An Ugly (To be fat like me).

A noose around my tummy–good,
kill these folds of flesh,
take me thin;
take me hungry.
Lord, I tried all things;
yoga, fitness,
strict starving regime–
I stare down, my sins bulging;
nothing fits;
mirrors mock me.
I need change;
I need beauty
please tell me how,
to stop being
An Ugly.


The handle and the hinge.

The handle and the hinge sang the same song.
Both sung of pain;
of how dreadful serving
the door was.

Swinging and twisting
open then shut
again, again
work for the door they must.

Tired and angry,
wanting revenge,
the hinge took to creak
the handle stuck with rust.

Happy now, and liberal,
their master now a fixture
the door now an invalid;
their purpose lost and wasted.

“Replace, replace,” cried the occupants.



Burgundy promises
turning grey;
a fierce something
a weak turn did take.
Iris, during day, rawness displayed;
tip-toe to night,
a strange creature overcame.

When Life, a palette,
a demon brush met;
Hell waxed Art,
Hell was Change.


World Woes

We hustled lives,
called it politics;
shut the loud mouths.
Hid pain behind glamour;
over death toll.
in white cassocks,
prayed for ‘order’;
a soft choir song.
The congregation: a Red nation,
but sang not this Song.

Order, a lost cause
Hope, a mere noun
Karma, now a wildfire
its birth, your cigarette bud.