the last sin
  pale ashen sky
a bleary eye
clouds of recurring screams...
i am a zoo
  an octopus leviathan
tentacles into an ocean
of unformed emotions...
syphilis and love  
  syphilitic pall
stifles the clear blue
i contort...
shell and pearl
  amidst highs and lows
in life's ocean flows
a shell peony-mouthed...
i am an unmarried mother
  fed on stings
of barbed milk morality
my child-plankton...
the lovers
  cell upon cell
bridge of their union
hung on the pillars...
  ogre of age
and time cavil
at a warm picture...
the young today
  innocence thaws
at the altar
of ambition...

a moan for poetry

one needs to take life head on
in a prosaic world
poetry is drying up
its revitalising trickle meanders
in enervating desert sands
a monochromatic life picture
not redeemed by the elusive
monsoon of new thought
so it can’t be a sanctuary
of the indulgent and the sensitive
a protest at best but
escape routes are being plugged

a poem needn’t always be
an antidote to a situation
and cataclysms of the spirit
catharsis is fine but must it be
stimuli dependent
what about verse that springs
from the soul unfettered
untamed like heady foliage
in a dense woodland
ah in the age of pragmatism
that’s a bit of a rarity
amid prose cholera
and casting couches
romance has turned
into a dated handmaiden
who none serenades
she has a story to tell
but nobody has time to listen
anyways DVDs on plasma screens
are a better bet

bereft of poetry
what does one do
to survive
one needs to take life head-on
in unpoetic times

(24-25 July 2004)