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People think of the inventor as a screwball, but no one ever asks the inventor what he thinks of other people.

quote by Charles Kettering
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Why Me?

When the hopes are hassled
And relationships are rattled
Naïveté asks, why me?
When wishes are whacked
And dreams are dashed
Naïveté asks, why me?
When fantasies are fettered
And blessings are battered
Naïveté asks, why me?
When desires are demolished
And ambitions are admonished
Naïveté asks, why me?
When temptations are traumatized
And passions are pulverized
Naïveté asks, why me?

Strangely,

Naïveté with influence
And naïveté with affluence
Never asks, why me?
Naïveté with name
And naïveté with fame
Never asks, why me?
Naïveté with health
And naïveté with wealth
Never asks, why me?
Naïveté with fiefdom
And naïveté with wisdom
Never asks, why me?
Naïveté with beauty
And naïveté with booty
Never asks, why me?

poem by Hitesh Sheth
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She Thinks Shes Edith Head

Back in high school I knew a girl
Not too simple and not too kind
We both grew up, but I heard shed changed
From a new wave fan to another kind
She thinks shes edith head
But you might know shes not
The accent in her speech
She didnt have growing up
She thinks shes edith head
Or helen girlie brown
Or some other cultural figure
We dont know a lot about
Its been years since I moved away
But at christmas I come home
And I saw her reflection
In the window of a store
She was talking to herself
Not too simple and not too kind
I walked on by, it was complicated
And it stuck in my mind
She thinks shes edith head
But you might know shes not
The accent in her speech
She didnt have growing up
The accent in her speech
She didnt have growing up
The accent in her speech
She didnt have growing up
She thinks shes edith head
She thinks shes edith head now
She thinks shes edith head
She thinks shes edith head now
She thinks shes edith head
She thinks shes edith head now
She thinks shes edith head
She thinks shes edith head now

song performed by They Might Be Giants
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Illahi Nama (Book of God)

In the Book of God (Ilahi-nama) 'Attar framed his mystical teachings in various stories that a caliph tells his six sons, who are kings themselves and seek worldly pleasures and power.
The first son is captivated by a virgin princess, and his father tells him the adventures of a beautiful and virtuous woman who attracts several men but miraculously survives their abuse and then forgives them. They acknowledge that carnal desire is necessary to propagate the race but also recognize that passionate love can lead to spiritual love, which can annihilate the soul in the beloved.
Other stories indicate the importance of respecting the lives of other creatures such as ants or dogs. One only thinks oneself better than a dog because of one's dog-like nature.

The second son tells his father that his heart craves magic; but his father warns him against the work of the Devil. A monk tells a shaikh that he has chosen the job of locking up a savage dog inside himself, and he advises the shaikh to lock up anger lest he be changed into a dog. The father suggests that this son ask for something more worthy and tells an anecdote in which Jesus teaches a man the greatest name of God. The man uses it to make bones come alive into a lion, which devours him, leaving his bones. Jesus then says that when a person asks for something unworthy, God does not grant it. Birds and beasts flee from people, because people eat them. God tells Moses to watch his heart when he is alone, to be kind and watch his tongue when he is with people, the road in front when he is walking, and his gullet when he is dining. A saint tells a shaikh that love is never denied to humans, for only the lover knows the true value of the beloved. Another saint warns that unless you pray for protection from negativity (the Devil), you shall not enter the court of God.

The third son of the caliph asks for a cup that could display the whole world. 'Attar concluded a story by saying that Sufism is to rest in patience and forsake all desire for the world, and trust in God means bridling one's tongue and wishing for better things for others than for oneself. This son asks why his father seems to disparage the love of honor and the love of wealth which all seem to possess. The caliph replies that in the crazy prison of the world one can achieve greatness only by devotion. Since one speaks to God through the heart and soul, it is difficult to speak with God of worldly things. The third son asks if he can be allowed to seek power in moderation; but the father still warns that this will place screens between him and God. Each screen created by seeking power will create more screens. One must see both the good and the bad inside and outside oneself to understand how they are connected together. Saints who reach their goal see nothingness in all things, making sugar seem like poison and a rose like thorns. Ayaz advises the conquering sultan Mahmud to leave his self behind since he is better being entirely We. In the last story for his third son, the father says that thousands of arts, mysteries, definitions, commands, prohibitions, orders, and injunctions are founded on the intellect. What cup could be more revealing than this?

