to quit:
being bitter just to seem truthful
to quit:
being a quitter just to seem youthful
Remorse
let all remorse
drip like dew
welcome the dawn
welcoming you
Distracting Thoughts On Distracting Thoughts
I guarantee you do not need a cellphone,
A bag of fries, unopened can of pop,
A passenger behind you raising hell, drone
About your driving with no plan to stop;
A toddler trying hard to lose his harness
Or children crying out to have their say
Mixed in with whines complaining of the farness
Of wherever you’re headed to this day.
You do not need these things to be distracted
Although they’re bound to help without a doubt,
If you won’t rest until your life’s impacted
By injury that glamorizes gout,
Just tell yourself that you’re distraction-free,
Then watch yourself distract you totally.
This truly is intended as a public service message. (The cynical tone is deliberate but NOT meant to make light of the matter.)
- Distracted driving is a hazard
- Thoughts can distract just as much as anything else
- Don’t let your guard down
- Focus on what matters!
Holding On
The sun sets on one loss
And rises on another
Every setting though
Reminds us letting go
Is holding on to what matters
A Bus To Triplicane
Just released a new short story on my Channillo series The Gulmohur Tales. Excerpt below.
— — — —
Madras, India
July 1996
John Perry sucked thirstily on his straw, tilting the coconut into just the right angles to get the straw into every last pocket of sweet water.
Nectar!
Using his free hand, he wiped the sweat from his brow and grinned to see his second handkerchief surrender to complete saturation. The first one still clung to the back of his neck and began to feel like a part of him. He handed the coconut back to the vendor with a nod and a sincere “Thank you”.
The man smiled back as he lopped off the cap surrounding the mouth of the coconut and and cleaved the shell open with a single perfectly aimed strike of his machete. He handed the open halves back to John, and gestured to him to use the fibrous cap to spoon the tender white fruit out with.
John responded excitedly, transporting chunks of the sweet kernel into his mouth.
“Good?” Asif enquired as he handed the vendor his own spent coconut and waved down the offer to cut it open.
“Mmm hmm,” John responded without interrupting his snack, his face contorted in a show of pleasure that needed no explanation.
It was John’s last day in Madras. Asif had played the role of tour guide extremely well. A chauffeur by profession, he was on loan to John from a friend. Asif’s mandate had been simple. He was to show John a side of the city that only the locals saw. That was exactly what he’d done.
. . . . . . Continue Reading
Fields Of Praise
Harvesting fields of praise
Can dull the scythe
Of wisdom
Burden Of Lies
Every lie we fabricate
Comes back to us one day
Consider it the dues of fate
That liars have to pay
Feeling Down
When I feel down
I call this friend
He tells me of
His pains and then
I only feel down
About feeling down
Unidiotic
Nobody is an idiot
Each of us acts like one
On occasion
Some choose
To stay in character
Channillo
Today I released my first short story series on Channillo. It runs concurrently with my poetry series.
The Gulmohur Tales
Sand In My Parfait
This is certainly helping flex those writing muscles. Whatever it takes, I suppose.
🙂