Poetry Gallery

Beneath the Banana Tree


Beneath the banana tree, I sit

pounding frangipanis

in pestle and mortar

and stir in a special vile of pain

procured over time

this is the bumbu I feed on

and share with the girls

before they go to play

in the gardens of love, lies

they need to know

promises are poison

as gardens veil graves

so I pound promises with poison

my sisters will hear our whispers

sung through the clear

cut partings of banana leaves

as many victims murmur

of their lovers’ treachery

tongues reek with debauchery.

Seedless Fruit


Chaste hands shy away

from unripened papayas

the palms placed

upon latex riddled flesh

burns with unbridled lust

seeking to mask deeds never done

in daylight, curves sliced open

beneath the humid heavens

fingers dance to cradle plump fruit

passion nurtured tenderly over time

its seeds scraped from loins

lemon juice pressed into freshly scraped wounds

no babies will be born here

slurp supple flesh with a tangy taste

till longing is satisfied

an affair served only under moonlight’s mercy.



My shame starts at the door.


By the door, I realize

I’ve forgotten to don a bra

and remember society’s fingers

caging me in “Bait for Rape”.


By the door, I resurrect

the surge of past faults

spurred by glitches in my memory

because the actions seem staged to me,

and only I see the Guillotine

embedded in the arch of my doorway.


So, I stay snug in my room

for it is in this silent enclosure

I embrace a subtle confidence.

A Reflection


Boat’s blades slash the reflection

of whitewashed forts on stagnant waters

flocked by tourists and locals alike

the dike is barren of soldiers

who’ll lunge the clock hands past

propagandas sown not by our own fears

and years of locking our clocks to the chime

of big ben’s tick tock – we’re a mock.




Clenched clasps and taut tendons

remain silent, too subtle to notice

if sighs didn’t escape his lips

each heaving breath

brings to surface buried burdens

looking for grace to ace the test

where his brain blanks out best.



Across the supermarket’s tarred lot

cart wheels rattle on rusty hinges

holding a procured pad pack

sweaty palms grip crinkled sheet


To Buy List:



but Aunt Flow decided

this week, I’m to be vegetarian.

Crumbling Filling


There’s a cookie you liked

baked at a certain time and place

bring bring brings

you great joy in a time you needed it

made your mouth wet with ecstasy

you savoured her down to the last crumb

till she’s one with you

she’s no longer a feast before your eyes

but streaming in your blood – your fuel

that’s when you start looking for another

to feel the same tingle from that which

bring bring brings

you back to the warmth of first encounters

but it’s never going to be the same

the one baked at that one point in time

that occupied that space

in the line of others

no one can fill a moment that’s filled

but you’ve changed and craved another.



You tied your fate with mine

not with a shiny band but

the pulsing strand that speaks life

in matters neither you or I can comprehend

but faith in our strength to war against

the fulmination that fucks with us

forever yours, forever mine

beyond the times when we’re fine

as their tanks and trenches

infringe our intimacy, we lace our fingers

pray for grace and brace for battle

easily confused are blackened hearts

we’ll annihilate their plan

and upon this bloody clearing

we’ll make love.



Calibrate your intuitions,

re-direct its focal point

to my ready, raving heart

as sunlight speeds past

the shattered glass shards

where colours erect from prisms

of once-was-bottles

that catalysed

our what-if’s and how-to’s

into I’ll-do-it spurs

with each swig we gurgled

words never heard from lax lips

that now merges the murmurs

of last night’s monomania

with the plans of the morning.




Frog’s croak follows

ding ding ding

and frisky taps

on park benches

thoughts stretch – thirsty

for blue ticks, blue likes

itchy sighs tag

a myriad of social milieu.

Anointed Demon


Done a deal with the devil

to don the coat of many colours

to crack the codes of cliques

to burn bridges and climb the ridges up

pedestals of pop culture, parties

where paupers aren’t invited

kill the prancing phonies

who pillage others for praise.