The fourth son seeks the water of life, and his father warns him against desire. A wise man considers Alexander the Great the slave of his slave, because the Greek conqueror has submitted to greed and desire, which this wise man controls. If the son cannot have the water of life, he asks for the knowledge that will illuminate his heart. In one story 'Attar concluded that if you are not faithful in love, you are in love only with yourself. The fifth son asks for the ring of Solomon that enables one to communicate with birds and other animals. The Way is summarized as seeing the true road, traveling light, and doing no harm. The father tells this son that he has chosen an earthly kingdom, because he has not heard of the kingdom of the next world. He advises this king that since his sovereignty will not endure not to load the whole world on his shoulders. Why take on the burden of all creation? The caliph suggests that his son practice contentment, which is an eternal kingdom that overshadows even the Sun. When Joseph was thrown into a pit, the angel Gabriel counseled him that it is better to notice a single blemish in yourself than to see a hundred lights of the Unseen.

The sixth son desires to practice alchemy, but his father perceives that he is caught in the snare of greed. Gold is held more tightly by a miser than the rock grips the ore. The son observes that excessive poverty often leads to losing faith, and so he asks God for both the philosopher's stone and for gold; but his father replies that one cannot promote both faith and the world at the same time. In the epilog the poet commented that since he receives his daily bread from the Unseen, he does not have to be the slave of wretched men, and 'Attar concluded this work with the satisfaction that he has perfumed the name of God with his poetry.

poem by Farid ud-Din Attar Abu Hamid bin Abu Bakr Ibrahim
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Screwballs

Screwballs here, screwballs there,
screwballs seem to be everywhere.
You walk down the street
and what do you meet?
Another screwball at your feet.

What makes so many people odd?
Surely it can't be blamed on God.
So who do we blame? Can it be
blameless that we as a society
have created the screwballs in our sight?

Having to deal with a life of need
starts a human's tiny seed
to burst forth into an emptiness.
And the saturated brain starts its fall
And the end result creates a screwball.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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What Is This Between You And Me?

When dawn arrives, sun rises,
And daylight bristles awake,
Never asks; Who leaves an ache as keepsake? ,
Grateful for each day, that he didn’t forsake.

When it rains, the cuckoo sings,
The forest echoes with his cravings,
Never asks; Whose soul-wrenching greetings the rain brings?
Tying her mute existence with what heartstrings?

When the wind moans in sweet whispers,
In ripe orchards, where the fruit anchors,
Never asks; With what sweet nothings he casts his doubts? ,
But in deeper shades she flushes.

When the moon returns on the rung of stars,
The night in obeisance crawls, like hungry jaguars,
Never asks-questions about his whereabouts, all that in the darkness chars,
But steers to him on the shoulder's of the lodestar.

When the storm hurls thunder and rain,
Enduring the earth braces open and doesn’t complain,
Never asks; What havoc in this rage she sustains?
Content to know in her hands, lie the reins to his restrain.

When the butterfly flickers mingling colors,
The blossoms throw no tempers, till their contrast blurs,
Never asks; Who steals my colors and violates the sanctity of my lair?
With open arms to his designs she willing concurs.

When the clouds lie scattered & wander,
The hills try hard to delay their departure,
Never asks; Who rides off to what strange lands with my emotions?
She knows with her heavy on his heart he returns.

