Short Pygmies Poems

     Watusis are not genetically modified organisms
     neither are pygmies

       ~ which is the long and short of it
...

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So now everyone's waiting for my sillies
Though at times I'd like write about lilies
Have a sensitive heart
On a love I'd embark
Instead of writing about oversexed pygmies...

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So now everyone's waiting for my sillies
Though at times I'd like write about lilies
Have a sensitive heart
On a love theme I'd embark
Instead of writing about oversexed pygmies...

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So now everyone's waiting for my sillies
Though at times I'd like write about lillies
Have a sensitive heart
On a love theme I'd embark
Instead of writing about oversexed pygmies


© Jack Ellison 2015...

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I am rather pygmyish
Attitudinally challenged
Not an owl or a nuthatch
Which are supposed to be pygmies
 
I have no idea why I am down here
Closer to the five and six year olds
Maybe it is so they will not be afraid of me
And it has been working
 
Every night I used to pray let me grow
I forgot to add which direction
A little detail I left out
Which has kept me short and now I’m stout...

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We climbed into the church, which hangs behind the village on the edge of a ravine/quarry and a meadow with frozen alfalfa.
It opens its mouth at us with every incoming twilight.
Door like when the Helper swaps part of the cheeks and stretches the cheeks to the eyes, grin from Codex Gigas.
We admire the naked little girls and the drooping pygmies of the statues hidden in the drawer of the table left in the sacristy....

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Dying piece by piece in shock –
a life without a mutiny.
Walking amidst blue kraits
you never raised the stick.

Of extinct possibilities in the night
of unmanned crossing-
the blood streaked globe goes on
revolving round the blazing sun.

Short legged pygmies waving
to tall peaks of ice from the 
burnt-out shelters, to learn
obedience again.

Crushed and upturned, we lost
each other in the jungle of
uncertainties. Peeled off skin
made us afraid of each other.


SATISH VERMA...

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For you
I am walking on rocks
holding unburnt match sticks,
you want me to throw them
behind me.

To step down in lake
for washing sins
from the snuffed out
skylights.
Between green and blue I climb on leaves.

Remained pygmies
till end,
in frail human relationships.
All that we saw, was only for ourselves
in questions and replies.

Wasting shine of titles,
followed by empty looks.
Nothing remained to be said.
Food was left on the plate
untouched.


 
SATISH VERMA...

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