Saturday, December 1, 2012

He-said-she-said, whose side are you on?

***
(...)

Enticing gossip.
Garnish on the lunch.

{who's not here?
thank heavens, not us!}


              Spaghetti
    sentences

              twirled
              at the end of a fork
   
              manageable morsels
              dripping tomato

    sauce.

Leviathan cravings growl     words slice
knifing into plaster silhouettes 
                                                cut    shred

    this, you can't eat
    sitting up straight

{are we all with us?}
                                             Let's huddle.


Cold air whistles soundless between teeth,
wine glasses in the grip of oily fingertips,
the dark red tint eyes in dim corner light.



***

Who doesn't like a bit of good gossip? But much like lying, if you do a lot of it, you gonna have to do a lot of needless remembering.. of who you told what to and what you not to say in front of whom. It must be human to love making things complicated.

Saturday, November 17, 2012

The silence that can be felt

 ***


The Quiet of Trees

The trees listen, unmoved and all
present

as orioles and sunbirds
court and duel

songs and jungle
rooster crows
a spurring morning
alarm

crickets choir
in the undergrowth

a mother boar scours the grounds
with her young ones
for worm

or ripe fruit lost

to the grips of monkeys
play-chasing above
on shaky branches.

The trees listen, unmoved and all
present

a monsoon storm is coming:
bloated grey clouds
bringing drums and crackers.

Whipping sea winds
rip through the forest --
stir, shake and push,
snapping weak wood.

                         Let fall

warm drops of rain,
and pour forth rivers!

The birds
      are hushed now.

The trees listen, sway in the storm and all
present.



Wednesday, October 3, 2012

Sunday, September 23, 2012

The purpose of crossing roads

***

Crossing Roads

Men, women, school children stand on the curb, occupied, connected universally in 2G/3G/4G networks.

eyes side-glancing                                  On
                                                             the red
                                                                 /\
                                                              m   an

        
         contradicting a world in constant motion
         that cannot afford to stop&wait, and give
way.


How many minutes of our lives are spent waiting for the go-sign
that finally lets us GO under the begrudging stares of drivers
who failed to make it and who must now STOP for us.
                             Practice that smug, practice hiding delight.

Or better
         just ignore them all and keep
         your eyes on your glass.



A wh

                        Wa

                                             Wild BOAR

has taken to following
traffic rules

briskly makes a bee-line
                           for the park, diagonal
                                                          across
                                                                 the yellow-box junction

                                          taking a shortcut
                             like humans
with no time to waste


                                   to reach the grove
                                   of jambu trees,
                                   to dine on sweet fruit
                                   ripe and fallen.

***


Posted for dVerse Poetics. Karin Gustafson (ManicDDaily) is hosting. The theme today is the unexpected.

Wednesday, September 19, 2012

Template-based living

 ***

Blanks

The habit of filling-in ______
leaves ______.

The ease of lifting ready-made

              para _____________
________________________
________________________
________________________
________________________
__________________ graphs,

replacing details, double-checked
based on paper-based identity;

filling in [][][][][] [][][][][][]
(dd/mm/yyyy) sincerely, sworn
true with original signature.

It's when someone asks you
to tell it in your own words,

                            your story,
all of it,
not just filling in the ______,

that the weight of hesitation,
and doubt pauses your pen.


***


Posted to Open Link Night Week 62 at dVerse Poets Pub.

If this is your last stop, visit another five more. Cheers!


Sunday, September 16, 2012

Reasons for tears are often more than of joy or sorrow

***
 

The First Good Cry

Never again to feel the sharp bite of rattan on the skin of legs;
never again to trigger a roar of rage, a fiery wind howling guilt
and awful shame as pencil cases get thrown out the window
or watch books flung against walls for failures underlined

in red.

In the embrace of my mother and my father's sister, I cried
freely, free
for once; no one told me to hush,
no one told me to stop crying,
for once, it was alright to cry
audibly, shamelessly.

"Mercy, all will be alright." was all
his sister could say. "Poor thing."

Mother wept; I'm not sure if she was sorry for me
or for hardships she saw lying ahead. Surely,
she wouldn't miss him after the many times
she had thought to leave, only to stay out of duty
to a daughter and a husband -- a man with a rage
always at his throat, a rage that grew

into a cancer that ate him at the neck;

the mercy... I cried, I think,
out of relief.


