Tuesday, 28 October 2008

Coming Clean

my poetry makes people question me
and ask if i’m sane
i smile
shrug non committal
then write hard verse again
is it about me
i am asked
how can it not be
but then widow alcoholic abused whore
do these define me
i write because i have to
i don’t know any other way
to be who i am
i must speak confront
i have to say
the slimy uncomfortable stuff
dirty underbelly of life
weaves itself through my lines
i am honest
for this there is no strife
so read
if you can handle it
it is not my desire to
discomfit you (it is)
love it
loathe it
be compelled by it
don’t ignore it
no matter what you do.

Friday, 17 October 2008

A moody state of mind.

ok, so love and all that jazz..changing my mind about the whole thing. it exists but not in the way i write about it. gimme the quiet man whose intensity lies in his loyalty and who makes this whole love thing look simple.
so here is a love poem, to celebrate this state i am in.
Moody 4
picking out furniture
drapes and dinner sets
curtains and bed spreads
jars of pickle
cinnamon and spice
a kitchen to cook
relish and rice
picking out love linen
pillows sheets patchwork quilts
lace and silk
to warm us in cold
nights
morns
noons and crimson dawns
picking out food
chocolate and whipped cream
maple syrup and candy dreams
to lick and pour
liqueur and more
picking out love
to cry out or sing
to raise you up
or bring
to your knees
and seize
this heart of yours
everything figured out
as you can see
except one tiny detail
are you the one for me?

Sunday, 12 October 2008

Night nuances

with my glass of water i sit down on the porch
the silence is quiet nobody encroached
the river flows sluggishly pregnant with memories
that will hold their own when they mingle with the seas
many a happy summer have i spent there
with you in my childhood content without a care
now we are older and married too
you are married to her but i feel wedded to you
in my heart my body i feel this way
i think about you all the time
have you thought of me today
i still live in the memories of
those far away times
when time was ours and
you were mine.

Compulsive

write it down
write it down
my heart says to me
write down every scintilla
dirty as it may be
the truth has to out
who but you to do it
don’t pass the buck
or wait around
don’t just stand there
sit.
and write
so we may hear
of things unspoken
and so dear
of illicit love
and mindless sex
of casual comments
the kind that wreck
of pain’s sweet prison
that heals as it cuts
of a whole lifetime gone
in a series of ‘buts’
write about the friendly neighbour
who had to pull at cheeks
of nubile girls at Holi
they bore red marks for weeks
and write about the grandfather
who visited once a way
shared a bed with a little girl
put his hands on her
for play
and write about the perv
on the cycle
who grabbed at an innocent breast
clad in pretty pink
it was
the girl the breast the rest
and write about her one true love
who treated her like a whore
who kissed her because he owed her
then said she asked for more
and write about the numerous
men
who turn around and leer
who laugh when you swear or stare
maybe they sense the fear
men
who brush past you 'unknowingly'
always not meaning to
desperate starved pathetic men
twisted minds one would assume
surely this is not new
the tale i narrate today
every girl woman you know
has felt violated in
some way
a remark a touch
a dirty e mail
haven’t we seen it all
the evolved man is
not even a myth
he never existed at all.


For Thushara. Who said she did not want flowers in my poetry.

Wednesday, 8 October 2008

Verbivore

an articulate man
holds my heart in
his hand
spins a web of magic
with his words his words
he can treat me bad
and hate my face
but when he starts to talk
he leaves me in a daze
his weapons are sentences
poetry and dreams
when he starts to speak
i am beautiful
or so it seems.

Thursday, 2 October 2008

experimenting

Some of my poetry is in series form. Maybe i feel one poem alone cannot do justice to the theme, or i cannot get the theme out of my head, and my heart, and i am compelled to write, almost incessantly on it. For instance, my Widow series. i also have a Doodles series but that consists of short, random stuff.
This is another series. i call it experimenting, because of the theme i attempt to deal with- love. Not just any kind of love, Grand, Passionate, Illogical- but- so- right kinda love. Aptly, this series is called Moody.
Moody 1
this pain means love
or so he says
if this is love
then i'm unfazed
give me more of this pain
this ache this aching mien
cut me up into tiny selves
this pain
this dervish hell
this dull ache
agony's loud shout
and bring me up
for another bout
with this sweet tantalizing hell
with him and his intense eyes
with emotion requited
and tormented ties
bring on this pain
am here and now
i long to see
this long ago love.