dappered & tappered

The King of Cats, 1935, Balthus 

swayed by his determined cat
he turns this way and that
his gaudy clothes swear deeply at him

papers tumble briefly on the floor
by a single flick of his wrists
limbo sets in the moonlit room
now he stands still as fragile as porcelain

his cat may chant nonsense
by looking askance
the yellow pants start to dance

"dapper was never an issue
go, get me a tissue"

desperate measures

Lee Plaza Hotel, Detroit, photo by Bonnie Beechler

in that room, before the war
there was laughter
which turned my legs to jelly
a paradise that we all miss

row and then another row
of broken rooms
no one to catch the debris
who will celebrate the trip to hell

who will bake a platter of tiny cakes
now my mouth has gone cotton
I have catch in my voice
I will gargle with warm water boiled with basil leaves

all is definitely not lost
war or strife, as long as there is a single human
there will always be life

"I am settling down in front of that television
so what if I lost my vision?"

lion of things

I guess you are not my type
I do not like easy preys
how did I escape from that cage-
now I am at the mercy of the moon
my mane is matted
right now I am not hungry
but when my body needs fuel
it will trigger me to search for something to assault
my list is not long
I will rest a while
It will be six am soon
I do not wish to go on a rampage
not when I have you to guard

I can still hear the music 
and I will make a play for it
if you allow me to touch your organ.

the blue sky and the earth are my witness
while the moon looks on 
or is that the sun?

"guess, I had a mixed double"

in the dreamland, words are wasted

Poet's Sleep, 1989, by Chang Houg Ahn 

bring me scrambled eggs
and a big mug of hot chocolate
I am so high on sleep now
there won't be a single peep
until you return
you don't need a stick to prod me with
I am in full form
trust me, words will come
I will fill the pages
it is neither a trial nor a test
let the sleep run its course
before it gets blown out by your arrival

reflected in the window
that table lamp gazes over me
while I absorb the book beneath my head

universal truth

Universal Studios Lot, Instagram by sessepien 

you need to be brave enough
to rent an apartment with steep staircases
but with your low wages
you can only support yourself like this

you can have a time frame
to go for something better without fail
before the mind plays tricks
of you being safe in such a place

later ought to come early
you must not let the virus party on you
you can always buy a bicycle
and cycle away to the court

"bricks will not fall apart
if we hold those with strong mortar of our will"

poured out my skin

Photo credits: Magpie Tales

I grasp the invisible barrier
pluck at the stream
gather the flow of routine

I am not the gutsy type
(my body has marks of burden)

"that list mentions a ring
but where is the ringmaster?"

~~~~~~~~~




This short poem poured out of me. Just like that. It may seem meaningless but it made sense to me....

tiptoed synergy

synergy of my toe 
along with the keys of the piano
you sense a balance in the bucolic settings
yet you miss that alternate edge
one that has the potential to open me up
the tiptoed alter ego
that former self
those hanging threads others could see
but not you
never you
the bellowing curtains soothe the windows

in a while the crimsons dots will fall on the piano
only then you will know of my stiffness

I chose it this way
to play the keys while I go
holding on to music till the last breath

"soon stark death will stare you on the face"

raking in snowed time

The Mill, 1964, by Andrew Wyeth 

snow has embraced time
in a mill in the countryside
thin strands of ice fall on my head
foiling my plans to write on the frosted glass
let nature facilitate more plans
how else would the the mill workers sustain?
a state of helplessness would be their undoing-
an aspect no would like to see

"I do not wish watching you juggling the wheelbarrow-
not while you are a shadow of a long lost ghost.
who sent that anonymous note, I not know"

instrumental wash up

Musician in the Rain by Robert Doisneau 

I will not play for a few trinkets
you may pull your cap and turn your back
I will not curl my toes
and bend backwards for a few coins

I carry that umbrella to lift up my spirits
yet my instrument nests under it
how can I neglect the fact that
I can still conjure up a few tricks

"that deep sigh-
what does it convey?
some arrested thoughts in the midst of nothing"

imperfect getaway

La Jument, off the coast of Brittany, photograph by Jean Guichard

in the dead water
I see a calm 
one need not worry about the impact of the storm

when the moon illuminates scenes of havoc
my words haunt me in my pool of thoughts
I wish to be remote

but it is just a random moment
one of those which recedes with water
I need to collect it and price it

I do not wish for scenes to litter my marked area
the green blue ocean may differ with me
now that it is topped with foam

"when your lifeless body finally washes ashore,
I would have gone into hiding"