand House of Divinity -
put your scrolls in the holes
At the age of fourteen Goya was sent to study drawing under the guidance of a man who was employed by the Inquisition as their Reviewer of Dishonest Paintings, which meant his job was to conceal human nakedness in the work of the Old Masters, using a carefully added swirl of cloth, a shadow or the floating presence of a leaf.

- page 20, Old Man Goya by Julia Blackburn
(ISBN 0-224-06279-4) Jonathan Cape, London 2002
Raj Arumugam Sep 2012
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
poem based on artwork "yurei (ghost)"  by Katsushika Hokusai (葛飾 北斎?, ?October 31, 1760 – May 10, 1849)
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