****


Posted for DVerse Poetics - First Times. Hosted by Fred Rutherford. :)

Sunday, August 26, 2012

Note: Gonna be away


Shall be leaving for Madrid, Spain for a work-related conference this coming weekend and so, will probably be busy preparing for the trip this week.  Probably won't be on the blogs till mid September.

Gonna be a sponge while I'm over there. Soak up the culture and art. Maybe when I get back, I'd be fresh filled with ideas.

Be well, friends.

Thursday, August 23, 2012

Info Overload

 ***


Ads of every kind

in every view,
by every which way
turn

scenes interrupted
partially obscured by

pictures of gardens
on rooftops,
swimming pools
by seaside

piceous glassy gadgets
delicious to touch

carriages designed for
speed and comfort

stretched faces
with stretched smiles

to sell, or
am I the one
being sold?

a rusty frame
erect
beside a busy
highway
taking a chunk
of sky --

is that also an ad of some kind?

***

Tuesday, August 21, 2012

The quiet of rainforests

 ***

Stillness


A rustle of leaves --
a wild boar feeding,

crack of twigs --
macaques foraging.

Low hums over
murky ponds --
dragonflies, damselflies
land on lily pads;

a bee, a wasp
at different speeds
of urgency, consider
a lotus flower.

A splash, a bubble --
a monitor lizard
takes a dive,
a turtle emerges.


***

Sunday, August 19, 2012

Waking


***

All that noise


Saturday morning, awake before the heat,

before the first six o'clock bus rolls by,
a rattling iron can of metal parts,
before the whistle of boiling kettles
and clatter of pot covers.

Rest in the silence

                that stays its hand on the land,
the quiet of trees remembering the swamp
and the song of crickets
in the reeds that accompany a new river.

Listen. How almost together, we wake
and break the day,
                 our buzz beating to life.

Reverberating vibrations
from our machinery:

                knocking, banging,
           rumbling,
                       humming, roaring,
   
tremors
   penetrating bones and stones.


***

Friday, August 10, 2012

Nature takes all

***

Urban Mangrove

Spicy orange ants
fiesta, scatter
on the coarse sandy

mudflats;

low tides
at the mangrove

allow human intruders
to retrieve belongings
tossed at sea.

A spider hunting,

sand flies, mini roaches
in a mass of discolored rags
and discarded nets

scamper, scatter
burrow deeper.

It's theirs now, these oily
colors, these slime covered
straws
and plastic wrappings,

these entanglements
of fraying nylon rope,

this one sneaker,

this worn truck tire.

Adopted,
adapted
urban habitats,

human reflects.




Volunteers clearing the mudflats of rubbish.
Discarded clothes at the edge of mangrove.


































More pics at: Gathering Dust Locally

Poem posted for dVerse Meeting at the Bar -- Impressionistic Writing, with Claudia.

Sunday, July 22, 2012

At where we meet the sea

****

A Beach Cleanup


Against a backdrop of ships and cruise-liners
and a horizon of grey blue reflecting a cloudy
grey sky as far as the eyes can scan,

we are here to clean this stretch of coast.

We grabbed black trash-bags and disperse,
each finding a spot of beach to pick up
what the tide has washed up.

Start with the big pieces --
the rubber tire took 3 boys
to put on its side, and roll.

Drift wood next, parts of boats --
ropes, a tangle of wires
seed weed entwined.
We freed them after much struggle
and gave up on many.

The aftermath of deck parties
-- paper plates, plastic cups
broken wine and beer bottles,
picked up with care, one by one
deposited into styrofoam boxes
that had floated up to the beach.

And then to the smaller things --

bits of plastic, aluminum cans,
alphabet fridge magnets,
vowels missing except for "U",
not my favorite letter in scrabble too.

Not all parts of the beach are tainted by wastes,
some parts seemed untouched, natural --

        wet sands pock marked with holes
        filled with little crabs, brown and
        red armored spiders with tiny claws
                                           scamper away
        as a giant approaches at the entrance
        where small piles of sand are deposited,
        and stare wondering how deep they go
        -- each a personal sanctuary, away
        from sun and skinny-legged sea birds;

        at her feet, a multitude of spiral shells
        of the belitong and chut-chut, all alive
        and lying placid on this clean spot of beach.
        This intruder suddenly aware of the devastation
        she wrecks
        with each step, quickly and with larger steps,
                                                        retreats.


Day's end approaches and we gather the bags
and close them up with cable ties,
then line ourselves up forming a human-chain
conveyer belt, hand to hand, smile for smile
transporting bags of trash away from the beach
and onto a garbage truck waiting by the highway.

