"auto" poems
a companion piece to
miniskirts & high heels vs. poetry & yoga^
<•>
a couple of buds at a local dive bar, drinking Buds,
talking loud about technology
and other manly man stuff
attract attention for our conversation isn't bout sports,
get approached by long legs in high heels and a miniskirt,
with the best come on line ever
any woman invented,
"you guys know about computers, huh?"
later after reading twenty or so of her poems,
and learning the degree of difficulty of the
downward facing dog pose
(adho mukha svanasana)
she said:
tell me again how I
*clear my cache,
change my font,
add more memory for new memories,
stop auto correct from making wont into want,
so I can happy write*
"wont thy thoughts to my heart thereof"
so I obliged and then
the geek in meek wrote
his first poem
after first clearing the catch
in his throat
Jul 9, 2017
Jul 9, 2017 at 12:35 PM UTC
Amid the verbose magicians
Seeking kinships
And sailing deep into their arduous mists
Watching them peddle their afternoon
To a handful of smiling children holding their breath
Amazed in gentle body trick
The older men of age
Leaning deep into their creased chins
Stroking the grizzled fat
Blinding light of soul
Staring down the barrel of life
Striking the enemy one last time
And yet smiling
sober,
Met of match,
taking care of their kids.
Then there's the cold-clocked dudes
On the phone pushing buttons
In a button-up raglan
Lost indistinct
the promised land
The golden shores swept away by
inconvenient time
Left shopping in an auto mall
"Won't you look at the time?"
7.07 APR
Boy what a steal!
And Steve maddened and screamed
As the lines blurred instinctual between opposing teams
And the oven dinged a great alabaster slant
Leaning towards the new millenitants
Rise up!
***** the wheel
Turn the axel from pistons
To alkaline metal
And doubt with great monumental
Quality
That the machine borders all
And we cannot retreat
And while I sift bouyantly between the waves
Searching the puzzle piece within the molecules
Reconnecting with the things
And representing
dreams on a 66 hertz screen
I call rather failing
Towards a black rocked shore
Towards the sweet Dorigen
Of my dreams
Finding an integral of time
And space
And calculating the intangible slope
Of my desmise
With the imaginary constiutent
Of that lighted mind.
Jul 30, 2018
Jul 30, 2018 at 4:24 PM UTC
A musical trance seance under control by the hand of a shadow
A "Du hast" to a "Loco" To a "beautiful people"
A fraction of symphony, Sent by the gods of rock
Spiderweb rooms an corridor covered with the entrance to darkness set in place with danger light's, Strobe lights, an a fog machine set on auto
A haunted feel to a shack left cold an abandoned.
Equipped with superior beings and extended solo's of 6 string guitar's along with drum's and distorted bass guitar, setting the rhythm for our soul's,Feeding threw 4 large kickers.
This shadow was me
Venom
Decorated in crow face paint, Along with black attire to match my attitude
People came and went and came again
Supporting my and there craving for sublime sound
But one, the one, my goddess, my angel of death came to my dwelling, she came with a message
To indulge in my love
But also to give me a message of misery
To break me free of this chaotic world i was fixed in, with a bite to my fingertip the purified pressure was on
She wore the same colors as I
Only more dragged inline's
More pain, More beauty than she could see
I stared into her crystal corroded bloodshot eyes
I seen deep within herself
I saw pain, I saw hate for her fire, I saw hate from others
I had seen everything and nothing
I arose from my slumber to meet her in the darkness or mothers sleep
To give mother a great vision, a great dream and it was this
My angel of death, Meeting face to face, Eye to misery, Cure to disease, Beauty to ugly.
The words rolled off her tongue like the greatest embrace to a lover
Her words were sweet and seductive
Sprinkled with tears of a suicidal mind and a scarred wrist.
Then in a perfect moment are perfect tender love met with crying eyes and black lipstick.
Within that moment i ingested her misery
I took it and gave her what she deserved
Beauty
After the release of this lover's choice
We met vision and from there i seen the truth
I could never release her from this insanity
Only pamper or even embrace it
This timeless motion of misery will never stop ticking in my heart
Not till it expires!
