the fish, the bull and the devastation

cripples in crumples in dapples of noonlight,
untied and untried like a new bride in moonlight,
to beat with the heat without retreat, for long,
a sharp axe, a climax, when the wood cracks, in a song,
peckers with backbreakers, mow with rakers the soft grass,
till all's over, under the cover, and smiles sober. glass,
with a glisten, tinkles so we listen. when we are risen, with time,
broken walled, and dissolved, dearly involved in the crime.
eyes gazed, and heads dazed, but spirits unphased, clambering
somewhere along, the girating song, too long, hurrying,
back there, that spot where we were, in the clouded layers, sprung,
a passion strange, an heady exchange, within the range that had begun.
limits though touched, were sadly unreached, as faces bleached in sweat,
a strong old bull, though met with a pull, kept his rule, all wet,
over the current, where the fish is sent, all spent up the vent,
All hail, the gush and the gale, for all creatures wail, all spent.

dylan on the breeze

as i gazed, among the mossy scent at those gentle tips of grass, that like the poor, for whom sleep is the only luxury, slept in the damp dawn, the carpet of the lake, the rejoicing water woke from the blackness it had snatched from the seductress Nocturne. it waved to the hiding sun, flashing smiles all around. the trees shook the breeze of it sinuous back; and the breeze in turn unfurled its wings and whipped at faces upturned. the water ducks shook awake the water that still pretended to sleep by shivering its calling wings at it and dipping down to peck at the water's cheek. like crumpled and puckered satin the water lay resting, alive with silvered fish and snakes, that grumbled foodlessly at the ripples overhead. two giants floated amid the windy waters. only their lush green heads greeting the morning air. the little nooks beneath the shabby trees that branched over the water like a tailor on linen, looked desolate, as if someone used to live there. the matte and velvette gentleness of flowers on skin; a lick from the gardens that grew wild. white branches like splattered milk, with birds cleaning their beaks or having semi-breakfast.

Dylan's ravishing melancholy, sprayed my mind with melodic intoxicants, as the tears befriended the cowering lashes. gazing at the sanctity and worshipping the rage of music that lovingly killed me, i dissolved like the clouds over our heads. at that moment i wanted to drown as i felt that something wanted to embrace me, but it seemed like it didn't have arms.

there he was one day crooning in a voice that held some but not much taste for me; and then it was this morning.....

he said to me that 'one of us must know', and left me searching for the answer. he said 'what did u see my blue eyed son', and i hated my dark ones.

he swooped down from some warring heaven to show me a glimpse of himself...

Now Ophelia, she's 'neath the window
For her I feel so afraid
On her twenty-second birthday
She already is an old maid
To her, death is quite romantic
She wears an iron vest
Her profession's her religion
Her sin is her lifelessness
And though her eyes are fixed upon
Noah's great rainbow
She spends her time peeking
Into Desolation Row."

....but what is a glimpse when i writhe for so much more???

the kid ship

sunrise on belittled countries of far away rockiness

the ethaca of ullyses

the puny vatican

the hardly accounted for reefs

sailing with a mast

blown in a bulge

by the fluid particles of the air avast

that headily collides

with the ship's hides

and has its shadow cast

formless and lacking hues

by earthly ropes

and social glues

and monetary hopes

the ship sails south

towards some river's mouth

that drains us of our soggy filth

it sucks on the seas

and gulps in the breeze

the flighty little tease

bouncing on the watery crease

men on the dock

reading the planetary clock

the little girl in a frock

and a one legged sock

she with her brownie locks

members of the crew she stalks

her faint brows she cocks

in curiosity

the ship knows the way

among the bergs of ice

and the polar bears

obedient to the captain's say

which for the crew does suffice

as healthy scares

to the grainy coasts

he points his handy toes

gripping hungry egg and toasts

he smites his rocky foes

then deep in the dark

visionless night

where the stars do spark

and the moon is bright

the shiply form

lingers still

until it is eaten

in the gaping yawn

as a nocturnal kill

relics of my past

These my paintings in ink and brush.

A Sea Kiss

the blue sea and a red sky

an interlink of colours

hues of purple and tints of pink

licking at the shore

in a night so wild

so unbelievably tame

so grimly unsafe

and so unsettlingly free

dripping chains from bamboo canes

clutched in fervent hands

rocking to and rocking fro

on salty sands

intoxicants and faith

two young rumpled heads

eager lips and eager us

inclined on grassy beds

young girl shoulders

grazed with fingers

of an obliger

a monopoliser

he lent his lips

and he lent his kiss

he also lent his hands

to uncharted lands

beneath the palms

in a static stance

strangers interlock

the rumbling sea

gives privacy

by receding from the dock

suddenly

he shrugged free

and unbended to his feet

reaching down

he made her frown

by ripping away her seat

smiled the imp

like a pimp

fading as does foam

said 'go home'

Old eyes ashine

Breath in the days,

When the night shrouds the sun,

Woken by none,

But a dazzling light.

