What's In A Poem?

It's only words
What one makes of it
Might as well be up to the birds
As long as I ask myself "For this life, what have I to show?"
I Hope. I Think. I Know.

Friday Lay

I gotta have a lay
In the sand
Warm and dry like the land
Mother Earth's hand 
Closes upon me like a vice
I feel nothing to despise.

Fashion Is Not My Passion

Fashion seems pointless
Why does anybody care 
This cut, that fabric, that dress
Covers up what was once truthful and bare
Layers of apparent meaning infused through division
Branding and pleated infusion
You choose between La Moda heels and Jimmy Choo flats
I'm choosing one of De Bono's Thinking Hats.

Transformation Leakage

Optimus Prine always has time
Saving the world from 9 to 9
And a overall cool dude
The rest of the time.

Motion Sickness

We're moving through time and space. Trying to find a place to stay
Just so that we may
Newton First Law is right
It's hard to stop for the night,
Try hard as we might.

One Too Fenny

Fenny Fenny Fenny 
I think I've had too many
When I see the sunset at 4 PM
I know I've exceeded the Fenny-per-diem.

Better Left Unsaid

I speak in tongues
Misunderstood but by one
To whose benefit
Communication undone.

House About You Pick On Someone Your Own Size

Wayne You Were Sleeping

Knock knock 
Who's there
Wayne
Wayne who
Wayne I saw your message last night it was very late, so I felt it would be prudent to send you a reply in the morning.

A Saturday Night Out

Thanks for your time,
My thoughts might more or less rhyme.
There wasn't a full moon. Clear sky. Dancing to the tunes of something, not quite a lullaby
Questioning one's level of high
Hysteria, resulting in broken glass paraphernalia
I'll make it up to you. I promise
Battle of the tongues, egged on by everyone
Sloppy duel, salivary fuel
Pour some whisky on it and watch the  the hemlines rise higher 
Does my makeup make me look cruel
Drinks set on fire
The forest of my veins
I'm actually feeling some disdain
People stumble around me to the dancefloor calling for more
As servers dance around them fetching more sustenance and lubricant
Only couples through the door
Be joyous for you are single but now you must repent
There's a single star in the sky
Gaze into the distance and in your induced disbelief ask Him "Why?"
As the footloose begin to fall
Somebody announces last call
And the patrons crawl up and out the door
Some can't believe it's not four in the morning,
But there's no time to be yawning
One must get home or join ranks of the temporarily homeless
In their deliberate state of undress
Somebody pays the tab. Snatches of conversations in a passing cab. Gift of the gab.
Homely proximity, returning clarity 
I recall words from a dictionary. But I don't think you'd find them in Pictionary
The final thought on my mind in all it's naïveté:
Why do they advise consumers to drink responsibly?
(Jeez! I wonder if I will get invited to the next party? What if I turn forty?)

They Come At Nighttime

This is Goubert Ave aka Beach Road as seen in the afternoon:
And at night:

Must have something to do with the noontime temperatures, I suppose.

At Train Journeys End

Garden Variety Harley Quinn Cosplayer


A Whole Lotta Cassata

It's been more than 15 years since I've had one of these. There used to be an Arun Icecream parlour at the corner of CMH Road and Double Road Indira Nagar. The dinners at the Shanti Sagar opposite were topped off by one of these delightful treats. The colours of the Italian espresso: Strawberry, Vanilla and Orange and Coffee Icecreams crowning a slice of  nutty cake. If nostalgia was an ice cream cake, this would be a good way to get reacquainted.


Arun Icecreams disappeared in the face of changing markets but I now see them making a comeback through small neighbourhood stores. They've picked a good time to get back into the market too. The cassata is the first thing to go out of stock everyday. Makes one wonder if the conspiracies behind climate change have some merit. Hold that thought; I've got to get back to my Icecream cake before it melts in the punishing heat.

Something From 5 Years Ago

Something I'd written back in 2011, but forgot to do anything with. Rediscovered when rummaging through the Drafts folder on an uncomfortably warm Sunday afternoon.

I'm rushing through closing doors,
Yawning off the workplace bores,
I can hardly lift the oars,
To row my weary way home.

I'm missing my daily chores,
I'm slipping on wet floors,
I can hardly lift the oars,
To row my weary way home.

Stiff in many places; in some plain sores,
But I'm quite happy, to be learning so much more,
I can hardly lift the oars,
To row my weary way home.

The weather is very warm, I miss the cool months,
Sunkissed blossoms, and they fall to my feet,
Bittersweet memories, and unchapped lips,
Just like London, except for the fish and chips.

I remember walking back home,
And watching those blossoms fall,
Fast forward or fast backward a few months
I'd do it all.

In an half-hearted attempt to trace its roots, I get a sense that I was overworked and tired from lack of sleep. I remember working 12-hour shifts and pulling 50 hour workweeks. I suppose it was all worth it, in the end.

Sunrise or Sunset?

Taken at Bar Harbor, Maine, USA, May 2015.