Never be devoted to them
Never adore them
Never dote on them
That’s what wimps do
Make sure you are
The cock of the roost
Of a doting harem
But tell her she is Number One
And the rest are just bitches
Tell her you’ve never been loved before
Like she does
Tell her you need her
Buy her expensive gifts
Above all, tell her what she wants to hear
That she is the best
Be the strong, silent type
And she’ll think she found
Her dream man
That’s what players do
Rocks have many uses
They make good houses
They pave beautiful roads
They make mighty dams
You can also use rocks
To stone someone
Or you can kick
A rock around
Just for fun
A rock can be
On its own
For a very long time
A rock has no need
For company
Or a mate
The last thing a rock needs
Is a cuddle
A rock is strong and hard
And patient
But if a drop drips long enough
The rock will crack
I am that rock
I go to the market
Buy my groceries
Bring them home
Cook a meal for myself
But there is no one
To share it with
So I serve myself a plate
And I start to eat
My tears mingling
With my rice and curry
I make my bed
I fluff four pillows
Place them neatly
Two for her, two for me
One for her to cuddle
But there is no one
To share my bed with
I water my plants
I sweep the yard
I tidy the house
I put on some music
But there is no one
To share the music with
The music has died
I wake up
Shower, dress
Pack the lunch
I cooked last night
I lock the door
Set out to work
There is no one
To bid me goodbye
I work long
I work hard
I work in a cold sweatshop
Job satisfaction none
Appreciation zero
Only the odd complaint
I work for the family
Way past midnight
I return to a house
With no living soul
No one to ask
How was your day?
I take a shower
Serve myself a plate
I eat my rice
Mixed with tears
You have borne my harsh ways
For a long time now
The other night
I heard you scream out
Vile hag, Bitch Goddess
Now I give you
My sister Bagalmukhi
Mistress of sorcery
I give you also
The gift of sight
My friends the crows
I put at your service
But be careful how
You use your gifts
And learn to cope with what you see
And handle my sister’s gifts with care
My toll is heavy
But know that I love you
In my own way
And when the dark angel comes
I will be waiting to embrace you
And guide you into the afterlife
Where you will find release and rest
Before the next round begins
So hang in there for now, my son
And pay puja to me
Your Bitch Goddess
My ways are mysterious
But you have paid your dues
Finally grasped the nature of duality
Now you are at the door
Of some of our vidyas
I’m sometimes like a boat
with neither sail nor an oar.
The night is black
the tempest howls
the sirens wail
and the monstrous, bellowing waves
gather all around me.
Lightning strikes
and a in a flash I see
jagged, perilous rocks:
I watch in morbid fascination.
For I know not if the wicked waves
smash me into a million scattered pieces
Upon those vicious rocks.
The storms rages around me
yet not within me –
for far beyond
in the horizon
through the valleys of the towering waves
I spy the flickering beams of a
lighthouse.
Or is it just my imagination
playing games with my mind?
1979
She is leaving again
In a few days
For a few months
And that familiar roiling begins
At her impending absence
Leaving a void
I will try to fill
With this and that
With chit and chat
With Kit and Kat
That just can’t
And that mad mechanism
Which tries to dull her departure
By stirring up a stir stirs
Stay down, fool
Slow burn in my belly
Lapping away
Persistent wee waves
Here to stay a while
Unwelcome guest
But stick around
Now you see her
Now you don’t
Deal with it
An audience of one
In a dark theatre
Facing a curtain
Impatient for the show to begin
Faint voices backstage
Muffled words
The audience of one
Waits
Suddenly the curtain parts
The man sits up
But behind the screen
A red veil
Frustrated
He waits
The red veil parts
Behind it a blue veil
Glimpsed behind it
A table lamp
Two people on a sofa
In silhouette
Two bodies, two faces
One dearly beloved
Beautiful
The show has begun
The dialogue dominated
By the woman
Pouring her passion
Her great love
For the man beside her
The love of her life
The Alpha Female of
Her hero’s harem
The woman whose arts
Can take her Numero Uno
To heights he’s never scaled before
The complete woman
For the man who gives her
The blissful full-fill-ment
She never has felt before
The man she now needs, loves, honors, obeys
The man to cherish and relish
The man she vows to really belong to
In this life and the next
Her prince
She tells him
About her jaded feelings
For the faded man
The anti-hero
Who never could make her feel
What her real man does
The Steppenwolf she once loved
Then hated, despised, feared
Rejected, pitied
The strange man
Her mate for so long
Now downgraded
At best humored
The audience of one
Catches snatches of conversation
The current between the characters
Enough to make the scene clear
Understand his role
As a bit player
In the passionate story
Taking place on the main stage
And confirm what he thought
The act was all about
Shattering illusions
Being enacted was an old story
As old as man, as old as woman
As old as passion
As old as forgotten passion
As old as women’s wiles
As old as cuckoldry
As old as the delights
Of forbidden fruit
As old as love faded
As old as love downgraded
As old as women enraptured
With love and lust
For another man
Now become the epicenter
And delight of her life
And the lone man in the audience
Senses regret and loss
Shuffles out
Into the dark and lonely night
Thinking it’s better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all
CENSORED
CENSURED
There was a poem here that talked about a liberal whose liberal notions eventually collided with primal passions, namely possessiveness and jealousy over a woman – feelings his liberal notions had long suppressed. It talked about some nasty things he felt like doing to them, with a note to spooks monitoring potential violent criminals that he was taking poetic license and to be cool.
The woman, as she is wont to do, misread it; she was convinced the poet was making an effort to cast her in bad light, and elevate himself into a victim, whereas the poet merely recounted all the men who lusted after her and how he felt about it. He did not say she reciprocated all their lust, bar one, which the poet indicated was OK. But the woman took great offence. So fuck poetry. Stick to prose … and hope that works.
The battle has been raging
For many decades now
Sometimes I gain the upper hand
Sometime the intimate enemy
They say you need a good team
To fight a war
But I have waged
A lone struggle
In my civil war
Now at last it seems
I’ve overcome
The intimate enemy
Who sometimes signals an attack
Often launches stealth assaults
But as the man said
Know thy enemy
And I know much about her
Her nature and power
But knowledge is power
And I will prevail
In this, my civil war
Against the ruthless enemy
Who shows no mercy
I fight alone against
A powerful foe
I have struggled
I have bled
I was been thrown down
Countless times
But I get up and fight
I face her, my intimate enemy
Dhumawati
Ugly black crows
It’s time for you to go
My head is not
Your roosting place
It’s needed
By eagles
So it’s time up
For you ugly black crows
Time for you to fly
Or die
You come uninvited
To sit and caw and shit
In my head
For too long now
Time to kill you crows
Bye-bye black birds
You won’t be missed
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