Best Centres Poems
Flying Saucers, Flake, Bar Six
Country Style, Gobstoppers, Twix
Arrow Bars and Sherbert Dabs
Sweet Tobacco, Lucky Bags
Toffee Crisp and Dairy Crunch
Grand Seville and Milky Lunch
Beta Bars, Loot, Candy Floss
The mysterious chewing gum flavour loss
Golden Crisp, Nut Crisp and Fuse
Extra, Bliss and Trebor Chews
Caramel and Raspberry Ruffles
Drifter and Milk Chocolate Truffles
‘99’ Flake ice cream cones
Zooms and Fabs and Toblerones
Coffee Break, Bitz, Victory Vs
Cadbury’s Special Recipes
Swisskit, Gold Mine, Apple Jack
Tiffin, Feast and Caramac
Welcome, Skippy and Sultana
Nutty, Banjo and Cabana
Chewing Nuts, Cough Candy Twist
Butterscotch and Butterkist
Crunchie, Topic, Fudge, Mintola
Super Mousse, Crazy Joe Cola
Golden Cup, Fruit Flavoured Rocks
(The secret of) The Black Magic Box
Floral Gums and Cherry Lips
Olde English Spangles, Walnut Whips
Kinder toys encased in plastic
Necklace sweets linked on elastic
Butter Mints, Fruit Polos, Yorkies
Sherbert Lemons, Sherbert Strawberries
Bazooka Joes and Liquorice pipes
Lollipops with swirly stripes
Mint Cracknel, Taxis, long red laces
Texan Bars and Funny Faces
Winter Mixture, Rainbow Drops
Jazzies, Kit Kat, Pips, Ice Pops
Toffee Bon Bons, Drumsticks, Rolos
Amazin’ Raisin, Aztec, Mojos
Barley Sugar, Chocolate Limes
Daims that changed their name from Dimes
Jelly Babies, Jelly Tots
Milk Gums, Munchies, Mars, Pear Drops
Coltsford Rock and Anglo Bubblies
Sugared Almonds, Frozen Jubliies
Peanut Brittle, Prize, Ice Breaker
Dolly Mixtures, Old Jamaica
Kop Kops, Wine Gums, Laughs and Treets
Jap Desserts and whistling sweets
Fishermen's Friends and Hacks and Zubes
Pineapple Chunks and Cola Cubes
Everton Mints and Pontefract Cakes
White chocolate mice and jelly snakes
Refreshers, Teacakes, Swizzles, Pacers
Toffee Logs, Fruit Gums and Waifers
Rumba, Dipped Flake, T Bar, Tunes
Fry's Five Centres, Macaroons
Bars and boxes of Milk Tray
Milky Bar and Milky Way
This ‘Pick and Mix’ is yours to share
With all sweet lovers
everywhere.
L ove the magnificent city, our peaceful, caring abode for years!
O verlooking waterfront of Credit river flowing into Lake Ontario -
V isually appealing beaches entertain with amazing views,
E nchanting forests with tall trees protect fauna and flora around!
C ity of flourishing culture - arts, sports encouraged with equal enthusiasm
I nspiring togetherness among little children, teenagers, youth
T o try their best and thrive in academics, follow their passions,
Y ou will find Mississauga the safest place to live with no hesitation !
O pulent gorgeous parks and gardens for citizens to enjoy,
F abulous museums, art centres, libraries to appreciate!
M ississauga has cordially welcomed the world to its cradle ~
I ndigenous community left a valuable legacy,
S afety of wildlife a primary focus in this vibrant city,
S preading awareness of conserving environment earnestly.
I ntegration highly nurtured, values of diverse communities
S incerely appreciated by residents, supported and shared,
S ending positive vibes - unlimited energy and soaring dreams!
A city of multiculturalism wins the hearts of multitude ~
U nbelievable history of showing immense gratitude,
G reatest appealing lifestyle surrounded by bountiful nature,
A stounding picturesque scenery invites soulful creativity!
In shopping centres, bright and wide,
Where our dreams can fly and glide,
We wrap our hearts in things we've bought,
Forgetting stars, by city lights caught.
Yet, whispers of change might find their way,
As people stand up, by the ocean's spray.
Our Earth, they say, is worth more than play,
A future where green and blue can stay.
We must think over, our habits laid out,
With seas of plastic, and skies of doubt.
It's in our actions, clear and stout,
To choose to live, to truly shout.
To save our home, we should all band,
From dawn's light to night's last stand.
It's up to us, to lend a hand,
A fight for right, across the land.
But history's glance, so sharp and keen,
Will judge what we might have been.
In future's tale, it would be seen,
Our legacy, like a lost green dream.
Yet, it must have been right in our clasp,
To mend the breaks, to free the grasp.