Now, you have the temerity to ask me;
What is this between you and me?

x-x-x
Seema.Joglekar
5th Dec-2009

poem by Seema joglekar
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Gracie

Gracie takes the bottles from the porch where you have left them
There are age old dregs of wine you never shared
Drivin' down the motorway with all the best intentions
She's a picture of perfection with her cotton colored hair

But its you she thinks of in the hours while she's awake
She takes her lipstick from her case to make a smile
You she thinks of when she thinks of her mistakes
Regret's an open road that stretches out for miles

Coffee pots and bottles cups and all of this disorder
She soaks the plates in the dishwater 'till it's cold
Her reflection in the windows of the stores around the corner
Walk beside her while she's striding down the road

But its you she thinks of in the hours while she's awake
She takes her lipstick from her case to make a smile
You she thinks of when she thinks of her mistakes
Regret's an open road that stretches out for miles

La la la la la

But its you she thinks of in the hours while she's awake
She takes her lipstick from her case to make a smile
You she thinks of when she thinks of her mistakes
Regret's an open road that stretches out for miles

song performed by Bic Runga
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She Thinks My Tractor's Sexy

Plowin' these fields in the hot summer sun
Over by the gate lordy here she comes
With a basket full of chicken and a big cold jug of sweet tea
I make a little room and she climbs on up
Open up a throttle and stir a little dust
Just look at her face she ain't a foolin' me

She thinks my tractor's sexy
It really turns her on
She's always starin' at me
While I'm chuggin' along
She likes the way it's pullin' while we're tillin' up the land
She's even kind of crazy 'bout my farmer's tan
She's the only one who really understands what gets me
She thinks my tractor's sexy

We ride back and forth 'til we run out of light
Take it to the barn put it up for the night
Climb up in the loft sit and talk with the radio on
She said she's got a dream and I asked what it is
She wants a little farm and a yard full of kids
One more teeny weeny ride before take her home

She thinks my tractor's sexy
It really turns her on
She's always starin' at me
While I'm chuggin' along
She likes the way it's pullin' while we're tillin' up the land
She's even kind of crazy 'bout my farmer's tan
She's the only one who really understands what gets me
She thinks my tractor's sexy

Well she ain't into cars or pickup trucks
But if it runs like a Deere man her eyes light up

She thinks my tractor's
She thinks my tractor's sexy
It really turns her on
She's always starin' at me
While I'm chuggin' along
She likes the way it's pullin' while we're tillin' up the land
She's even kind of crazy 'bout my farmer's tan
She's the only one who really understands what gets me
She thinks my tractor's sexy
She thinks my tractor's sexy
She thinks my tractor's sexy

song performed by Kenny Chesney from Everywhere We Go
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She Thinks My Tractors Sexy

(paul overstreet/jim collins)
Plowing these fields in the hot summer sun
Over by the gate lordy here she comes
With a basket full of chicken and a big cold jug of sweet tea
I make a little room and she climbs on up
Open up a throttle and stir a little dust
Just look at her face she aint a foolin me
She thinks my tractors sexy
It really turns her on
Shes always staring at me
While Im chuggin along
She likes the way its pullin while were tillin up the land
Shes even kind of crazy bout my farmers tan
Shes the only one who really understands what gets me
She thinks my tractors sexy
We ride back and forth until we run out of light
Take it to the barn put it up for the night
Climb up in the loft sit and talk with the radio on
She said shes got a dream and I asked what it is
She wants a little farm and a yard full of kids
One more teeny weeny ride before take her home
She thinks my tractors sexy
It really turns her on
Shes always staring at me
While Im chuggin along
She likes the way its pullin while were tillin up the land
Shes even kind of crazy bout my farmers tan
Shes the only one who really understands what gets me
She thinks my tractors sexy
Well she aint into cars or pick up trucks
But if it runs like a deere man her eyes light up
She thinks my tractors....
She thinks my tractors sexy
It really turns her on
Shes always staring at me
While Im chuggin along
She likes the way its pullin while were tillin up the land
Shes even kind of crazy bout my farmers tan
Shes the only one who really understands what gets me
She thinks my tractors sexy
She thinks my tractors sexy
She thinks my tractors sexy

song performed by Kenny Chesney
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112

THIS IS A VERY LONG POEM AND I WANT IT PRUNED:

I used to like gardens, putting flowers on the row,
Tending the soil, cutting the grass,
Removing the weeds,
Pruning the lush greenery of trees
And making the flor-de-luna vines
Create a certain impression
Of a landscape,
A certain motif
A theme of gladness
Something to cherish

