Short Domesticity Poems

18 hole weekend golf
domesticity avoided
greatness eludes them...

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The snow paces itself
cold winds bear no flesh
you leave me wanting more
beyond the unkempt bed linen
Yet there is no avail
You amber along dewey paths
The air is thin
oh domesticity happy as the laundry...

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Man-cave said to She-shed,
"Here's a thought, why don't we build
an actual house to live in together?"

She-shed queried,
"separate bedrooms, restrooms,
office and work-out space?"

Man-cave: "Naturally."...

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Burnt out
Flame
Exhausted
By the passion
For another
For her partner
In crime,
She only seeks
Love and affection,
Only seeks domesticity;
Re-ignited
Flame,
Unexhausted
By the passion
For her
By his partner
For all time
He only seeks
Her craving and lust,
Only seeks satisfaction

The danger still exists...

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Households unhitch so readily.
We watch incredulous as they float off,
hulls creaking, 
rafters cracking like wind-lashed rigging.

Where we once believed roots gripped bedrock
now shiftless boards bob in the swell. 
Domesticity tumbles out.
Bed springs gape, 
a chest-of-drawers turns, inside out.

The everyday innards of a dwelling, face up,
barely floating:
a sure sign of those about to drown....

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You invited me in
just to laugh amongst the array
of your erstwhile friends
you played the host cinderella
saying you were lost
in the dorm of domesticity

You enjoined me in
just to foreleign
at our voices
studying our accents
is east the new norm ?

You blew out the candles
and counted to ten
making snide remarks
saying what should be done, let it be done
picking up on the gloom
made me a stranger in the room...

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Don't be a deadbeat
Beat poet actor man -- 
because I need you to
SUCK IT UP
understand? what I'm trying to say?
Kerouac and Ginsberg
loved and fled and
hated domesticity, but somehow
relegated their women to it
and liked their domestic money
to buy pretty domestic drugs
and Burroughs
SHOT his wife
(albeat on accident --
deadBEAT tell me the sym-bo-lism
in THAT).
Grow up and love ME
like you were meant to -- 
and
do. your. own. laundry....

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It was night sin
of domesticity. Dyed, I am loading
the white secret of pain
in the hollow of a mayhem.


Till every blunder takes a
downward flight striping the outsized 
image of a kill. His flames are
now singeing the eyebrows of angels.

His  foes have entered the compound.
The black was alluringly looped in
a stream of blood. Death did not
wait for a ceremony.

Lips forgetting the golden sheep,
tongue apologies for the wronged earth. 



Satish Verma...

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