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 10:33 AM UTC
Infinitely and often nightly but very quietly
I creep into the garden shed
and make a bed among the flower pots
where those dainty blooms with purple spots
spot me
and open up their eyes to see who sits among the rakes and spades
and somewhere in those dappled glades
my eyes will rest upon a cur-ved apparition and entirely of an auto responsive
suggestion
I will greet her with a midnight smile taped on my lips
and when my heart has done its forty skips and my body settles down
I invite her to come a little close and sit beside me by the oak tree
she
smiles in a light to brighten any night and any day I know would be proud to say
go with the moment it is yours to own
but on my own trapped in a shady place
I face the fact that
this place in the garden shed is only pictures in my head
and I retreat
beat it back indoors where the thunderous snores of all my many days
come back to haze me in some juvenilish way
it's the way of it
it is the way and I have bitten off more than a piece or two
and flown too close to sit upon the heat
of the sun
burned my bridges
burned my ***
and never learnt to hold my tongue
but it is the way
and one day the way will become oh so clear
the potting shed that's in my head will disappear
and in its place
the face I look to meet
will greet me
deferentially I shall shape my tongue to fit around the words I want to say
It is and always has been
this way.
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 5:00 PM UTC
could it be a ********
like cotton buds
from the ***** flower
a witched river
under dark clouds
of brooms that don't fly anymore
maybe in need of an upgrade
perhaps a spell of weaponized winds
with insinuated floating ghouls
shaking their lopsided claws
under blood orchards
and diagrams of grief
as they follow their noses
looking for *****
******* the scent of vivacious
zyzzyva
loving oozing laughter
thirsty skin
needles too
**** heroine stuck on toe picket fences
mimicry of ducks blood butter
like a crime scene of kisses that went to far
eggs and runny yokes left puddled on a thigh
the ****** burps Pans milkshake
*** legacy legs
lookin for love
auto asphyxiated in a closet fringy and hanging with a hardon
lost eyes and drool
somewhere in Thailand
after spicy noodle soup
and a Tsingtao
hurt me
hurt you
i'm an evil boweval
a Zyzzyva come to love you
Jun 14, 2019
Jun 14, 2019 at 4:34 PM UTC
What?
well don't be shocked,
it's genetic coded,
drilling for dimples
my parents did it
to me,
down the food chain,
for a millennium,
Baby Boomers, Millennials,
Gen X, Gen Y, Gen Z
it will be done forever,
auto-naturally
place the pointer finger
gently upon each cheek,
commence so soft
digging, twisting for
the oil of human smiles,
the reward, astonishing!
a shocking discovery
made this morn!
*you can do it too
"going up the stairs,"
to Grandmas, Nana's,
if you catch them,
and with extra care spent,
soft so soft when
they are
just waking up,
when their inner kid
is sleepy showing*
drill a dimple,
drill, baby, drill,
if your baby/is
six or sixty,
at any age,
kissing an
unexpected smile,
most worthwhile!
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 8:03 AM UTC
Faces unknown, side by side;
Cooperating and mingling;
Looking for a better spot, and yet,
heading the same way.
Everyone becomes equal,
Everyone pays the same fare,
Everyone has a life,
Each as complex as the rest.
Every face is new,
Every mood different.
holding some mystery,
Each different,
None less or more.
A game of patience;
Waiting to reach the end of one path,
And the beginning of another.
A hurry to get up, and get down.
A bus, a metro, a train,
An auto and an aeroplane,
The modest pace of a tram,
The coziness of a shuttle van.
The stories in a public transport,
Are things I wouldn't wanna miss.
I shall never, for the life of me,
Stop traveling in public transport.
Without it, I wouldn't be me.
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 1:32 PM UTC
Professor experienced was he.
Woke up in the morn asking tea.
Hurriedly bathed and brushed.
Towards steely almirah he rushed.
Couldn't decide which pant to wear.
Called wife to decide combing his hair.
Shirts were of different color and hue.
Mother came and chose color blue.
His father decided which tie he'll tie.
While he ate poori and aloo fry.
