Short Ambulatory Poems

ambulatory itinerant vagabond
nomadic nuisance
feared by some
adored by others

wayfaring wood tick
travels on white tail deer
enjoying his journey and beast’s blood...

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Savannah, pretty city of the South
Where I spent half a day of my life
Eating your delicious bread 
Mixing the smoke of my pipe 
With your warm air
Riding in carts pulled by big ambulatory horses
Pissing in your sewage
And wending even more 
Southward
You left behind 
A shining point 
On the turning trajectory 
Of my life...

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Becoming polar. 
The climax comes 
without end.

The physical 
intimacy of headliners ?
You were not reaching anywhere.

Pretty large 
was the near-view.
Eons ago there was a neoclassicism.

The core intensity 
was golden. 
But circumference was ambulatory.

Planets will watch 
the rover 
for the final descent of god !


Satish Verma...

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Dearest Physical Therapist~Ryan:


?When you see the rough coating on a
pineapple, do think of me.......

The outside, rough and hard to open.
The inside, soft and loving as can be!

Thank you for all your work with me.
Four full months, with a-stubborn donkey.

Who, by your magic, is now quite happily,
Out of bed........and so very, very, ambulatory!


Thank you!
Pangie...

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Picking a lock you break
a bloodline. A stargazer
maps the astrological signs
and connects with the
moon in oviduct:
wriggling,
coiling.

There were no foeticide qualms,
in rappelling to shamanic healing.
It was not a deference for any
deity. A ritual
gives you
name, gives
you fame.

Wearing a wooden sandal which
keeps you electrified with
divinity. This is ambulatory.
You move on the green earth
squashing the grass,
grasshoppers
beating the
Venus.


Satish Verma...

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The frozen voice hangs on the
door. A crowd waits.
Midnight explosions
will start soon
to herald a benevolent sky-
for squatters.

In rise and fall of an empire
I won’t put any label
to generation drift. The
changing geography will
take care of the ashes.
A ragpicker will tell the story.

Ambulatory moon
had become economical, blanching
the stained dreams only
like our land’s wounds.
The sea of hate lies naked before us
to sweep the carcasses. I know not
how to become omnivorous.


Satish Verma...

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