Parrots parade her palace

talkers uttering trivial trash

her cats are known to crash

her dates and feed off their plates

Rottweilers guard her gate

ready to repel her Romeos

this zoo she surrounds herself

makes men like me stay stalkers.



Rigid escalators hum

while reeling shopaholics

to level up, leaving

a trail of scraps that spell

the deficit of the day.



His odour is unique,

but not in a bad way,

smelling him makes me pique,

in it I will lounge all day.


Metal Bit


She tucks her breasts in a bra.

it stings, yet she does it

the rules of society lah

so she bears the metal bit.


Blood Bond


Mother Nature nurse us

beneath the sun’s golden grace

where we’re taught to toil together

to thrive towards a tomorrow

till death tenders our end but

even then our carcass feeds earth’s crust

this is our creed – to sustain life

let the winds whisper her guidance

to all who listen – innocent indifference

Her soul runs the crimson river that

spirits our fight for humanity

our fingerprints embroider the earth

we live as one, children under the sun

and beneath the moon we’ll howl

in diverse chords – a united chorus

of the scars we share from the battles

fought in passion to save the human nation

for this we’ll be crowned with glory

we are the emblem of our victory.



Like cats fiddling with wrappers

the boxes, the strings, it thrills them

they feel that’s what’s important

beauty is shipped in boxes of billions

we get it, but see what’s discarded

what was really being offered

we wouldn’t sit back and laugh

behind screens of pop culture fun

the present still breathes its purpose

fed by veins from the ventricle

of the giver whose gift was never

the disposable epidermis

but anima beneath the paper veil

but they only want to play

with the pretty peelings

that shed after too much touching.

 Self-appointed Saviour


You flicker like a flame

that threatens to vanish


My heart trumps itself

to tremble with you


Whiplash with every bow of your frame

as you curve to meet the curves

who call you “honey”

they don’t know your name


You’re killing me with words unsaid

numbing me with every promise unkept

damning me from the dreams in my head


I crave “us”

this is my curse

to stand and watch you flicker.



Running down tetris-patterned pavements

flip-flopping feet gushing to meet

a girl with ever rubified cheeks

that tease my eyelids open past midnight

shuffling through snapshots

sealed in my memory

made by fickle and fitful glances

collected in the span

of 1 month, 3 days, 2 hours and 17 minutes

to date. I hope I’m not too late.

 So She Sings


I don’t sing for a living

so when I do for you

it’s a pure expression of love

no monetary lusts attached to

these bars that surge to seal scars

wrought by fears that frightened

your soul into the corner

where I found you

step onto this first bar

and I’ll sing to you for life.

Sage Sees Siren


Briny beads blossom

from basking below the sun’s stare

she struggles with lime seeds

stuck in the straw

not seductive but sensual

still what should I do to stop

smiling at this siren

sighs won’t make me sixteen again

I’ll swig away my sixty years

and stumble as a senile sage.



In our little corner

we often sit and wonder

how it all went asunder

and picking through the blunder


The walls are growing thicker

and silently you suffer

truth is there is another

and another and other


Don’t be fooled by this gutter

you’re not alone just holler

you’ll hear their relieved whisper

and it’ll slowly grow louder


So don’t let your heart flounder

know the earth is much rounder

there’s no edge to fall over

so focus on the brighter.




What a rookie

in love, I hate

that I’m trying

to impress you, engage you

even though I know you

have set the date to

see that floozy

in the new Tiki bar.


To you our tats

mean nothing, really

‘cause as my hips commit to carve

“be my baby”

you lie there thinking

she writes it better.

Flips & Swipes


You’re a walking tinder

your profile screaming


Swipe me!


and swiping at every girl

you see, me

I’m a walking novel

my pages seeking


Read me…


and conversing with every guy

I face, you

and I don’t share the same intentions

so, stop swiping when you see me

and I won’t try to flip you too.



