I'm trying to find a suitable frame for
Minab's victims.
How should I choose what torments me most?
It's not enough to suffer other people's losses.
We must also live it.
The other paradigm, indifference?
A frozen word I've spilled into dustbin.
Reverence for words.
It’s 6.43am,
I’m awaiting my train.
I tune into the station,
Listening to the invisible spring birds
Belting a Beltane call and response;
A syncopation in freewheeling jazz tracks.
Dipperty-dee, dipperty-dar,
Dipperty-dee, dipperty-dar,
I alight the shining lines,
Slide into my seat.
Watch the sun seep up and over rooves,
The rumble and tumble of the dustbin lorry,
Barking dogs,
People in a hurry,
Mobile but fixated by scrolling truths -
Reels of what's new, what's circumstantial,
And rolling news of worlds financial.
Woo-ah woo!
I'm borrowed fleeting glances
Of dolls house windows of toy town houses,
The click and flick of kettles
As the busyness of the new day blinks in.
Full steam ahead!
Clickerty-click, clickety-clack,
Clickety-click, clickety-clack.
Then a pause.
A beeperty-beep, and a whoosh of the doors
As they slide open.
An improvisation of passengers board,
Spilling into the carriages with costa-lot coffees,
Half full.
Commuting, suited and booted into the city.
Electricity!
With a murmuration, they're away from the station.
Dipperty-dee, dipperty-dar,
Dipperty-dee, dipperty-dar,
When in the U.S.A., and morning has broken,
'I'll fix breakfast,' are the words I heard spoken.
In reply, I would say, “To the kitchen I'll repair,
mend the coffee and, then, when I'm there,
what's more, I can restore the trash within our dustbin,
just refurbish the rubbish, and take it out, or leave it in.”
Altho' I tend not to be hungry, I've been supine all night,
yet I'll savour the flavour of her fine earthly delight(s).
Get stuck in and tuck in, with gusto, for a fry-up,
as 'shrooms, eggs, rashers and toms will all soon dry up.
But bring on the best of British brekkers,
black pudding, bangers and beans,
as bubble and squeak speaks to me,
if you know what I mean(s).
Summer Hiku 10
brown cedar waxwing
devouring privet berry \
\
ground is her d n.
u i
s t b
Now, that the world is getting purer and cleaner
everyday
who clear incoherently harbour dirts and spillage around.
Is it not the hand meant for cleaning and washing
and working out this and some of the other things?.
And the mouth for eating and drinking and talking
and laughing and many ,many, many other wishes
of sort kind?.
And foot and leg for us to reach out the dustbin for
instance?.
The dirt can't be a waste products perse nor the hand
a part of such dilemma nor the skull a kick hell out
of a thing cup? nor what dramatic human right nor
political taboo?.
I have a problem and that is true is quite different
from I have problem and that is true?.
Why then these people pollute nature
when already it's suffers contamination and stagnancy
and spillaging and wasting like quacks and qualms.
Mind not dustbin
To keep anger
Or hate stays.
Mind should store
Good thoughts abounds
Not garbage hall.
Keep mind away
From Satan's shots
But God's words worth.
Keep mind the box
Of treasure worth
World's gold combine.
Saving our only home
The world should be clean.
The world should be green.
Throw the waste in the dustbin.
And the world will come one step closer to being clean.
Day by day it is getting worse and dirtier.
Holding up the pain of being untidy
The earth carries a lot of people.
The earth wanted to be a planet where humans could live forever.
Earth wanted to have humans, however
Humans are not willing to be earthians now.
They only want to leave the planet. How?
Humans are fed up with the planet they destructed.
They are finding the planet where new life could be constructed.
The earth is worried about its health and ours too.
And this responsibility begins with you.
Before Mother Earth forgets its purpose.
Taking care is a responsibility that begins with us.
Barely covered head to toe, he stood shivering in the shadow.
Waiting, looking through empty eyes, families dressed in their Sunday best. Walking in and out of the restaurant across the street, not sparing him a second glance.
But he didn't mind; all he wanted were leftovers from the dustbin, because his hungry little sister, back in their dark, cold, rusty home, the old dusty lorry awaits his return.
