Nobody’s cats

stray cats they answer to no one they eat what they get they sleep where they can. stray cats are nobody’s cats. they come in all colours tawny, pepper, mottled, grey their eyes like glass marbles that pierce through the dark they turn up whimpering when there’s fish on the stove they set up their…

A smile to remember

we had goldfish and they circled around and around in the bowl on the table near the heavy drapes covering the picture window and my mother, always smiling, wanting us all to be happy, told me, ‘be happy Henry!’ and she was right: it’s better to be happy if you can but my father continued…

A wild horse in the sun

Ride A Wild Horse Ride a wild horse with purple wings Striped yellow and black except his head which must be red. Ride a wild horse against the sky – hold tight to his wings before you die whatever else you leave undone once ride a wild horse into the sun. Hannah Kahn (1911-1988) I…

To poetry and all things sublime

Our poetry is the last dreamy song sung in haste by a head on the rails listening to the rumble of the approaching train before the steel crushes its thought. – Farewell, by K. Satchidanandan

After the Storm

Whoosh! The wind rattled through the windows Strewing papers everywhere The skies were ablaze in white fire The heavens raged and flared. The torrent that followed, the fury, the wrath, The night was not one to forget.

Madness

Take me as I am In all my imperfections Take my half crazed dreams My vapid obsessions And promise to hold tight When madness calls. Someday I’ll find my way. And when you chance upon Your half crazed dreams And your eyes singe with senseless rage I too will hold on Till all eternity.

Beautiful

You’re beautiful. Don’t let anyone say otherwise. A little fairer, a little thinner… Would it really change anything? Some days you feel like A mannequin in the window The bouffant, the smoking eyes A glam show for some likes. It’s ok to look plain. It’s ok to walk out in loafers and tees And hair…

Wildflowers

Wildflowers bound the wayside Thistle flowers and forget-me-nots No one watched them. They grew Of their own accord. No one cared. They willed themselves Into existence. Tenders shoots peeping out Feeding on the morning dew And the fire to meet the sky.