When 40s roll You dig deep into your wishing well To look at what glows inside The mutiny of the body equates To the depleting chemicals and what one can think is How to rake in the dough While the mind is summer is a fruit salad The autumnal mind is a perfectly layered pudding … Continue reading Forties

Constipation (Humor Poem)

Searching for the early Parkinson’s twitch Or the Alzheimer’s gap, I gently trudge past The eponyms that could define me When my knee makes creaky noises a habit And my knuckles crunch as I type the keyboard Of an old typewriter And perhaps if I was lucky enough I would have a disease named after … Continue reading Constipation (Humor Poem)

To The One That Never Was

You the apple in the grape orchard That chews a part of me Still. Like the lost wreck below many nautical miles That holds a finder’s treasure Ingots of carats that could make me exalt in joy Or surrender in a kiss And you, in the fogged and misted orchard Who holds the aspirations of … Continue reading To The One That Never Was


There are places That protect the heart, even the mind From stark realities of impoverished life. When the heart broken and the demented Choose to find a place of idleness and composure To rest and reclaim the life one used to know. And sometimes we stay years inside the places We inevitably call asylums, to … Continue reading Asylum


When your vocal codes Turn from a piccolo to a tuba And all you can do is to feel the weight Of the descending testicles And a little fertile spurt of hairs In all the right places – even wrong And you’re stuck making sense Of this anarchy of little emotions Making a cacophony, a … Continue reading Puberty

Cricket Dreams

A lottery would be A little scratch pad that rustles something inside And that old man with the ticket Was like a school yard kid on a piece of turf Playing cricket. And that kid too had a lottery In his palm. A little bat that would unlock a little treasure On a bare patch … Continue reading Cricket Dreams


The past unfurls and the asphalt paths Seem like scarelet Turkish carpets I guess the peasant I see every day on the mirror Forgot my blood lines, my royalty Of a clement past, I cease to remember And the horror that I can’t seem to forget Fate is not growing wings inside a cocoon It … Continue reading Royalty


The crow is a sign of the diabolical Even death. And that crow that sits On top of a dump and scavenges Little meals, is seen an omen by the common man. It seems evolutionary genetics made them A little less endearing. The lark though will score the range Of an octave in their true … Continue reading Owls