So - I need help. Yeah, Yeah - I know! It seems the nose job 18 months ago didn't quite take. And as things stand I may have to go under the knife again. That was depressing - so I took me aside and wrote down this song. I just can't finish it…
Mistress in white and blue,my posts don’t excite you,my status provokes no comment.You give me the news and the homilyand updates from the family. I have you on the laptop,I have you on the tablet,I have you on the phone,I have you in the office,I have you in the house,I have you in…
Books have given me hours of enjoyment over the years. On a recent visit to Barnes and Noble with a colleague, who was on a quest for his afternoon latte fix, we paused to review a table piled high with gloriously bound old favourites. Jules Verne, Lewis Carroll and Mark Twain were represented…
When I think about you When I dream about you I feel my heart go still I feel I’ve had my fill If I think about you If I dream about you I’m wasting my time Just blowing my mind So let’s just call it quits Let’s just say goodbye You’ll find happiness…
Looks like poetry is playing second fiddle to personal reflections. Interesting that. Readership has increased, comments mostly restricted to a closed group on Facebook. And those comments, coming, as they do, from college friends and acquaintances, tend to be not very gushy, which is an understated way of saying they make sure I…
The boy on the beach in Goa Cried please bring me some more Beer if you please At twenty five rupees Here's my mug, please pour! or Further delay I will abhor! or Alcohol has not yet reached every pore! or Write your own line, you bore!
Time passes in lonely discomfort. They sit together, far apart, watching without seeing flashing symbols of contemporary life.An age of reason, a feast of thought, a life of duty, a world hard fought, an eternity of action without reaction, speech without words, duty without reward, loyalty without reciprocation.The mind is numbed by thoughts…
Hazy day Crazy play Cars on tar Jars on bar Bright sun Sight gun Funny crack Gunny sack Red blood Dead hood Heave ho Weave more Wail squeal Jail meal Rag Doll Sag Moll Volt Jolt Cold Mold Lazy Sway Hazy Day
The art of the writer is a precious thing. He writes for himself, but others are served. The heart of the blighter wants the woman to cling. He wants for himself the other thinks “perve!”. The part of the writer is a constant thing. It creates itself barbers conserve. The fart of the…
No one knows Where the love goes Shadows pale And men fail When the end comes No one cares To find out where Loving ends And minds bend When the end comes No one says What should be said Heros die And eyes lie When the end comes No one tries What should…