On the landing, porch boards turn to prow.
The moon bends down to kiss the bow.
With a leap over the bow, the maiden voyage ends—
Solid ground becomes place for newfound friends.
On landing, feet forget the restless sea,
And find what they were made to be.
Verandah, boat, moon and stone—
Each threshold strives to feel like our own.
We jump the bow, cross the threshold
with something new, true-blue bold.
From porch to prow, from sea to land,
We make our entrance, proud and stately grand.
about colors
So pale the rosebush on the verandah
is it because the night is so long and cold
the flowers look like the red purses
little girls have a few pennies in
kept hidden for her brother, a few
pennies to buy sweets for
I have lost the colors on my computer
it is gray, the spirit will not soar
like it didn't when I wanted to be a parachutist
I will visit the computer man
to bring colors back, even if it is artificial
and exude no aroma
the little girl sits at the back of the garage
furtively eat candy, but feel guilty
she should have shared the sweets
with her annoying brother, after all, she is
his big sister
In her hair, a red Gansho
a shipmaster in love
The boat that left at sunset didn't have red sails
but fading sunlight painted grey sail red
even though the vessel was not going to China
not this year or any other year, the Oriental
wanted to know why he lost two wives
in, the short span of seven years
His third wife sees the boat disappear from
the safety of her verandah she doesn't like
a vessel moves and stays at home
She is secure, and pregnant, a feat his other wives
managed, hence that's why he sold them to
a bordello in Tashkent
the boat is a brigantine made of Canadian wood
the timber has the habit of groaning when
sails have no wind and days appear longer than
when a storm is brewing
The captain has a shopping list for his third wife
gave him, about buying figs in Sumatra and
coconuts in Congo, the captain smiles, his wife
she has never seen a map
A Holly Day in May
the building is eerily empty today, everybody
has gone to the beach, even those in wheelchairs
I sit on the verandah in the hope of tanning
my scalp looks so white in the bathroom mirror
I used to sit in the sun and get a deep tan
which gave me skin cancer
Do the Gaza people sit in the sun away from their
tents, now bombed, because Gaza has nice
beaches and turquoise water.
The Israel monster regime keeps killing Palestinians
daily, 60 here and 40 there
It has been noticed, that more Jews are leaving
Israel, then newcomers to this Paradise of evil
I went to the pharmacy yesterday and wanted to buy
a self-tanning product, the person who served me
came from Congo, shamefully, I lost my nerves
and bought aspirins.
My wife, born in Kinshasa, said I was a racist
Once, when she was a stewardess, she met
the fabled Roger Moore, I say no more but has
a nice-looking daughter
I read Joe Biden talking about ********, maybe
he wished for one
We all have sexual fantasies, a curse for old men
Rumi's quote: If you are irritated by every rub, how will your mirror be polished?
If you are irritated by every rub,
How will your mirror be polished?" - his love
For wisdom wrapped in words, a timeless gift,
Invites us to a journey, spirits lift.
A moment of reflection, as two souls entwine,
On the verandah of life, a union divine.
You and I, apparent duality we feign,
Yet, in soul's embrace, an undying terrain.
Imagine, then, the soul as a mirror bright,
Reflecting thoughts, emotions, in the light,
A polished surface, clear, without a stain,
But rubs abound, inevitable pain.
For if we let each irritation sting,
Without the grace, resilience to bring,
The mirror clouds, obscured by discontent,
A hazy view, distorted and unkempt.
Yet, if with open hearts, we face each rub,
Embrace the challenge, join the cosmic hub,
A transformation, silent and profound,
Polishing the mirror, brilliance unbound.
Let the rubs be notes in life's grand score,
Each irritation, a step, a dance floor.
For in the mirrored soul, where reflections expand,
A polishing journey, hand in hand.
My bones are creaking and my bed is squeaking
Im one short of eighty nine
Bosom friends come gather around me
Lets crack some jokes and drink some wine
Long lost relatives are looking me up
Their eye on my wealth, damn they really suck
I spend my days thinking what must I do
I want to leave it to someone who is true
There is a beggar on my street who wishes me well
I think I could leave him some and make him swell
Or the garbage man who comes knocking at my door
Cleans my porch and the verandah floor
Missionaries of charity, that’s where I will put some
For the cause of orphaned kids, lost and lonesome
Or to the church which I often visited
Where I’ve left my prayers and alms distributed
But to that crafty old woman who walked out on me
I will leave my rusty ring on the tombstone in the cemetery
The mouse
My wife was opening the door to the verandah
when she spotted a mouse and fled to the kitchen
and shouted, “Kill it, kill it!”
I picked up the small animal hiding under a dry leaf
that had yet to be blown away, careful not to be bitten
soon the mouse relaxed in the palm of my hand.
I marvelled about this tiny thing; how did it get on
the seventh floor must have been climbing up at night
got lost or tired and rested on our terrace
There was no way I was going to kill it if there had
been hundreds of them on the terrace, I would have been
less friendly, seen them as vermin
Looked over the railing under me on another terrace, dropped
the mouse there, it landed softly alive and well, quickly shut
the door, now the mouse was no longer my problem.
At lunch, in the café on the first floor, there was talk
about someone finding a mouse, “infestation?” she said
No, darling, there is only one little mouse.
Soldiers with the cornered colonel
Said to crack him like a kernel,
Easily made him surrender,
Account of his orders render…
Colonel Smith, on his neck flannel,
Suddenly facing a Panel
In his house and front verandah,
Two watching from his Coriander…
They knew where to questions channel:
“Who’d twelve men shot from tunnel?”
