Counting Lovers

Cheese occurs at night,
Counting lovers, Gerald

Jason,
Daniel,

Some guy at the Holiday Inn,

Leonard,
Han,

Rolf,
Keshavjii,

Simon,

Like that, they
Say a healthy lifetime has ten to twenty,

Lovers.

Photo – Self

-short evocative poetry-

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Bound

And I’ll be dust to dust bound to,

Shifting black wicker furniture just so,
Patrons aren’t disturbed,

By the rain between,
The hair-do and the pedicure, separated

At least,

By three floors if the lifts are working, me I’m just
Splashing mops against mauve tile, they

Flashing manicured smiles, we

Electing marvelous politicians in fashionable leather,
Leather of the season, bound

To let us down in Range-Rovers, bound
To coffee machines spitting frappuccinos, just

Hoping for a tip to pay my damn school fees.

Photo: ♦Psychology Today ♦

See also: Hector

-short evocative poetry-

I lost my shoes in India

Religion, reincarnation, representation

 

sweets on a plate
empty tuperware

lens cleaner is,

What we took to bed.

Red he says, but he’s deaf,
With earphones on,

Police frames and Louis Vuittion,
Cardboard handbags,
And perfect lips,

Peach by the way, like
I said, I

Lost my shoes in India and the Geisha wasn’t real.

 

♦photo♦ – Hyunception: Movie Reviews & Analysis

-short evocative poetry-

 

 

The ladder of life

I don’t have friends, I do not think.

Friends get married, and
Drive bigger cars and,

Have more intelligent things to talk about, better
Places to go, are

Becoming lawyers and doctors and ministers,
Big people, and

It sort of interrupts things.

♦photos♦ Jacob’s Ladder

-short evocative poetry-


Dicks in Space Suits

UNEP, environment

Dead beetles die in their skins, and

Seychellois, Mauritanians, Maurtians, Martians,
Fighting with sun-tans all, and

Bad lip jobs,

In Nairobi,
Silent giraffes grope for love,

God,
Tends to antelopes,

The world ends
In a traffic jam or,

Dicks in space-suits building railways​ through the heart of a city.

♦Photo♦ Friends of Nairobi National Park

-short evocative poetry-


Living on a prayer

You punish me for telling you my fantasy,
At night I lock the door so no one else can see,

Watch while the queen,
In one false move,

Turns herself into a pawn,

It’s like-
Drinking gasoline to quench your thirst until there’s nothing there left at all, I

Went to the doctor I,
Went to the mountains,

And then you happen to bring up reincarnation over,
A couple of beers the other night,

Spitting out all the bitterness along with half of my last drink,
This is no ordinary love,

Refrain!
Come Oberon!

Able only to gasp at the splendor of the sun,
Come satellite!

Saturns rings are lit by the Universe’s light!

For Simon

Photo – ♦Natsumi Hayashi

-evocative short poetry-

The Painting with the smudge

I remember her detail,

How she looked, how she talked to her husband,
I just stood on the pavement and cried, I’ll

Never see her again, not here,
That’s it.

Whatever came, came for a moment and then left, we were
Going to live forever.

I don’t get in touch with anyone anymore,
It scares me, the

Vast leap of events between the last meeting twenty years ago, and the ‘hello’ now,
Like a slug or snail whose antenne has grazed something unpalatable;

I’ve withdrawn.

I don’t mean to do it I don’t mean to have this strange mist shroud me, I
Feel tenuous –

Like a smudge in the corner of an otherwise pristine painting you could reach out and touch and find,
Nothing there left at all.

Rejoice with them that do rejoice, and weep with them that weep. Rom. 12:15

♦Photo – Personal♦

-short evocative poetry-

Editing the bible

poem, religion

 

We’ve all seen them,

Womens circle knitting on,
Saturday,

Mens having breakfast to learn,
How to lead,

Ever been inside a church,
I mean inside?

You know the ones;
Don’t

Talk on the phone when you’re,
Writing notes,

Don’t come in late when
Next door,

Looking over the shoulder of
The fat woman in green,

They are editing the bible at the behest of the priest,

Yellow dragons,
Farmhouse animals,

Beware the document groaning,
With evidence of having been read.

 

 

Photo – ♦Fruit Of Hands

-short evocative poetry-

On gender based toiletry

poem, gender, toilets

Attack your assailant with the baguette,
You are carrying in your hand.

Soft weapon.

Transgender toilet,
Beat the crap out of the hoodlum, male
Or female,

Black or white, think
Not you must explain,

Why, during the attack
Men should not wear,

Flaming pink knickers, demand
The sex of the person approaching,

On the dark night,
In the lovely cottage,

Be determined after you have finished
The mission.

The lady so obviously not,
In the red heels,

And the blue make-up

Knows how to use her baguette, just
Do not touch her hand-bag.

PictureViewpoint♦

-short evocative poetry-

Refugee

Smelly in the corner,
On a black,

Leather sofa,

We speak he and I with oiled bodies, we
Recline at will,

With silver-lined laptops,
With morning beer in,

Plastic cups, ice-cream
Tins, we

Touch minds gently across thrusting porn-stars,
He and I, and we

We will make it happen,
Perhaps,

Emigrate,

Fiddle with love beyond borders, have
Sex in public,

Don’t laugh,

Book an hotel room in an Islamic country,
Without scrutiny,

Hold hands in an African one, do
Battle in Mississippi.

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