caught insidethose stubbles.Who was itthat rang loudand clear, just oncethe doorbellof my house?The one whose deedI was cajoled intoplacing my name beneath,they said it wasa facilitation ofthe way things are.And wereand will be nowforever and a day.Only, the foolsdo not quite graspthat I rememberthe way things were,and that I wish they could,in some belated waycome…
He had exhausted all his skills, and navigationof empty air space with no power, was a crime.So, they prepared for the disaster by the book.Your head goes forward with the pillow on your knees.Your mouth is open, eyes would have a fearful look.The pressure fails, a door flies out, in comes a breeze.The first to…
my cat left.Never to return.I had always fed her, though.
let’s say it’s bestto realisethat I stay quietin this endeavour,prevent a riot(which shows I’m clever)well let us saythat all the urgesand interim galactic vibesremind me of Stalinist purgeswhen he got rid of all those tribes.The West was wonwhen crazy fellowsequipped with gunand Scottish bellowsstood up to arrowsof savage loutscut out their marrowsbashed in their snouts.So…
And every now and then a grinpeeks out and quickly hides.And when I laugh at your new joke,he holds on to my ribs.Each night my liver gets a soak,and Death is Mister Fibs.One day he shakes his frosted beardand sharpens his big sickle.With pitch -black gown he looks so weird,my life’s not worth a nickel.He…
but only their pubescent niecewas kind enough to pray for peace.The hay inside the barn grew oldand grew the smell of musty mold.One day the farm was simply soldin an exchange for shiny gold.The niece stayed back to hope and praythe geese fell ill to her dismay.Their cattle ate the rotten hayand died as someone…
He’d clamped his iron fistaround her eager ankle.She’d cried her tears of rageinto the river far below.They had, against all odds,made a great life together,there, in that coal-dust townwhere Black and White unitedagainst the signal from canaries.Rich men in suits, so far away,in towers made of ivory and chromeare always busy counting doughwhile clippings of…
I’ve always thought one must be freeof pests that like to take one’s placeand spread their wings like pesky flies.So when I stop to shoot the breeze,exaggerate, tell little lies,some of these folks will try to seizean opportunity of sortsto hover close like an oppression.And now and then someone resortsto paw me, skipping all discretion….I…
Salt water waveletsLap at our sores.Faltering stepsIn longing and painMarks struggle betweenSacred and profane.Pause the dance nowFor the body is weakIn each others armsIs the respite we seekDraw strength anewIn the sharing as oneWe are completeA new round has begun.As we take the firstSteps to danceBack to the moorsWe know in shared heartThe future is…
spit out those dull clichés,calling them, for lack ofwhat you could call a betterand more appropriate term,colloquialisms, which sounded,to uninitiated ears, like communism.That night when Grandma diedhe told her that the shirt she worewould be her last and that no shirthad pockets if it was your final garb.He turned to our solemn faces and,earnestly, eyes…
