Senator Kristen Sinema negotiates only in private
Which drives her colleagues and reporters crazy-irate
I think if America had 49 more Senators like her
From all their ranting and raving the rest would demur
The two-feet gauge antiquated railway
climbs up the precipitous hilly gradient,
negotiates gallantly the steep gorge slope
of the Himalayan tough terrain ancient.
The miniature coaches so very elegant
of the old Darjeeling Himalayan Railway,
coil around the meandering lengthy loops,
for 14 decades steam engines slog in gay.
Gracefully creeping just like a caterpillar,
through dense mist reaches sleepy Ghum,
the highest Indian railway station en route,
from where down-slope journey resumes.
The speed is nearly like that of crawling snail,
the hold of the bike riders’ hands I could gain,
wait to get the grand view of the Kanchenjunga,
as patiently I travel thrilled in the tiny toy train.
October 2021
Contest : Railroads, A Historical Glance Back
Sponsor : BJ Legros Kelley
Sanmati, my guide, though is callow
Abnormal not in knowledge, not a bozo.
Negotiates well joy broad or narrow;
Merry as a lamb, sharp as an arrow –
Agile as a gymnast, as sweet as a cello.
Time and again found, never let her gizmo,
Ignoring angry love or any strict credo
Jib her down to cry and sit quietly in shadow.
Almighty will design her future like dido
Illuminating the world with skills and less ego.
Never be dull or extra-ordinary – no one follow.
She moves her body with a sexual tempo, slow and easy does it
She’s on the corner every night, dressed in next to nothing; skimpily clad
Alluring men in her seductress trap a web of pleasure mixed with dishonesty
She’s exchanging pleasure for cash its a means to an end, survival that's all it is
She doesn’t care who is her partner
She just needs to pay her bills
She makes no plans for tomorrow, time takes care of its self
Her body is worn out from all the late-night adventures
A car stops to pick her up
She walks up, negotiates her price and jump in the front seat
She has no care if she lives or die, all that matters are the bills to pay and the kids to feed
She gives pleasure for cash …the money is all that matters, that's all she needs
She cares zero about her safety, she's just living from day to day
She has no education so the streets is all she knows
She just survives every night, selling herself just to pay the bills and feed her kids…survival, that's all it is
God Negotiates Horn Haiku
God negotiates
He removes all sins and hates
Also educates.
Jim Horn
The day they came
Towering treasures
boxes stacked sky scraper high
giddy city measures
to a tiny timid blue eye.
But there down low to be sold
level with her miniature size,
delicate delights to behold
stolen by glanceful little shys.
A safe hand navigates,
while sighting and exploring,
assists and negotiates
with decisions now imploring.
Dressed as bride and groom
grey ears as big as her own,
cheeks in rosy full bloom
curly tails crudely drawn.
She guarded fierce the pair
rest whole trip through
conspicuous yet none dare
cause challenge to ensue.
Alone now to covet and care
small hands place there tenderly
upon the cover of underwear
where prone she'll face every day.
Stay there their home
safe flat white landscape
hers, all alone
all the while to escape.
Then snatched away
amid emotive strife,
the first of many in life -
displaced and grey.
Cherished ones are lost
Some never forgotten.
Loss being the cost
of all love brought on.
Still in jaded finery
She hope's they remain,
together in unity
as on the day they came.
Desert dust devils reign supreme
Swirling in conditions extreme
Dry, cracked river bed yawns wide
Depleted source long denied
Armadillo negotiates
Lost to his instinctive traits
He halts to sniff a draught of air
Frenzied digging does then occur
Grubbing for ants, worms or mice?
He digs a deep hole in a trice
Ground darkens to a muddy brown
The scent of water.......his home found.
The grassy Landscape pass in a blur
Like the hurrying wind from the shore-
And as i watch through misty windows
While the bus labour away through the meadows-
I hear that cry again-
I hear it like the rain:
The PIM PIM of the bus
As it negotiates the curve's cross.
The wind hisses in through window ajar,
The cold blown in from fields afar
And yet as I shiver from the cold
I grin like one happy soul-
I am the traveller, a thrilled one
Through the mountain's pass and land-
The bus groaning away with me
Bound for Yaoundé, the University.