It was the night of Christmas Eve when I was on my own
You came round with Chantelle lowering the festive tone
It was okay until you left and I found that big baguette
Such a time of desperation one time I will not forget
A toilet tragedy I suffered when I discovered your Yule log
Why did you leave that monstrosity inside my ******* bog

I had a drink to calm my nerves but I didn't want to tackle
In the U bend that ******* **** was caught up in the shackle
Trying hard to get rid of that thing with hot water in a bucket
It didn't move with my attempts so I thought "well **** it"
Taking the plunge with pipe unscrewed it wasn't very nice
A gloveless hand you wouldn't want to handle that thing twice

With heavy heart I manhandled that large brown log myself
The size of it I'm petty sure was detrimental to my health
I know that Chocolate logs traditional to celebrate the Yule
Did you have to leave me one made from a combined stool
You blamed Chantelle but I'm not sure if it was her or you
But whichever way you look at it, its a nasty thing to do

So come on just admit it who dealt me that crap card
Getting rid of such a thing well its really rather hard
It really isn't all that much of a Christmas appetizer
Having to disguise it for bin using the local advertiser
Yule be so disgusted if you had crap Christmas news
A real low time of my life with Yule tide log abuse

Next time you decide to call round in the festive mood
Have a **** before you come not meaning to be rude
Don't pass solids in my bog to avoid a repeat performance
I have already reached my peak concerning **** endurance
Use my bog with courtesy without Christmas block activities
I don't want your crap on my hands ruining my festivities

THE FARMER
The lonely wood pigeon perched, echoes, sounds of joy – ‘the morning has risen’. The farmer stirs from a deep slumber as a beam of sunshine escapes through the curtain, reaching his furrowed, leathered, weather-beaten brow. He places one foot on the wooden floor, his lips part as the second foot completes the pair. Whispering, “Thank you;” he feels a deep gratitude for having awakened to this new day. He scratches his head in anxiety, with a hand that has worked the farm, wondering if the area aid from the EU will keep him afloat. He understands his maker has determined this day, yet the weather elements will dictate the farmer’s way. He glimpses through the window to see what is yet to come and sights a congregation of birds on the electricity cables above - a sure sign of rain on the way!
In the kitchen, he listens for a weather update. Warming himself near the Aga cooker while making a brew. He looks to the Sacred Heart picture and the hanging family rosary beads. To understand the farmer, one must understand the traditions of the land. The land has a holden-fist on the heart of the farmer, as many farmers well know. It has caused bitterness and disputes in generations past. The farmer must feel a love for the land and a passion for what he does best. The land holds high expectations and demands dedication from him.
From the first leaves falling in autumn, to the nurturing of crops through understanding of spraying techniques. In winter, hearing the cows crave for hay, and repairing machines during the low times. Springtime brings cattle and sheep grazing pastures new; and seagulls landing on freshly ploughed fields. Grass whirling in the wind, then corn ears blowing side by side. The warm glow of the valley in summer brings the harvesting of ripe golden corn. Haymaking sees farm picnics, readymade tea in old lemonade bottles, poured into mugs and stirred by straw, with the smell too of homemade bread and curney cake. The farmer, seeing birds migrate in a ‘V’ pattern, feels an anxiety for the year-end accounts yet to come. Feathers are scattered outside the chicken coup - the fox has been and gone!
The farmer leaves the doorway in silence and walks out to the fields to assess his crop. The early morning dew dampening the ends of his trousers as he walks. A slight smile parts his lips as he listens to insects galore. He bends down and reaches with a strong, hard-skinned, gloveless hand, grasping his crop and pulling from the root. He sees what he needs to know. In that moment he is complete; he is a Farmer! He turns and strokes his dog, which had been laging behind.
He understands his fate. One day he will leave the land behind – he will be gone, but the land will remain forever!

"Copyright Verona Pentony 2014  from 2nd collection Reflections from Time  see www.veronapentony.com

My imagination
is the all-encompassing *****.
Composed of touchable red curves,
she speaks
in dark, melted tones that drip
& cool to harden at their destination.

