Ode to a Trolley Dolly

By all means you should be pushing a trolley
Twenty-one thousand feet in the air, your face
Plastered with creams of all kinds - Chinese holly,
Acai berry, ginseng - ground into pomace,
That overlaid with rouge and baby powder
Till your beauty cannot scream any louder
And yet gilded with lipstick and mascara,
Guaranteed to make you look an apsara.

But you choose to inflict that upon mortals
In some attempt to inveigle them into
Parting with money; while you thought it was true
That your MBA learning opened portals.

And we children of a lesser god look on
The principles that the Higher Gods work on.

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She's complicated

She's complicated. She'll charm you with charts, statistics and that corporate smile. But look into those eyes, they're fiercely bohemian. She's complicated. Her chatterings seem to resonate with happy sounds, but listen with the other ear, to an unhidden lament. She's complicated. Her silences agonise, her voice echoes in her absence. And yet there is a mild dread as her name flashes on the ringing phone. She's complicated. Sometimes she's a poetess, shallow, romantic, trying to hide a sardonic, world-weary wit. She's complicated. She could be a spiteful Fury, wrath unabated, but that's just to hide the lamb-hugging girl within. She's complicated. She's an enchantress, a fool, a tyrant, a nurse, an imp, a priestess, but she's generally a good friend. She's complicated. Published in Making Waves - A Poetry Anthology , ed. Pam & Bill Swyers; Swyers Publishing 2011. ISBN: 978-0-9843113-6-1.

The Cruel Love Form Either Meaning Tears Sestina

They ask me to write poems on love. They ask me not to make it cruel. But it should not be funny either. It must follow some poetic form. It must be rich and deep with meaning. It should move people, but not to tears. Why should it not move people to tears? Because they cry when they fall in love For no reason and without meaning. That's because love itself is cruel and causes grief in its every form. One cannot escape from it either. It is not even funny either. One spends all one's time shedding tears And meditating upon the form Of whatever being is one's love Who is in general very cruel And will get upset without meaning. One wastes one's time looking for meaning. One never finds it. One will either die frustrated or suffer cruel punishments. But no one spares tears for stupid people who fall in love And think it is divine in some form. It is not divine in any form. It is senseless, devoid of meaning. the rational do not fall in love They do not play with venom eit...

Nellie, 1983

Very often the sun rises in warm, golden rays on opening buds, birdsong and dewdrops, and the stench of stale death. Very often the sun rises Upon mutilated men - blood drying over their eyes and gore-caked machetes rusting in their abdomens. Very often the sun rises over hyaenas fretting over the carrion going waste - they can eat no more, nor can the vultures. Very often the sun rises on a day already defeated - shrieking, screeching, screaming, demanding that it go back for there was peace in the night. Published in Tranquil Muse 2018.

Autophony

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