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rgz Mar 2019
I can see
in the way
that you move

and so pure

that for me
you will be
big trouble

I can feel
when you move
in that way

the demon
take over

he sways me
towards you

For the way
that you move
so freely

I can't help
but to stare
you seen it

and I knew
how you moved
was for me
I did do
a tricube
of tricubes

3x3x3 = 27
2+7 = 9
3+3+3 = 9
9/9 = 1
(no, it's maths)
Yazad Tafti Nov 2018
The officers extorted his report
He had no evidence when he took the case to court
'Guilty as charged your verdict comes short!'
Before 25 years he drowned himself at port
I messaged with words that sound written down,
they were,
got a new courage that has been found,
I didnt trail off, but the world lost it's sound,
who knew?
I guess you would had to have if it really made sense,
trying to appreciate his recompense,
It's cloudy and I hear the rhymes,
but that doesnt take care of all the I'm fines,
I hear it and want to hug you,
so wrapping in written syllables,
I try to believe in miracles,
hoping that you can see the prayers coming out of my head,
when you saw my smile instead,
calling me your best friend,
Sending songs you'll forget,
but I bet you'll feel at home,
so I'll send them along with a phone,
full of mysteries that will plague us both.
Don't dare to say you miss me the most,
because I raise my coffee in toast,
that you'll be happy tomorrow,
and at least smile today,
spoken with fiery words in sentences that arent coherent,
So i guess I'll tuck in my shirt to see that smirk,
and remain in adherence,
as my poem fades away,
and I'll sign off with a tackle and a dance,
and thank God again for poetic miles,
and happenstance.

I hope you feel better.
Indian Hippie Jun 2017
the Himalayas rise
there is snow on the peaks
I watch it from my bed
I gaze and gaze at it
in the morning
as a little village girl goes by
sniffling with cold
I too am cold
it is chilly here in Tosh in May
but a young Israeli boy
took off his shirt
and stood on the fencepost of the guesthouse dancing
down was the deep green valley
all of us watched in admiration
the next day I went down to the waterfall
which from here is a beautiful whisper in the air
there are donkeys and a path
and pretty houses on the other side of the valley
and everywhere there are people smoking hash and relaxing
in the cafes and the guesthouses
it is almost like a pilgrimage smokers keep coming
and sit around smoking talking
I pull down my woollen cap my arms and back
feel the chill despite a thick sweater
despite a blanket and a four inch thick quilt
I roll my joints and smoke them alone
sometimes smoke them with others
I look at the hills and the valleys and the wooden houses
I look at the white peaks glowing in the sun
and talk about CCR and stained glass art with Michael from Norfolk
who’s going down the valley to another village for a party tonight
with his young Spanish friend
I talk about Bombay with Puneet and Manya from Kanpur
who’ve come here on a Bullet
Hash Heaven Manya says reading my mind as the joint passes on
to the four engineering interns from Delhi
and all the time I sip on ginger lemon honey
for my sore throat until on the last day it disappears
unlike the young Israeli girl’s pink laptop in a pink cover
found by the part time caretaker in the garden on a pink chair
she left behind last night because it was too dark
come again the guesthouse boys say to me as I pay them
what a scene I think how cool as I begin to leave the village
down the dung-clotted stone steps nodding to the smokers coming in.
Tosh is a small mountain village producing great hashish in Kullu district of Himachal Pradesh. I dedicate this poem to the village, its people who run a great show and all the hash smokers who flock there. Bom Shankar!
Cecil Miller Jan 2016
I've borne the heavy load.
I've worked all the day.
Got two children at the house to feed.
Husband's gone away.

I've a bunion on my toe,
But I've got a corn pad.
With a smile upon my face,
Swear, it don't hurt so bad.

Don't the moonlight look so grand,
Shining in the sky!
Walking home from second shift,
Clean cars are wizzing by.

There's a light mist in the air
That gives me some relief.
In the crock *** waits at home
Hash and good corned beef.

