After The Storm
Yesterday we went to art exhibition drank wine and
discussed philosophy and gave money worthy causes.
Now after the hurricane we fight over potable water,
kill for a loaf and try to survive at all cost. When all
this is over and life is secure we’ll not talk about how
quickly we became scavenging dogs but speak of
less worrying things like the photogenic general who
looked like John Wayne and smoked big cigars, they
must surely make a movie about him…and who will
play him? That really is a profound question.
The cargo ship only sails at night and through
it and just before morning-light intrudes the ship
disappears to a part of the ocean, over horizon
where night still lingers. Her crew are phosphorus
white and can read maps without switching on
light, but they are utterly silent, never eat and
go about their business as zombies.
The ship never docks, yet have been seen by
old salts who cannot sleep and spend much
time walking along the late night docks seeing
harbour light, in vain, committing suicide by
throwing it self into the murky water, anchored
at the approaches to great ports and ports that
now are trendy places for the rich.
There are other tell tale signs, like a wake in
the middle of the ocean and the shrieking that
follow an unseen ship ducks and dives, pick
up scraps of discarded dreams those too ugly
and obscene to be remembered, but also those
worth remembering but got lost in the bustle
of, often, useless morning activities.
In early winter mornings, the type that brings
cold rain and suicidal thoughts, if you look into
the mirror and see and aged face, pale as those
of the sailors doomed to sail, you know, with
a shudder, that you’re one of them and no matter
how much you deny the existence of that cargo
ship, you’ll be a member of her crew some day.
A Ship Of Destiny
The clipper is anchored in the bay, masts bare
she is waiting for her crew; ripples in night
light and may disappear by whispered doubt
by the cynical and reduced to a moonbeam
that drowns in dark water.
Her master hasn’t been ashore for fifty years,
even the thought frightens him, ashore means
running aground, he would keel over, be no
more, his home auction off, her deck used as
a dance floor.
At dawn she sails away, her sober crew came
and that was that, now she’s off to Cape Hope
battling wind and strong ocean currents, but
she will be back when moon is full and the sea
in the bay is liquid mirror
The Best Medicine?
The laughter that fell from
the third floor flat
sounded as churns falling
off a milk truck,
steel against stones and
splashing of spilt milk,
came from a man reading
a letter telling him
that he had lost everything
but his very life.
Then there was a thud and
shocked people in a ring
shaking of heads murmuring
Embryo growing outside the womb he said,
what in earth is it doing there? It sometimes
happen, a no start of life a bloody lump of
nothing. The mild mannered surgeon had
gleaming glasses and lovely hands, played
the piano on his time off.
Yokohama, a name that keeps me awake
when a thousand tiny blood dripping dolls,
inside a blob dance like chorus girl sat
Radio Music Hall, they wear Janus masks,
but are blind. Yet, Yokohama could easily
had been another word for love
It was an October day when afternoon begins in
the morning and lasts till late when rain tastes
bitter like love gone wrong, wind is a cold rage
that gives nothing but misery, that she knocked
on my door, the pale girl the residue of summer
love, now lukewarm.
And a miracle happened, the ember of love lit up
sharply like a light bulb before its thread breaks or
the burning of the wick at when a scented candle is
melted wax. We both knew than after this the flame
of passion will be gone, only memory and dread of
the final day prevails.
China sells cheap spades
So we can dig deep graves
For our market place.
The Hidden, Exposed
The storm shifted the golden stone and we,
aghast dreamers, saw poverty and its siblings,
illiteracy, ill health, hunger and the ugly,
boastful face of capitalism that disown its
citizens and only sing the song of financial
success and of charity that is tax deductible.
A violent system that blank faced is called
democracy. Vicious Pride, come down from
your mighty pedestal, show a little humility,
is the verb "mercy" difficult for you to spell?
Is it forgotten? that bombs still fall in Iraqi
towns making soldiers, from your underclass,
into war criminals.