I take a good look around my
Little garden
And then I would sit under the shade of flowering champaca trees throwing fragrance
Sprinkling perfume
The neighbors say that the scent of ylang-ylang even reaches their houses
And the white sampaguitas so exuding
I used to dirty my hands putting soil on the flower pots
Designing landscapes of love
And patience, curves and hills,
And tend to all the colors mixing in space,

I used to

I am telling you I stopped
When I married,
My wife comes to my garden
And rearranges everything
She puts what she wants
And pulls what she
Thinks repels her
She cuts the flowers
Puts them on the vase
And uproots some species
That I love
And soon the garden has not become mine
Crowded, and strange
And what used to be my little garden
Green Bermuda grass and patterns
Red Anthuriums heart shaped
Pink Dahlias praying to the sun
Orange Gumamelas dancing in the wind
And yellow dancing ladies beaming with pride
Olive Palms waiving to passers by with all cheers
Violets so assuming
White lilies in pure dignities
Lotuses in meditation moods
Husky Cactuses confident with thorns

[...] Read more

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Pruning A Very Long Poem

THIS IS A VERY LONG POEM AND I WANT IT PRUNED:

I used to like gardens, putting flowers on the row,
Tending the soil, cutting the grass,
Removing the weeds,
Pruning the lush greenery of trees
And making the flor-de-luna vines
Create a certain impression
Of a landscape,
A certain motif
A theme of gladness
Something to cherish

I take a good look around my
Little garden
And then I would sit under the shade of flowering champaca trees throwing fragrance
Sprinkling perfume
The neighbors say that the scent of ylang-ylang even reaches their houses
And the white sampaguitas so exuding
I used to dirty my hands putting soil on the flower pots
Designing landscapes of love
And patience, curves and hills,
And tend to all the colors mixing in space,

I used to

I am telling you I stopped
When I married,
My wife comes to my garden
And rearranges everything
She puts what she wants
And pulls what she
Thinks repels her
She cuts the flowers
Puts them on the vase
And uproots some species
That I love
And soon the garden has not become mine
Crowded, and strange
And what used to be my little garden
Green Bermuda grass and patterns
Red Anthuriums heart shaped
Pink Dahlias praying to the sun
Orange Gumamelas dancing in the wind
And yellow dancing ladies beaming with pride
Olive Palms waiving to passers by with all cheers
Violets so assuming
White lilies in pure dignities
Lotuses in meditation moods
Husky Cactuses confident with thorns

[...] Read more

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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If You Got It, Flaunt It

Youll never compete with the others!
Why, look at the way youre dressed!
Come on now, get yourself together!
Baby if you got it
You have got to flaunt it now
Baby if you flaunt it
You can make them want it now baby
Yes, I got it
And Im gonna flaunt it now
Gonna make him want it
Yeah Im gonna flaunt it now
Sister thinks shes got it
And shes gonna flaunt it now
(who do you think you are?
Who do you think you are? )
Sister thinks shes got it
And shes gonna flaunt it now
(who do you think you are?
Who do you think you are? )
Sister thinks shes got it
And shes gonna flaunt it now
(who do you think you are?
Who do you think you are? )
All you catty creatures,
Ive got my better features too
So step aside you leeches,
Im gonna teach a little trick to you
Baby if you got it
You had better flaunt it now
Baby if you flaunt it
You can make him want it now
Baby yes, I got it
And Im gonna flaunt it now
Gonna make him want it
cause Im gonna flaunt it now
Sister thinks shes got it,
And shes gonna flaunt it now
(who do you think you are?
Who do you think you are? )
Sister thinks shes got it,
And shes gonna flaunt it now
(who do you think you are?
Who do you think you are? )
Sister thinks shes got it,
And shes gonna flaunt it now
(who do you think you are?
Who do you think you are? )
All you catty creatures
Ive got my better features too
Step aside you leeches

[...] Read more

song performed by Donna Summer
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An Old Man With His Hat