My fingers gnarl and seize,
The handle's hard to grip.
I hope the boss don't send me home.
The kids have a field trip.

When the kids get on the bus
To travel out of town,
I might take a few days off
To lay my tired head down.

Don't the moonlight look so grand,
Shining in the sky.
Walking home from second shift,
Clean cars are wizzing by.

There's a light mist in the air
That gives me some relief.
In the crock *** waits at home
Hash and good corned beef.

I am faithful to the work.
I don't call in sick.
I'm hardworking as a man.
The foreman calls me "chick."

I never complain about my back.
Lord, He knows, I need this job.
I can take the stripes they give.
Don't give my raise to Bob.

Don't the moonlight look so grand,
Shining in the sky.
Walking home from second shift,
Clean cars are wizzing by.

There's a light mist in the air
That gives me some relief.
In the crock *** waits at home
Hash and good corned beef.
This is one of my folk songs.
I wrote it this afternoon in about 15 minutes on the notepad of my phone.
I went to copy and paste and deleted it and had to quickly type it in again while it was still fresh in my mind.
I wrote it from the perspective of a single mother as an empathetic homage. I hope I did justice to single mothers everywhere.
12:24am p.s. The title was hash of good corned beef but I remembered we southern folk used to call it corned beef AND hash sometimes, instead of corned beef hash. Anyway, just now I modified the title to include the conjunction AND, replacing the former OF.
A bar of it, I was back smoking dope, happy.
Part of my dream state last night - I woke up happy thinking I was back on it and remembered I wasnt - but one moment of happiness (even if not real) is worth all the previous drug pain :-)
A pace of life.
A metronome is set.
To rush with a crowd.
Or walk alone.
Or in-between.
Resetting the metronome.
There is too much verbal
Hate in this world.
Which results in physical
Hate in this world.
Cause and affect.
The ripple affects afterwards.
With doings that cannot
Physically be undone.
After the fact.
Everyone knows this.
But the people who
Live these damaged lives
Would never wish
It upon anyone.
When everyone knows
The inevitable outcome
Of war is peace.
(or extinction)
Everyone should be intelligent
Enough to never start any.
Every person carries their own
Legacy of lies and
Possible untruths.
To live with unknowing possibilities.
Some structures are ceaselessly
Being formed with needless
To barrier communication and
It’s still great to be alive, don’t forget to breathe (air).
A poem written in the mid 2000's from a self published book - 'Poetry from the wilderness years { Or slices of thoughts and emotions :-{}' - I added one edit line today. Background to poem - living in the country side at the time - still abusing drugs and alcohol - nearest village was a mile or two's walk away and i had no transport but that meant the walk to the village was beautiful but then having to jump into 'human active space' after previously just being around mind settling nature used to inspire heightened senses of fear and I could feel my mental state disintegrating often but what can you do but struggle on (or break down and be hospitalised)  - if my memory serves me - in the end I didnt want to leave the house/room I existed within and even my own thoughts of human interaction really frightened me - luckily enough a cousin down the road had a pet dog - Luka - a beautiful animal and I was asked to mind him some evenings/days/nights - I think this was the start of me coming back into 'your normal usual human society' - still now I can reread this and see the hints of my general paranoia to the whole world outside - I still think mental institutions should have organised and 100% supervised animal therapy visits if possible - it would help bring your thoughts out of your own head and into another truely non-judgemental animal form and can definitely ease anguished souls/minds/bodies. Cheers - will try to post a few more poems from this collection over the next few weeks but with hopefully some happier themes (I didnt really write about insanity during this collection because my confidence was in minus figures :-)  )
Sleeping in the arms of my hands
Leaving me restless and lonely
Even the memories fade
Every blink I slip away
Pointless to return
Destined by hope
Reaching blindly through
Each heart stops beating
Acting smiles never fool
Muster once last try
Such is the way things are
No one sleeps enough...
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