You want me to talk?

You want me to talk ...
but then your ears are pre-loaded,
with what you wish to hear -
and you want my voice to penetrate through
them all,
while staying unadulterated !

How long would I try?

I wish to be heard and thus I try on,
to break through them all
and watch my words getting bruised and bleedy.
Watching my words venomize.

That scares me sweetheart -
venom is not for you .
It's not what I spray out.

It's a bit more chemical:

I seek life and my words are carbon...
You seek life and you want to hear oxygen-
and thus the reaction and the bastard birth :
of the gas that do good to plants alone.

Co2!

But then I have heard ,
Co2 is 10% good. In fact a necessity,
for the oxygen to do any good -
for the oxygen to do any life.

So maybe this venom is what keeps the oxygen alive.
So maybe that's the whiff that keeps us going -
and our story stays alive and oxidised.

Bob Dylan's Promise

When you were seventeen
and you allowed the wind to fan your face, mess your hair
and  what amused you the most was the glassy hazel eyes
of the maiden who didn't know your name,
if Bob Dylan sang you a promise ... which stayed un kept -

Today at 40, all grey, all mellow, rocking your armchair -
don't feel Cheated!

Wasn't it you who made life the complex tri-variate equation?
Wasn't it you who swapped happiness for more happiness -
and felt despaired when you were left with bills unpaid?
Wasn't it you who swapped joy for that hope for ecstasy -
for that new fad in town? Wasn't it you who was left
overwhelmed with business voices - drifting away from Dylan?

Dylan's promise may have passed by you ,
quite a few times - when you were locked within yourself ,
explaining yourself why you need to drive faster
to what seemed destination.

Promises stay prehistoric you see,
while you evolve they calcify
underneath those stacks of papers and rejects -
they stay seventeen!

Dylan had promised us all.
Some of us are still hopeful ...

Deep within

the poet in me and the guy who sells chips

are always in conflict with each other.

Raining blows – real hard ones.

Sometimes the poet comes home

with a black eye,

 and curses

every motherfucker who buys chips

from the chip-guy.

On another day the chip-guy,

limps home with a swollen rear

thanking the minions

who say “Poetry is lame”.

But tonite , I will take them both out.

And the three of us

will hit the city’s shadiest bar.

We will fill our stomachs and bladders

with beer

and snake along the streets,

screaming songs so loud – that sleepy windows

will turn towards each other with concern.

We will bang every door ,

that’s shut and asleep –

slap every car who have rolled-up windows

and have called it a day.

Tonite, the poet will mean business

and the chip-guy shall sing the saddest song!

Poetrylog1

Note to Self 1: Poetry should happen as easy as a talk. Talk to self. One of those easy discourses that happens within and leaves you wiser ... If it's requiring more effort , the poem is not happening. Give up. Read. Come back. Try again.

Note to Self 2: Should I market my poems? Marketing is easy, poems are not. If the marketing gets tough (I mean if it gets desperate) the poem didn't happen. Poems don't happen everyday. They don't.

Note to Self 3: Be a patient reader. If you don't have the patience to read a poem - maybe you have lost the patience to write one. If you are still writing - maybe it's not happening.

Having said this -
My reading list for today:
1. Million Man March Poem - Maya Angelou
2.Don't go gentle into that good night - Dylan Thomas
3. The opening of the trunk - Jim Morrison

Recovered bits

1.DISTRACTION
While thinking about you –
I think of the rain too.
And the stars that shine,
and maybe a winter that I left behind-
they all share my mind-space
just like all those shards of glasses
that flew away,
leaving me wondering.

So don’t feel guilty,
when the sounds of paper
are more aloud
than me – in your world.

While thinking about you,
I know for sure –
that your world and mine
are non-accommodating.
And we are comfortable
in the world that yields
not loves.

2. TOGETHER-ISM
Neverthe
less. Together-ism will pat 
your back oneday
with backpack and goggles on
to honk aloud a good-bye.
leaving you
salt and pepper
and a lingering tastelessness
to carry on.
Neverthe
less. Together-ism will get
hold of you soon.

3. FOSSILS OF TOMORROW

anguish –the only fertile
born of weed-lock and
weedy surely is.
rest gone calcite.
post-dated fossils .