Between the Drool and the Spit

It is a long silent corridor that my mind

walks its length thinking of ways to retort …

Thinking of answers…

Thinking of replies…

To arrogance and pettiness…

To the whispers of gossip

and the blatantness of rumors...

...to the spits of vileness that stick to filthy glass.

And I must admit that in the silence of that corridor

that runs through the length of my sanity

that I take as I ponder...

I do admit that there are times I want to answer with 

the muffle of silence.

But gossip and rumors are a bitch and a whore-

Two Jezebel sisters that need to be flogged down.

Yet the wisdom of the mind subdues the 

vehemence of the heart.

Instead of silence...

Instead of a brawl and a battle,

My dominant psyche with the sharpness 

of my tongue finally retorts as it reaches

the end of the mute corridor:

"Excuse me ma'am, wipe that Drool and 

Crap off your chin and the remnants of 

bullshit off the edges of your mouth!"  

Folding Laundry

There she sat on that ancient chair, my mother

As she sorted the contents of the laundry basket.

Piece by piece she brought to her lap

Smoothing the crevices and the creases

With her warm, plum hands.

Smoothing and patting down the wrinkles of a shirt

Of under pants…

Of children’s wear…

Of towels and handkerchiefs

Until smooth and soft.

She then folded them once, twice, thrice

And along with those folds went the dark memories

Until depleted into the crevices of oblivion.

With each fold heartache was hidden in the soft…

Warm comfort.

No more tears, no more pain…

No more nothing that relates to…

Ache.

Casanova

There he struts down the lane

And in a sec my heart he gains

And squeezes in the palm of his hands

And walks with me to unknown lands

And as he walks down this ragged lane

He sees another pretty dame

And thus my heart he drops down

To the earth I am suddenly bound

He continues to walk the ragged lane

And settles down in the heart of the dame

But breaks the lease before end of year

To keep her moaning and groaning, oh dear!

But he walks on to find another lass

To perch on her heart with much needed ‘class’

But he gets bored often to quick

And jumps of her heart with a quick flick-flick.

My Casanova walks god’s land

Searching for another love

a fast food kind of love if you ask

that lasts some minutes and keeps you mad!

High Horses of a Bogus Lady

Get off your high horses ma’am
Your vision is distorted up there.
You need to climb down that saddle ma’am
To view the world with a practical pair.


Get off your high horses ma’am
For your do not deserve to strut up there
You need to come down ma’am
And mingle with the average man.


Get off your high horses ma’am
Take off that corset that hides your ugliness
Come down, crouch on your knees ma’am
And ask your lord for forgiveness.


Who gave you the right ma’am
To look down at the rest of humanity?
Come down to the ground with a slam
Maybe it will rid you of your vanity.


You preach you’re perfect and ever so great
When you are nothing but a fake creation.
You endlessly state and dictate
To people your importance and to the nation.
What would make you realize
That you are nothing but a lie?
What would open up your eyes
Wide open to the truth up in the sky?


Get off your high horses ma’am
Come down; let your feet touch the ground.
And roll around in the mud ma’am
For it might to the earth have you bound!

Apologies of My Oppressor

Thank you… thank you for all your
Apologies, Sir.
The ones with all the loopholes and the cracks.
The ones that come and go, Sir
With the crack of the whip…
And the slap of the palm.
Thank you for all your apologies, Sir
That come showering down at me
Like icy cold water
On a dark freezing morning.

Those apologies, Sir, accompanied

With the kick of the boots
And the punch of your hands.

Well, that makes them special, Sir
For they leave a beautiful pattern…
An ornamentation on my being…
Black, purple and blue…
To remind me of your kindness, Sir
That you have beautified my appearance
While punching a hole in my….
Soul.

Full of Herself

“Mirror mirror on the wall
Who is the prettiest of them all?”
The mirror had distaste on its face
For what was in its reflection was lacking grace,
And with an urge it simply retort,
“Human human opposite me
Please do understand that such a plea
Should be uttered of humans pretty
Not by some ugly duckling Betty!”
So please you narcissist, egoist female,
Stop your quest to be on top
For in reality you are nothing but a she-male
And pretty and important you are definitely not!

Retail Slut

She scoured the shops with eagle eyes

Looking for signs that said ‘Sale’.

Red tags she looked for, prices slashed twice

And once she spotted them she surged in assail.

And as she attacked the lines of rags

She spotted a red dress she liked the most

As she grabbed it the dress did snag

For it had on the other end another host.

She pulled left, the other end right

The snag did get bigger with time

With a final pull the dress became a sight

Severed in to two, it was a fashion crime!

The two then stared each other up and down

Cheeks all flushed and faces red

It seemed they were about to fight from the frown

That was pasted on their faces and their foreheads!

With screams in the air

Hair flying everywhere,

With nails dragging down

On each others skin for that gown

It did become a scene

That was much too obscene!

The two ‘ladies’ if I may say

Then slumped away

Realizing that the goal

They were fighting for was nothing but whole!

Take a look, my crowd,

At women who are endowed

With a zest for clothes and rags

Slashed prices  and red tags!