Couldn't decide which shoes were best.
Daughter chose brown and left the rest.
Couldn't decide 'tween bus and auto.
Son advised from auto he should go.
Entered class room briskly walking;
And taught 'Effective decision making.'
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 12:48 PM UTC
Na amiro ki basti mein rhta hu
Na hi gareebo ke aashiyane mein
Middle class ka hua
Middle mein rhta hu
Na pahali pankti ki pehali seat pr baithta hu
Na hi aakhar mein khada rhta hu
Middle class ka hu
Middle mein rhta hu
Na croro ka kabaar hai
Na hi gulabi note hazar hai
Middle class ka hu
Meri jarurate saman hai
Na luxury car hai
Na nhi cycle apni bekar hai
Middle class ka hu
Auto,riksha, paddle chalna
Apne liye aam hai
Na meri girlfriends char hai
Na hi single rhna izzat ka swaal hai
Middle class ka hu
Apne yaar,dost shandaar hai
Na aasman chhuti imarto par likha apna naam hai
Na hi sadak kinare bitati apni shaam hai
Middle class ka hu
In dono ke beech
Kaat leta apni raat hu
Na videsh ghoomnta hu
Nahi sehar se bahar jaana muskil samjhta hu
Middle class ka hu
Apna desh pura ghoom lena bhi bahut samajhata hu
Na sir jhukane wale log hai
Na hi sir jhukane wale hum hai
Middle class ka hu
Sabko gale lagana hi
Apna dharam hai
Na hi ac mein kaam karta hu
Na hi dhoop mein pasina sukhata hu
Middle class ka hu
Pankhe ke niche apna kaam karta hu
Na suraksha karmi apne pass hai
Na hi sarir apna lachar hai
Middle class ka hu
Apni jaan ki raksha apne hath hai
Na chhapan pakwan banate apne maharaj hai
Na hi khaali pet sota apna pariwaar hai
Middle class ka hu
Meri maa ke haath mein hi sara sawaad hai
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 2:59 AM UTC
Drinking my tea
Without sugar-
No difference.
The sparrow *****
upside down
--ah! my brain & eggs
Mayan head in a
Pacific driftwood bole
--Someday I'll live in N.Y.
Looking over my shoulder
my behind was covered
with cherry blossoms.
Winter Haiku
I didn't know the names
of the flowers--now
my garden is gone.
I slapped the mosquito
and missed.
What made me do that?
Reading haiku
I am unhappy,
longing for the Nameless.
A frog floating
in the drugstore jar:
summer rain on grey pavements.
(after Shiki)
On the porch
in my shorts;
auto lights in the rain.
Another year
has past-the world
is no different.
The first thing I looked for
in my old garden was
The Cherry Tree.
My old desk:
the first thing I looked for
in my house.
My early journal:
the first thing I found
in my old desk.
My mother's ghost:
the first thing I found
in the living room.
I quit shaving
but the eyes that glanced at me
remained in the mirror.
The madman
emerges from the movies:
the street at lunchtime.
Cities of boys
are in their graves,
and in this town...
Lying on my side
in the void:
the breath in my nose.
On the fifteenth floor
the dog chews a bone-
Screech of taxicabs.
A hardon in New York,
a boy
in San Fransisco.
The moon over the roof,
worms in the garden.
I rent this house.
[Haiku composed in the backyard cottage at 1624
Milvia Street, Berkeley 1955, while reading R.H.
Blyth's 4 volumes, "Haiku."]
5.1k
Dreaming of rainy days
Beside my sweet heart
holding his hands, closeness to heart....
Oh what a day it was....
will the dream come true...
Yes it came true for two days..
Rainy days....
started my journey.. to his place...
carrying all dreams...
thinking his smile..
meeting him after three months..
whether to Hug or kiss first
how to start??
all the questions were falling into my heart..
suddenly came a pop message:
message me your coach no...
Train stopped...reached PKD
It was raining like hell...
i was little wet..got down..
eyes were searching for him...
Saw a flash of white striped T-shirt..
sparkling eyes searching for me..
and seeing the mobile for my message.
it was my sweet sail....
butterfly were flying inside my heart..
after seeing him....
first time in my life felt that hunger...