She’s the sort of insatiable pursuit
most boys are taught to desire.
She’s the well-spoken lady
most gentlemen deserve.

She transfigures into
the most verboten temptations
& acts as the pair of arms
that will suddenly slam you up against a wall.
She eases into you with her starved gaze
& examines your every possible inch.
She leaves you with nothing to hide.

Scrupulous? Undeniably so.

She touches whatever she wishes
with gloveless fingertips
& ***** your mouth dry
of all bitter objection.
She leaves you speechless--
but smiling.

My imagination?
She is a bombshell,
& I think I like her better than me.

None of the cuts of meat looked familiar to me. Eve had sent me out for T-bones that afternoon. Her folks were coming by to see the new place in the evening, and, after hearing good things about New Bhaktapur from one of her girlfriends, there was no other place to go.

A thick layer of dust covered the glass display case of boneless and shapeless red sheets. Each piece had been cut thin. There were no rib eyes, no N.Y. strips. Instead, the names of the selections suggested what the customer was to gain: Vitality, Stamina, Wisdom, Charisma, and, of course, ****** Ferocity. Under the glass, the meats sat in braided grass baskets, lined with yesterday's news.

The butcher, a brown-skinned, middle-aged man with a round jaw and soft shoulders, wiped his gloveless hands on his white apron, adding a brighter red to the overlapping splashes of dried blood already present. He reached over the counter to shake my hand.

"No, no. No T-bones," he said. "Not even in the back, no. I not do bones. Not because I don't have a bone saw--though I don't--because why? Right? Why bones? Do you eat bones? your name again? Joosh. Yes, Joosh. Good name. Do you eat bones, Joosh? Of course not. If you did, I tell you get out. You mental. Right? And I'd be right. No bones. I see confusion. No, it's okay. It's okay. No blush. No need. What's the word? Embare--embarrassed, yes, thank you. No need be embarrassed."

The bell chimed. A black-haired boy of six or seven, with round, wet eyes and what I supposed was chocolate about his lips, strolled in, chin up.

"Namaskāra, pāpā," the boy said.

"Namaskāra, baccā. Rāmrō dina ahilēsam'ma?"

"Hō."

"Rāmrō. Kahām̐ āphnō bā'ika hō?"

"Yō nala dvārā bāhira chan."

"Malā'ī ēka pakṣa kē."

"Hō, pāpā."

"Ṭhīka cha, phirtā garna kō lāgi jā'ō ra āphnō kāra khēlna?"

"Ṭhīka cha."

As the boy, chin now lowered, sulked into the back of the store, the butcher turned back to me and said, "My son. Apple of my eye. You have an apple? No? A good woman? You be blessed. A good woman hard to find, harder to keep. Right? What were we saying before?"

"I didn't need to be embarrassed."

"Yes. No need. Let me tell you about meat. All I have--I have beef."

"How can I tell what part of the cow it comes from? The ****, the ****--that stuff."

"You cannot. You choose what you want to be. I can tell you don't need Wise. You already too smart for good--for your own good? For your own good, yes."

"But you know."

"Know what?"

"Where the cuts come from?"

"In a way, yes, but in another truer way, no. Do you describe you in such words?"

"What do you mean?"

" 'Oh my **** hurts.' 'Oh my ***** ache.' 'Stop hitting my upper flank.' Do you say these?"

"Well no."

"No. Why? Why would you? You mental if you did. They awful words. Science words. I do not see myself as science. Do you? No. You don't even need to answer. You got good woman. Love pumps in your heart. You energy, right? You can feel that. If you with the right woman you feel hers too. So why not the same with what you take in? What you eat? Not to scare you, never my intention, I couldn't tell you if the cow I process this morning have spots or no. Is it real Angus? Is it real California? I do not know. This is not how I see, not what I'm looking for."

"What are you looking for?"

"I guess I'm touching for, not looking for so much. Forgive. I do this so long I feel, I know what important, what I need, and what my customer need. You think me fool because I know not the science, I have no bone saw."

