Tuesday, September 11, 2012

When I lose all my rhymes...

On a day when clouds stream in
from the east
on a kind of a day when your face resembles
a sober chameleon
A working day in the countryside
with millipedes out to feed
hungry mouths

When an ordered line of ducks
cross the road nhurriedly
A thousand minds oblivious of a civilisation
parading with a dutiful resolve
to a built-in tempo

past the headstones
of a cemetery
Past the buried victims of a lonely war
won or lost by none
I pause to wonder
where I'm heading

Thursday, September 6, 2012



protest march--
shorter shadows follow
the tall one


cottonwood seeds drift--
the birth anniversary
of my late father
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