We breathed in the fresh sea air one last time,
said our goodbyes and left the beach to the tides.


****

Posted for dVerse Poetics, a prompt on process. It's dVerse Pub's 1st Anniversary celebrations week. Check out the link, and also the reading of Friedrich Schiller's The Song of the Bell by dVerse regulars.

Saturday, July 21, 2012

A bunch of drafts

(rant)


Sometimes I forget
what writing is
or how it is

instead I worry
about how I'm perceived.


Write about what?

Another poem about a bee:

          there is a bee lying dead in my bathroom
                 this morning,
          I think it was the orchids in the shampoo.

And what of bees hold such fascination for me?
I like their gentle buzz but not when they are in my house.

          I didn't want to pick it up
    I did in the end,
          and threw it out the window.

Sitting here in my work(bed)room, I'm feeding
my laptop with power;

what's in this open window?

A poem about rain, a favorite thing,

         how, just before the storms come,
             the sun shines an eerie light, filtered
         through grey too thick for rainbows

             like depression simply is.

Or this:

a half finished poem about kids going to school,

         trudging along with heavy bags carrying
             their future; you can read their ambitions
         brightly highlighted in luminous shades
             in the notes they stare into the whole bus trip,
         memorizing important points to carry with them
             until the school year is out --

         just as well, none of these things matter
             in the end, it's all about timing,
         courage, luck, and the people you get to know.

And so,
back into the folders and drawers these things go.

Someday my thoughts on these will be complete,
by then you will not recognize them, nor me.


****


I try to avoid writing "me" poems but hopefully this one reads like a lighthearted one.

Friday, July 20, 2012

Linked up Recalling A Shade to dVerse Pub's Meeting at the Bar.

Today, we are looking back through what we have posted to DVerse and picking one for an encore. I can't decide which is the "best", so I just posted the first one that I linked to dVerse. I do think it represents the way I like to write my poems; and it's also one of the earliest poems I posted on this blog.

Tuesday, July 17, 2012

Plasticine -- Practice Clay

***

Plasticine Days

Moldable rainbow bands:

cherry red and summer green,
lifesaver orange and earthy brown,
lemon yellow, pool blue,
decolored white and concrete grey.

            Imagination without ritual;
            inspiration inborn.

            Courage overruled reasons --
            not-to, must-not, should-not.

     Kneaded.
     Squeezed.
     Flattened.

     Rolled out
     on the table.

A train.
A loaf of bread.
A snake.

A plasticine doll posing
a walk
       on knobby feet,
a slow slouch
       caused the figure to bow.


***

Posted at dVerse Pub: Open Link Night (Anniversary Week).

When I started blogging again, I came across many poetry blogs and communities with their weekly get-togethers and link-ups, but by far dVerse is the best run poetry blogging community site -- there's always something interesting happening on it, a great article to read, forms to try, prompts to play with - something for everyone at anytime. Such an awesome community.

Sunday, July 8, 2012

Monsters In Your Pocket

 ***

Gotta Catch 'Em All

            too much to do
            and too little time
            for the... who
            and the... what

easy to forget when we are constantly high on
millisecond moment/to/moment minute-rushes

              "gotta to catch them all"
               the young ones say

as they collect monsters
caught off the beaten path
keep them in plastic habitats
until the time comes
to fight other monsters

different monsters
different skills, pick well
while you ponder the worth
of old favorites over new
and untried potentials

                guess you can't have everything

integration comes after much practice
memory evolves to resemble
an excel worksheet --

columns of stats:

personalities and tendencies
trickled down, a pooling
of combinations basically

               scissors. paper. stone.

every new face met on the road,
an opportunity to duel
with monsters you can't refuse

it's all about elemental effectiveness,
counters divided into various degrees
-- variety makes it interesting

             if you faint, you lose.


***

You have to play it to understand why kids are so crazy about that pocket monster collecting culture known as Pokemon. Then again, you've probably already played this game.

Saturday, July 7, 2012

Depicting a monster

 ***

Two-headed Awful Horror

Jealousy & Envy- who could quell
the furnace fire that burns in the gut
of this monstrous two-headed beast?

Caught in the glow of their eyes,
hypnotic horror inducing thoughts
magnify every failure to thrive;

arms with poisonous bite strive
to drag willing listeners into its jaws
filled with rows of three sided teeth.

