I wonder, what about this magical lore?
Of my face a sunshine that thou shall adore.
Me a fair bosomed countenance of heavenly sight!
Now hurry me a kiss and don’t be a bore.
( Your very own next-door Monalisa)
Category: poetry
Cheap Bars
In cheap bars,
few words are exchanged.
Men and women are
lip-locked, desiring
a quickie and
some cheap booze.
Few roadside poets
aroused and induced
by blue gin and tonic,
pretend to dabble in
classical sonnets.
There are no
masterpieces here,
nor heroic tales.
Words are concieved
on the rough edges of
burnt joints.
Midst rivers of woes
and poetic verses
lingers a stench
of dead fish.
Everyone comes
here….
Poets have homes ,
Men and women
have homes but
nothing is going on
in those empty walls.
XANADU
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan A stately pleasure-
dome decree: Where Alph, the
sacred river, ran Through caverns
measureless to man Down to a sunless sea.
–Samuel Taylor Coleridge
As, I count my hours
with the endless jars’s
of poor man’s coffee,
I hallucinated about
Coleridge’s Xanadu.
May be it’s just
one meal a day or
is the opium that
Keats snorted.
As I lay bare
in grim winter
afternoon,
I see around me
a wasteland,
but I am dreaming of
Khan’s Xanadu.
Gone
Suddenly like a whiff,
he was gone…
and I became very sad
searched for him in
dark ink stains and
tear-drops.
I think I just lost
him…
He was gone…
Old Betty
Old Betty went to the bakery shop,
but pre-meditated plan was cut-short;
when upon discovery, the shop was closed.
The old Betty dignified, always composed
hatched a plan and ordered stuff online,
while gazing at the gems of river Rhine.
She has-time, yes she can still shine,
now that all her chores are online.
LOVE
I would do anything for love,
but I won’t pick trash,
or cook anything tonight.
An Encounter
( A Narrative Poem based on a true encounter in the Himalayan Mountains)
Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
-William Blake
As it happened one cold winter night,
I bleakly remember the air was of fright.
I trudged on a road tired and weary,
watching my steps turn heavy and dreary.
The air transformed into grim and cold,
trilling’s and chirpings came to an end.
Everything was clasped, by an eerie hold; .
A strange rustling, was it a fiend to slay?
Did I see a ghost in sight?
It pounced and perched from a shadowy bark,
as it tapped , I glanced at its speckled back;
A beastly creature, it has no match.
What are thou? I shivered at it’s types,
with speckled yellow and black stripes.
A terror took over my heart, which was beating fast.
As it fixated the gaze with ember eyes,
I knew, the ghostly spell has been cast.
GOD
I made my way to the temple,
more to set a perfect example.
I looked and turned to the left,
feeling myself quiet adept ;
entered a dirty squalor.
It was old Lucy’s, little bar,
midst neon and fluorescent greens;
I realized after the few sips,
God dwells here in the broken hearts.
Indian Summer
I lay dreaming of an Indian Summer,
while greedily gulping last sips;
of my dying martini. An ecstasy
took over, with a stranger’s kiss.
As hemlock faded, here was an
Indian Summer once again.
Ms. Matilda’s Woes
Ms. Matilda woke past the noon,
swooning to the Beethoven’s sad tune.
A mysterious ailment swipes,
over the modern women of her types.
These curious cases of daddys’ princesses,
of colossal estates and multiple mates.
Are inflicted with malady of swinging moods,
making them shudder at matchless boots.
Ms. Matilda sitting still in her bedclothes,
howled remembering how at,
the party last night, enemy women clapped
secretly when her golden heels zapped,
and as her crimson lipstick chapped;
she knew her teddy heart is in for a snap.