Wednesday, 22 January 2014

Death Has Been Busy

With such a tall list 
and so little time, who wouldn't be?
snatching in haste,
ignoring the names of
those we held in high esteem.

Some i wasn't worthy to meet
so mighty, Hades should be honoured.
yet you lay your scrawny,undignified hands 
those boney, wizened wrinkled fingers
on their esteemed shoulders.
you dare to wrangle the life out
of those, way larger than life.

 The evil reverse-alchemist.
you take life and give dust.
you take the breathe away
and leave...
 a deep dark gaping abyss of

You have been busy, no?
crossing geographical boundaries,
leveling caste mountains,
picking and choosing
like a whimsical shopper.
Raping and robbing
and looting at will.

I dedicate this poem to all those who lost their lives this year - too many to name. death really has ben busy. Rest from your labors, you will be sorely missed.

Sunday, 19 January 2014


I fear that arms
Will hold tenderly
Or cuddle affectionately
This… this
battered body
Housing this
Tortured soul.

I fear that again
 will face disdain;
That knee-jerk-reaction
To warmth.
The urge to flee
Or retreat, at best
Freeze or scream.
When he touches me

I fear that
I am seared!
For love I’ve no tears
To give or receive
Scars from years
And abuse from dears
left me with fears

Thursday, 16 January 2014

Fears 1


The fear,

Haunting and taunting

The scare,

Of you flaunting the something

The tear

Of you forcing and pushing

I hear

You shushing and shushing

Even now

After years of forgetting

Am bound

By memories recurring

Of how
Virtue lost
To lust burning


Tuesday, 14 January 2014

behind the cassava stall


glazingly staring into oblivion,

the glazed windows to the soul.

now reduced to a lantern,

those eyes that once held hope.

this quiet, lifeless, idyll, ghost town

replaces ambitions with raw survival.

Ridicules world view and wears down

sanguine bright-eyed lads

To melancholic tunnel-visioned hags.

behind the cassava stall,

staring zombie-eyed into oblivion

is a once feisty spirit forced to conform.

Some dreams  don’t matter.

They can be murdered or still-born

To give fighting chance to another.