For every one it eats, another arm grows
like a deadly vine, drag another one down.
This beast loves self loathe and misery;

its sinuous veins pump baseless fears
mixed with fury and malice; the beat
pulsating "why not me? why him? why her?"

In the furnace of its boundless dimensions,
it seeks to burn all consumed,
releasing hatred and ill wills;

noxious fumes of rotten affection
form negative halos, through which
all sun rays corrupt but ultraviolet.











****
This awful thing can destroy all the relationships with the people we hold most dear. Be watchful.

Sunday, July 1, 2012

The littlest things

***
 
Sloppy


I do not remember
this button
on this shirt

being this white,
the stitching
being this tight;

it's not the same

as the rest
on this shirt:

all the others hang 
loose, comfortable
where they are hooked;

but this one,
number two
from the bottom,

this one is different:

the stitches are too clean,
too tight,
         over-sewn --

this one is new.

***

After-dinner chit-chats can sometimes be the cause of indigestion.

 ***



One-way conversations for two (or more)

Throat tightens, gut acid stirs;

whose hands strangle the arteries
throbbing cold in my head?

Competitive conversationist disorder --

what you would call who gets to get
the next word in edge-wise;

self-scoring points for making sense,
subtle offensives feinting defense.

Each little cheese wedge,
each sip of dull wine,

serves only to widen the crack.
Knowing glances exchange,

suppressed, replaced
with polite smiles.


***








Wednesday, June 27, 2012

The extreme of letting things be


(snapshot)

A stack of hair brushes
covered in a blanket of dust

tar

he would not permit to clean,
less they mar her prints
on those handles, or free

the last strands of her hair
tangled in the broken fingers,
black and youthful forever.

***

Sunday, June 24, 2012

Red squiggles, red squiggles everywhere.

***
 
Gamecommunodramatica

Genre arguments rival in-game quests of princess dilemmas;
no one tires of slaying dragons on this open topic landscape.

The Hardcore flames the Elite as the Casual throws popcorn;
regular lurkers register innuendeous nicks to log-on.

Bug exploiters circumvent vanilla game rules,
modders recreate worlds, restoring desired balance.

1337 overpowered PKers test the limits of moderation,
otherworldly faces grimace as job classes are nerfed.

Pseudo-intellectuals battle the hyperanalogicious,
clarification of facts leads to arguments on definitions;

aggressive IAPs in freemiums, hidden DLCs on discs
-- signs of greed or necessary self-sustainability?

All it takes is a pirate to trololololol by to steal the show.



***

The poor word processor is screaming red squiggles. The prompt at dVerse pub (hosted by Anna this week) sounds so fun, I had to try. I had to go with something I am exremely familiar with, so I went with gamer community forum drama (Gamecommunodramatica). It pretty common for drama to happen when passionate arguments over game terms and rules, along with a lot of one-upmanship are going on. Before you know it, everyone is off-topic and throwing all sorts of analogies about to show what they mean. I chose to term "hyperanalogicious".

The following are commonly encountered gamer terms:

*vanilla game rules -- 'vanilla' in game terms refer to the game as it is shipped in original form, without expansions or add-ons, or player modifications.
*1337 -- is number code for "Elite", which means "of the top skilled".
*PK -- player kill;  PKers are gamers on multiplayer games who make the choice to play offensively against other players. They may also be referred to as griefers.
*nerf -- weaken 
*freemium -- a game that is free to download but one which you need to pay from within the game to make reasonable progress.
*IAP -- in app purchases, purchases made from within an application. This term is probably one that came up recently as mobile gaming gained popularity. Alternatively: in-game purchases.
*DLC -- downloadable content. Additional content such as character equipment or game levels may be downloaded after a game is bought but they are sometimes already included in the disc or in the install, just not accessible until you pay for them.
*trololololol -- imagine an internet troll laughing out loud as he runs through the room.


I have found a new appreciation for those who create words that are easy to understand even when first encountered.


Saturday, June 23, 2012

New blog - "Dipping feathers in paint"

I hesitate to call it an art blog but I guess that's what it is. This got started when I got ArtRage app for my iPad and finding that it's fun to just play with it. I don't know where this is going, but I do know I am enjoying it. Maybe later I will try other forms of visual arts as I find them. (It may include things I create in sandbox type games.)

So here's the link to my amateurish art pieces:

Dipping Feathers In Paint


Thursday, June 21, 2012

Ever wonder what the world would be like if everyone agrees with you?

