The Rock that Crumbled

 It was a rock that I leaned on

When I was feeling ever so low

It gave me force to stand and move on

As I propped my hand on it to rise from below.

At times the tides hid my rock

And submerged it with much salted sea

And with that it was slowly blocked

Against all odds, against my plea.

But there were times it lay there bare

For me to run to and huddle in its embrace

As I wept of life it gave me care

Even if it was stone-like, in my heart it had a place.

But as I look at my rock today,

I see nothing where it used to sit

And wondered whatever took it away

Or what may have at it hit.

I walk closer to the spot of my rock

And find shingle and a lot of sand

And realize that it crumbled to that lot

As it seeps through my fingers and my hand.

My rock, my savior has withered away

Not realizing it kept me standing alone

To face the world, so I silently pray

For my rock to come back to me

… and become my own!

Dump that Vision

My vision of love is so disturbed

Some times I feel a little perturbed.

I see us as two but one soul

Then realize it is not the case at all.

My vision of life needs much refinishing

For it is constantly diminishing

I need to get myself away

Reload, upload however I may.

Priorities need to be readjusted

My image much prepped and a great deal dusted.

To come victorious on the top

I need to discard the bucket and the mop.

Enough of this domesticated nature

For it brings nothing but a lot of labor

That is futile and so needless,

I need to throw away that constant ‘Yes’!

So here I come please get prepared,

For you will like not my new improved flair and air.

And when you find that you want the old ways

Please do understand it won’t be possible in future days!

The Emasculation

To all of you let me present

The story of my existence that has come to this end.

Let me start by describing this man

Who broke my heart and in a wall rammed.

He rammed and jammed my heart and my soul

And my lively spirit he unduly stole.

And as he fired in my heart a quick dart

I fell down and wondered what I’m doing with a fart!

This man, this dog, this pig who has hurt

My being, my body he for sure did girt

And made me imprisoned when life was so full

To his petty life and to his endless, relentless bull.

So as I lay helpless on the floor of his bully

A bulb went on in my brain and I fully

Understood what was to come next

And how much this asshole will be much much perplexed!

So in an act of whimper and of pain

He left me to moan as he slicked his hair in vain.

Then a bottle of whiskey he gulped down

And slumped on the coach and in a dream drowned.

So I get up slowly as I gather my pride

Along with some courage and with much stride

I head to the kitchen and the drawers ransack

I look for scissors and find them hidden at the back.

With my new weapon, I head back all armed

And find the asshole on the coach sprawled.

I open his fly and get out his balls

And in a swift move I snip them like two pals!

The asshole moves not for he is knocked out

So I wipe the blood and his crotch dab out.

Then bandage the cuts and close his fly,

I take the two balls to the kitchen for a quick fry!

As the balls sizzle and fizzle on the stovetop

I hear the asshole from his coach plop.

I walk to the room with the balls on a plate

Some bread, some herbs with it and some hate.

He looks at me with surprise and a smile.

For he thinks that he has taught me to comply.

I set the plate in front him with the bread

He looks down as he tries to grasp what‘s on the plate spread.

He takes a bite off his balls with some herbs

And as he swallows his being is perturbed.

The pain it seems has registered in his mind

And he starts to eye the balls and his crotch that is in a bind.

He tries to get up all swollen with much anger,

For I have his manhood robbed with much ardor.

But he flops back unable to move

As I tower above, I nod and approve.

For he has become a disabled and a cripple

And his manhood he blindly did at nibble!

My Canvas… my Life

It was a canvas… a white

                Stark…tabula rasa canvas…

Staring at him… gawking , gaping… in malice.

His brush erect in his hand… declining to bend

                Work, trace the story of his life.

For bending… stooping… crouching was the act of

                                                                                Slavery.

It was a white canvas…so horrid in its lividness…

In its sickly paleness… that reminded him of his state.

The brain disconnected…                             from the hands…

                Refusing… rejecting… resisting to sketch… to depict…

The record of his being.

This white canvas… the color of deteriorating bones….

                                In a ditch… in the valley…looked up at him…

Tormenting him…foreshadowing to him…

…the upcoming future of his life…

In stubbornness and absolute spitefulness…

                                It was determined to stay colorless… pallid…sickly…

                                                                                                …ashen like dead!

