Posted: November 30, 2018 Filed under: Poem, Poetry | Tags: Humour, Man, Marriage, Marriage and Conflict of Interest, Marriage/Mirage, Truth and Marriage, Woman
is not an honesty contest.
The time value of truth
wanes so fast that
at the silver jubilee
either truth would survive
or the man.
Or both would be at the bar.
The woman, gulping down the truth.
Truth, gobbling the man.
Posted: October 31, 2018 Filed under: Poem, Poetry | Tags: Love and Hate, Love and Violence, Love from the Old Time, Mother, Old Mother, Parents as Sexual Beings, Stubborn Love
I breathed when your father breathed.
That’s how I learned to inhale long and deep
and exhale quick.
On a bed for forty years, one small bed, we one.
I could have chosen (Could I not?) to follow another man
Or lived like a fairy, sans
But, God, it surely felt good to make him mine.
Not in a quest to find love. No, no-
As it happens in dark halls, pages, in glitter rains-
I, with him; freed and tussled in a crammy bed,
Shredded each other for pleasure and pain.
Posted: September 30, 2018 Filed under: Love Poem, Poem, Poetry | Tags: Blind Love, Go With Love, Love, Love Over Cynicism, Love Vs World
I will walk out and
go with love.
Don’t tell me how good that would be,
the consequences dire.
Or, how good should I be, without it, free.
I won’t listen, no, no.
I will stand up, hold her hand, forsake you for good.
I will walk out and go-
go with love.
No preacher has told me so.
No rocker has swayed me (my heart) with sad crooning at those oblong nights.
But this, this feeling that gnaws a pit (in me)
that I am nothing-
nothing without her.
Before I forsake this feeling, I’ll forsake you, naive.
Before you say a word (and wield a weary smile),
I will walk out of this place.
And go with my love.
Posted: August 31, 2018 Filed under: Poem, Poetry | Tags: Another Futile Attempt Of Endearment, Distance And Connection, Emptiness of Aftermath, Melancholy, Melancholy After Making Love, Near But Distant, Silence
Time passes by
There is no clock
But of her cotton rustling
I am a rusty tap
Leaking shallow dripping words
May this poodle
Fill up her silence
Posted: July 31, 2018 Filed under: Poem, Poetry | Tags: An Appetite for Life, Cloth, Hope, Hope & Hopelessness, Tragedy, Who wears what
An appetite is a costly thing.
For life? Oh, it’s more.
It’s easy to find why tragedy wears such a
commonplace bearing, and hope?
Who knows what it wore.
But, I have lost all my appetite
And hope? I saw her eons ago.
In a time when she was coarsely drawn up and-
Tottering; though her face still glowed.
Posted: May 30, 2018 Filed under: Poem, Poetry | Tags: Father, Father and Son, Hope, Inheritance, Mullishness, Pass On, Paternal, Who Is Close To Whom
An old Adam’s apple glistened on my father-
My old father- on my father’s old throat.
After a shave, after a save; after he came back from the hospital, after all concerned had lost all their hope
and then, regained.
My Adam’s apple glistens too in the morning light
(like father, like his son?)
After I shit, bath, brush, floss and shave.
To pull a long day and a quieter one too as one pull the wool over one’s eyes
and get drowned in the matinee’s terrific irony-
Why, that is my usual business.
I wonder what I will regain.
His mulishness, perhaps?
Before the end of the time and before the end of
my elongated days.
Posted: April 28, 2018 Filed under: Poem, Poetry, Prose Poetry | Tags: Biography, Death of a Great Man, Fortune Teller, Great Men & Disciple, Great Men & Great Lives, Reader, Voyeur
While reading a new book- a biography- life of Michelangelo or Kemal Pasha; invariably I will ask on some grand pages, “Did he know?”
“Did he know what?”
“Did he know how it would end, how would he himself die?”
“No one could possibly know that. Don’t be silly!” I will chide myself.
But as soon as the conversation will be over- me eager being silenced by me reasonable- there will be a self-assurance of a fortune teller and an anxiety of a friend, in me, while looking at the prospect of a great man.