Thursday, 4 September 2014

~ My innocuous Poems … ~

~ My innocuous Poems … ~
Each a typical prototype,
Of any, of many,
Analogous gripes …
They simulate,
The uncertainties, same as in wuthering moors,
The bogging down,
Tinglings, those in my spine …
Biting nails,
Fidgeting feet,
Modest goose-bumps,
On the skin of fidelity, so ripe,
Fingers combing,
Getting tangled in the knots,
Of hair, twisted, tousled, unknowingly,
Grumbling in the pit,
Of hunger, lost an eon before,
Peevish, puckered, a need … 
A yen, ever so undeniable, ever so insatiable …
Jibbing, snarling,
To the ruffled sheet,
Fringes, loosened, so happy,
Batting childishly, on the dark Mahogany wood …
Pretend of a Cougar, as if they are,
Demanding for more,
More than I can defray,
With each fickle of my misty wrist …
At every fold of the page,
Tethered to my spatting, leaking, puzzled pen,
Hitchhiking at every possible concord,
Posing with jutted thumb, in all directions,
Every night … such flaringly cuspid, yet so benign …
And all I can offer them, is nothing, but,
A synthesized ‘beginning’ … a capricious ‘flight’ …
For the ‘end’ … is for them … to choose ……
Then, I’d just lazily sit back and … Smile!


  1. they have a mind of their own...and come when they will...
    and they get a choice...feels good when they choose to end well though...ha.

  2. A bit of me thinks a bit of the Universe is meaningless.
    Is THIS of which true faith is born?
    Admitting some meaninglessness, also my unknowing,
    yet continuing to believe that everything is OK
    in the end, because all is safe in God's Hands.
    Therein is proof of faith