"I didn't say that."

"You thought it. I touched that, too."

"I didn't mean to offend."

"You not offend me. You challenge. I like the challenge. I like to show you what enlightenment means. Not a divine moment, not a smart moment but a touch, a touch that knows the truths beyond the limit of your vision, beyond the chains of your English. I feel the Vitality as I cut. I feel the Wisdom, and Charisma. You think silly but will you try?"

"I'll try it."

The butcher wrapped up four thin slices of Vitality in brown paper. He tied the string. "This," he said, bundling up two more slices of ****** Ferocity, "this is for you and your good woman. What is her name?"

"Eve."

"Ah. The mother of the world," he said. "Joosh, my new friend, have a real day."

The bell chimed. A child's bike rested on a hydrant outside. It was overcast but that was fine. I couldn't remember where I parked my car and that was fine, too.

life must have been so cold you
from as early as you can wind back the tape
it must had been all dark clouds
that warm summer from your childhood faded
quickly like my breath on the car window
last night
i know now winter is on its way but your smile has still
forgotten to blossom with the flowers in spring
and im starting to worry maybe it stayed buried somewhere
under the snow, and that maybe that's why you look so uncomfortable
like the gloveless finger in early february
like every touch is as sharp as a knife
and like a deeper breath might freeze your lungs
why are you so afraid?
what kind of disaster plagued you,
and how can i apologize for it.
somewhere an off season taught you that
its not safe to wear sandals in the summer
and that you always have to hide.
i know at times, bitter winds make it hard to trust
and flash floods soil hopes
but life is more than snowed in monday
and i dont want you to live so limited
life must have been so cold to you
show me how far you can wind back the tape
let me see the exact place
your breath started to break
i know your heart is heavy,
it carries a load it was never meant to
set it down
and come outside
i promise the weather is nice
enough of the time
and when its not,
when the rain comes in like car with failed brakes,
stay with me,
let me hold your umbrella
let me cover your car with a tarp
and dry your clothes
you know, you don't have to do this alone.
the winter is cold but sometimes going outside
makes your heart feel warmer
you've always had what you need to survive this weather
hold on to that
and hold on to your hat
because life is coming fast and i know you're afraid
but i wont let you sit,
convincing yourself you're content
with a life so hopeless as this.
watch the rain with me.

You keep me at eye level,
Examining for interpretations,
Think me either shady or too colorful;
That my perspective may be skewered.
You reach out to straighten me,
But recoil, gloveless.
Consider the Feng Shui
Of your living room.
Peer closer,
There's a face
Like a worrisome specter,
Like the picture.

A gloveless welder will one day suffer a burn
A carpenter in the rain awaits his turn for a blackened nail
The careless goat herder will soon receive the wrath of the buck
The citizen too busy to vote garners the scorn of an elected schmuck* ...

One (love triangle)
I wanna be your lover,
I don't wanna be his friend.
Don't make me go home yet,
I haven't figured out what to do with myself

He's better looking but does he deform your toes?
  I doubt it,
Maybe I'm just not much fun to be around, maybe I'm a pain.
I'm my only audience as of late and
I've got codine in my liver, smoke in my nostrils and the taste of your tongue
In my mouth, still lingering...
I've got long ago broken bones that linger too and owe a debt in your name
It's so hard to leave a person behind
O but it's such a sin to stay the same age for any longer than you have to.

her teeth are pissyellow like a passive snowball
you were the gift that kept on taking
and I took every breath in strife, choking on rain to see a face that was asleep and too busy
To answer the door even though she's the one that sent me over.

Alas, I cannot leave behind
a stone that I found arest in it's place.

