Early spring has come to Thelma’s farm.
The geese are on the pond,
a green velvet carpet circles the barn
while songbirds greet the morning sun.

We walk down Thelma's rutted road
where milk trucks used to rumble in
to fetch the morning’s yield.
Old Tikki leads the way - a pale fluff of a mutt
like a dust mop searching for its handle.

Thelma’s cows are long since gone –
sold off after Dutch was called to eternity
but she'd no more forsake this land - her land
than the sun would forget to rise.

Early spring has come to the Missouri hills
where clean warm breezes whisper hope.
Soon the ready soil will taste
the furrowing blades of the plow
near fields where livestock graze and flourish.

We’ve reached the bend in the road.
Old Tikki's wearing down
so we turn to retrace our steps.
A committee of neighbor calves
studies us with soulful eyes
and we appear to pass inspection.

Tikki guides us on our homeward path
where a ribbon of golden jonquility
neatly trims the foreyard fence.

Spring has come again to Thelma’s farm
as it always has and always will -
where clean warm breezes whisper hope.

March 13, 2011

there are days
when i wish
Nagini would just
swallow me whole
so that i
could prove to
the world that
i could escape
b e c a u s e
Rikki Tikki Tavi
isn't on my side
i would slit
the beast from
the inside and
emerge dripping with
serpent saliva (ew)
"Hey, whats for dinner?"

At the hole where he went in
Red-eye called to Wrinkle-Skin.
Hear what little Red- eye saith:
Nag, come up and dance with death!
Eye to eye and head to head
(Keep the measure Nag).
This shall end when one is dead
(At your pleasure, Nag).
Turn for turn and twist for twist-
(Run and hide you, Nag).
Hah! The hooded death has missed!
(The sad one betide you, Nag)!

I imbibe on this treacherous night
Amongst fanged smiles
And murderous eyes.
They all know *******-
But themselves- are afraid to die.
Take another one down-
Their laughter like a car crash rapes my ears. They sin but know no tears. I fail but know no fears. I can't relate to my peers. What am I doing here?

Got flanked by one asking, "So, in your eyes, what's the biggest difference between the rich and the poor?"

"One has nothing but act like it's everything. The other has everything and acts like it is nothing. Both think the other a fool."

Another one interjects, "But surely poverty can't be that noble."
As if Jesus was handing out cheese trays and champagne to dinner guests wearing Italian suits with silk vests.
"Poverty is self inflicted. Anyone who works hard enough can achieve whatever they want."

I smirk and say, "That's why your grandfather's business pays for all of your families' needs, so you can reap the benefits and call it work?"

The subject is changed.
Some nonsense about politics now.

And all they do is talk.
No mind changed or knowledge gained.
The atmosphere is dry; tame has become their death glance.
Maybe I should change the music and show them how to dance.

I’m staring down eternity in a hearse, waiting for the traffic of demons to disperse

I’m lounging on the constellation of a large spoon

Curled up, catching some Z’s by the Moon

They sling “psychopath” as an insult
Bitter chuckles are the result

I’m a countenance of compunction

Feeling my bruised soul twang with pain at every immoral junction

I’m stuck in a reality that calls me the menace

Like Rikki Tikki in cobra infested jungles

I play the Gothic tune of death in my mind

I sever the glue of innocence and ties that bind

They chant my name with nursed hate
They throw blows in a ferocious spate

All I need to escape is an utterance of confession

It’s the sole solution to dig out of such deep a depression

Yet, I contort out of the grip of these vicious cohorts

For a question pierces my psyche like bullets in the brain

Why should I denounce myself as a monster to condemn
**When they fail to see the ones growing inside of them?

India is rising.
I am jolted at this thought.
Do you sip only contentment?

India is being Paris.
A beautiful sentence.
Spicy. Sweet. Allu Tikki.

In July and August
I have to pull up my pants
Upto knees to cross the roads.
Chances of bathing are good.
Have you ever enjoyed
This unwanted bathroom?

You know India
Is completing the project
Of making smart cities.
A matter of pride.
Greatness. Well progress.

Chip in. Pray for much rain.
We need heavenly blessings.
More water in the ditches.
More tourists. More selfies.
More demand. More news.

Thank God we are Indians.
If we were Americans
How would we dance
In the fountains on the roads?

Things are stylish.
All are pleased. Exclude me.
I don't want any pic
In the newspapers.
What I desire for
Is what you might have
Understood after
My conversation.
My Indians. Very gullible.
Take care. Good bye.