Saturday, March 02, 2013


Anyone has anything against penguins? They are cute. Right? Going about their business, doing the goofy walk, sliding about on snow, all the while in black and white…nothing wrong with that picture.

Much as I like the picture I wouldn’t want to live in a world infested with penguins…with only penguins, looking all cute and mucking about in the snow…snow in all seasons, snow everywhere. I’d hate it, just as much as I’d hate living in a world without penguins.

PS: Loved the new Anna Karenina.  

Thursday, February 28, 2013

when noone’s looking

They aren’t all gone
They cant be all gone..
You, know..they still come..hear ‘em in my head
Over the rainbow and under the bed..
Bits and pieces…crumbs and bread
and they seem to fit… fall in place
till I sit up and take notice
go after ‘em with a pen
Like bed bugs they flee…at the sight of me..
Its not me I tell ya!
The pen is to blame!

That’s it! My God, I’ve got it!
If I had a typewriter…you know..
like the one Bukowsky’s got
I bet that’d do it! I’d have a shot.
Its all about the right tool you know.

(Well, may be not a typewriter.
Way to heavy to carry around
And they tie you to a spot – a table, a chair.
Nay! Tablets are better...get me one here!)

Heck, you think I’m full of it?
That a smirk on your face?
Good for you, you figured it out!
Sadly though, that without a doubt
that aint gonna do either of us any good. Would it?

No sir! This aint no excuse,
Nor another expedition for self pity
Or a testament of self loathing
Au contraire – this is a poet’s last stand
One last squish the mites dead…on this page…
in black and red.
A spring cleaning of the head,…if you will.

Cause like I said,
They cant be all gone
They aren’t all gone
They come…tip toeing at night
And gather in numbers..when noone’s looking

Thursday, December 27, 2012

black its been and black it stays.

One day it’ll all make sense, if not today
And I’ll look back and say
Fuck’n ay…at least I had a day

Took me while but now I’m done.
Done lookin when there’s none
Thank you very much; its been fun

Not enough but that’s all I had
Cant help if they were good or bad
true lies that drove me mad

keep you whites and keep your grays
don’t look down; say it to my face
black its been and black it stays.
black its been and black it stays!

I aint complaining

Friday, July 06, 2012

Shape shifter

Man – a curious animal!
An ape that chose to walk upright
Hunt for flesh.
A confused animal with serious boundary issues!
Wouldn’t stay within his comfort zone.
Wouldn’t rest till it makes its zone comfortable!

An animal with severe identity crisis!
Some’d behave like wolves – fierce and ruthless
Hunters in a pack
Some’d be tigers – go it on their own,
Big cat prawling alone.
And some’d be horses and many are sheep
Laboring honest, happily bleeting
Taking their places in the food chain.

Not to be cynical – none too indignant,
None without honor –
The sheep – potent and alive
Horses – strong and noble
Tigers – majestic and graceful
Wolves – fierce predators, one with the night.
And pigs, and frogs and birds and house cats –
True to nature but then again…a lil bit more…

And then not just living things…
Man’s heart runs deep – deeper than the deepest oceans
Man’s will stand tall – taller than the tallest mountain
Man’s eyes see far – beyond the voids of time and space
Man’s shout frightens Gods – tearing through skies above!
Man’s dreams – make and break a billion worlds,
A zillion universes.

All that and just a funny animal
An ape that jumped the line…an ape that bent the rules
And continued breaking it.
A crazy ape that...wanted to be something else

Was it because he went mad?
Or did he figure something that all the other apes,
The tigers, the wolves, the sheep…couldn’t figure…

This ape somehow saw it…
saw It and became It…
‘It’ that flows throw all of it
making, and breaking, and binding it all
shaping and reshaping chaos
to meaning and back ..
He saw, he knew, he remembered
The eternal shapes shifter.

Sunday, June 24, 2012

"And let that page come out of you--- "

(Hit dislike on a poem today and now feeling a little guilty about it. So when I stumbled on to this, decided not to pass this up because it looked long. Glad I stayed.)


By Langston Hughes

The instructor said,
Go home and write
a page tonight.
And let that page come out of you---
Then, it will be true.
I wonder if it's that simple?
I am twenty-two, colored, born in Winston-Salem.
I went to school there, then Durham, then here
to this college on the hill above Harlem.
I am the only colored student in my class.
The steps from the hill lead down into Harlem
through a park, then I cross St. Nicholas,
Eighth Avenue, Seventh, and I come to the Y,
the Harlem Branch Y, where I take the elevator
up to my room, sit down, and write this page: It's not easy to know what is true for you or me
at twenty-two, my age. But I guess I'm what
I feel and see and hear, Harlem, I hear you:
hear you, hear me---we two---you, me, talk on this page.
(I hear New York too.) Me---who?
Well, I like to eat, sleep, drink, and be in love.
I like to work, read, learn, and understand life.
I like a pipe for a Christmas present,
or records---Bessie, bop, or Bach.
I guess being colored doesn't make me NOT like
the same things other folks like who are other races.
So will my page be colored that I write?
Being me, it will not be white.
But it will be
a part of you, instructor.
You are white---
yet a part of me, as I am a part of you.
That's American.
Sometimes perhaps you don't want to be a part of me.
Nor do I often want to be a part of you.
But we are, that's true!
As I learn from you,
I guess you learn from me---
although you're older---and white---
and somewhat more free.
This is my page for English B.

Saturday, May 26, 2012

I need to listen...

I need to listen...

Do not stand at my grave and weep

Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft star-shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.
by Mary Elizabeth Frye 
 A beautiful, beautiful poem. Just a few, simple words...and in them holding such profound truths! Amazing! 
I'd donate my body, but I think I'd still want a grave though. Would b nice if someone comes and cries a li'l sometimes. Guess I've a long way to go before I learn to let go.

The world as he sees it

"A hundred times every day I remind myself that my inner and outer life are based on the labors of other men, living and dead, and that I must exert myself in order to give in the same measure as I have received and am still receiving.."

The World As I See It - An essay by Einstein

An amazing essay by an incredible mind. No point in trying to squeeze out the juice from here - its cooked just right - fat free and excuisite.

Saturday, April 28, 2012

“Where shall we meet again?”

“Where shall we meet again?”

“Nowhere but here
Once more before we meet elsewhere.”

“In rain?”
"It ought to be in rain. Sometime in rain.
In rain to-morrow, shall we, if it rains?
But if we must, in sunshine.”
 ~ Robert Frost (The Generations of Men)

So much has changed with blogger and I had no idea. Had a tough time finding the post options. Only fair I suppose...I don't write anymore.

Sometimes things bubble up in the mind...feels like there is something left to say after all. But its never convenient.  I'm on the way...have to do it later...hope I remember this stuff. Hey, think its coming...but its late. Need to get to sleep. There's always an excuse. Biggest one of which - its too damned scary, sitting down with a pen. Put that pen on paper and you know for sure...its lost. Forget about saying it right; forget keeping it together...there is just ...nothing there!

Nothing there besides self pity, self loathing, jealousy and hate. The bad kind. Kind that doesn't breed anything...except for posts like this.

But then, sometimes you flip a page...and find lines that makes your heart...just a bit lighter. It becomes just a little bit easy to carry yourself around. All that baggage...they suddenly decide to give you a break. For a moment, however!

God is a poet and poets are gods. Who else has the power to take you around heaven and hell like that?