And we could have chosen a kinder path,
For Earth, a haven, not aftermath.
water spurting
from a gargoyle spout…
I am drawn to
the gurgling of a baby
in his mother’s arms
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
© 20th January 2020
[Published in Cattails Spring/April issue 2020 p. 86]
Editor’s choice:
The hinge of the poem by Paul Callus is a homophony - gargoyle and gurgle. The similar sound reveals a distinction between a hideous gargoyle and an innocent baby, but the baby if it cries - spouts water - can also look like a gargoyle. However, this is circumvented by the mother’s care so the poem begins in the ugly but ends in Madonna-like serenity and centres on the implied but absent fountain - of tears or of life and love.
Sonam Chhoki
- - - - - - - - - -
“You are not earth, water, fire or air
Nor are you empty space
Liberation is to know yourself
as Awareness alone
the Witness of these”
As the kundalini ascends
From root to sacral to plexus to heart
Either straight up or through bends
Even as breath flows in and does depart
There are stirrings within from a source enigmatic
We see no difference between form & formlessness
And whilst within form we are enlivened & ecstatic
We feel within our heart the Absolute awareness
We know too at this stage of energy centres above
Which may endow us with enhanced enableability
Yet having awakened at the heart we know only love
Our awareness as love is our being in certainty
Knowing love alone our awareness thus free flowing
Observing & witnessing happenings upon earth
We are as we are in sync with love so blossoming
With blissful joy and an equal eye in bubbling mirth
Epilogue:
What’s love got to do with witnessing & liberation one may ask
Well says the witness when we truly know ourself and so align
The knowing is in the warmth of divine love within which we bask
Both receiving & transmitting exalted pulsations of the Divine
(19-August-2019)
~~~~~~~~~~~
Verse revisited on 22-October-2021
Here we are
We no longer spar
With matters of loss or gain
Equal, as of now, be it sun or rain
True it is, kundalini has risen
Yet did we truly wisen
Sushumna ignited
Heart delighted
Seat of our soul
That makes us whole
Beckons us from the heart
Where bliss ignition renewal starts
We sail through earthy illusions
Tranquil , free from confusion
Revelations intermittent
Yet heart is content
Both light and sound
Within and around resound
Reverberating like soundless thunder
As we imbibe bliss elixir in rapturous wonder
Teleported in a continuum of bliss delight
Renewing within through day and night
What to say, touched by God’s hand
Open secret we alone understand
I lie to myself I don't know who I have become.
I am a wife a daughter, a sister and also a mum.
I put on a mask for the world to see.
but underneath it all do they really know me.
I'm a shadow, a fake a perception of who I should be.
when underneath it all,
I really just want is to be free.
Not free in the sense of running away.
but free in the sense I do things my way!
I have been through so much, that is why I am I so sad.
I did what I wanted the good and the bad.
I feel lost alone and forever in denial.
the life that I have chosen it makes me want to run a mile.
I love my husband my kids and I wouldn't change a thing.
but I feel trapped and uneasy like a bird that cannot sing.
Free like a bird is what I want to be,
free like a eagle soaring through and around the highest tree.
I want to perch on the heavens and look down from up above.
because where I am trapped I am not feeling any love.
I Have two sides the good and the bad,
I mimic sometimes happy and sometimes sad.
I Will find the thing that centres me one day,
until that time all I can do is stay.
"She Rides with Lions"
That Queen rides like God
She rides with Lions
like she could harness the Sun
Her many arms throw fierce Durga destruction
as She holds tight to what means most to Her resurrection
hidden and held in the arms behind her
like a Mother all Trouble untroubled
the cub hidden and held for protection
Her many arms throw fierce Durga destruction
like a Mother
losses arrive expensive with high cost in wars
the stolen Worlds in the dreams of Other
come undone
Her many arms throw fierce Durga destruction
as She holds tight to what means most to Her resurrection
until all retribution is delivered and done
Unbroken ephemeral creature
Amor plate in front
Lion Daemon
Candide Diderot. ‘24
“Durga's legend centres around combating evils and demonic forces that threaten peace, prosperity, and dharma, representing the power of good over evil. Durga is believed to unleash her divine wrath against the wicked for the liberation of the oppressed, and entails destruction to empower creation. Durga is seen as a motherly figure and often depicted as a beautiful woman, riding a lion or tiger, with many arms each carrying a weapon and often defeating demons.She is widely worshipped by the followers of the goddess-centric sect, Shaktism, and has importance in other denominations like Shaivism and Vaishnavism.”
