Creative Coping


Ganesh on Thames
July 14, 2009, 9:39 pm
Filed under: destiny, growth, happiness, religion | Tags: , , , , , , ,

English at an Indian

Wedding, sitting in

The crowd among

The drums and

Auspices like weeds

Among the cultivated

Saries with their

Yellow and magenta

Blue topaz and

Peridot sheen.

 

Looking on Indians,

At home in their religion.

At One with

Whatever it is that

Made them.

The English hope It made them too,

When they come to looking

In the dusty files labelled

Wedding, funeral, birth.

 

God and gods and people and family weave

Together and in this

Web, the couple

Catch the tricks

They need,

Sharing the cords,

Keeping them taught

With Love,

The remover of all obtacles,

Ganesh.



Girl in 5 parts
June 11, 2009, 6:51 pm
Filed under: growth, healing, love, nature, pain, regression, shame, strength | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , ,

1.

My name is girl

My age is when

I feel the day

My height is fringed

With misty things, the haze

That surrounds all,

Air , or something like it,

Electrical.

Part 2.

My fate is but a worm

Squirming in the sand

Beneath an apple on the

Beach.

My rubbery coil senses Autumn’s

Mellow fruit but feels

Only grit and cigarette ends,

Yellowed with spit

And the odd spat of sea.

Part 3.

My Date is a round

Can of something fizzy,

A man, who’ll pop

And bubble over

With sense and tunes

Told well, with confidence

Like some voluntary tramp.

Part 4.

My ache is a bell

Bent out of shape

Chord twanged by the wrong

Hand. Who”s hand?

Who cares? Lets fix it,

If it’s copper it’ll meld well.

Part 5.

My tune is a song

Soldered on to the side

of my liver, an odd

Audience, granted,

But keen, it knows exactly

Where I’ve been and what

Deals Life’s dealt.

No, livers make grand audiences,

They’ll tell you whether or not

You were truly magnificent,

With their view from the stalls.



Poetry in a cafe called Coffee@Bricklane shortly before closing time

 

Sweeping round my feet, no ceremony.

Customer-centric ? What?-

Too close to closing time.

Anyway, this tables’s mine for now,

And on its pink lino I’ll rest

THis little black book,

And a tweed elbow

Like so many others, hordes, in fact,

Vintage with Youth.

 

I’m here now writing, instead

of Yoga or eating, to stop time

And take stock.

Of what? Of myself, of course-

Narcissism or self-awareness I can’t

Tell, self-indulgence, perhaps.

 

‘Soup of the Day was three pounds ten.

Why ten, what’s in it for them?!

Three pound is round.

Rhyming won’t get me anywhere.

 

One day I hope to be above all this.

Taller trees generally have deeper roots to

Counteract the blast of the wind.

 

Blast this music! Always the same

Here at Coffee@, NOISE,

Racket designed to be heard,

No need to listen.

 

Why have I come here

To get myself in tune – all this din.

Well, if I can’t tune here I can’t tune anywhere..

 

Thats it! Back to Kipling,

‘If you can keep your head when

All around are losing theirs

And blaming it on you..’

 

Yes. I’ll keep my wretched head and

Forget regret and neglect

The errors of a self

Lost, waiting for a way out

Not picking up Ariadnes’s

Guiding thread.



Cuttings
September 2, 2008, 8:41 pm
Filed under: control, destiny, earth, growth | Tags: , ,

To worry is to predict shoots

On a sapling

No tree can be planned,

No sprout withdrawn,

Only cropped.