There is no food left, there is no money there's nothing but memories of securer times
but this you know cannot last;
vagabond in the winter with gloveless hand,
May not die but there'll be pain,
But he was headstuck and
clutching dust he swiped from the surface of pinkbricks back in summer when impersonating a banker,
no matter how hard one tries to hide anything
anyone knows the whole story at a second glance
My pharmacist asked if I was ****** again
I couldn't even answer, I couldn't even talk
It's not a burden, it's just a shame,
just want to be alone where no one reminds of my mistakes that I live with everyday--
I'm just a person I once thought myself more as a young person does,

you made me ascend for a second I couldn't believe it when I saw
   you were cutting me down--
Hang em high forty-guns
   and all of them empty
I waited awake as long as I could for her but she never came
O well
bless you even though you forgot to sneeze

And just so you know

I wasn't *******, I was pleading nicely
I just figured I was worth a few minute's attention, sorry for being wrong.

You were always wrong

You were always wrong

You were always wrong.

(Two ) (honkytonk mania blues/streetket laced with 'tism)

I drag pain behind my ev'ry step, don't you think it's a sin?
Long distance walk left my body feeling hungover
I collapsed at your door and you still won't let me in...
I sat on your stairs and raced the sunrise to get sober...
By the time I gathered my senses I'd already missed the train.
Saw you got your new love, she looks like an uglier version of your sister,
you know I'm no one to judge but *******! She looks just like your sister.
I was aimless in life once, babe, but that was back when I missed ya.

Three ( mankysam+abandoned/abused+ sadsong)
1.
I live on borrowed time
I'm inlove with Mary Hilligoss
Our eyes match in their hauntedness
But they hold lifetimes behind them neither of us could know about

I've got a best friend I like a little and love alot
She OD's on otc tablets just to pass the time
Maybe you know her but I wouldn't like to know why if you did.
When I see her heading my way in the street I nonetheless slip like Tyson on ice.
I find *** repulsive these days but my arms are always open for talking
Just so long as she gives me an hour's notice.
I was inlove with her once, I truly was,
But just because it mattered doesn't mean it should've happened,

This life will strip you to nothingness in time,
The question is a matter of whatever you wish to pose and when, who really cares for why?
An artist only stands to lose it all when they no longer believe they need a muse.

2.
Time brandishes a change too immeasurable to be expected to be noticed
Much less confronted. Broken dishes and screaming confusion across the room broken choruses reprise all too distant and muffled thankfully, just like yesterday.
I was juat a child why do I still want to say that I wasn't scared?
And now the only consistent reliance only shelter of love a door I kept shut hitherto before I couldn't breathe and thus had to let it open
I prefer to be alone more days than not truthfully I know why but I don't mind.

3.
It was new year's eve and I couldn't shake the pains
So I had to ask and wait for a reply; his yes is like gold on the ears
I've walked on blistered feet and bled before,
I've walked on broken feet just to **** their pain and it's worth choking back how ever many tears
Isn't that the way of life mankysam?
up all night just to lay head against the brick wall with my fists at my hips
I havent seen it all but I know I've seen quite enough;
Your exocidal taunt of control you hold back so clearly like you hold open a door,
Like the first time dealer to the winning stack with his head thrown back and the light overhead burning his face clear enough for a blind man to see
I'm not dumb, nor lack the will to confront, I'm just lazy.

Mankysam is the solace,
  he wears above-the-law medallions across the barrels of his motor
(
salute to bonjour and the glowing colours
  that crowded the place--walls and a floor--
To a scene. So long to it all I'm going somewhere I've never been next year and that's the end of it.
)
One day will be the last day you and me ever meet mankysam

Today is not that day but I'm gonna make what I get from us last

     atleast for aslong as I can do so

What a joy to live calm lovingly hating everyone as they pass by and feeling no guilt for doing so.

I plan on making things better but I've made no plans yet
I know well enough I'm good enough to do the best I can,
If only for you

Mankysam.

My brain has been broke or breaking for years now I think it's just time to accept the damage is never done until no more can be inflicted,

And I swear I saw getting married but I no longer see anyone now
And I know God themself is capable of crisscrossing people who get too comfortable, so I don't seem to settle in anywhere at all.
But when Sammy gives me the call saying that he's near
I get dressed sharp as a knife and smile
so tall now in the mirror, like deserted grass.
Smile and forget all my stupid little matters.