Amor/french
Armour (English)
Armor (American)
In my perfect world let me ponder my thoughts
And tell you what should be, a world that's not fraught
To live side by side all colours and race
Before we implode and forever loose face
Protect all our children as they are our world's tomorrow
Appease their hurt and diminish their sorrows
Determine a sentence if your prepared to take life
Why should you live and leave others in strife
If the punishment declares that you live behind bars
Innocent animals are caged they never left any scars
Curtail the conglomerates who believe they are higher
Ceiling their profits and limit their acquire
Before they mine, deforest or drill
A down payment to be paid to compensate any spill
Health care to be made free for one and all
For those without Dollar why should they fall
To have to pay for a child knocked down by a car
It's a disgrace in our society that it's come this far
Schooling for all from kindergarten to graduation
Even University no pupil donation
If our country desires to prosper for it's future grow
Our working taxes should be suffice to allow it to flow
In all our cities, villages and towns
Keep our kids of the streets before they become clowns
For every population ratio, community centres to be built
By conglomerate profits that fester their guilt
Jobs to be created for many tasks to be met
Like coastal corrosion and border control to be set
There are many vast lands on our planet we call earth
So much space to be used, so deploy it for it's worth
Why can't we build pipelines bringing water to parched lands
Run by the government, creating jobs with these plans
Go down the green road using what nature creates
Wind farms and wave energy and become her soul mate
The above could all happen because we voted them in
If they don't do what they say, it's political sin
For my perfect world I have shared my thoughts
Please enjoy my words to your table I've brought
The Boy from the Tail End of the Goldhawk Road
1.
The Boy from the Tail End of the Goldhawk Road
I was born Carl Robert Halling at the tail end of the Goldhawk Road which runs through Shepherds Bush in west London and which in the mid 1960s served as one of the great centres of the Mod movement, whose dandified acolytes were infamous for their vanity and hedonism.
I was raised in nearby Bedford Park, a comparatively genteel district close to the largely working class area of South Acton.
My first school was the Lycee Francais du Kensington du Sud, and by the time I was 4 years old, I was already bilingual.
I wasted little time at the Lycee in establishing a reputation as a troublemaker, a popular one admittedly, but a troublemaker nonetheless, constantly in trouble.
I was popular, that much is certain, not just with girls but boys too and blessed with a vivid imagination but I was a near impossible pupil which caused my poor mother a good deal of heartache, and on at least one occasion she drove me home in tears.
I seemed born to controversy, being impatient, disobedient, mischievous, remorselessly attention-seeking, a true imp of a child, on which the full force of the innate depravity of Man appeared to have landed.
At the same time, I was friendly, sincere and open, a good friend, and well-liked.
My Judo teacher at the Budokan in Hammersmith once told someone no doubt with a sickly feeling in the pit of his stomach that whenever he heard me he always knew it was Saturday.
I was no less a trial in the quaint little back streets of suburban west London.
My roughness could hardly have been helped by the popular music of the times.
By the time it came for me to leave the Lycee my scholastic standing had improved a little, and after some months spent at Davies Preparatory School, I received the most glittering school report of my entire young life; and was actually declared an excellent pupil.
Good housing scheme
Good educational system
Conducive tourist centres
Suitable infrastructural facilities
Love, unity, freedom to all
the sink drips of your tears and shines with your sweat
it cleanses our homestead and centres the kitchen cheers
it smells of your cookery delights
of every plate and pot you scrape
and of every scorn you bake
the tap tightens after every refreshing drink we taste
the kitchen sink amplifies every drop of water we waste
every step we take towards every curfew we’re late
you hear every glass and rule we break
every long face and chair we pull
listening to the laughter of the warmth you orchestrate from the kitchen
to the very drumbeat of our tiny, growing hearts
waking up to hear the sound of the dishes crackling during the holidays
the love gushing out from your heart like water out of an open tap
the smell of the lavender flow and spices in the air
the bustle and rhythm of your sweeping broom, the sound of my squeaking feet on the kitchen floor
the kitchen sink that watered me grow and the hardship you endured as you rusted
the sweet, warm childhood memories that pour out like your warm geezer you created
the mom you are I didn't always know, but the love you showered, I always appreciated
A Mother's Ears - Poetry Contest
I was born at the tail end of the Goldhawk Road
Which runs through Shepherds Bush
Like an artery,
And in the mid 1960s,
Served as one of the great centres
Of the London Mod movement,
But I was raised in relative gentility
In a ward of nearby South Acton
Whose vast council estate
Is surely the most formidable
Of the whole of West London.
Although my little suburb
Has since become
One of its most exclusive neighbourhoods.
My first school was a kind of nursery
Held locally on a daily basis
At the private residence
Of one Miss Henrietta Pearson,
And then aged 4 years old,
I joined the exclusive
Lycee Francais du Kensington du Sud,
Where I was soon to become bilingual
And almost every race and nationality
Under the sun was to be found
At the Lycee in those days...