Saw me going towards him...
How to start...the smile which was seen after three months..
and he saying,"Happy to c u here and my sweeto is with me..."
literally made me dumb..
He took my bag and holded umbrella in another hand..
got into an auto..
My sweet heart holding my hand...
closeness to heart..
Heat was felt...not only in my hand
which was holding him..
but also in my body..
climate was cold..
but heat was overruling it....
we were travelling
rainy days..
Sweets beside,,
it was dark..
seeing his eyes in the lighting light...
wanted to hold his face and kiss there...
but could not as the driver interrupted inbetween..
Reached his place..
He cooked and served the food,,
my happiness knews no bounds...
i felt O God wat a life,, u have given..
Im blessed....but didnt realise that it was temporary...
slowly after we cleaned the kitchen.
Moment came for my dreams to come true
Rainy days..
My sweets beside,,
room was dark
my hands was chill...
heart beat alone was heard in the room
it was complete silence..
how to start...
by the time i went near him he rushed hurriedly
holded me in his arms,,,and kissed me
saying cannot wait.....
heat was felt on me..by the time i wanted to cherish the taste of his lips...and tongue.
he was inside me ..
O GOD im thankful to you for those beautiful moments...
Tears fleded...in my eyes...i have got a guy who luvs me...and wants me...
but didnt realise it was temporary...
Rainy days are here,,,
Standing all alone......
Waiting for my Luv..
Sweets you have given those beautiful moments to me.....and taken away back all the happiness with you...
Miss you sweet heart...
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 4:18 AM UTC
Its been while since I've thought of you
Since I've wondered how you've been
Since I've seen your face
Its been a while since you've talked to me
Since I've blocked out your ignorant ranting
Since I've had to tell someone to stop talking
Its been a while since I've observed your mental health
Since you've bashed on me for having an eating disorder
Since I knew you had one too
Its been a while since you've checked on me to see if I'm still alive
Since I've checked on you
Since you would even care if I did
Its been a while since I've cared to wonder about you
Since you've called me names
Since you've spread lies about me
Its been a while since I've heard your name
Since anyone has brought you up
Since I've seen you
Its been a while since I've felt happy
Since I've felt safe
Since I have worried about my appearance
Its been a while since I've had to auto-correct my sentences
Since you don't yell at me anymore
Since your sensitive *** isn't around anymore
Its been a while since I've been glad someone has left my life
Since I've felt free
Since I've been me
Sep 20, 2016
Sep 20, 2016 at 2:36 AM UTC
Retail-hunter gatherers pick
clean processed bones, digging graves
with their shiny teeth, studious in
their reveries as they drone
past worlds dumped in the thresher;
the trucked-in fields of film-wrapped
gore splayed lustily before the managers
wound tight in Machiavellian design.
A shepherd herds his flock of
wreathed iron back to its pen, its
skeletal tangle lit in riotous gold by
swords flung from lambent eyes of
pre-dawn’s shunting chariots
Cages shunt and bobble like tugboats
chugging stoic up swimming pool lanes
of nondescript tile, cheered on by shouting
colours to float through archipelagos of
paper towel and chocolate blocks past
the vegemite diaspora, and the arctic
wastelands cased in sliding glass fields of
perfect steady storms as wraiths baked in halogen
ask silent questions of the silverbeet, while
Lana Del Ray’s voice falls like
nightshade—slutty and serene—coating
shelf stackers in a Piaf sadness as the
shelves reach their arms out for more.
The check out chick hatches
a sense of déjà vu as carrots
and biscuits drone towards her
mind berEFT of any twitching
sense of POSsibility that wised
up and flew this leering coop and
deep in her catalogue of grey folds
something stillborn and waxen is
perched on gleaming steel, reeling
out her guts like cassette tape with jerky
nightmare arms and laughing like a
banker watching ***** films, mornings
dull cerise an invocation through
auto-jaws as she bursts out to warble
with magpies in car park’s climbing fire.
