Gifts

if you sing that lullaby then don't pretend

gird your soul that all'll be well in the end

let not your child grow up to think it was a lie

then pass on worries, wrapped in stories

to give some fleeting respite

if you must sing, first listen,

would you believe it, if you heard it yourself?

the man rummaging through garbage,

he was a child once, what did he hear himself?

what hopes did he have, and what remains of them?

does he hear them prodding him on

or just hear them complain, on and on

who gives him hope, courage, to face another day

whom to love, what to look forward to:

I can't say, I can't say

but I must believe somewhere buried inside

all of us, is treasure waiting to be found,

a blessing freely given that no

power, great or small can ever take away

and I must live as if a day

will come, when nothing else will matter.

Soup

It was at the airport,

I had just purchased a hearty

Soup and sandwich and sat

Down by a seemingly quiet seat

Next to an older couple with

A promise of stoic dignity;

Instead, the man told about his hopes

Of getting a job, riding on

An email expressing vague interest;

"What should I reply," he said?

As he kept untangling and dissecting

Then tangling again, every nuance

And nuisance of each potential word,

"They say desperation is the worst cologne,"

He offered, in quiet acknowledgment;

The woman just sat there like

A muted channel, with only

Vague platitudes, barely filtering through;

I had to stand up and finish my soup

Elsewhere. Stung, I could not bear to hear

What all of us were born to fear

That rejection is shame and whether

You dish it out or receive it:

It is disgusting and cruel.

So, like the countess who ordered

The beggar to be removed

'fore she crossed the scenic bridge,

Lest her guilt move her to

Dangerous places; l left them,

Then and there.

Weasel ditty

“Profits dropped this fiscal year,”
Chris thought he was in the clear,
“though lists of fixtures shift the reason.”
Chris thought he was King of Reason;
“Resin is inedible still...”
Chris kept in bed incredibly still...

Welcome..

.. to the graveyard of
Poems that no one reads as I
Walk among you, you were
Such pretty things;

Full of ambition to
Change and inspire to
Relate and make pause for
Thought --- you expired.

Few people know what makes
A work classic but words fall
Off at each end of the line; 
Thoughts and sentences have

Shelf lives in rhyme; 
I thought I could make you think
But my poems weren't that great;

Still, they got me through a difficult time.

Banks of riches

By the bank of the river I sat down;
I quickly stood up, angry,
I hate it when my clothes get wet
Especially my underwear
But it was only my trousers
A little cold a little damp
With a dash of wet sand
That could be dusted off.

What makes us city rats
So foreign to nature
From earth to wood
From stone to concrete
From bricks to bricked devices
From rigged tents to rigged choices
From bubbles in water to people in bubbles

I hasten to the river

And no longer mind
If my clothes get wet.

A Matter of Life and Death

Life is an art
Death is a dart
Dart strikes the board
It's over, Lord!

Snakes and Ladders

you can eat fresh lobster in 'pest or Kinshasa

leaving the fresh Danube or Congo none poorer
who will eat, who'll mourn when they see the leftover

did I push, while climbing ten feet on the ladder

Rest

 Spirit of God % whose peace we seek
     Look upon % your restless child
    Don't deny % the rest he needs
And don't deny % the rest their needs

Kake

Time has become like two vigilantes

Tearing the fairground apart

What set in motion

Set in stone the notion

(A pure fiction, for which I must apologise)

That two fighters will start a fight

Over a ballerina whose young round look

Belied her age of tempest worn

The lioness from mountain torn

(A memory precious, that I do not own)

The shoulders must touch the floor

The rules stood, the joints locked

And moments of inertia swayed dance-pull

Trip lines force grab dress neck

Torque on torso stretched

Clenched wrists lens 

Blurred lines dark spots

Temple vessels temple statues

Temple statutes must stand and art

And sport will enrich our lot

Healing, food we mull and get by

The rest is just for fun.

Mayflower

Taxied to the edge of space

I flushed A34 it said

Please make your way to the gate

The edge of life will be at stake

Don't look back don't hesitate

To piles of salt precipitate

Those whose conscience obligate

Farewell look to farewell state

Outside the bubble of time

How strange this fear of death

You win you lose it's life

But soup the soldier's mess

And those who hold on will perish

But those who let go relish

The gust of wind that's blowing in

On that cold October day.