i dream nonsense

Your name is poetry.
Your name is my song.
Sing it at my funeral.

Why

Why
in fuck’s name
can I not write about
pizzas
and gooey cheese
and chilli flakes
and sugar
and money
and honey
and home
and children
and recipes
and schools
or even the yellow white round faced moon
that shyly peeked through potted bamboo
while I was stuffing my face with French Fries.

Why the fuck must I think breathe write -
You.

Auto Suggestion

I’m beautiful, it’s just that you don’t have the eyes
I’m divine, it’s just that you don’t have faith
I’m the answer, it’s just that you’ve stopped asking
I’m your dream, it’s just that you sleep no more
I’m the sweetness of your memories, it’s just that you’ve forgotten.

CSMP

Choco flavoured yummy cornflakes
Clatter against white ceramic bowl
Dollops of milk swirl and splash
Crispy chompy crunch in the mouth.
Mmmmmm. I like.

Stud - singular, garrulous, decidedly entertaining
Most ‘ooo mama’ – eliciting
No mere work horse, but brain-bran noble steed
Easy on the eye, easier on the mind.
Mmmmmm. I like.

Muffin to have with tea, with currants inside
Soft, spongy, heavenly aroma
Melt in the mouth, coat the tongue
Bring out the glutton inside, eat baby eat.
Mmmmmm. I like.

Poet. Write about the sky the fields the ship
Death love life work sex fun
Songbird, lovebird, likebird, friend
Seeker of truth, curious cat
I like. I miss. I loved.

Excuse

I have many excuses for not writing
One is that I do not have a laptop
Writing on paper is tiring and boring
Only a keyboard makes me type non stop.

Then there’s the thing that I don’t have an alcove
Into which I can comfortably retreat.
Because this is such a noisy place, by Jove!
Imagine - 3 televisions, World Space and a pet parakeet

It is also because I don’t have a muse
Who bleeds mush out of my lovelorn heart
Now I better maintain status quo, for sans muse
I happy, I not sad, I better not start, what?

The Big Tree

Po eh tree
Come come now
Thump thump along
Secret corridors
Like a small small ball
Bouncing along
Bounce bounce
And print print
A memory, a voice, colour, love, smell
Po eh tree, come come now
Come, don’t tease.

No Worries

Sir, if you are reading this: rest assured,
I am not the least bit interested
in your pain or the lack of it, even
causing you more or less of it, even
crossing your path. And I have no vested
interests in being here. I am lured

just as you are, by the seductive call
of these dastardly words. I have nothing
against you – you were right, I was right, it
doesn’t matter now. It doesn’t seem fit
that I cling onto past grudges, they bring
no good. And the last thing I want is a brawl.

Writing

Does it seem like I do not know
that writing is just discipline?
But I do, I very well know
- writing is mostly discipline.

The deal is - if I am to be
as disciplined as it demands,
canonized alive I should be
and that's just one of my demands.

Reign

Neruda, once, had gotten into my veins,
he floated as a platelet, clotted on the wall.
Like the puma in Quitratue barrens
he’d hunted for my hot heart, and that squall
raged for long, he reigned - my heart’s black prince.