Waiting to ease the pangs of hunger and for his skinny arms to keep her nice and warm through the dark, stormy night.
The cheating love
You know how we are deep into the sea of love
Like Salt doesn't cheat the water of sea sand doesn't cheat the depth of sea
Like fire doesn't cheat the wood and like clouds doesn't cheat to be rain.
I am A cluster bean when I start on you
I am a cluster bean when I lick on you
I am a cluster bean when I press on you
It's a sensation of love to be dirty as now you are given a token of your love what? your emptiness give me seduction of our past feel of our each breath.
You made me lord of love when you stop me with a jerk of hands but I mind my feelings can cry for what you know?
Our witness is the place the rooms the pillows the bed the fragrance the TV the batch the dustbin the shower the food which has been ordered and it was our love of our used condom....... Hello romantic time with me not for kids
With love all
OM Jagdish
To vaishali baskaran
Sweet heart
When darkness falls
You find your freedom:
Fantasy.
Don't say you didn't know.
The Tyrant told us all, for many years,
What he intends
Though he speaks mountains of lies
Regarding specifics
His truth absolute regarding his intentions.
Don't say you didn't know.
There will be no redemption,
There will be no forgiveness
Should he and his minions prevail.
We shall be consigned to the dustbin of History
All nobility forgotten.
This cannot be permitted.
This cannot be allowed.
We shall fight him to the last breath,
We shall fight unto our very death
They cannot win
They shall not win
Don't say you didn't know.
Good Friday night, and haunted by the cross
The body in the darkness sends the mind
To go out searching for him. Blood and moss
The crown of thorns around his head defined
By lightning striking sudden through the rain -
The mind goes down to town, the Market Place
The Brittox, St. John's churchyard, Morris Lane
No sign of him - the blood and moss - his face
He isn't here. He was though. Oh you wish
The demon laughs, and disappears behind
A dustbin, leaving smells of rotting fish
And doubt and disappointment in the mind
He's not in Wetherspoons, the angel said
Be not afraid, and go back home to bed
© Gail Foster 29th March 2024
the rusty necklace
which was thrown into the sea
the wilted roses
that lose the petals each day
the torn bouquet wrapper
in the dustbin
a dusty photo
at the bottom of the pile
the foolish dreams
that had broken
the song lyrics
which all sound the same
stuck in an hourglass
so far ahead
at the end,
everything will be forgotten
it doesn't matter
you do you
grow up and start anew
Madness stirs their passions...
Such dregs have stacked the deck.
Ideas resurrected from the dustbin
Of History... make bold their disrespect.
Ideologies of egotists and lunatics
Prey now upon the weak.
They salivate their malcontent...
It is wry carnage that they seek.
Devoid of humility and prudence...
Learning nothing of the past.
If we fail to confront these miscreants...
Society will not last.
It's been thought for many years...
Wisdom comes with age.
But my friend... the ship has sailed...
The dregs will have their day.
Don't be fooled by their actions
And the crazy things they do.
Some adults are nothing more...
Then kids in bigger shoes.
The End
This piece of debate is a type of sin
Bound to prick the True Christian like a pin.
One may a dozen times arguments win:
All a Big Trash for his waiting dustbin.
But from someone like me a toothy grin
And sure request for a half glass of gin.
God with Christ had created the First Man
But had Satan sinned then to face a ban?
Planning Ahab's death had hatched God's meeting,
The Lying Spirit's proposal God's Greeting;
So smart an idea no second sitting:
A Syrian arrow king's chest hitting...
Sometimes, God's pleasure to men delegate
For tasks He could all behind relegate,
So that one acts not the surrogate
Or to self false honors arrogate.
So, was Satan part of First Creation
Or tired had gone for recreation?
Run away from problems
Like a bird from a cage
Fly to distant lands
Seeking a new stage
But the problems follow you
Like shadows in the night
They haunt your every move
No matter how you fight
They crush you like a paper
And throw your life in a dustbin
But then will come your ultimate savior
And save you within
Your savior is yourself
The one who never gives up
The one who finds the strength
To rise and stand up
So let this life be as you want
No matter what the difficulties will be
Don't take everything as a grant
Else one day you might feel sorry
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