Dew lingers on the labyrinth

of lines on butterflies’ wings

they’re easily broken

when pinched between

vile fingertips, keen

on the carnage of dreams.

 Briyani Bae


Diner bell’s dinging seems distant

as I focus on bae’s bibir

where curry stain clings

and whispers his guilty tryst

with Nasi Biryani, banjir.



Cuts and colours mar my body as

I crease the canvas with my fingers

ravaging strokes to satisfy a soul

working to make sense of the surreal

seeking to birth the psyche into this realm.

Pennies on Peonies


You prodigalise your pennies on peonies

not for its aroma

or the artistry of its anatomy

but paid for the potential

blue thumbs-up and reddened hearts

you hope will spam your social media

posting not to connect but to brag

and you wonder why the only thing

physically present

is loneliness.

Upon The Sand


We shrink away from the subtle swells

that steals upon our shore

for each wave resembles the tide

that dragged us under, once before

to where we beings are banned

only the mad breathe below the breakers

sputtering gasps – final words

to the spirits of the sea

their bloated carcasses scar the coast

streaming verses, piped back to the people

warning a society of survivors

to stay in safety upon the sand.

Across The Sea


The coconut tree sways

To caress her hair

as she sits swaddled in

his favourite sarong

waiting for whispers

sent by the south winds – word

of her love, lost in the symphony

of the Java sea, bamboo chimes

will clamour at his ghost, she’s ready

to meet her lover tonight.



Rotting crimson cave

once home to your passion

now lies in another’s caress

who possess your devotion

from dawn to dusk

and still lingers on

in your dreams –

my damnation.


But I can’t declare

what drives me

to the devil’s lair, nightly

I lost that freedom

to sing your name

when you slid through

the crack in our the cave.



He has a reputation

known to inflict lesions

on softened hearts

that analogue a world with him

I can sense him

picking my locks

I’ve many that guard

my vulnerable organ

that strains to beat for itself

I don’t want him

but I have him

in my mind, just to be sure

he’ll never cross the line

with me on the other side

with him – heart wrecker.

Pick Up


Her cellulite scars

are speed bumps for truckers

carrying a load of crap cargo

hoping to flatter her

onto the motel bed

in the town up ahead

but that’s not where she’s heading

she needs a different driver

to get to her destination

not one intending to level her up

but manoeuvring each bump

curving with tender respect

like the blessed road she is.



Kneading knuckles – nervous noob

nailed with nausea as she nears

his naked neck, neglecting to hear

the nosy neighbour

snickering nearby.



Neon lime popsicle dribbles

down the ardent, chubby grip

amidst teardrops that sprinkle

on baby blue cheongsam

I appease the cherub

while adults prayed to the gods

as is tradition.



The cerulean canopy cradled a crescent moon

this day, mother buries her boy

we sing Nearer My God To Thee

beneath his favourite coconut tree

its crown bows in sorrow

as his playground becomes his cemetery.

Upon the Battlefield


you tied your fate with mine

not with a shiny band but

the pulsing strand that speaks of life

in matters neither you or I can comprehend

but faith in our strength to war against

the fulmination that fucks us

forever yours, forever mine

beyond the times when we’re fine

as their tanks and trenches

infringe our intimacy, we lace our fingers

pray for grace and brace for battle

easily confused are blackened hearts

we’ll annihilate their plan

and upon this bloody clearing

we’ll make love.



Daily, they try to wear and wash

the robes stained with smears and splatters

the evidence – raw hearts I’ve crushed

because a clean drape is easier to bear

then the handiwork that shows my sins

but in vain they try to rid my sully

they know this, I ignore this

they love me and I them

even so, there’s no waiver from reality

when they leave, they’ll shrug off

the robes I’ve painted with the pain

of past lovers, adding another hue of hurt

drawn by the newest heartbreak and

I’m left with myself, again

with only this robe as a reminder

of the hearts I’ve slain.