Singed am I from dealing with Dragons
Though my hands feel their fiery sting no more
Soaring through the twilight of my mind
A sight for sore eyes beheld me

Their lair flows thick with golden sludge
The manifestation of drudgery borne
From a life intent on the taking

Scarred am I from feeding Lions
Yet my limbs grow anew from the power of love
As the dove lays nest upon its head
I spread my wings so boldly

The pack moves with flow designed
To magnify their pride through birthing cub
Through the Lioness they come
But from one seed solely
That is a lonely world

Wise am I from running with Panther
Her feline grace abstains from false action
With a keen eye around on what happens around
She whittles and reads the minds that encounter her

Then lying on the branch with the thickest limb
She will tell you what boundless potential lies therein
By pouncing and slitting those shallow words
To release you from this carnal grasp

Bruised am I by the will of Bull
His blood-shot eyes a curdling pull
To challenge what has turned my family
T’wards that mindless short sight reality

Hidden pen is much smaller than his head
Though the master will deny at all cost
For the fear that the bull would join the executives

Tired am I by Horse’s drive
With its impeccable, ceaseless stride
You have outrun me in spirit
Leave me by the pond awhile
To ponder my demise

Your hooves they clamber in my head
My muscles lock and flesh is red
Though I don’t blame you for your optimism

Wallowing am I iScorpion’s venom
Her futile lunges so careless
Drunk with its own preservation
It spasmed at the sound of my name

Let me stroke it and soothe its poor vessel
With a gloveless hand showing trust
As a homage to the power of love

I am all these things one
They are all inside thee
Am I living through you
Or you living through me?

Something sad in my bone and winter settles on the marble tiled floor. No one speaks here. Everything is quiet and now quieter because of the cold. And by speaking I mean, that one I admire and that one people fleetingly are fond of. You know those talks one craves, getting it? Then my feet touch that floor and the winter slowly scuffles its way up through my structure. So much that it's upon my sleeve, approaching towards the red turned, gloveless fingertips. Time was passing. But my mind asks the same question everyday and now, " Are you gonna write today?" I sneak out leaving a main door slammed with an enormous wave of wind to gaze at the stars. But there are no stars today. Then I boil some eggs for the old, exhausted , regular looking street dog who wanders around Ramu's chai stall everyday, waiting for some bread crumbs or food leftovers from customers and passersby. But we weren't that kind. We never bothered. Why would we waste a walk to a mad dog over Saturday night plans after juggling between work and home for whole six days? And the dogs are smart, he'll figure. Now suddenly you wanna feed him Mahek. You'll take all the walks it takes . But he is somewhere else today. "He filled the ground he digged. That's where he used to sleep." Ramu showed me. He left. Probably because no one cared. And I'd lost two poetries by now. I dial a friend to meet up over coffee and make up for my wrong doings. She didn't answer. I kept trying. She didn't pick once. I show up at her house, but she abandoned it six months back. No one in family joins my poem recital on the terrace. So I recite to the empty chairs, picturing a sudden yet satisfying eruption of exultant approbation from an imaginary audience.
But the real question was, "What should I write about today? ". The stranger dog who left the city tonight, about the stars that never came , about the family I have always disappointed, about the growing misery that's zilch compared to my blessings or the past that always makes me laugh. About the grief that people call " staged" or a father who works all day for his children . Or a mother who I am thankful for. Or maybe about how all this has long been over.
So, I don't think I should write today. Because this isn't real pain. "Your tears are fake and your actions are staged. You 're too weak. You can't survive in your poetries. You can't create a world of your own because sometime or the other, you'll stumble upon the reality. Just come back , Mahek. There is a sun outside because it's meant to be. Not because it wants to secure you in its warm embrace. Not that. "

But you know, the dog came back.

I was still new
to the angel
when I reached
gloveless
into the deer
for the baby
god
froze

mom looked for a large moth
to stick
with a fork, brother

made to strangle
a coat