there’s no time

it’s said time will end one day or night as if it now exists which i don’t think it does                                                                                               because

it has no substance, isn’t subject to change therefore, so. tho it’s true i’ve no formal learning                                                                              . but a hunch my instinct is good.

 

when i fell in love i didn’t know what to do & couldn’t think because everything was just you                                                                               know

& i didn’t know where i was or when, & some days i was like No. & other days was just, omg

, Joy & half understood what it is to walk

on the moon. the world is miracle

but you shakin yr heads like it’s, impossible.

balloon, something you invent; figment. idea i think –

one day you’re gone & never was & violins don’t begin to tell it.

i hope these butchered words do.

Post hog

Hi all. I come in peace (laughing) I am mindful that I’m riding a wave and posting heaps of stuff. …

That in mind, this space online that will, with time, hold mostly thoughts and odes of mine.

Some with ease, may not be pleased,

Some will wonder, what spell I’m under.

To think such things and say out-loud,

What some may think Most don’t allow.

So I implore, you to ignore, if what I think, you don’t adore.

I’m nothing special and will shortly slow down.

Rounding Down

His mind is imprisoned by a cage.

He is framed with sentences handed down by strangers.

He is alone while the other voices fill his head, even with the crouching crowd in his cell.

He argues for, and against, all conspiracies.

He is free to sit with selves; to hear who yells loudest.

He takes the liberty and waits to see who wins today’s war, for tomorrow it all begins again.

He paces frantically round the cube, wearing down its four corners; baring his heart, soul, spirit and body.  He thinks he remembers he’d barely made a full circle.

He perspires learning from his troubled travels not so long ago and, while circling above, they spy the carcass of his joy and humour.

Orange Light

Night,
Out on my porch.
The orange glow from the street lights
Flicker through the deep blue hue.

Looking down, I catch myself fiddling, winding the ties belonging to the recycled plastic shopping bag in my clutch.

I wonder off and wonder why street lights are orange.
Are they supposed to mimic the ‘slow down to stop’ orange traffic light?

I’m dawdling.  
Must hurry.  Deposit this bag and its contents in the rubbish bin under the orange light.

“You dropped your bag”.  
Zone in fast, orange to green, so to speak.
Focusing, I see someone in the orange glow.
We both stand looking down at the soiled nappies exposed by a tear,
In the bag.

“How old”? A jovial jest.
Confident that they're now wondering about the age of the nappy wearer.  
“24” I reply.  
“Aww 24 months”? They assume.

“No, 24 years”.

Red, means stop then.

Grand-dest Daughter

Once in a dream-time in a land far away, MJ woke up, and wanted to play.

With magic and mystic and music in mind, she went for a wander to see what she’d find.

While moving and grooving and rhythm she kept, gold fairy dust sprinkled on each careful step but the road was as wavy as water is wet, it wobbled like jelly, all gooey she’d get!

She skipped and she hopped and flew up and down, weaving through sunbeams, drank dew drops she found.

Then stopping for *kai adventure on hold, headed for home before she got cold.

Dusky and dim did the lovely day dwindle, sparkling like rows of Christmas day tinsel.

Moonlight and twinkles above her sweet head, soothing the traveller as she lay in her bed, once in a dream-time in a land far away.

*kai = food

Remember to Breathe

Strings were played on the heart last eve, the voice on the phone made me really want to believe.  Well practiced verses, hooks oiled and sharp, here comes the chorus,

Come back to me, please.

Like a ball on a playground, a bird that’s not free, listening attentively, weak at the knees.  Being lulled and caressed, words cradle like hands, lyrics like syrup yet bad they command.

Wait for the chorus, come back to me,

Breathe.

Knows when to pause, so subtle the clause, hook line and sinker, it’s the game he adores.   Promises broken, heart remember you’re free, he’s good at what he does just remember to breathe.  Wait for the chorus,

Come back to me, please.

You know all the old tunes you’ve heard them before, like lovers they lead you, scores up on the board.  Their comfort deceiving, and it’s riddled with dread, this time, you’ll know where you’ll end up instead.

You laugh and you smile and pretend all is well, awake to the maestro, aware of his spell.

Wait for the chorus and sing the right words, gently and quietly remember to breathe.

Nearing the end of the words off by heart, you tell him he had you right from the start.  You echo that you too, hate being apart.

You give it your best shot to make him believe and wait for the chorus, just remember to breathe.

