subways screaming in
the bitter light
like a party lamp
overturned

my retina burn
and this hot rush of wind
stinking of city
and office bodies
the restless and
the chosen
wandering in their week
old skins

the walls lucid crawl
in a flash of stainless
wet like a putrid worm

The stars of night shine bright upon the sky
At speeds of light they reach the earth, they say
The words we say are fast to reach their mark
At speeds so fast than lights we see, I’d say
You know the answer without another phrase

The eyes, of a soul,
yet to seed more poems,
To help humanity see through
the ailments,
which are not man-made

We may perhaps inherit,
in our genes
But to brave the calamity
and let it not become fatal,
Ere its time,
is the way
one lives a full life with dignity

In your case it,
draws like steel from a furnace,
the tenacity most folks lack.

You are, if I may say,
the epitome of a suffering man,
though the bravest of his brand.

Iambic trimeter (workshop:)

Lost Sole
a shoe without a mate
is out of time a crime
of passion so sad today
day next is near to me
along borders of pain
remaining in a cave
when troubled times Are near
I scramble for a perch
response shuts down at once

Footsteps On The Staircase.

Hearing footsteps on the staircase
a young boy is silent in his room,
only moonlight from the window
brightens the darkness and gloom.
His heart beats fast, fear increases
as an angry father opens the door,
staggering drunkenly towards him
to inflict violent cruelty once more.

I don't know why
I comment,
On many poems,

Perhaps to boost up the morale
Instead of making gassy lament
And
that makes the poet elate,
Flat he falls at my feet,

Pick me up I’m so tired
Now comes the strength
You gave me…
I’ m going to have a kicking ride
Friend Loved
Stand by my side…

Join the ice cream army, as they head off to the coast
In the stationary traffic, they sit there and they roast
By the time that they arrive, the day is nearly done
Join the ice cream army as they race to catch some sun

Join the ice cream army, sitting safely on the sands
Lazing in their deckchairs with their sundaes in their hands
Basking in the sunshine, laying like they’re dead
See the ice cream army, watch them all turn red

You are my eyes,
ears and mind,
Without your help
no words I'll find

In my mind poems emanate.
I am no poet still,to date,
I know not the nuances of poetry,
Yet it surprises me,
When many still seek me.

Am I the small bard
You make out of me,
As words flow out
Like milk and cream…

poets are intuitive creatures,
we don't even know some of the things
we know,
twittering in the trees
with manifestos of silence,
bombing the inner plane
with
unrecognized faces
and telling stories of the
yet-to-come.

somehow
we make sense
of the senseless, find the abiding spirit in the
soulless,
write poems of the undiscovered land
until our days of (the rising) sun
are done.

~~~~~~~~~~

A translation of a segment of Zhu Yufu's poem:

"It’s time

Cacophony of grey twigs,
their splotches, lichen on the smoother bark,
their music in the breeze, a rattle, clap.

Bones long gone respond in graves close by,
and moose stop munching tips of trees,
to hear, to see, to smell.

Danger flings its fearful cloak about,
his mighty dark cloud canopy,
all cats go scatty dancing a devil's dance,

A glint of madness in their eye.
The fly and ant take refuge in their holes or heaps,
a metre down they're safe from any harm.*