cross purposes

He talks about
and about
and about
you and I and us and we, 
needs and wants and demands
jumbled
like a bumblebee
in a banyan tree.

She thinks about flowers
tumbling into leaves,
and the strangeness of the word
about.

Split

It's not you,
it's me.

The me you turned the me
who wanted to be with you
into.

The me that is more what you
imagined me to be,
than the me that could have been.

The me I stare at,
as you would at an old friend
in disbelief
at the embarassment they have become.

It's not you,
it's me,
me,
me.
And I want me back.

A pome

People who go aww
are those who would go caw
at a hopping crow
found in the snow,
to see if it would
stay on for good

(to be turned into a pet
after first being taken to a vet
to clip its fat fat wings
to make it need that hanging ring
and be taught

to do tricks
with tiny tiny bricks
and to flutter
at the sight of creamy butter
and to blare a song
when they bring out the thongs
and to claw the remote
and use the phone to textvote
and to bring a beer
when the fridge is not near)

or if it would
fly back into the wood.

**********************

People who go aww
should make you wary
and chary
and use words like nary,
for they are
the truly scary.

What?

If we knew
and if we are
and if we heard
what we are,
and if we ran in splendid rivers
that spoke the dreamwords
into blue feathers,
and if we ate all the bloated toys
and threw the world unto the boys
......
if then what then who then why.

The car went beep,
beeeep!,
the bird went che-
-eeeeeep.

A little girl learnt how to
weep
herself to sleep.

And after the lull
is fiercely torn away,
we shrug,
and decide it was but the wind
screaming by.

Days later,
her body surfaces,
like a perverse aquatic phoenix.

Just some drifter, they shrug,
as she drifts by.

I gave my life to death,
that part of me that ached
with having to live,
simply to die.

My fear,
I threw before death;
that part of me that lay frozen
at the terror of it all
simply...ending.

And my death,
I laid rest for death;
that part of me that worried
how and when this flight
would fail.

And the words
have slowly slunk back,
now that there is but one death
for me to die,
and so many lives to live till then.

There are few things that say go
away
as clearly as a thick door,
barred,
and pasted with a poster that's
tarred
in blood-red red, which says go
away.

Note: One should not post random verse, especially those deemed by oneself to be of a crappy quality. Unless, that is, at least three people demand it. Why? Who knows? You can blame KM,TR, and Pri for this. And no, still no clue what it's about. Pop-pyschologists may feel free to explore.

*************************

Little by little,
in free-fall,
folding hands
hold up the ball;
and a big bird sings
in a far-away tone
for its lover's ring
to awaken the phone.

The bubble cries
for the stones are sweet;
there's nothing to ask for,
much less to keep.
And on dark mornings
death comes to meet,
talking softly over tea
as it tries not to weep.

Hard love

Since
you are
mine

as you
so often profess
you are,

how dare you
keep using phrases such
as my life?

Yours,
is ours,
is mine.
Get used to it.

The cold coffee
mug
whispers
furtively to the freezing dinner
plate,
uncomfortable under my gaze
which avoids yours,
hurtful and glaring,
like the evening sun
that stabs over your shoulder
as you half-lean
towards
away-from-here,
and these petty arguments.