There Little Robbie found him in an old yellow album
A blurred picture of a half old man with his hat
Standing in front of the coffin
He smiles shy but wide with his teeth gone making a hole like Little Robbie when he lose his baby teeth
Little Robbie doesn’t recognize him and he wonder where he is now
Maybe he is one of his grandfathers, one of his great uncles, one of his old families
So he asks to his big sister
But his sister doesn’t recognize him and she wonder who he is
Maybe he is one of his grandfathers, one of his great uncles, one of his old families
So he asks to his mother
But his mother doesn’t recognize him and she wonder how he was there
Maybe he is one of his grandfathers, one of his great uncles, one of his old families
So he asks to his father
But his father doesn’t recognize him and he wonder what he did there
Maybe he is one of his grandfathers, one of his great uncles, one of his old families
So he asks to his uncle
But his uncle doesn’t recognize him and he wonder when the picture taken
Maybe he is one of his grandfathers, one of his great uncles, one of his old families
So he asks hopelessly to his grandfather
His grandfather takes a deep look to that picture and wonders why Little Robbie asks
Little Robbie says, “I want to meet him! I want to know about him! I want to play with him! ”
Maybe he is one of his grandfathers, one of his great uncles, one of his old families
But his grandfather shakes his head, “No, he is not.”
He is not one of his grandfathers, one of his great uncles, one of his old families
He is just an old man with his hat
“He accompanied your great grandfather when he sick until his death. This picture is taken in a burial of your great grandfather.”
His grandfather stares at little Robbie
“Now, are you disappointed? ”
He is not one of his grandfathers, one of his great uncles, one of his old families
He is just an old man with his hat
Little Robbie shakes his head, “No, I am not.”
Though he is not one of his grandfathers, one of his great uncles, one of his old families
Though he is just an old man with his hat
“But I still want to meet him, I want to know about him, and I want to play with him! ”
And then he could be one of his grandfathers, one of his great uncles, one of his old families

poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Prince Of The Punks

A well known groover, rock n roll user,
Wanted to be a star.
But he failed the blues, and hes back to loser,
Playing folk in a country bar.
Reggae music didnt seem to satisfy his needs.
He couldnt handle modern jazz,
cause they play it in difficult keys.
But now hes found a music he can call his own,
Some people call it junk, but he dont care,
Hes found a home.
Hes the prince of the punks and hes finally made it,
Thinks he looks cool but his act is dated.
He acts working class but its all bologna,
Hes really middle class and hes just a phony.
He acts tough but its just a front,
Hes the prince of the punks.
Hes the prince of the punks and hes finally made it,
Thinks he looks cool but his act is dated.
He tried to be gay, but it didnt pay,
So he bought a motorbike instead.
He failed at funk, so he became a punk,
cause he thought hed make a little more bread.
Hes been through all of the changes,
From rock opera to mantovani.
Now he wears a swastika band
And leather boots up past his knees.
Hes much too old for twenty-eight,
But he thinks hes seventeen,
He thinks hes a stud,
But I think he looks more like a queen.
Hes the prince of the punks and hes finally made it,
Thinks he looks cool but his act is dated.
He talks like a cockney but its all bologna,
Hes really middle class and hes just a phony.
He acts tough but its just a front.
Hes the prince of the punks and hes finally made it,
Thinks he looks cool but his act is dated.
He acts working class but its all bologna,
Hes really middle class and hes just a phony.
He acts tough but its just a front,
Hes the prince of the punks and hes finally made it,
Thinks he looks cool but his act is dated.
He acts working class but its all bologna,
Hes really middle class and hes just a phony.
He acts tough but its just a front,
Hes the prince of the punks.

song performed by Kinks
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435

The Police Officer Arrested Them
Last Night While They Were Strolling On The Park
And This Is The Story:
He Asks For Their Names And They Say They Have None

He Asks From Where They Come From And They Say
They Do Not Really Know
He Asks Them Where They Are Going And They Tell Him
They Are Still Undecided

He Asks Them What Is In Their Bags And They Say They Are Just Nothing
He Asks Them Some More And They Say
They Have Nothing To Say Of Themselves
They Come From Nowhere

And They Are Heading Nowhere
And The Police Handcuffed Them
These Vagrants
These Potential Terrorists Of This Rural Place
Where The People Still Love Peace