 ***

n(E)tural selection

0ne-button ban
hammered --exiled

0ut of our lives
0ut of our site

dwindle this population
until countable
on 0ne hand

celebrate un1ty -- 0ne idea
without conflict

peace at last
di/adversity crushed

a shifted disposition
will regret the gen0cide



***

Tuesday, June 19, 2012

There's one outside my window this morning


***
Orioles
 
Orioles see the sun
before it rises

just as they see lines
of the earth as she spins,

a sense of a new day:
each new day, new.

Orioles see the sun
before it sees

landscapes in the dark,
ruled by alarm clocks,

clutching clouds;
Orioles see and sing.



***Posted to Open Link Night Week 49 at the dVerse Pub.

Sunday, June 17, 2012

How can one stand being around smiley faces all day?

***

Redefining disclaimers


:)
a disclaimer,

redefining
the mood
behind every brag;

every piece of news
broken up and shared
demands approval,

comparisons --
     the proper response is
     "me too".

A contrived existence --
(who hides)
 a light under a bowl.


:D
a disclaimer,

queue the laughter
to come after
insults not intended.

A fragmented existence
of lists and circles
redefining privacy:

alone in an overcrowded city
constantly surrounded with friends --
split right down the middle.


***

The 'drawing' is mine, done on ArtRage app on the ipad. The app was on sale -- a few dollars for a entire set of artist tools. So, why not? So nice to have all the brushes and colors and not have to fret about where to store them after messing around!

I thought, what if I try to draw what I wrote. It was fun at least.

Saturday, June 9, 2012

Notes while out playing

Sorry for the lack of activity here. I have to admit that lately I've been playing video games rather than writing. That is my other obsession. But no, not Diablo III -- I love the previous two but this new one and it's always-online requirement? Don't like that.

Not to be completely idle, I'm just thinking of what I should try next. Maybe I'll do a NaPoWriMo of my own in July or something. Or something shorter. Like a week every month where I write everyday or something. Maybe I'll really try to do haiku at a stretch. Or do more snapshots. Or maybe focus on the uncommon rather than usual everyday scenes/things. Such fun.


Tuesday, May 29, 2012

Not usually something that happens in this digital age...

***


Me and the old tv

   me and the old tv waited up for you

   the movie i wanted to watch tonight
with you, had long ended

   i must have fallen asleep
somewhere in the middle

   i have awaken to a world flickering
in b/lack/white and wh(y)/black

make-what-you-wills
buzzing, creating

a picture of us
   in [us] brownian motion
of static [us]

   thoughts and feelings
masked in a long continuous h[ar]sssssssssssssssh...


   i got up from my chair,
   switched the TV off,

   noting how quickly the silence takes over the night

unbearable.


***

I wrote a stream of consciousness piece (belated dVerse prompt) but that was quite horrifying. I came up with this instead.

Posted to dVerse Open Link Night #46. Hope to see you there, fellow wordsmiths. :)

Saturday, May 19, 2012

Grass-cutters

 Grass-cutters


men taming the lawn

   grass-cutters
   spinning cable ties
   splitting blades

a mynah overlooks the work

insect legs                 
insect heads included
salad mix                   

almost time for lunch

***


Friday, May 18, 2012

Some or sometimes.

***

The tendency of stagnating


The mind conjures up
dry wit
that will never leave
the dried up
slime pit;

in trying to keep it light,
a moon cradles her face
hiding the cracks;

Bridges built
misaligned.

There are those
who find a way to cross
the gap;

too late to chase
the sun.



some stand still
in order

to consider,

at what point
to walk towards
a new dawn.

***

Saturday, May 12, 2012

What it takes to take care of baby

(Snapshot)
 
From within,
from behind

unshackled front gates and fireproof front door,

a baby's cries break
the hourglass of dawn;

a woman stands facing the door
             she stands in pajamas
             bare foot on the welcome mat
       as if waiting
  for herself

                                staring at the cracks
                                on the concrete floor

to be

                     the smell of dew, a touch
                     of lingering night breeze
                     leaving before the sun 
                     takes to the skies fully

calm

                    the footsteps
                    of neighbors
                    as they prepare breakfast

                                          sounds like a cat fight
                                        or something

              or just the demands of a newborn baby
          to mother.

****
No, I have no idea what it takes to take care of a newborn, or how to raise children as they make demands even before they know words. Happy Mother's Day to mothers celebrating this weekend.