Celestial Abyss


The stars are mine

stars in my mind

they augment for me, I for them

counting, 1,2,3

changes, 2,1,3

augment, 5, 6, 60

scattered serenity

they’re dreams only I see

align, evolve – as I do

ripening dreamer

scoring stars

this artistry abducts me

into ideality.

A Night – A Chance


Clock chimes five

she sways from the steam

bundled in white towels

she sashays as

Ella Fitzgerald croons

readying for the scene.


She snips the price tag

off her dress and

slips into her emerald sheath

tipping her heels she

slides her toes in

a matte maroon match.


Fingers curl round

an ebony stick

she swipes NARS Bette on

her puckered lips

now, the moment

all women dread

with great care and

agile fingers ready

slow and steady, she

draws a flick



Last check

‘Yes, good enough’

she snags her

copper coat and clutch

and struts into

the night – a chance

to fulfill her daydreams

when her date comes calling.


Dents on Desk


I mimic with muffled gurgles

the ancient anthem bellowed

by beings with breasts and balls

as they scrape the putrid, porcelain boards

and I on scaled down slates



They bleed through chalks – the lesson

A correction-taped-over poison

I sit at my desk

scribbling with incessant tension

that breaks pulse into rasping rhythm


We sip on this scarlet juice – shared by all

their same pulse now clamours down muted pipes

eat stale ebony sands

grains, our fathers and forefathers fed on

our youth, we swapped for this


I grovel beneath bamboo canes that bruise

drillings beneath stabbed in flags

bragging on black sand banks

grit grinds against my skin – engraving my wrongs


A migraine of symbols – numbers and texts

dogmas indent my desk

apprehension rapes my barren chest

I collapse under clench


Listen, don’t speak

Toilet break? Hold it!

Fail me when I collapse

formal schooling fertilize me

till I grow my own – breast, balls, both


This futile reel

repeatedly reviewed

is shun by none, so

loyalty will drum in my death

adieu, identity, adieu.

The Summit


A lone child of Eve treads

with caution up rugged rims

her steps echo through

clouded coal-like abyss

tracing the trail up slopes –

turns of rock and sod to

a ledge – Nature’s mezzanine to

be baptized in the whispers of

these mountains.


At the summit’s crown she sits

listening – they whisper

songs of all that’s forgotten

shadowed by the sonorous wails

of the cities striving for

‘The Lifestyle of Today’.


Amidst the fog of

midnight mists

her mind is clear

of the superficial mess

imposed by the urban way of life.

In these ridges, she is reminded of

her worth beyond the mouths of men

her beauty beyond the trends.

These peaks sing of life

exceeding mere survival –

that she is part of a plan

where she fits into Nature

rather than destroy it for

artificial pleasure.


So, cradled in

these mountains,

she listens to

the dying



 Between Mounds


Ombre plush petals

scattered on shoe-stringed box

snuggled between muddy mounds

enshrined memories that no longer flutter

a tiny figure with still-bent knees

clutched her dress’s hem

reluctant to rise

from this demise.



Can you call my cravings careless

if I’ve thought it through and through

till the tick-tock turns timid

as he tallies to my tune

though my trust trembles

as my tassels part for him

my tensions translate to passion

staged on the timber table tonight

let this moment’s thrill be etched in tats

under tomorrow’s light.

Push & Pull


You think

the more you push and pull my skin

the tougher I’ll be but

you’ve mistaken my scabs for skin

and before I could heal you’ve peeled

what kept my life from draining – dead

I’ve found myself – fate

one the day I failed to fly from you

buy my bloodless body

love, you’ve degraded me

to death on this date.

Children of the Sun


Salty opals seep from skin

the sandy bay – runway

highlights the rich diversity

birthed beneath one sun

simmer in its shine

regardless of our shape

we ride the waves

a statement in plain sight – we are one

the rays do not discriminate.



