My Little Love Ditty

So you say that poetry is useless,

That literature serves only those whom it interest,

That in the function of life,

It is hair-spray to a bald man.

I will not defend it,

Not raise a word to change

That which you choose to believe.

It will not cure cancer,

Defend the helpless,

Stop the machines of greed.

It will not soothe blistered feet

Running all day,

Tired eyes searching

For one more way,

One more clause,

One more bend,

One more.

It only hurts your head,

With long winded metaphors,

Words that challenge you

To decipher what they may not mean.

It will rage and convulse,

Cry in it's corner,

Forever dying.

But when the evening sun

Caresses these cherry trees,

Faint smells of home

Smoke up from every house,

Lazy stars tossing about

Unnumbered wishes

I am reminded

Of the gentle slant of your hips, 

The softness of your lips,

Eyes that haunt me for days,

And I forget,

Cancer, greed,

The world.

Only silent music, 

Felt,

Noiseless.

Like elation,

Like discovery,

Love 

So useless,

Hair-spray to a bald man.

An Allen Solly Jacket

She wants an Allen Solly jacket. 
Sixteen grand of hard currency 
For brand and taxes. 
So who cares if the world's economy is going to pot, 
Or children in Africa are dying of thirst, 
Or at home,slum kids, though famous in film, 
are still picking through garbage for the days meal, 
Or that the five malnourished daughters of my neighbour, 
skillfully divide an egg into five equal parts 
While he coaxes and charms his wife everynight still for a sipaihi? 
Who am I to question the flimsy cover of the apparell, 
Or what those on TV dictate what we should and should not wear? 
I duly put on my blinders 
And turn as the reins are pulled. 
All is right with the world. 
She has her Allen Solly jacket.

AUGUST LEAVES

Let me take a moment or two 
To get the scene in. 

Rowina's fingers rest upon the keys 
Of a broken-down piano. 
The silence lingers in the room 
The aftermath of a show. 
She says,''I can't think of a single song, 
From the thousands that i know.'' 
''Maybe I've been here too long,'' she wonders, 
''Maybe its time to go.'' 

Rode the cadences of a melody, 
Running to its crecendo. 
Now that the song is over, 
Where do we go? 

The sun is setting upon, 
Another hollow afternoon. 
Watch the ghost and shadows emerge, 
In the light of a silver moon. 
Dancing along to the sounds, 
Of an old forgotten tune, 
Slowly to the dawn the days 
That are gone too soon. 

Now the fall is here again, 
A year has been done. 
In the chill of a coming winter, 
Where have you gone? 

She hums a little of what she recalls 
From an old remembered sound. 
Fingers playing notes in the air, 
Stands behind Counter 13- 'Lost and Found.' 
In the midst of memories and regrets, 
And august leaves swirling round. 
Puts a hand over her eyes and swears, 
This time it won't bring her down. 

The trees are always green, 
The sky is always blue. 
In the end,each is in its place, 
Where are you? 

Let me take a moment or two, 
To get the scene out.

I Saw The Ocean

There it lay; a vast expanse of unrelenting blue calling out in an unending breath. Its fingers clawing at my feet, forever climbing the shore like some fable's hero fighting eternally in a lost cause. Sometimes caressing and other times slapping me with saltwater, it flows down my cheeks. I saw the ocean. And i don't love you anymore. 

Letter

are you well?

i am well.

are you not well?

i am not well.

do you breathe?

i still breathe.

do you not breathe?

i do not breathe.

do you love?

i still love.

do you not love? 

i still love.

Inception

That moment,

That moment just before sleep,

Life,

summed to a day,

a thought,

an image,

a haunting dream,

once dreamt,

innocent,

under a spotless summer sun,

Sans

pride,

pretense,

nonsense

facilitating

nonsense,

A face,

a word,

an idea,

Three,

One,

I remember you,

I remember you,

I remember....

Something In Your Ear

I remember, 
You and me together 
I'd slide over 
To whisper 
Something in your ear. 

Words are thrown around 
Like pebbles on a beach 
We left too much to the tide to decide 
Which ones we should keep. 
Now there are only stones witout lustre 
Crumbling into the sand 
And all that we have built 
Slowly slips from our hands. 

Would you touch him? 
Like you touched me? 
Would you scream his name, 
Like you screamed mine? 
Do his fingers burn you, 
With the fire of passion? 
Would you gasp for breath, 
As you did, 
When i held you in my arms? 

But there you are 
You and the other 
He slides closer 
To whisper 
Something in your ear.