Chopsueycide

Chopsueycide; They’re gathering for the feast this time; last time it was a roasting.
Chopsueycide; An acquired taste that’s guaranteed to raise temperatures, but not pulses.
Chopsueycide; Added ginger will certainly blow your head off, and the last breath of garlic will keep them away for sure. Onions will make them cry their eyes out but, adding carrots will not make anyone see any better.
Chopsueycide; They’ll ensure the sharp scissors snip the vermicelli, like the butchers’ knives that sliced through body parts and backbone.
Chopsueycide; Their words blunt and thug, like a mallet pulverising carcasses, now simmering and stewing in dark soy sauce.

Chopsueycide; Finished off by lashings of humble pie, whipped cream all garnished with sour grapes, whilst we suffocate in the stench of sweet unsuccessfulness.

Chopsueycide; A surprisingly popular dish, best served cold.

unlucky star

unlucky star
for N.

you would
have sworn
it was that
unlucky star
that flamed out
above you
and took you
afraid that star
all your life
saw it coming
and going in
the taking away
of your mother,
your father
wed to another,
your own
punch-drunk
marriage,
a daughter
signed off to
the ex’s brother,
a step mother
whose children called
you to bring back
from the dead,
in your prayers
you tried to
run as far
from that star
as the world
would let you
running
stumbling until
it flamed out
burning time
to a stop
gathered
you
in
leaving
only
‘lucky’
‘unlucky’
these words
we hang in
doubt
upon
you
still

two
sides
of an
ancient
coin laid
on the
eyes

march 2016

Think like a winner

Tired of bearing a pessimistic feeling,

With emotions turning the mind and reeling,

A heavy burden on heart does force,

Some intense pressure without any source.

 

Unconditioned with fortune, yet looking to blame,

Trying to certain a reason like a lame,

Unable to focus whenever in a game,

And spoiling the crimsoned name and fame.

 

Astonished as anyone can be,

Disheartened like a losing bee,

Clicking on without any fee,

And always abiding by the common decree.

 

What to do and where to go,

Does arise as question to and fro,

Is it a common practice or just silliness?

To circumvent around and get tired in dizziness.

 

Failure to motivate self, and depressed as always,

Trashing all gains for trivial sways,

Dwindling amongst self and motives of mind,

Thinking uselessly and inconsequentially getting rewind.

Where is lost the peace though there is silence,

Amidst expertise, yet looking for guidance,

Trying to figure out the best motive to survive,

Peacefully even in arduous way of life.

 

Every individual urges to rise above tides,

Never to be restricted by uneven rides,

People ask me to glide above rough waters,

To foresee the future, howsoever in tatters.

 

People do motivate me to think positive,

To act real as a winner and be adaptive,

Never do I refrain from self fear,

Rather win over it and become crystal clear.

 

Keep no suspicion in mind, howsoever strong a feeling be,

Keep all gates open wide, like a bright fruitful tree,

To learn from failures and experiences in sight,

And win over tough situations with all might.

 

Fight be your destiny, do claim the wise,

And victory be your testimony as the sole prize,

Nature be it nurtured through an open channel,

Success be the drop dripping through funnel.

——————-            JASJIT SINGH SODHI

Side Steps Tomorrow

It’s not really fair for the one who stays in fear of being defeated, whose choices are swept away by the other’s single choice is a single self.

It’s not really fear that keeps one too near to the One whose freedom is strangled by tendons not tender.

It’s not really tears that tear one up, while rage rallies beneath the veneer of endless courtesy and, no others hear or care to see tears turn to spikes of glass and facade.

It’s not really reasonable when one can’t appear, to not want to be here, can’t stand to sit here while others over there admire ones choice, because they don’t have to be here.

It’s not really real, dare not say how one feels for dread of dull thuds from sharp judges’ mental mallets.

It’s not really just, when fine lines so thin, keep one wrong or right where they want one.

It’s not really good when one lonely one side steps tomorrow to stop feeling,

Sorry.

A Loan

Leave me a loan, so I can go on spending time endlessly paying for consequences.

Hand me the shrapnel from your pockets, then like a bullet, I’ll whistle passed you, and shoot to the moon while you eye up my shiny purse.

Sing me your song, and I’ll turn your notes into a heavenly hit, with a score that’s off the record.

Leave me alone, or you’re gonna pay.

Fathers Day

A few weeks ago I posted a Poem ‘Reinga’ dedicated to my daughter Sarah.

Now this morning – Sarah has given me a poem she wrote for me on Fathers Day so I thought to share it here…

Thanks for reading…

 

FATHERS DAY

Dead weight fingers

breaking their fall

on too large piano keys

and strung up guitars

 

You don’t know what it’s like

to have a father like you

waiting for sounds

under the grass

 

and under the power lines

and over from the motorway.

 

My eyes and my soul

are always swimming

and you believed it

you saw the water

 

Even though I was 17 and

said things I didn’t mean at all

You broke my fall.

 

Not everyone remembers

Learning to listen

Or who taught them