Poor Poet.

A poet broke out

staggering sober into a drunken world

the moon was scary bright

he tickled his bag of measly coins

to cold stray women by the road

looking to buy a hug

a nickel of affection

and like a madman

they all flee from him.

Back he turned to his cold hut

at the furthest corner of the ghost town

on the edge of the living forest

lacking the strength to live in such world

he piled papers with ink

and wrote about a loving world

they lacked the courage to live in.


Illustration is ‘The Poor Poet’ by Carl Spitzweg




My nap beneath a tree was disturbed

By the screeching sounds of angry birds

A starling came down, I asked

“Is there a conference of birds?

Round and round this canopy they swirl

Why such angry protest?

“We have seen an owl’s plumage” he said

“Awaiting in his hidden roost

With hoots he croons”

“Why do you hate him so?” I went on

“Each time that horned feathered fiend

Blinks those dreadful wide eyes

Our world tilts a little less to gloom

We’ll cut off that cursed bough

Upon which those scaly paws perched

That treacherous curse to our kind

Has come to eat our children”

Thus did the sterling lament

And flew right back to its course

A feather floated in the sky

And settled peacefully on my beard

Shutting my eyes again I softly whispered

“Poor lonesome owl.”


A train coast bound.

A train left the city

Southwards coast bound

With a poet on board

Whistling smoke and rocking steady

Ferrying an adventurous soul

Out of this world to where it wills

Paper and inked quill in hand

The body born on wagon light and free

The soul intoxicated with love and beauty

Opens in virgin magical words

A world of endless adventure

He looks outside the window after every verse

To the vast grassland savanna

And the galloping wild beasts in it

The lion roars within his pages

And like a snake the train slithers

Headfast towards the ocean to drink

As the air fills with salty anticipation

And the feet itches for sand.


A lakeside end of day.

I went by walking aimless on the shore

My head heavy with thought

And my heart sinking in grief

My mind and body far apart

I sat at the pier drowning pebbles.

A little bird perched on a hyacinth,

That went along in steady breeze.

To take a trip across the lake

To drink and rest tired wings.

So I paused my pebble throwing,

To let it by undisturbed.


A shy hippo with snout out

To take some air yawned

Spraying about water in one exhale

Scaring off the weary winged traveler

Who soaring up high above water

Lifted up my hopes in its wings.

The pebbles my sorrows drowned

and trampled underfoot

the hippo back under water

The lake calm again I started home

From what would have been-

an uneventful day




This Christmas

No wreaths on my door this Christmas

No glitter on my walls

No candle to keep wait

Am a shepherd out in the night

Cold and half asleep

But my heart is well decorated

In unimaginable colour and splendour

With a picture of your face

Hanging on its tree twigs

And the thought of you

A big glittering star

On its top crest.

A house scented with love

Frank incense and myrrh.


Two oceans met.

Filled and overflowing

I went looking for a jar

To fill with my waters of love

An object for my affections

But still my water overflowed

And every jar filled to the brim

Broke too small for my gushing waves

Breaking banks I flowed by and by

From a stream, to the Nile, to the sea

And then you came along

And the tides rose high

Where two oceans met

No jars- waters too vast to contain.

The lover and the beloved has ceased to exist

And all has become one.