Jul 25, 2013
Jul 25, 2013 at 9:23 PM UTC
*she returns from her classes,
ballet, yoga, core something and Zumba for flavoring,
her hair, an upward, toe pointing cannon of mop mess,
her face glowing flushed,
one look and I know she is both,
morphing high,
wipeout exhausted
a little ritual she performs somewhere between
"it was great and she (the instructor) killed us,"
auto sub conscious,
she looks herself over,
twisting elegantly like the
Argentine tango dancer she is,
in the mirrored closet doors
raising both arms to see (show off)
the sums of her endeavors,
the exoskeletal musculature
she has earned,
a life long effort,
like a prize fighter as he
macho enters the ring,
an alpha male gesture
if ever there was one,
made over to say,
hey boy, look at me!
*and the boy looks her over,
always thinking, but never revealing,
that it is her muscles of mindfulness and mercy,
that take his breath away, the ones that are worked out daily,
the ones that surround and work the heart beating,
the lung inhaler of humans in need,
exhaling the richest
oxygen for others to breathe
and the boy does his service,
providing a "wow" or "very impressive,"
only you and he know his real thinking,
and his muscle memories secret,
you to keep, just between us,
and his secret identity, only love poetry...*
8:52pm 7/20/17
Jul 20, 2017
Jul 20, 2017 at 8:59 PM UTC
Fought
One, Twenty-two skidoo.
Cantankerous mad filamous
She,
That of her,
Me.
Piñata, stretched balloon
Over my big fleshy
******
Tea and cakes,
Painted my nails
Painted my lips
Like candy.
Gold trinkets,
Pour like mercury out of my ear.
Ouch! I cried
My feet in hot sandy
Dreams.
Flying peacocks tickle
My *****
Oranges roll on chalk board tables
Over stale rye bread.
***** dribbles out like mucus
And a runny nose.
Toilet paper and rusty water.
********** on you.
Stocking lover.
Fetish cover.
Woman pusher.
Mellifluous ****
Look at my skin.
Pink, beige, peach, red
Porous, greasy, bacteria ridden hide.
**** me like seppuku,
Smother, suffocate me with
Red jelly jam.
Lubricate your finger with black
Cancerous ash.
Stick it in my naval,
Unravel my umbilical cord
Like so many filaments of my heart.
Tear your flesh
You auto *********
Rip your liver
And force feed it
Corn and maize
Hay and grass
Emory my nails against
Red barn walls
Until bare skin fundamentals
Kisses with salty lips
Inflame my ravishing
Pig stomach.
Kick my shin you
Everything,
Wake up you stupid
*****
Void can be blue skies,
Oceans call for suicide.
Kiss me with delight,
Raspberries tattooed
In my *****
Strawberry cream
Vanilla, milk,
Ponderous infinity,
Cotton, dough
Honey and sage.
Caustic gastric
You and not me.
Feel my legs,
Touch my thighs,
Lick my lips,
Give me anything
Not direct.
Tie me up in complexities.
**** my head up.
Put me in a dream,
Make me happy.
Blair Butterfield 2004
Jan 11, 2010
Jan 11, 2010 at 7:09 AM UTC
The bright sun’s rays
Are dappled as they strike
The manicured greensward.
He, tall, lithe, teeth all aglow
In cream slacks and pastel blouson,
She, fair and fairylike in acres of shimmering gauze,
Alight from the auto
At the site of their ‘manger al fresco’
Let us call them Justin and Jocelyn.
The basket is heavy
No matter.
He lifts it clear to carry
She gasps, he grins.
In minutes the scene is set
The rug, the plates, the glasses
The pate, the cold chicken,
The fruit….the wine.
He deflowers a bottle of Moselle,
Wishing it were her.
Guessing as much she blushes.
Ants retreat to nests
Wasps attack alternate targets
Flies zoom elsewhere to feed.
And all the while the sun
The golden sun continues to dapple.
The rain is not quite horizontal
As Joe and Judy
Run from the bus stop
To the stony beach.
Not quite horizontal
But driven off the sea it tastes salty.
He, ordinary, average, in a dampening grey mackintosh.
