Saying sorry to some old cloud.
Boring stuff.
Like wished for rocks.
There’s a lot of years in there.
Lying in bed, but nothing.
I missed my meds that one time.
It’s like abandonment.
Or crushed up falling.
Dreaming but it’s equilibrium.
Hold your breath while ascending.
I missed my meds.
They can’t crawl over to me.
Which is the only way I would take them.
Clink.
His dog was on a grassy field
That clearly said, “No Pets!”
Entitlement in every way,
As awful as it gets.
For adding to his flagrant
Disregard of that one sign,
He puffed on a cigar, when smoking’s
Also out of line.
What really got to me, though,
Was his bag of doggy poo,
Which he clutched and looked around,
Unsure of what he next would do.
Beyond the fence and out of reach,
A trashcan on the street
Sat waiting for deposits
So the sidewalks would stay neat.
Too lazy to walk over,
He reached back and made a toss,
Knowing that, most likely, he could get
That doggy bag across.
I watched it sail and with a plop,
Land, not inside the can,
But on the ground right next to it,
Not following his plan.
I stopped myself from yelling out
A simple message: “Missed!’
Since those entitled might be
Unpredictable when pissed.
The way the world is nowadays,
You have to watch your back,
For those who get away with things
Are likely to attack.
Missed Life
You knew the life and love
We met in the nineties.
You pushed me away to hell.
I suffered a lot.
In bad ways, I shared the results with you.
The half is yours, take it; it's free.
Enjoy the rest of your life, enjoy
without me but with my memory.
Missed lives
They are
also results
Christmas snail was sent out with a delivery in ’92.
He had only one pace, but what could anyone do?
We did not want to insult him, so we let him struggle.
He had presents for Timmy and Tommy T.B. Tuttle.
I am afraid he did not arrive until ’97.
By that time they both had returned to heaven.
They were eighty-six when he started out.
Drat! I just missed them, snail said with a shout.
Ms. geologist
whisking roughened stones
far away from my soul
Divining for the slimmest vein of gold.
Sifting through layers of bending time
but finding only my pulsing fault lines.
My branch wasn't steady enough
for you to perch upon.
Like all the rest, you crashed into the invisible wall.
I gather up the thousand stones, misplaced.
Setting them back into their proper lane.
While patching the fault line of disgrace.
Ms. geologist is still digging back in time.
For a pyrite heart and a pair of amber eyes.
Missed geologist.
the proud moment of being mother of the bride
It really looks peaceful when you see
A man on a bench sitting reading his phone
But it could be the act of contumacy
His vehement dream to stay alone
Similarly, what do they know about me
May have nothing to do with reality
I don't bother to conceal a mystery
Anyhow I'm a missed personality
So what’s real, no one can say for certain
They can only guess and suppose
I say howdy and smile, an invisible curtain
Slightly moved, but remains closed.
Years ago, if someone called
And you were not around,
You’d never know about it
‘Til another chance was found.
And then a new invention
Called the answering machine
Allowed a message to be left
For someone not on scene.
The mobile phone changed everything
For data’s always saved -
The date and time of all the calls,
The dreaded ones or craved.
A few are labeled “Scam Alert”
But many sneak on through,
With numbers in your area,
Like someone that you knew.
Yet if a “Missed Call” notice shows
Without a message left,
Assume it was a bogus call
And do not be bereft.
And sometimes, what’s recorded
Will not set your mind at ease,
For I’d rather get a missed call
Than a message in Chinese!
She has gone shopping for chicken stock.
I miss the vichyssoise of this potpourri season.
The unexpected earliness of most happenings
are so easy to miss.
My friend will soon return with a carton of broth,
plus, a Saran wrapped pre-prepared roaster.
I miss the plucking and the slimy fingered
dressing of a fresh plump bird,
the cleaning and chopping, the spatchcock,
the ‘mise en place’.
Today I will cook only with missing ingredients.
Everything is in order,
all is a hunger surrounded
by the soft anticipation of open lips.
I do miss the mélange and medley,
the consommé of fat times.
I will miss cracking chicken bones,
scraping out their boiled gelatinous marrow,
miss the suety brewing of bouillon,
the simmering potage.
My friend returns from the store.
She miles at the look
of childish relief on my face.
If I am left alone too long, I tend to make lists,
I become a Saran wrapped emptiness -
I disappear for a while.
71.
What I Missed from School
If I've been not in school
Surely I missed a lot
Not only the brain tool
I'll point to the people
Whose influence could make
Life more valuable
Were they my teachers?
And/or my classmates
Or other superiors?
They could be among them
Those whose passion, talents
Skills, likes – with me the same
They were also the ones
Whose dreams and ambitions
Could be also my wants
Was afraid to reveal
What are truest in me
Harder still to conceal.
-11/28/2011
(Dumarao)
*First Incubus Collection
With soulful eyes he confessed love
in a meadow where the foxglove
grows abundantly and speaks of
endless serenity and bliss~
even though he was flat-footed,
his fair-lady was confuted*
and noble Cupid’s reputed
arrow did miss!
* proven to be false
When I call,
Try pick up;
Hear me out.
Just don't know,
Why you won't
Pick my calls?
You got heart,
but for who
If not me?
In first, earned knowledge none any,
Nor in second whatso money,
Name nor fame in third if brought forth,
Wonder, what will ye whilst the fourth?
___________________________
Translation | 06.11.2025 | learning/education, life, money, name for self
Note: This Subhaashhitam refers to four ashrams (stages of pursuits in life) as per Indic philosophy. The first stage is Bhrammacharya ashram of celibacy and pursuit of knowledge (foundation). The second is Grihastha (householder) ashram for the pursuit of artha, or means and money. The third, vaana-prastha ashram (getting detached), is retiring slowly from mundane and material pursuits. And the fourth, Sannyaasa ashram of total dispassion and renunciation. The transliteration of Sanskrit text is as under:
Prathame na arjitaa vidyaa dviteeye na arjitam dhanam ||
Trteeye na arjitam keertim chaturthe kim karishyati || subhaashhitam ||
In the toffee-brown shade of candle wax light
The stone cloistered walls moist and dark
Silent whispers from the past
Sealed beneath Villiers Street
The lonely watery veins of your eyes
Reflected the space between you and I
Between the hard **** of our desires
And the soft recitals of our measured poise
Your hand loose in the vaulted light
The moment missed and the chance released
Like curling smoke drifting onto the street
Dispersing amongst the Embankment crowd
Silently gone like the cold passing gargle
Of the brown-black Thames
On its way to the sea.
Lanterns join the bright full moon
casting sparkling gold shadows,
as they pass each other on the street.
With a wide-rim hat, flowing white skirt
and a yellow bouquet,
she pretends not to see him-
handsome gentleman in a suit and hat-
passing by, with his eyes on her.
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