A slight fold of the pinafore

we sat on the tarred road

below the dutiful flags’ wave

I picked a pebble to carve my name

on the back of a bored bestfriend

her figure – a slumped slate

ached for the end

before the assembly began.



I sing in a tone no one hears

my hum too deep for common ears

tuned in to pop-up hellos that prop agendas

you see, my voice is in my tears

and after chugging a couple beers

I begin to converse with my own echo

the voice of healer and killer merge

as unanswered questions becomes

self-assured statements that linger

like obnoxious guests we fear.



Tantrums spamming down and out

scrapping on Gina’s walls

hauling death out tender door

missing nothing, seven days

a straight current flowed – torment

hell found a home inside me

and I bear it silently

as I discreetly step down aisles

past ridges of Whisper and Stayfree

funny, that’s not how I feel

because when I try to speak

heads turn with deuces up

say a word and they’ll

dig their deuces down your throat

disillusion you to the

divisions damning your

abdomen, back – whole body

I can’t pick the degree of pain

as much as you can’t pick the weight you’ll gain

downing that double cheeseburger.


Hun, I’m not asking for a slice of heaven,

though cake will be nice, I digress…

just a little understanding

for this machine that birthed

You – this process that cleaned

the womb till you occupied it.

Man! Is that too much to ask?

well, your daughters will be asking you that.





Have you seen her?


My child


petite in pink,

almond curved eyes,

sweet smile.


Unclench her grasp

from mine


and the price paid,

no mother should,

us, torn.


I’m still unsure

what did


not her doing

she holds no ounce

of vile.


Was she stolen

from me,

Dear God!

A criminal –

murderer or…

Stop it!


Have you seen her?


I’ll pray ,

for God to spare

my little girl

meanwhile .

The Warrior



sweet, golden army

as my heart does for you.

with courage, claim your due.


Scales like the sun, shine

stay true to your golden glow

even as the moon shows

you, yourself, define.


May your fins persist

as you pursue

an to the great gates, foretold.


Deep down, you know it’s yours

steady, adhere to course.


The seas will commend

how you defend

your place, as others descend

downstream – archfiend.


Born a koi, morph to dragon

you’ll finish, a legend

honoured till the end.

 Dirty Laundry


I love the idea of death

I revel in this dubious delay

waiting for enough courage

or callous predilection

to wring the rope

into knots that’ll turn

the tap and let the gasps run

till it trickles to nothing

past the noose, that’s still a virgin line

holding the lingerie of a libertine

every morning.



Am I right for you?

‘cause I don’t lust for you

but I desire you though

I won’t worship you

but I love you though

you consider these aspects

as defects, inadequate

curbing our genesis till I kneel

with palms pressed on your shaft

where I should go down to “need” you

you fixate on this fulfilment

a fetish of me gagging

to keep down my moxie

you say, “But that’s all I need”

well then, you don’t need me.

The Ride


As puppets prancing on belts

conveyed from curtain to curtain

on the ride that’ll be their legacy

or so they think…

I’ll soon be forgotten

the idea of forever – ludicrous

‘cause to linger in memory

past a minute is a feat

to be acknowledged

for a deed well done, a distinction

to be loved a whole lifetime, a miracle

even so, I won’t be remembered

when I pause my promenade

another puppet in line with spry strings

will swing in ”my” slot

so why stay on the belt?





A blue bubble baits me

and bursts with a click

another random rendition of ”hello”

pops up propped by compliments

the introduction seems

all too normal.


And as the text bars stretch

past drunken spites

I soon learn

of the stain on his heart

that the medicinal word

or fire and blood

even baptismal flood

couldn’t purge his pain


I’m not seeking to be his saviour

just an embracer of that

which is seen as unclean

in the eyes that mean

only to scream his sin

into infinity.


But I don’t see infinity

only this man

eclipsing his stain

beneath the palm of his hand


Others claim, “he’s hiding the truth”

while I stand by his side and see

their fingers prickly to point

at the bosom that bears the blemish

of botched attempts at love.