And This Afternoon The Police Officer Brings Them All To Me
And He Tells Me About The Whole Story
About His Questions And Their Answers

And I Am Looking At Them And They Look At Me
Straight In My Eyes
With Dignity And Without Shame
With All Pride

That They Are Telling The Truth, The Whole Truth And Nothing But The Truth
That This One Whose Age Is 16 And This Other One Whose Age Is 18
Are Simply Talking About
Themselves And About Us
And About The Policeman Himself

And Surely, I Agree
We Have No Names, We Do Not Know Where We Come From And We Do Not
Really Know Where We Are Going
We Are All Like That, In The Strictest Sense Of The Word, Except

For Our Little Pretensions
And So I Ordered The Policeman To Release Them All
And Let Them Be Themselves
And Let Them Go In Peace And Finish Their Journey With All Ease

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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One Is 16 And The Other 18

the police officer arrested them
last night while they were strolling on the park
and this is the story:

he asks for their names and they say they have none
he asks from where they come from and they say
they do not really know
he asks them where they are going and they tell him
they are still undecided
he asks them what is in their bags and they say they are just nothing
he asks them some more and they say
they have nothing to say of themselves

they come from nowhere
and they are heading nowhere

and the police handcuffed them
these vagrants
these potential terrorists of this rural place
where the people still love peace

and this afternoon the police officer brings them all to me
and he tells me about the whole story
about his questions and their answers

and i am looking at them and they look at me
straight in my eyes
with dignity and without shame
with all pride

that they are telling the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth

that this one whose age is 16 and this other one whose age is 18
are simply talking about
themselves
and about us
and about the policeman himself

and surely, i agree

we have no names, we do not know where we come from and we do not
really know where we are going

we are all like that, in the strictest sense of the word, except
for our little pretensions

and so i ordered the policeman to release them all
and let them be
themselves

[...] Read more

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Dubmobile

Talking about the reel the reel the reel....
(echo: talking about the reel the reel the reel.... in reverse!)
Dubmobile
Now Im the main man at the microphone stand
I chat two words just to make you understand
Im the main man at the microphone stand
I chat two words just to make you understand
I see a set of wheels and I like the touch an feel
Me love it even better when me sit behind the wheel
I got ambition an den me find ignition
Then the dealer ask me if I like electric transmission
The dealer asks if me like plenty of vision,
Yes me boss I want no collision
No collision
Now Im the main man at the microphone stand
I chat two words just to make you understand
Im the main man at the microphone stand
I chat two words just to make you understand
So I take a test drive and eat everything alive
When I clock the needle move, I couldnt believe me eyes
It touched 140 to my suprise
Then I stop an think this car is for me
When me come back him wan talk bout money
Me wan buy the car on h.p.
Long term credit and interest free, five year warranty, guarantee.
The dealer asks me like a power steering
Dealer asks me like overdrive thing. yes me boss but what is
That thing? that me boss a de turbo sintin
Oi me boss you have a deal and at long last I find my dubmobile.
Dubmobile.
Everywhere I go, just rockin and swing, just rockin and swing
Now Im the main man at the microphone stand
I chat two words just to make you understand
Im the main man at the microphone stand
I chat two words just to make you understand
Me put in cassette and equalizer
Anywhere me go me can listen reggae star
Now me just cruise to party and thing
Everywhere me go its just rockin and swing
Rockin and swing
Everywhere I go, just rockin and swing, just rockin and swing
Everywhere I go, just rockin and swing, just rockin and swing
The dealer asks me like power steering
Dealer asks me like overdrive thing. yes me boss but what is
That thing? that me boss a de turbo sintin
Oi me boss you have a deal and at long last I find my dubmobile
Me put in cassette and equalizer
Anywhere me go me can listen reggae star
Now me just cruise to party and thing
Everywhere me go its just rockin and swing

[...] Read more

song performed by Ub40
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My Heart Cheats With Me

My heart cheats with me,
I give ten reasons to hate her,
Heart gives ten reasons to love her.

My heart cheats with me,
I say she make me cry,
Heart say she give me smile more than cry.

My heart cheats with me,
I say she never wipe my tears,
Heart says I never show my tears.