She, hair bleached in a sister’s frock and jacket
Holding hands,
And hold each a sandwich
Cellophane wrapped.
Squatting against the seawall
They eat.
Wet eyes flash bright signals.
Joe has a small thermos
Its vegetable soup,
And somehow a hardboiled egg appears,
To share.
The rain continues its attack.
Jul 25, 2014
Jul 25, 2014 at 11:58 PM UTC
I fell inlove at seven-thirty,
In the middle of the preaching,
On my church uniform,
At an unexpected moment,
In the midst of storm.
When I took a glance
Of your smile so pretty,
I told myself:
"I fell in love at seven-thirty".
I fell in love at seven-thirty,
Yes dear! You should believe me
The moment that you entered the door,
My heart skipped a beat,
Wanna do a ten mile run
With an exceptional leap
Had my eye turned into a camera
With an auto-focus lens,
Zooming in your face:
Making everything feel tense.
I fell in love at seven-thirty;
And memories started flashing through my brain
Together with it are the joys,sadness and pain
Of having you standing afar from me
But on those spectacular eyes--
I can still clearly see..
The beauty..
Of the galaxy..
And I fell for you at seven thirty.
And yes!
It may sound stupid to love you again
But I can't stop my feelings pouring like rain
Yes! For the second time, I fell for you;
With hopes that at this moment,
You'll fall for me too..
Coz' I fell for you at seven-thirty;
And for the second time
I hope I could make you mine...
"I fell in love at seven-thirty".
When i took a glance
Of your smile so pretty,
In the midst of storm.
At an unexpected moment,
On my church uniform,
In the middle of the preaching..
Yes! I admit..I fell for you at seven-thirty..
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 7:07 AM UTC
in our
besieged republic
snipers are
popping up
everywhere
taking ***
shots
ending lives
with a well placed
head shot
active shooters
star in
world premier
events
jokers
rise like
dark knights
casting large
looming shadows
on real 3D cinemax
multiplexed screens
sprinkling overpriced
buckets of popcorn
with generous
dollops of blood
others
head back to
school
still ******
about missing
recess and
excessive
sentences
to detention
halls where
bullies tortured
scrawny inmates
with wedgies
and painful
***** twisters
they’ve
come back
to even the score
leaving
bullet hole
pockmarks on
Sharpie smudged
smart boards
declaring endless
summer vacations
for classrooms
of children
who don’t
give wedgies
and only dream
of soft *****
these
urban guerillas
are now working
to liberate airports
from the tyranny
of TSA agents
fulfilling
PATRIOT ACT
duties for
10 bucks
an hour
and
last night
the latest
active shooter
showed up at
the Garden
State Plaza,
-my hometown
mall of america-
mumbling about his
Grand Theft Auto
score, strung out
and crashing
from an unfilled
pharma addiction
script
he grew
up as a
Highwayman
in Teaneck
a former
classmate
working
at Nordstroms
said he was
a really good kid
he was,
one of the good ones,
he could have shot
some people
but the only
person he
shot in the head
was himself
legions of
police officers
surrounding the mall
stood down
grateful for overtime
milling about
in the flashing
red strobes
inhaling the heady
blue fumes
rising to commend
Bergen County
Blue Laws and
next Sunday’s
time and a half
active shooter
training day
Jimi Hendrix:
Machine Gun
Oakland
11/5/13
jbm
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 1:12 PM UTC
Semi-permeable
translucent vibes;
rhythm through
a château door
into neon nights,
and lanterns like
red-eye photos
look down on us.
They look down
on me, and they
see me shaking
the vibes out on
cement cobble-
blocks. I got the
cancer / excess
disease, we say
I'm the new-old
where the auto-
focus is good
but around us
is gaussian blur
forgotten future.
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 6:25 PM UTC
Men I don’t love
Send me emails telling me that they care about people like me.
They say,
I am committed to helping people achieve their dreams by providing the right support. I want to thank you for your interest in utilizing this opportunity.
The boy I know
Sends me a message saying he saw potential in us.
He writes,
I wanted to help you become better. And when you spoke to me that first day, I thought that maybe we could become something greater than we are now. Together.