I know, I’ve nothing to gain but

him with his stain but

he’s now become mine

he has seeped through to shade

his pulsations to mine

and now our two stains

show side by side

as we willingly colour

past the borderline.

Ebb & Flow


Light, weasels through

streaks of yellow and white

slow and calm

scans the space

missing me.


From dawn to dusk


I’m not ready


tighter, I curl


unknown, beckons me.


Every few days,

the phone rings

Ma or Pa wondering

“Is she fine?”

“Is she good?”

Will lies work this time?


Yes, I’m still here

on the ledge

but still here.


Can’t bring myself to action

chain reaction

no absolution

Ma, Pa, little sister

How can I?

But my needs…



sighs on gulps

gulps on sighs


cocooned in my corner


in my own way


I will some day.



I know it all


ebbs and flows

the few

I’ll post the clues

Love, I’ll get back to you.



Whirling form

coveting yours

dance, dance for me

my little firefly

draw wisps of promises midair

under the ivory-speckled sphere,

a star I can touch,

and in that moment

you are my madness.


of cover-to-cap

is the rhythm of our song

the plain’s humdrum

dies out, as

the wind’s coaxing grows.


Louder and faster

my feet flies,

your wings flutter –

flurry of delusion.

Heel to toe,

knees to face,

a mound shatters our dance.

I somersault into

another world,

you’ve flown on.


The pile of earth was

always there

but my eyes were fixed

on you.

My gaze, now

falls on the glade.

I see no twinkling,

no dancing,

no you,

only me

and this infinite space

with its dull embrace.

Carrot | Carat


You define a reward for me

something sexy wrapped in GUESS

I see you, wearing a condescending smirk

as you slap that stale excuse of a prezzie –

heads up, physical doesn’t push my pleasure buttons, sorry (not)

to decline your “big” surprise

but your reward didn’t register

as one to me, you’re no match

for a sapiosexual’s sensory system, so

scurry away, go play with the other bunnies

who sees your carrot as carat.



Blots of euphoria

sprinkled with intention

of whetting our call-to-action

in getting mass-produced certifications

issues by sanctioned institutions

performing massaged-in mental modulation

on every generation

to recite a carbon-copy expression

assigned by the summation of examinations

now to forever be one’s identification.



Tubes, drilled-in tunnels

designed to siphon the scarlet stream

that swell in my tunicas

they aim to diagnose the reason

that made me a mort.


Drill on, doctors, drill on…

Palm Upon Stars


Her heels dither

at the edge of the cliff

she has reached her zenith

and now wavers on sanity’s ledge

blinking constellations has been her guide

from the valley to this epitome

reminding her of reasons to live

but even here she still can’t

reach the astral realm

once, their sparkles cheer her on

now, they only seem to taunt

it isn’t enough just to gawk

her sole caress the rocky rim

before the final attempt

to place her palms upon the stars.

 The Last Knot


Fingers unravel

to reveal a red thread

frayed and cut short

in desperate flight

by many means –

scissors, razors, axes

owned by exes

my loves

(lust on their end)

some tied and hacked twice

I worry now, wondering if

I’ve enough rope for one more wish.


Maybe a final knot?


The final one will feel

I’m pulling too close

but it’s all the rope I’ve got.


The gods didn’t think this through.



You drop your heart on my plate

nearer to my knife than my heart

instinct moves me to stab this dream

but I’ve learnt love from watching your ways

and I’m fighting this feeling but

love doesn’t come naturally

for a broken heart, I was born with mine

‘cause only sad songs were sung

from my mother’s lips

as I swam beneath the organ

playing her sorrow as her lover left her

for a lady I couldn’t see but felt so acutely

my first taste of love was the loss of it

fed to me in my mother’s womb

so give me time to break this spell

wait for me outside this shell

one day I’ll emerge to embrace the one

who stayed and I hope that’ll be you.