And among those who went on to be good pals mine
Were kids of English, French, Jewish, American,
Yugoslavian and Middle Eastern origin.
While my first closest pals were Esther,
The vivacious daughter
Of a Norwegian character actor
And a beautiful Israeli dancer,
And Craig, an English kid like myself,
With whom I remain in contact to this day.
For a time, we formed an unlikely trio:
"Hi kiddy," was Esther's sacred greeting
To her blood brother, who'd respond in kind.
But at some stage, I became a problem child,
A disruptive influence in the class,
And a trouble maker in the streets,
An eccentric loon full of madcap fun
And half-deranged imaginativeness.
("Born on the Goldhawk Road" is a versified version of one much reproduced in various forms throughout my writings, although it bears little resemblance to its original, which first glimpsed the light of day in around 2002. It's undergone much modification since then, including the alteration of all names of people and places for the solemn purpose of privacy.)
Set in Cicely in Alaska
running from 1990 to 1995
centres around Dr Joel Fleischman
star Rob Morrow brought him alive
This a real quirky town Cicely
characters of every imaginable kind
even the Moose strolled around town
makes this a real super find
Joel and Maggie never hit it off
developing a relationship of love and hate
Maurice owner of local radio and newspaper
dj Chris a real friendly mate
Holling owns the local restaurant
tall and strong like his bar the brick
waitress Shelly lives with him
a real cosy pair who really click
Ruth-Anne owns local store
sometimes not always fully in stock
Ed helped her along sometimes
and made movies really rock
So that's a few of Cicely's characters
one to fit every kind of sort
a real success story to be sure
it filled our life's not just a quart
AUTHOR NOTES:
Northern Exposure is an American television series that ran on CBS from 1990 to 1995,
with a total of 110 episodes. It dealt with a New York physician, Dr. Joel Fleischman,
who is sent to practice in the (fictional) town of Cicely, Alaska.
Early episodes dealt with Fleischman's culture shock in the small town. As he became
acclimated, more attention was paid to the town's quirky residents.
I caught up with it on DVD as I'm in Scotland.
On this Eid, as your sumum bonum
Is consumerism and as your soul is
Mortgaged to the Federal Reserve Bank
And hedonism, your mental wish-list has been
Inked on ‘things-to-dos’. The catalogue is
Quite impressive. Apart from the toddler,
On your lap, often you place your lap-top.
This time before Eid, to go smarter, you have
A must-gadget purchase: Palm-top.
To outshine others, and to add some
Extra gloss to your gadget-profile
You actively consider getting a tablet.
Even though, it is not the diminutive of table
And has nothing to do with the quadruped rectangle
And it is not to be swallowed with water,
It still has some therapeutic attributes.
Your schedule has accrued extra adipose tissue
With a cluster of meetings looming large on the corporate horizon,
You order designer cloths for yourself. Those fancy textile Marco Polos
Globe-trot and come to your door-step riding their
‘You shop, we drop’ policy.
You give blank cheque to your greater-half
To travel to Metropolitan Centres or Peripheral megacities
To epicurianize herself and her cohorts.
From the other side of the horizon,
Thoreau watches you thoroughly and asks,
This time you’ve parted with
From your obesity-ridden bank account.
All this, I know, is cosmetic purpose-driven.
You, proud buddy, spent this much to decorate your body.
Have you spent a single farthing to adorn your soul?
With the right of messianism,
And the depth of free will,
They journeyed to Bethlehem,
To hear the parents spill.
Zoroastrians true and ready,
Ripe for the monologue bold,
They offered gold and incense,
And on Mary’s story they were sold.
Called wise men, magicians,
They could interpret the land,
Jailing’s, fishing booms and births,
And so told people about their hand.
They knew the power of the stars,
The connection, their meaning,
So followed one to that lively abode,
Where Jesus lay with apparent feeling.
God did not appear to them,
By a star in vocality,
But they just gave cerebral relevance,
To that asteroid motioning entity.
The gifts they offered and gave,
Did not signify the incarnation,
But were considered gestures,
Of the magi’s visitation.
Their religion let them speak about,
The predicted life of the babe;
Prediction was their position and seat,
As at semiology they were abe.
Christianity did not come from Judaism,
Zoroastrianism was its predecessor,
As its followers searched for a messiah,
Every day, with such earnest vigour.
Christianity centres around a messiah,
A cultural saviour from social retardation,
Which Jesus was back them,
In a world of poor folks’ isolation.
Jesus was a Jew, a temple boy,
But proclaimed his own religion,
To follow him and not just the Torah,
Which was in no way old and gone.
The impact of these Zoroastrians,
On Israeli life and society,
Can only be understood,
As Christianity’s modernity.