Very Short Poems
1.
Spring
Spring:
Come the blossom,
Come the blowfly.
2.
Birdsong
A bird,
When singing,
Is the song.
3.
Suburbs (i)
A lolloping dog, flagging friendliness;
A flowing cat atop a fence;
Saner suburbanites.
4.
An Urgent Sound
A sound as urgent
As a nestling’s chirp.
5.
Phobias
It’s the way they move,
Make no mistake:
The hideous glide of the spider,
The scything slide of the snake.
6.
Cetacean Sightseers
The visually vitiated,
Vaguely visited by vapours,
Gawking at orcas,
Awe become awful.
7.
A Word on ‘Unique’
A beautiful word was ‘unique,’
A leaping gazelle of a word,
But, sore-pierced with qualifiers,
It died.
8.
Scarred
Scarred,
Bearing the cicatrices
Traced on soul and body
By the fickle-seeming snickersnees
Of fate’s enforcers.
Bygone Moments
When all m’ bygones have gone by …
Each moment is a might’ve been,
Till all one’s moments are.
Precis of a Love-affair
She rocked my boat,
Then she shivered m’timbers,
And, lastly, left me shipwrecked.
Youth
Behind me
Burned m’bridges,
Burned m’boats as well;
With the very best intentions
I hit the road to hell.
Idler
An erstwhile whiler away
Of whatever span’s allotted;
Ne’er will all his t’s be crossed,
Nor all his i’s be dotted.
Wrestling with Demons
I was wrestling with my demons,
Helplessly headlocked –
I patted my surrender;
They took no notice.
Daily Living
I lurch from day to day
Like a drunk between lamp-posts.
Dejection
At a glance,
Panorama become wasteland.
The Artist’s Task
Truly, I fear,
The artist’s task
Is no small ask:
To make the blind see,
To make the deaf hear.
Poetical Living
I live a life of high adventure,
In my room,
In my room.
Poetry
Poetry:
The eternal,
Written in sand.
Then and Now
By day we frolicked,
At night we rollicked.
Ah, the bleak of these days,
The grey, streaky haze.
Panorama
Motley mobs of migrants roam,
Longing for their lost landscapes,
Where their sanctity once dwelt,
Where they felt at home.
Suburbs (i)
A lolloping dog, flagging friendliness,
A flowing cat atop a fence,
Saner suburbanites.
When (i)
When every known volcano
Was a temperamental god;
When men were sons of rivers
And on speaking terms with trees
When (ii)
When high-horsed and panoplied
You rode amongst the rabble,
Sure-stirruped on your prancing steed
And heedless of their babble …
Boyhood
Back in our boyhood kick-around days,
Barely knowing arse from elbow …
The Lamb and the Lion
When will the lion lie down with the lamb?
When the ‘you are’ becomes the ‘I am.’
Leaves of Acid 