City Lights


A dim ray of light

shines through

negative space, sending

hordes of dancing shadows

from their hiding place.

such theatrics, seen

only by nocturnal eyes.

Forget me (not)


Free me from this folly

of fawning over love

and its fanciful feelings that fail

to breathe beyond this moment

flood me with distractions to focus on

so the frenzy of finding my way back

to your flesh will fizzle into

a flavourless affair long forgotten.



Just as sheep to the slaughter you go

you were made for a purpose, you know

to stamp your mark

but you’re earmarked

just as sheep to the slaughter you go

a broken ark

you’ve lost your spark

and like sheep to the slaughter you go.



Fuck the poems that don’t

fuck with your mind

that tells time to sit down

till after the rhyme

benign words yet still

confront the conflict that crown

philistine’s headline.

 Table Corners


Path littered with pigeon feathers

and trodden crumbs rattled beggars

who sat by table corners

with cupped palms, bare – waiting

but none stooped to pick pennies of late

so, no one looked down.



An Angel




Circumstantial creation


A Harlot


An Angel.



Baptised in a solution

of different identities, chemistry

of water and oil bouncing off one another

in spirited synergy, swirling in suspension

of sudoric shags and text trolls

submerged in ignorance to our differences

till we charge each other into our separate corners

we believed that one day our molecules would merge

if we stayed strong long enough

to withstand enough shakes

but all emulsions need an emulsifier

who knew it’d be her.

 I belong…


I rise from roots of gold

purified by haters

in my darkness, you chiseled me

I knew it was you

I don my intricate features

bearing witness to your wrongs

your snobbery fuelled me

now, I’ve made a place to belong.



He sat, cornered

sanity’s seam bled –

quivers and fits

riled veins stretched

across the white seas

where teardrops swelled

to water his arid homeland.



Many men drown in my seas

I believed, when they said

they could swim my depths

where my heart lay buried

dive after dive

I spiral down with them

and watch as the bubbles of hope

escape their lips as we draw closer

but they affirmed me of their devotion

to our mission and their strength

to carry through till the end but

before we reached my chest

their deaths darken

the depths of my seas.


I seal my sea’s surface

with a veil of illusions

occasionally I’ll lift it

to let some sip but

never too much, don’t need much

for them to taste the blood

of the men who died in me

they’ll walk away or

I’ll scare them away

because my depths have become

too dark for even I to swim.

Watchers | Doers


I am high-maintenance

I don’t possess time that’s free

I break this sacred glass for you

I’m understanding but I’m not kind

I’m human, my soul’s allergic to superficial

it bonds with characters who stand

genuine, passionate and constant

align with my heart rate

but if you’re not ready to reciprocate

stand aside for my soul siblings

who work the rise and fall with me

not watching and wondering

what becomes of me

knowers are doers and doers are never

satisfied with watching – you’re satisfied

with crumbs from my carcass

while I desire to touch

your still-breathing face

your idle is rancid in our friendship

and I’m not about this shit

nothing is built by watching.



Misty trains

carry hollow cargo

rap against ribs

tracks disperse onto window pane


Spoon swirl fancy foam

beady eyes frolic vacantly

brooding irrelevant doubts

under ebony moon ending summer swoon

spent by the Starbucks shrine


Empty sugar sachet made aided escape

I caught, fold and placed it beneath my cuppa.

the winds didn’t stay.


This is the sweet life.

smile and drink up

this is the sweet life

do not mess up


Let the mellow mutters roll

down the well-versed street.




For every second that you give

I’ll multiply it to infinity

Memories that flicker as lights do

In horror movies

It is beyond your control, honey.



She’s crowned with four-leaf clovers

a canopy of virtues seal her and vex the sentinels of hell

luck cloaks the lass

love lights her laugh

hope harps of paradise

the finder stays in fine feather

blessed is she who is

cradled by quad clovers.



You thought

You could break my heart?

I’ll break you into

Lines of poetic ligaments

That’ll pull all hearts together

Against you.