Don't despise me fellow man for we
both wear the cloth of humanity.

We're both made up of dirty clay
that shall eventually decay.

I'm flesh and blood, I breathe the air
you breathe; we have much to share.

I grieve, and then my tears show
like yours, when your sorrows grow.

On my bed and yours shall be lying
the syndromes of aging and dying.

Or do you think you're better than I?
Order the sky then as not to cry.

What are you really?
I think you’re a Drug
A sweet sweet Drug
That I keep resisting

Don’t want to get addicted
I fear it’ll ruin me
My life and my loved ones’
So I keep resisting

But how much I keep yearning
To hold you close to me
To laugh with you, to have fun
Yet I keep resisting

I am scared to admit
What now I really feel
For then there won’t be any turning
So I’ll keep resisting

The string quartet
plays ten thousand bits
through rusty, ambitious speakers
while the evening
turns into
a velvet night
like the madman's canvas:
with a yellow moon
and fuzzy, mad, mad flora.

Am I lost in my dreams
of a life in heaven,
seated by stars and by the sun,
the guest of comets
and falling meteors?

A name to be remembered?

full color posters span the room.
exotic islands extending
a promise of paradise

persuasive

whispy fronds
sandy waves
golden umbrellas of sun
and moonlight
the waters,
and wine, sparkling
with an infectious splashing jubilance

reclaimed colonial remnents,
spruced and gussied,
are re-animated on slick penny posts
dosed with salcious slogans,
and taunting, boastful
salutations

charming enticements,
sanitized in white,
safe for all consuming pleasures

your brilliant remark as a comment

sparks my mind with a momentary lament... a rumored love story ...between a hubby and wifey ...they tried for years ...but she couldn't conceive ...and said if she couldn't ...at least he could....

tin days roll away
the summer bleating in blonde chilled hay
the creeks are sighing raised their ways
in banks of crested hues of sheen
a memory of the seasons green
past through the florrid hurry dews
now dusted with the flurry hues
tin days have come
to stay

satin and sheen
of mornings frost
the labours of
a years cost
piled high in wood
for sighing stoves
preserves and
jams for tasty
loaves

We’ve been married for many a year.
I like wine and he likes beer.
He talks a lot about world affairs,
politics and falling shares.

I like shopping in charity shops,
Tesco sales and coffee stops.
He likes cricket and detective films,
Doctor Who and magic realms.

I like Spring watch and BBC four.
Doc Martin and Patrick Moore.
He likes to read the “New Scientist”.
Not much else is on his list.

glowing fresh as tomorrow
she sashayed in

a two bottle blonde
with lips lit soft
as jujube rubies

stacked
stiletto high
her slender waist
and second-hand swank
accentuated
a touchingly tender repose

she sighed,
a slow motion sigh
sliding a subtle heartwrench
into the scene

then,
a breathy,
breast heaving plea

"can you help me?"

being a man of sound body and mind
I blurted, "I dunno"

What self indulgent crap we spout
When sitting here tapping words out
As we bring each other to our knees
Or should we test cryogenic freeze

Where are those talks in simple phrases
That we had when walking with you my friend
It seems when typing words here and now
The crap stretches on and on without end

Oh! you may say it took you many a day
To produce words in metered rows this way
But why do you make my eyes suffer so
As on and on the unadulterated crap does go

Seven long summers, I slept in your lap,
With thousands thirsty bugs in your sari
And millions mosquitoes over your head
Sucking all my jaundiced blood drop by drop.

In rainy days, I heard you cry and sob,
Seeing me take some stale rice and rat-smelt dal
And live on just two modest meals a day,
Turning myself into a bag of bones.

I used to wake up late to miss my milk,
And save some coins every cloudy morning;
My friends and field work used to freak me out,
You just warned me not to miss the tilting.