A parrot, a toucan,
a horse’s head,
and a girl in red shoes
follow a manikin
walking like an Egyptian
into the room
where I used to dream.
None of them speak.
They just rearrange
the brushes on the table
and wait for me to notice
what I left undone.
The Virgin of Guadalupe
smiles at their shenanigans—
a parrot on her shoulder now,
the manikin offering
a rainbow shoelace,
like a ribbon of penance.
Her mandorla ripples—
not with judgment
but something warmer,
forgiveness braided with laughter.
She doesn’t speak,
but the shoelace glows
in her open hands.
Then the toucan sneezes
and vanishes in glitter.
The girl curtsies to the Virgin.
The horse’s head rolls
against the leg of my easel,
and comes to rest
facing me.
I still don’t know
what any of it means—
only that I’m reaching
for vermilion, maybe.
My heart is like the Willow that Bends but never brakes it's size when summer jilts her, it sings When April wakes.
So who you come a smiling with summer in your eyes, think not your beguiling should take me by surprise. My heart's prepared for aching the moment you take wing, but not my friend for breaking while there's another spring.
So share my summer pillow, don't spare My Autumn aches, for my heart is like the Willow that bends but never breaks.
Is it all about ennui
keeping boredom at bay
or is it recognition
to make me feel
o.k.
The show must go on.
Under a sable cloud.
I am on the vast stage
to perform.
Tall cacti and harsh
dunes will not find
a sweet acacia.
When I am hungry
I would like to write something
very personal on a yellow paper.
The potter’s wheel will not
move today.
The potter had turned into clay.
Satish Verma
Blink awake, get up,
Brew reviving cup,
Breathe each fuelling sup,
Then to the cleansing waters go,
Inhale the essence slow,
Awash with ebb and flow,
Purified head to toe,
Mystery of water empower
At this early hour
The mind comes to in the shower,
Blink awake, get up,
Brew reviving cup,
Breathe each fuelling sup,
Caffeine shot number two,
Day ahead, so much to do,
A wish for time to see it through,
And blessings of love sent to you,
The click of heat making toast,
And Marmite spread I love the most,
Picking up the morning post,
More bills, the same old ghost,
Blink awake, get up,
The third reviving cup,
Breathe each fuelling sup,
In sacred words they always say,
Like ghouls demanding I must pay,
Already the mind has gone astray,
What a way
To start the day
Time for coffee number four,
As from pot to cup I deftly pour,
The darkness I adore,
And now I must head out the door,
The working day is calling me,
I’m ready, tanked with coffee,
And in my mind I’m always free,
With a note of love from me to thee
This ritual ends and blessed it be!
Form: Skeltonic Rhyme
A well known bible school teacher
Went to the game with the preacher
She shouted obscenities
And made no amenities
He had her banned from the bleachers !!
It's the irreverent soda stain which irks me today
swelling the wood milky white in a ring
and satisfying that place in my brain's back pocket
which daily refuses to be satisfied.
Lipstick on the coffee cup at Waffle House
- it isn't mine.
Daily "free" newspapers wrapped in orange plastic skin
which contain the little bits of chewed life
of people that I shouldn't like to know.
- I don't ask for it - it just shows up like clockwork,
thrown from a passing van with a leaky exhaust.
The mirror making sure that I see the new wrinkle
on my forehead.
- This isn't my face. At least, I don't think so.
and my brain stuffs it's back pocket 'till overflowed.
Soda stains and lipstick DNA and newspapers
stacked with ads for new tires and bingo game
pot luck dinner jubilees.
And wrinkles.
Plenty of wrinkles to dissatisfy my common sense
and tell me that although I'd like a clean slate,
to not be bogged down by extras,
they are there irreverently facing me in the mirror every day.
Someday soon, I've got to clean out my pockets.