Sunday, May 6, 2012

Taking my medicine

***
The trouble with reading poems



Poems and poets

scare me,
never know what they really mean --

                       the words

they pick
tend to be
                        exotic and sometimes unpronounceable

                        or

                        normal but still suspicious


common man
                            experiences distilled
  searching for hidden puzzles to solve
complications simplified or multiplied
                       complications               tongue-tied

                        a mosaic of visions flows thick as cold syrup
                        sweet bitter sweet

Reading poetry is like taking medicine,
it makes me sleepy
and gives me funny dreams.


***

I was recalling a funny reaction of someone when I suggested reading a poem. Would've thought I was asking her to swallow an odd shaped pill. Expanded on that with my own thoughts, and mixed it up. But yeah, sometimes it is like that, sometimes. ;)


**Shared on Open Link Monday, at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads. 

Saturday, May 5, 2012

The Moon and I

****

Sunset Sky Watching


I saw the moon watch the sun go down.

   I and the moon
   watch the sun

   go

                            through the layers of deep orange
                            and crimson, winking

                                 as it takes leave;
                             sky blushes pink
                                             settling
                                  to royal purple, and
                        
  down

                          as the dark blue tide spreads across the dome above,
                                    as shadows lengthen until they are
                          no more and all,

                         these eyes stay fixed on the horizon
                         

  just the moon
  and I.


****


Monday, April 30, 2012

NaPoWriMo #30: The chaos of trying to put things in order

 
Unlearning fixing

Hard eyes perceive broken hinges and missing pieces;
a home-fix junkie
gripping a wrench and a blowtorch for a night light

raises a bonfire fit for burning books of shadow
and every innocent ever accused.

Every gulp of air sulfurous, tastes sour,
a swarm of hornets nests in the chest.

Monsoon winds blow hollow the last emblem,
an object thought to be gold but not even copper.

Not even.

Fixing what's not broken, breaks it.
Open your hands, soften your eyes.

Don't be, just breathe.






zzzzz

Sunday, April 29, 2012

NaPoWriMo #29: Weeding

 
Weeds

Roots reaching deep, deeper;

dropped in by a bird
or rode in on the wind,

choking on the greens you worked so hard to cultivate.

They are as green, greener;

some with small flowers
purple, white and yellow;
spots of beauty amongst
a crisscross of shoots
and creepers.

Some of them have fruits
edible as snacks,
or bitter, poisonous

all to be pulled and dumped on the compose heap

Growing wild, wilder;

a weed is only a weed
in the land of tamed crops.






Not very happy with this. I have a terrible headache because it's so hot today. Global warming -- I'm feeling it if that is what it is.




Saturday, April 28, 2012

NaPoWriMo #28: How a morning gets ruined

 
A lesson through simple lost

i only felt it missing
after walking up those steps
       and the taxi has gone down the road

there goes my identity
card, bank card, membership
card
       they are all cards
replaceable
pieces of plastic
suddenly not in one's pocket
but at the mercy of someone
else's kindness

i hope someone will be kind
and return it if he finds it

in the mean time, phone calls
to make, police report to file

i lost a bit of me today
in that thing I carry around
everyday

what pain, such simple
and hard lesson that
take all of one's attention
for one entire morning

to recount the lost
and how it was lost

they are just cards
       but they are mine
i think i might have
a note or two
no importance to the world
                        but personal

who has them now

or does it lie in some street
ran over by cars multiple times
shredded
unnoticed?






Yes, I lost my wallet this morning. I was really upset earlier, but I'm feeling better. Everything is replaceable, though one of the objects is gonna cost me. I don't think I have notes in there except maybe someone's phone number. Lesson learned -- never carry all my cards ever again. And I think I need a wallet clip.

Interestingly, I was far more upset back when my modem had problems than this lost. Still, I hope neither never happens again!

Friday, April 27, 2012

NaPoWriMo #27: People talk too much

Snapshot: Talking heads
 
I am watching people talking --

in a crowd of people, no one is talking to each other
but they are talking; their mouths are moving, jaws
                    trembling rapidly, half dialogues heard, the other
                                                    half resides on the other side
                                                        of the phone or headpiece.


A young girl with pink 
skullcandy headphones 
clamped over her head, 
walking and singing,
Oh I swaar to u,
I be thar for ya...

                     and over there, a man is mumbling and ranting
something about having no money
                               and that it's all his useless son's fault,
and the government is watching him
                                       and you, yes you also,
 and how every time he (or you!) 
                    tries to have private chat, someone is listening in;


                                                                     everyone pulls away from him 
                                                                                as they continue talking.