Many had guessed: Major Lander
But order from Smith Evander…
Their decision shall be final:
They had come as a Tribunal…
“One thing about you Evander:
Death often smells like Lavender.”
The magic hour
The day is ending, and time is one hour back but
the day still serves early twilight
From the window of a tourist resort, I see the mountain range
I lived beyond, in a village with no name.
So many years ago, when thinking about that time
it appears as movies rolled fast forward the seasons
turns into one, was it summer or fall?
I had a dog we walked in the woods every day, she chased rabbits
I chased dreams like catching the breeze
The dog, tired of chasing bunnies, retired to the verandah
walking alone in the forest was tiresome
I knew of Serengeti in another dale tall yellow grass were
lions spied, crocodiles in the muddy stream, but when
I blinked; the sight had gone, substituted by grazing mules
and wine orchards, beautiful red grapes going nowhere.
The dog resting its head on my thigh, so tired and weary
in the morning, she had gone.
A dream was over; we had both been defeated by old age.
I sold the cottage, but before leaving, I walked up to the hill
to see the ocean, I shall not sail on.
But what I have lost will forever be mine to keep.
The none affair
The celebration ran into a Dogger bank that had
been trawled of fishy life and turned into windblown sand
of the endlessly repeated.
Take-away food and Portuguese soap triteness was
the name of the monotony.
Red-eyed by watching tediousness in action, time for bed
hoping a dream of glory would restore disappointment.
Eight hours of pre-death, the thought landscape was dark.
The morning had cold sun on the verandah, a day had gone
never to return, swallowed up by the monolithic time
The celebratory bottle of wine collects dust on a shelf.
From The 5th Floor
She heard him crying,
while chips she was frying.
Ran towards the door,
to treat the conflict amongst the four.
In between busy streets of ‘Burrabazar’,
amongst the congested lanes.
Lay an old building,to live and share.
Then, life wasn’t fair.
One daughter, three sons.
Somehow, they managed to run.
To console one, when the other cried.
The family anyways, lived in pride.
A day never to come again,
when the war between the four began.
Solaced the one,who howled aloud,
rest two were just strolling around.
The one in anger, was not seen.
Verandah railing,was there to lean.
When the phone rang ‘tring tring’.
The wrathful son had fallen.
From the top floor he did,
in between the rods, he slipped in.
Lay oblivious on the street.
Until the folks gathered in just few minutes.
The mother then ran down the stairs.
Breathless, brave enough to dare.
Tears trickled down her cheeks.
To the doctors she speaks .
For hours under observation.
Regaining sense was exceptional.
He survived in cripples.
A life long bane to hustle the struggle.
Did I tell you I went to the
Beach last week?
The wind picked up mightily as I
Stepped out onto the hotel verandah
And the tall royal palm trees lining the courtyard
Lifted and bent their majestic fronds
And they whipped and wept in the west wind
With a sound like a thousand haystacks being thrown
Into the air
And, yes, that same week,
Oh,
The very next day
The wind dropped to a soft breeze as I
Stepped out onto the Hotel Verhandah
The royal palms lining the courtyard
Graciously dipped and bowed
Their crowns of pointed fronds
With a sound like a thousand mothers shushing their
Crying babes
The sea sparkled dazzling pinpricks of light
Each and every sparkle sent
My heart and soul back to 2012
I gaze upon another sea, the vast Indian ocean
Rushing towards the tip of Africa,
Behind me up a steep, shaded street,
In the small, sweet nursed clinic
My mother lay still and breathed less and less every day
Until, with a sound like a thousand whispered goodbyes,
She died
Horizons
I sit on the verandah look at the sea no ships in today
open view until the horizon after that, on the other side
there are new limits
I have seen many horizons, some of them are blue or green
but have in common stopping me from seeing what is beyond
What if I met a horizon that had no new horizons?
A blank nothingness that has no dreams.
I look behind me and see an island before the fog sets
obscuring its coastline.
It is getting cold on the verandah, suddenly it becomes
the loneliest place on earth, breaking my spirit.
The island I saw on my endless quest is called Saragossa
I steer my ship there to meet friends long since departed
they will tell me what I need to know, the unsaid.
the last days of exams and school,
and beginning of hot summer,
licking fresh ice lollies to cool,
eat mangoes without number!
no more reading no more homework,
all of the day is mine to spend,
under shady banian we perch,
till the heat fades and the day ends.
at night we sleep in the open,
on the first floor verandah bed,
and search amongst stars good omen,
and have gran all our fortunes read!
three hot months of fun, play and joy,
in peak heat of May, June, July,
those idyll days spent as a boy,
are here to haunt and make me cry!
Written 10/09/2021
John Lawless sponsored
Rhyme checked in RZ
8 syllables each line
with abab rhyme sequence
In the evening of this beautiful sunshine day
I took a cooling-off walk through the park.
There I saw buoyant ducks and little ducklings
Watching a bullfrog sitting on his lily pad throne;
His pulsating neck aped silent crocking rhythms.
The greenish hued pond water was as still as death
Until the little ducklings began flapping their wings
In a manner that seemed as if they were in a game
Playing Rock! Paper! Scissors! or skiing with wings.
As I strolled past this joyous view, a distant car backfired!
Suddenly, but for the water, the pond became empty and
Looking around, not an amphibian nor avian was in sight.
Assured by nature that all was well, I continued my walk.
Having returned home, I now sit here out on the verandah
And gazing up into the eastern sky I wait for the rising moon.
Come,” let the church say amen!” For a man “born by the river”, the
Change that’s “gonna come”…allegorically revealed itself today.
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