Penny Lane is dead
They all said
Took her out back
Gave the Aussie a shovel attack
Later shots were heard
Witnessed only by the nocturnal birds
Observing the murder go down
After bullets made the deadly sound
Companions who party
Should be a little more smarty
Since someone could drug the cupcakes
Served by the friendly fake
When she was baked
But true love
Watching from above
Saw the couple
Facing trouble
Working together
Fighting the hatred weather
Brought Penny Lane back
Who suffered a shovel attack
Now alive
Penny Lane grabbed the cycle wings ride
Big girls they did sing
Knowing one thing
They evened the score
Winning the war
Despite wearing facial gore
Penny Lane next time you meet
Enjoy the celebration sweets
With a true mate
A holiday worthy date
Especially when you both defend
Not needing any blokey men
Way back when, I learned to read
And I was super proud, indeed,
When, with my new-expanded brain,
I read the road sign, “Stay in lane.”
Of course, I didn’t get that sign.
I thought it should say, “Stay in line.”
My dad, the driver, set me straight,
An easy fix to navigate.
My reading’s helped me all these years,
But not so much when switching gears,
For in this world of tech galore,
I’m not as smart as once before.
There’s much I do not understand
And language not at my command,
So I am stymied when I try –
My reading skills do not apply.
I guess that long-ago advice
That I first read must now suffice,
For with computers, it is plain
That I have ventured past my lane.
Melody Lane
Andante Way
Minuet Pass
Crescendo Trail
Violins strain
Trumpets blare
Drums boom
Cymbals~ silent
The Mountain goes blank
Look up, say Thanks
who is that walking down Halloween Lane?
We got to looking, and it was our scarecrow, Rain.
What is he doing? and how did he get off his pole?
I have no idea, but I am going to tell our farmer Cole.
Cole had built Rain and he was supposed to stay put.
But here he was, wandering, with both left and right foot.
Are you sure it is Rain? Someone asked little ole me.
I was not sure now, scarecrows are quite similar, you see.
You mean Jack-o-Lantern Lane is a real thing?
I was surprised, thought it was just a song to sing.
Sure, said my uncle, it’s on the other side of town.
Want to go? Of course, I was down….
the lane was fiercely creepy, it gave some a fright.
Since I am braver than most, to me, it was a sheer delight.
I jumped out of the car and took pictures to post on sites.
It was one of my most utmost favorite Halloween nights.
Memory Lane
holds unpolished smiles held in frames
the house full of love
Fast or slow
no lanes for me
too much traffic
of hate and misery
for me is now garden paths
flowers, roses, blooms of spring
bees and butterflies
as humming birds sing
if someone says your garden may burn
my reply
if yours blooms and reaches to the sky
I will rejoice
only evil will cry
We come and go without sound
We live in the memory lane
Withering leaves on the ground
Spread their scent after rain
It seems we passed by here a minute ago
Chatting our lifetime away
Then a year has gone, one more starts to go
Will we remember that day?
Memory hangs on and procrastinates
Sleeping again in the chair
Is this the same me, who patiently waits
If you may come over to care..
chilliness glistens
under traffic citylamps
an abandoned road
time slowly travels little
mist chasing away the ghosts
My thoughts take me down memory’s lane,
Lane of bygone days that bring me pain.
Pain that pricks where it once hurt,
Hurt that sinks the soul in dirt.
Dirt of grief that clouds the face,
Face that glows with love’s embrace.
Embrace of dreams we once did weave,
Weave of fairytales we still believe.
Believe in love — the truth we teach,
Teach through hearts, more than speech.
Vicious eyes' light treads not on cautious lane;
Darkness befooled trust's will and cover sane-
Treasured joy embraces tears...
Lies fair; affectionate cheers
When dead living faith lacks comforting gain.
Brick Lane
We used to walk down Brick Lane,
hand in hand,
Where verses rose like smoke
across the land.
In Bangla Town,
the poets found their place,
A lane once lit with culture,
soul, and grace.
We shared warm tea
beneath the twilight skies,
Where rhymes would bloom
and truth would not disguise.
Now flashing signs
and crowded plates remain,
And poetry is drowned
in glass and gain.
The voices fade,
yet still I hear them call,
From walls once dressed in dreams
and muraled sprawl.
Brick Lane still stands,
though not the lane we knew,
Its heart now sold,
its soul has bade adieu.
It’s always a man like me
In the mind of donors
Because of my punctured tyre.
My name has become a title
To many charity works
And organisations.
My face is an old cloth
In the eyes of many doctors
And nurses.
I am ever tipsy on the road,
Always looking drunk
Without sipping.
This is why I can’t meet
My future dreams—
Because I am still chasing
My yesterday’s dream.
I can hear in my mind
The voice of a beautiful woman
Calling me for a dance.
The children too are begging me
To teach them soccer,
While my friends are waiting
At the foot of Mt. Rwenzori.
If morning sun comes
With God’s blessing,
Then I pray I receive mine
Before anyone could,
So that my punctured tyre
Can be glued and pumped
Back to its once-hidden path.
Away from the full moon glow
and the gilded streaks of street lamps
she steps ahead with grace unsilhouetted.
Her face beneath the tilted hat
flushes with the radiance of golden bouquet
she gets as the last gift
from him walking away.
On a train
Heard man splain
Female brain
Such a strain
Long refrain
Total pain
Real cross grain
Just a stain
Up stood Jane
Made it plain
Straight explain
To contain
His campaign
In wrong vein
Not his lane
Just insane
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