This might be a rant, more-like.

Thursday, April 26, 2012

NaPoWriMo #26: Daily thrillers

 
Spider vs Ants

I watched a platoon of ants dance
dangerously with a spider:

a game of merry-go-round,
pincer against pincer,

compound eyes against
compound eyes.

The spider rotates,
the ants touch his legs;

on every side he is attacked in turn

turn turn turn

unable to hold his ground,
spider leaps off
           leaving a single thread of web

the ants begin to wonder           wander
unable to comprehend the spider's
                             ( surprise )
   l
    a
     c
      i
       t
        r
         e
          v

escape;

they begin to scatter, leaving behind               one ant
whose feelers are caught on the sticky thread 
                                                         of the one spider,

                       spider
                      at large.



Wednesday, April 25, 2012

NaPoWriMo #25: Reflection

***

Snapshot

She's looking out
                             reflecting
the window   |   window the
reflecting

     me, who   |   who me

chewing on the wire of her headphone,

her eyes    |    eyes her
phone       |       phone

hovering
        mid sentence. 







Another busy week.

Tuesday, April 24, 2012

Monday, April 23, 2012

NaPoWriMo #23: Zen Masters

***



koi in clear water
contemplating river stones
rake sand, make ripples


***






Sunday, April 22, 2012

NaPoWriMo #22: a personal piece

***
For his approval

I drew my father a picture of clouds.

                            "Clouds aren't drawn this way
                             let me show you how." he'd say.

I read my father a story I liked.

                            "You call that reading, what did I
                             buy you all those books for?"

I wrote my father a poem.

                           "That's a poem? where's the rhyme?
                            Read me Robert Frost anytime."

He knew it all, how clouds should be like --
faint lines, crossing the limitless blue sky,
sometimes grey, sometimes white.

He knew it, how stories should be read --
a little drama here, a little emotion there,
a happily-ever-after makes for a good end.

He knew it too, how poems should be --
rhymes in the right places, timed to the right beat
classic over contemporary, especially e.e..

I still see him hunching over my work sometimes,
his eyes scrutinizing over all the little detail
                               and I agonize -- can't imagine
what he'd say about these lines I just wrote.








Marked personal, so I've disabled the comments for this one. Thanks for reading, I really appreciate all of you who come by.  Hope you enjoyed this playful piece. My father, and I realize I am sometimes the same way, often means well but stands a bit strongly on how he thinks certain things "should be".

Saturday, April 21, 2012

NaPoWriMo #21: my own ode to grass

 ***

Grass

You who lay out lawns
that endure picnics on a warm day,
cool to touch under the sun,
soft green blades that cushion bums,
and collapse under weight
of naked backs;

                    you who bend
         even to a breeze,
                    you have a plan.

Heads of spiky inflorescence spring up overnight;

the next day, soccer practice --
pairs of socks
                             will take your seeds

               away!

Barbs and hooks cling fast to fur or clothes,
let the giants come
                            and bear your seeds

                away!

Let them discover how fast and tightly you cling.
Let their fingers pick and tear you off, fling
                                          your seeds to the wind!

                Away!

Into the cracks of tarmac / concrete / brick,
any / where the dust escapes the wind / dew settles:

dig deep,
establish
tufts,
green stuff,

               invade!

***






I'll save the short ones for the work days -- short forms are fun and light, although challenging are doable.

Friday, April 20, 2012

NaPoWriMo #20: there's always something to rebuild in the city

***

original blueprint
modular reproductions
track irregular

scaffolds climb
orange helmets
regular


***







I'm so tired, the very effort of thinking for a right word to use is rather maddening.

Thursday, April 19, 2012

NaPoWriMo #19: Reasons for insomnia

 ***

Under the covers

doubts gossip
ghost theories
trails haze
rubbing eyes
twelve again


sleep hunting
shades stalk
warm breath
chilled air
slipping away






More fun with minimizing. Haiku was definitely more fun to do.

Wednesday, April 18, 2012

NaPoWriMo #18: Another Office Haiku (and one more pleasant)

Office Haiku #2


 ***

circling in red
crossing out calendar dates
days to vacation

***




Of sunset


***

watch the sunset paint
clouds in shades of lavender
in frames drawn at dusk


***