A Wanderer's Funeral

I come at last to a wanderer's grave,
My sexton is the vulture's jaw;
He'll bury me by the wanderer's law
In open field or cloistered cave.

The buzzing flies will make up my shroud,
As the wind howls my death lament.
While I convulse through my last torment,
They chant my rites clear and loud.

The vagrant at last shall come to stay,
In the maggot's fattening zest.
May I think I've found eternal rest
As my tissues ferment away?

But for peace I shall pray in vain,
For my bones roll on upon the plain.

(Published in GloMag, December 2015 p72)

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Tuka Mhane: A Transcreation

Tuka mhane: आम्हां घरी धन शब्दांचीच रत्नें | शब्दांचीच शस्त्रें यत्न करुं || शब्द चि आमुच्या जीवांचे जीवन | शब्दें वांटूं धन जनलोकां || तुका म्हणे पाहा शब्द चि हा देव | शब्द चि गौरव पूजा करुं || Translation (by Dilip Chitre, the renowned Marathi poet): Words are the only Jewels I possess Words are the only Clothes that I wear Words are the only food That sustains my life Words are the only wealth I distribute among people Says Tuka Witness the Word He is God I worship Him With my words My own transcreation: If you open my jewel-box, you will only find words If you raid my castle, only my words will defend me All I need to live upon, is the magic of words All my charity is done through my words Behold The Word: The Word is my only God Worship It: it is the beginning, it is the end

The Young Man of Cotton Green

There was a Young Man of Cotton Green Who'd keep even a small button clean. He'd rinse it in phenyl, And soak it for a while - That racconish Young Man of Cotton Green.

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.

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