Men that know me
Send me emails saying that they liked learning what’s in my head.
They say,
I recognize the time and effort you put into this and truly appreciate that you shared your thoughts and ideas with me.
The boy that doesn’t love me
Sends me a message saying he knows what he meant to me.
He writes,
I know how hard you tried to make this work. I think you’re amazing, how you always give your all into everything. How you gave your all to me.
Men I don’t know
Send me copy-paste emails that I have memorized.
They say,
There was an outstanding selection of applicants this year and the competition was intense. I regret to inform you that you were not selected to receive an award.
The boy I love
Sends me a message saying what Men I Don’t Know couldn’t.
He writes,
*It’s just that this isn’t what I’m looking for.
You’re not who I am looking for.*
Sep 6, 2017
Sep 6, 2017 at 12:49 AM UTC
The bus rumbles on,
it is an over crowded one -
not an unusual sight -
she stands in the space
reserved for women,
there's hardly any room
to breathe.
The broadcaster on radio
shows off her gift of the gab,
a popular film song follows;
a gush of wind
through the window
brings along smoke, dust
and other such components
of 'city-air'.
She looks out to see
impressive malls,
entrances to which, witness
beggars pursuing well dressed gentry,
in the hope of a penny or two;
billboards advertise
latest discount offers
appealing to her consumerist instincts;
constant honking of vehicles,
music blaring from an auto nearby -
these are common sounds
she is accustomed to.
The bus halts with a jolt,
she steps down,
tries to make her way,
through the crowd
avoiding hawkers lunging at her
from every side,
eager to make sales;
the smell of
pakodas fills the air,
autos carrying seven or eight passengers
limp away, surreptitiously,
at the sight of khaki clad men.
Out of the blue,
an elbow knocks into her chest,
she turns to look at the lout -
lecherous eyes mock at her impotent fury -
she mouths standard abuses,
walks away as if unruffled.
For this was not the first instance,
"Won't be the last either.",
she thinks at the back of her mind,
her heart chooses not to agree though.
She moves on,
pushing, shoving, cursing
her way through
'Battleground India'.
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 3:08 AM UTC
Running on auto pilot -
wonder when it will give up,
and refuse to move.
Sep 17, 2025
Sep 17, 2025 at 1:21 AM UTC
It was early fall,
the leaves were vibrant
when I crawled to the bar,
catch myself a weekend buzz.
Fred’s drinks were pure trouble,
more jet fuel than mixer.
I mean you could torch your breath
after just one sip.
Rock blared there like a live concert,
loud enough to make you a deaf mute
after just one drink.
The dark walls swirled,
moved in & out, carnival-like,
I purred-down
Jack-elixirs.
I first saw her shining
from across the Mahogany bar.
She was hidden in the shadows,
a real good looker.
Her amber hair was crazy,
blowing everywhere
like the bride of the stitched-man,
electrode-neck.
She might have been a ******
or a nose-candy queen,
but after what the bartender gave me,
it really didn’t matter,
life was played hard on the edge
in them days.
I was enthalled with her,
captivated by her lady-vibes,
she was the perfect last call.
We sang rock and roll songs
in my 455 rocket, crawled
the back roads,
looped
all the way
to my country-place.
We were on auto-pilot,
dropped our guards,
fell into each other’s embrace.
She smelled like salty-patchouli,
had a killer innocent-face,
kissed me with fire,
such strong desire,
a beautiful-wantonness.
Her eyes were so red & green,
indeed she was
the consummate,
the prettiest,
late-night dream girl.
She was bathed in bright ink,
the sun, the moon, the stars,
vividly scrawled on her back
along with a frowning-tiger.
Above her privacy, I spied
a smiling-gnome
with outstretched arms
screaming, “I Wuv You.”
I obliged him,
there was no fighting
her ***** to the wall demeanor.
We shook the planet,
frolicked way past the wee hours,
deep into the noon hour.
When the earth-shattering stopped,
I was hung over on her & the jp4.
We crashed still trashed,
I still don’t know
how I ever got her home.
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 4:28 PM UTC