Launched
pea-
nuts
take a
long time to
hardly even fake
making a weird bounc-
ing effort
once they
hit
the
glow-
ing showroom
floor.
to become a masterpiece
it starts with c lu t te red
c
h
a
o
t
i
c sketches
paint-splattered smudges
bleeding blotted lines
failed impasto
in fractured form
but eventually,
the canvas begins to glow
through wet brushes,
drop and lift
subtle shifts
of calm chiaroscuro
bold, breathing bursts of colours
layer upon luminous layer
pigment pressed with patient precision
each stroke of calm caresses
until the vibrant hues
that softly kiss
the quiet
quivering glow
of your smile
are finally framed.
OIL PRICES STABLE
SOME SHIPS GETTING THROUGH ABLE
BLOCKADE A FABLE
Men need prove them time and again
In ways that endorse them as men—
It makes MAGA what ‘tis,
As is Trump what he is,
Trying hard to self-inflict pain.
To bald, I sell hell of hair oil,
He often boasts to world on boil,
Miserably to fail
In Mid-east, seeking bail,
Iran refusing to fall in his foil.
_________________________
Happenings | 12.05.2026 | humour, USA, political, Limerick
Note: Many of Trump’s MAGA followers, a faithful lot for long, seem to get increasingly tired of his foolish ventures that only make day-to-day life hell in USA. Trump still persists selling these remedies to them, gulf oil to all others. This little ditty likens them as a cure-all oil. He thinks he‘s a good salesman, but is he?
I stand before you Lord
I surrender control
I bow down to you Lord
I acquiesce to you my soul
anoint me with oils
grant me perfect peace
Anoint me with oils
let my faith in You increase
let Your righteousness and mercy
In me prevail
let Your Holy Spirit in me
continuously dwell
anoint me with oils
grant me perfect peace
anoint me with oils
let my faith in You increase
consecrate me Lord
shield me from the enemy
make me over, take me over
with your boundless energy
eradicate any inequities
set me up right
shape me, remake me to now
be acceptable in Your sight
anoint me with oils
grant me your grace
my Messiah, my Redeemer
perfectly in place
anoint me with oils
grant me perfect peace
anointment with oils
let my faith in You increase
.
I accede to you Lord
with obedient behavior
I thank you Lord
for giving me Jesus as my savior
anoint me with oils
grant me your grace
my Messiah my Redeemer
perfectly in place
anointment with oils
grant me perfect peace
anoint me with oils
let my faith in You increase
Not for shortage of stones did Stone Age end,
How a Saudi minister chose to fend
For Oil Age in some rage,
And yet, causing shortage,
Trump sure would render it a helping hand.
______________________________________
Happenings | 05.04.2026 | completion, humour, political, limerick
Note: In a game of cartels versus competition and self-interest, when UAE withdrew from OPEC cartel, a Saudi minister reacted as shown in this ditty. UAE’s decision is not altruistic in favour of completion, in larger good of the world still. Yet alas, cartels and self-interest are common all over the world—overt or covert.
Up oozed a fossil fuel, a greedy fool,
"Pleased to meet you, my name is Oil,
the same.
In this town, I'm the only game.
Believe me, I'll make you see
I'm a monopoly,
and though some folks say I'm crude,
and greenhouse gasses, I exude,
fouls the planet
ever since I ran it.
Solar, Wind, and your brothers,
I'll shut you down and any others.
Every elected official
answers when I whistle."
spine not straight
had to wait
for fertiliser from miser
was it that expansionism
took lubricating oil
from loamy soil ?
arms to be palms
legs walking eggs
buckled, I shovel
___________________
Allpoetry Contest Honorable Winner
April 26
Prompt : " In the month of harvest.. I still feel half grown.."
STRAIT OF HORMUZ CLOSED
IRAN RIGHT NOW UNOPPOSED
TRUMP CEASEFIRE BULLDOZED
TRUMP SPEECH WAS A FLOP
THE DOW JONES TAKES A BIG DROP
OIL PRICE DOES UP CROP
When your misery index graph
increases, yet again, by half,
and, at its point of inflection,
accelerates in the wrong direction,
and while you hope it will go down,
asking if this car's driven by a clown,
it's then, I hope you'll soon get well
before everything goes all to hell.
A FIFTEEN POINT PLAN
IRAN SAYS ARE NOT A FAN
THEY DO QUICKLY PAN
Musing through its morning haze, the jungle mountain begs for my infatuation. A nearby dog fails to resume its circular rhetoric and something closes the eye. Silence descends like fresh oil, drizzling through my rebellious long hair and down across my zippered lips. My kingdom can go to hell. Behind the closed another opens as the child hears the jungle morning shift talking to Aioue about today’s purity. A minimalist’s symphony. In suspended moments, I am the mountain. I don’t need Jesus. I am Jesus. Neither son nor father, husband or mystic. I am. Silence drips down like fresh oil. Virgin nectar. One dangling drop at the end of my nose, mightily pausing the unsilent inevitable.
A ticking clock or a buggered marriage. Another dog mounts its bully pulpit. Cigarette smoke from the contractors next door gang rape the virgin jungle jasmine. The party is over.
Was it besmirchment or carnal knowledge?
Innocence is lost
Or reality is found
I cannot say which
Oil and water do not mix
So much as you and I
cannot hold the same space
We can no longer come together without something in between us as if it was gluing us with spite
for the extra effort
We breathe with viscous flow and utter words of contempt
We do not mix
Yet they all say
we are a montage
I RUN THE COUNTRY
CARACAS LAUGHS OH REALLY
JUST TRY US AND SEE
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