How the moon sways,

When the rhythms of the dark,

On journeys, do embark,

Clouding human sight.

Whimpers of weary men,

Who shiver in the cold,

Wretchedly old,

Spread like fog upon the wave.

They dream of the glen,

Their haven of pleasure,

Memories they treasure,

That once their lives gave.

Nothing lasts forever,

Or so they always say,

But I ask who are they,

In unkind amusements,

Do hurt the dying river,

Do pain the melting snow,

And winds that cease to blow,

To tear their hearts in rents?

While the misty mornings,

May bloom into the day,

Smiling along its way,

To warm our cold hands,

Our spirits soar yearning,

And reaching out high,

Deep into the sky,

As we sink beneath the sands.

The setting sun

Glimmers in afternoons where I stand,

looking beyond the bars of my balcony,

waiting for the sun to come down lower over the sky

so that my eyes can meet its eyes.

I dream in silence as I await its descent from its harsher heights.

I dream of victories of men over the millions of years.

I dream of conquests of countries and of lives.

I dream of the love lost and found, of youth and the old age.

My dreams travell over strange territories guarded by the Jacks in armours.

Some territories seem wild while others look civilised.

Savages and men flit close by me in my dream.

I dream of land haunted by the nightingales and the stars,

by the rose and its thorn.

It is of land sprawling over the seas,yawning around the globe.

It is of those little fish which breath out bubbles,

while talking to the water and the corals.

I dream of that peepal tree

that looks like its hoarded by fluttering butterflies

when it tries to wave its leaves to the setting sun.

I turn to the sun;the setting sun

that I was waiting for to step down before my eyes.

I looked at the sun,orange and yellow, smiling.

It looked like vermilion on a bride's forehead, burning.

I looked at the peepal tree as it watched the sun cheerily.

It struck me then; what a bond it was that I was witnessing;

the bond of the sun and the tree.

The lout's lay

the day was young and the night was gone

sleep lingered in the way

grim risk spun and things undone

'neath the sun was made the hay

she woke up hot and she sought

something for her disarray

with scalded throat she searched a lot

but no fun came her way

she clambered out in a bout

of craving and dismay

seeing her pout some roadside lout

thought of making his day

her he stalked as she walked

along a rusty way

her way he blocked and with her he talked

and to him did she say

"i need some stock my throat does lock

half my words away

for i am stuck without any luck

early in the day

deep in her heart she knew from the start

the man was sticky as clay

so in her head a decision spread

him she decided to lay

in the heat on his motor seat

with him she rode away

her heart was abeat with a throb till her feet

and this she heard him say

"just down hill is a little rill

where people go astray

and i ask you jill if you will

with me one night stay

to quench her greed she agreed

for the nightly lay

for without the deed she'd almost bleed

or her hair would just turn grey

there down south at the river's mouth

where many a wolf did bay

people uncouth and no phone booth

and no running away

cold with fear but her want still dear

to him did she say

"so far here with the smell of beer

forever you tempt me to stay

he gave her a stare that laid bare

that he'd got his way

and with care they were in sweat and hair

on the bed asplay

with some wine he explored her mine

locked in passionate foreplay

in some time for much reasin and rhyme

there was some canine display

they were mid-action in a fraction

of the sordid day

but turning around she moaned a sound

like a donkey's bray

to the poor lout it was a clout

that retreated his snake that day

when again he came out he was sure and stout

that she had turned him gay

Death of Hayden

flows of venom

sprightly and clean

horse-rode his vein in glory.

that fated spear-tip;

the foe of life

wrote itself in history.

dreams displayed

their fragility

and hope galloped to the sunset.

his sweetheart moaned

in solitude

her tears dropped in her basket.

her floaty skirts,

her bouqueted grace

her golden pearly hair.

her eyes asparkle;

the blue of her face

a drenched, sorrowful affair

her buttery hands

clutched at his soul,

crying at fateful poison's victory.

his crusted blood clung

wistfully to her;

her heart adew and wintry.

a few years thence,

in the crispy fall,

stood the armoured maiden.

by a fettered fence

was a stallion

headed by the mark of Hayden.

the sweetheart sung

the lyrical war

and twice rode the mask of Hayden.

fall did her kingdom
akin humility
ravished by merciless men.
the tumble however
she greeted overjoyed
as she charred among the ashes.
with her name afame
she flew to him
to serve his draining gashes.