That Brown-Psychotic Bean

I wake up early in the morning

To start another tedious day.
It is dark and it is daunting
To start a day with a stagger and a sway.

So, as usual, I head to my coffee shop

For my daily dose of caffeine
To wake me up and my day prop
I needed that brown, addictive bean!

I enter my café…like my French?

And find a long…..long, lengthy line.
So I stand in hopes to luckily quench
That dry, needy feeling of mine in time.

But you know how life goes, don’t you?

When “Miss-I-am-privileged” cuts you in line.
With her long streaks of blonde, fake hair
Stream down her back and her behind!
So, being the person in need of anger management
My face goes red, my heart goes tick-tock,
I tap her on her shoulder against good judgment
And wait for her to turn and face me with shock!

But she ignores, thinking she can, yes she can

Hence rage inside me froths and lathers
With bulging eyes the café I scan
Accompanied with my infamous blather.
As I curse and shout at this rude creation
She turns around and stares me up and down,
Then turns and whispers “What a lowly crustacean!”
And my face contorts in a scary frown!

And then it starts….

I grab her from her fake blonde extensions

And hurl her to the other side of the room
And ignore all duly conventions
Of civilized talk as I seethe and fume!
“You and your over-inflated self
Enfolded with an unearned sense of privilege
Earns you a first class ticket to the back of the queue
As you try to readjust your self-image!”
“And while you’re at it, my humdrum queen,
Let me give you a piece of advice
Treating the world as if it works for you is unseen
And doesn't suggest you're a prize
It simply means that you're an ass
And to society a growing mass!”




With this I square my stiff shoulders
As I take my place in an orderly line.
The princess, the queen, unduly molders
In a corner she sits to cry and whine.
But all ignore as we all stand there
Waiting for that addictive drink
That made me glare
And swear
And blare
And scare
That bitch, that female dog
Who dared
To cut the line
Of a lunatic, madcap who’s ravenous for that
Chocolate Brown
Tormenting
Nerve-racking
Bitch-like
Bean!

Lively… Fucked up Tube

My need for you is like my need for food

The need to stuff my face with much junk

A need, so urgent, a need so crude

To fill up my empty and useless trunk!

I watch you senselessly hour after hour

Oblivious to time and the setting sun

I flip from channel to channel with much power

Trying to catch what program has begun.

News clips flash by my eyes so fast

Dictating my new system of beliefs

And a new ideology sprung at me that is cast

In a mould designed at the desk of the chief.
Flashes of pictures come and go
Of skinny women with no meat
With eyes that have lost their glow
And made up faces to look complete.

But tell me hither what is complete 
About a human that's lost its zest
And is nothing but a picture of deceit
And turned into a manikin that's much distressed!

Pictures, programs and video clips

That wreak nothing but of bad taste

My being and mind it mightily grips

And filled with toxic, noxious waste!

My limbs drag down over the arms of the couch

My skin stretches out over oily, dense blubber

My potbelly protrudes like an ugly pouch

Growing with the unending, hypnotic slumber.

This couch, this settee this deceptive chaise lounge

Has turned me into an ugly duckling

And nothing would move me from it but to scrounge

For food, for drinks with countless stumbling.

Yet it happens that a day comes by

To realize that the deceptive man in the tube

Is nothing but a guy with an evil eye

That hounds me and makes of me a dupe.

So out goes the couch to the backyard

To burn and smoke the evil out

And crash the tube after being charred

To knock folly out and bring sense about!

Contemporary Ode to Shadow

Look at thee while stretched on the floor

Like an eternal mirage that follows me around.

You show me loyalty though I usually ignore

And barely notice that you are aground.

You are my shadow and my eternal protector

Though I do not converse much with thee

For at nights you look more like a specter

And scare the hell out of my feeble, weak me!

For I have reasons to show distrust

Since you stretch and contract as the day retreats

And  I have to constantly readjust

My perception of you as you grow and deplete.

So please my bipolar, Janus-faced shadow

Do fathom why at your emergence I don’t wallow!