Avian Conversation

Avian Conversation

Hail the mighty Golden Eagle
Lord and master of the Skies
So agile, fast, so powerful
But not so wise

Here I am, your humble servant
A seemingly compliant crow
Deferring to your greater strength
For all you know

Your weapons are your razor claws
Inspiring fear in all but fools
How wonderful to rend and tear
But I craft tools

I perceive my own reflection
My intellect is self-aware
But you, oh from a mile away
Can spot a hare!

You spot then swoop then snatch then slay
You break its bones with blooded beak
I influence and imitate
With voice to speak

A king, you perch on tree-top throne
Before you, bowed and cowed I kneel
Just waiting for your back to turn
You're mine to steal

The Missing Poem

There's a nice little Sapphic Ode I co-wrote a few months ago that isn't on here.

It actually featured in the September issue of Kinaara magazine. Kinaara is a literary magazine for South Asian youth. While this may sound very restrictive, you'd be sorely mistaken if you thought that was the case. The sheer range of views and subjects it covers is amazing and a tribute to the vision of the editors. Anyway, I recommend you check out this uber-funky mag at http://kinaaramagazine.org/

How did it end up published in there? Well I co-wrote it with an extremely talented individual - R K Dasgupta. He provided the emotional core to the poem, while I did more of the technical stuff. If you want to see for yourself how talented this guy is, then enjoy his brilliant short film Azure!

Anyway, without more ado, I quote The Missing Poem

A diamond cold and sparkling night
I’m warmly nestled in your arm
And underneath the moon’s soft light
So safe from harm.

I love the bustling energy,
This city, our canalside walk,
The bikes, the trams, to feel so free,
Our tender talk.

A screeching wakes me with a start.
The car brings black where dream had shone.
In shock I try to find my heart
But you are gone.

Can I still smell you on the air?
Can I still taste my salty man?
Can I still feel your silken hair?
I can’t, but can.

Our bodies went their separate ways.
Between our souls a thousand miles.
But pain is further; pleasure stays…
I feel your smiles.

The memories drift back at last.
Our everlasting love revives.
We danced while Time entwined our past
And future lives.

Each moment passed, the end drew near,
The time when we would have to part.
The end, though sad, required no fear:
This end’s a start.

Continental Drift

Continental Drift

All so quiet, all so calm
When avoiding risk of harm.
What a sorry waste of breath
Living life as cold as death.
You and I are so alike
Waiting round for luck to strike.
Let's go grab it by the nuts
Show the world that we've got guts
Take a chance, no ifs, no buts.
Why resist our merging fates?
Shifting like tectonic plates
On a slow and steady course,
Powerful destructive force;
Smash the earth then set it new.
One new land where once was two.
All around, Apocalypse -
Worth it though, to grab your hips,
Drag you close and kiss your lips.
Let the world go up in flame!
Life is short so give your name,
Give your power, give your trust,
Yield to unencumbered lust;
Take from me the same and more.
Caged hearts sink, but free we'll soar,
Playful playmates evermore.

Britannia Hibernalis

A quick little poem I knocked up dedicated to Britain in winter. Rough and ready. Cheap and cheerful.


Britannia Hibernalis

"Hark the herald angels sing"??
Here in Britain, no such thing.
All our yuletide angels cough,
Curse the cold, then bugger off.
It's not dull like people say -
See! Our many shades of grey.
Look around! There's nudity -
Every branch on every tree.
Like to party through the night?
Eighteen hours a day, no light.
Hate when dogcrap stains your shoes?
Winter hounds leave frozen poos.
Sit on Jolly Santa's knee!
(Watch his hands. Avoid the pee.)
Don't head off for warmer climes...
Stay for soggy, groggy times!

Emotional Manipulation

I've tried to write some slightly more serious poetry. Of course, more serious is pretty relative. And while this isn't as raucous as Making Babies, my writing does seem prone to knowing jokes, irony, and surprise twists. (In my biased opinion anyway!) So without more ado, here's my latest complete composition...


Emotional Manipulation

Manipulate? Manipulate??
I serve my heart up on a plate;
An open wound, in pain I wait.
How say you I manipulate?

Why should I not commemorate
Each burning tear I've cried of late,
Tumbling-down like my wretched fate?
How say you I manipulate?

'Twas you who left me in this state.
It's me who suffered since that date.
You dare blame me when you're the traitor??
I'll say my full, manipulator!

Event Poem: Ballad to the Leaving Lady

Hey y'all. Haven't posted in over two months now! Mind you, in that time had the craziness of Ramadan going on. And other crazinesses too. So just to fill the gap, and to get me back on my blogging feet again, I thought I'd write up a poem I'd written.

Thing is, the background won't be familiar, so I'll just quickly explain the background. A girl called Uzma left work the other day after being there for 10 years. She's now pregnant from her husband, who also works there, as does one of her sisters. She was always kept busy with (far too many) requests for work. And while a ferociously loyal friend, she could seem grumpy to those who didn't know her. Anyway, apologies if you don't get the poem, and for the lack of polish - but better than me not posting anything! :P

Ballad to the Leaving Lady

She's been with us a decade now
But as wise people say
That all good things must reach their end
And thus she runs away

She's done her bit, she's served her time,
We will not ask for more.
(We will; but first we're gonna wait
Until she's out the door.)

So much responsibility,
Not just in her career:
A baby to look after now,
Another due next year!

And many, many moons henceforth
You know that we'll still miss her
Because we'll still have thingybob,
Oh what's-her-name, her sister.

With some of us she'll share her laughs,
To some she seems quite stiff.
Her smiles are legendary stuff!
No, wait. I mean a myth.

A sassy lass, a classy lass,
And certainly no floozy.
Let's give three cheers, and wish the best,
To Uzma, Uzzy, Uzi!