My heart cheats with me,
I say she breaks her promises,
Heart says why I ask her to make promises.

My heart cheats with me,
I ask why she leaves me alone in this world,
Heart asks why I feel alone in this world.

My heart cheats with me,
I say she never care for me,
Heart says I never care for her care.

My heart cheats with me,
I ask why she shown me dream,
Heart asks why I believe on dream.

My heart cheats with me,
I ask why she gave fake love to me,
Heart asks why I gave true love to her.

My heart cheats with me,
I ask why she betrayed with me
Heart ask why I trust on her.

My heart cheats with me,
I ask why I can’t hate her
Heart asks why I was loved her.

My heart cheats with me,
Heart asks, why I want to hate her whenever one day I was loved her?
I say I want to hate her because you remember her and make me cry.

My heart cheats with me,
My heart cheats with me.

poem by Priyo Hazra
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Tale of Two Stars

The mind of Sun smiles from the centre
The mind of Moon beams from the corner: they seek
Body to put on the Beam Bang to ensure a universality…
Moon says to Sun “you are hot” And Sun says
To Moon “you are cool”. Sun without quenching glow
Asks: What bores you Moon” Moon replies “a Sun that
Is dull” Sun asks “can a Sun be dull” Moon retorted
Oh, so you don’t have this coverage”

Sun opens instantaneous hotline “sorry, I thought a
Sun radiates on halos like you”. Moon twirls, the toss of
Blondeness touching Sun’s brunette! Then asks Sun “what
Drink would you like” Sun replies, I am a ‘totaller, Orange
Thanks! Thru flagrant osmosis Moon presses keys that
Titillate like “the IQ of zebras will be great on a Mensa…
And Sun lifts his voice and sings an Akan drum
I call gold—gold is mute—I call cloth—
Cloth is mute—It is humankind that matters”

Sun buys Moon glass of her choice boasting warmth
Still they throw topics along osmotic understandings
Then Moon brings out a house of wrapped tobacco
And asks Sun “do you want to stick with one? ”—
Sun replies, “I am a Non-smoker Thanks”. Sun
Watches Moon cover the mirror with…then Moon
Turns suddenly to Sun and asks in an unshakable
Diminuendo—Are you a boring Sun? ”

The DJ releases Marley—the legend wasted no
Time to charge the floor with positive vibrations…
Sun vibrates warm with the One Love Consciousness…
And bubbles of sweats of Sun’s Afro reflect the lights
Extra curvy stars speed grace the shaking floor
The galaxy of curvy stars form an orbit around Sun
Their rotations tantalizingly passionate with Sun

Hastily Moon gather steps and reggae thru the orbits
Her feet dactylology like Adowa dancer catches Sun’s eyes
Then Moon explodes genially on eardrums of Sun
Thought we could see through our multicultural
Osmotic discourses somewhere quiet we two? ”
Sun cogitates on zebra, the Akan drum then glows green
Moon soliloquises with palpable royal splendour: Eureka!

poem by Gabriel Eshun
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Room 122

Tossing her leather bag onto the bed she waits stretched as tight as a drum. Her heart feels like Thor's war hammer is beating against it. The tension in the back of her neck is making her crouch forward.
Sit up straight, she says to herself.
Don't say too much when he walks in. And DON'T look him in the eye.
The eyes are a dead giveaway. A window to the soul.
When he comes in look over his shoulder like there's something behind his back you have an interest in.
So many memories...
God, you're a freak. What are you doing here? It's plain.
Love? No, you've lost your mind. That has to be it.
But, he say's he can't wait to see you, so everything is going be ok. God would have intervened if it wasn't ok.
A faint knock.
Don't answer it. Wait! Don't go. Go. No, wait.
Answer the door you idiot! He came all this way to see you.
He towers over her dominantly. Her knees go weak.
Don't chicken out now.
You're so beautiful, he says. Your hair is a little shorter, but you look the same.
She takes his hand. She's shaking inside. Does he feel it? She doesn't want him to think she's a little girl.
Shut up! You ARE a little girl!
Would you like a glass wine? she asks. Thinking she's in need of liquid courage.
Yes. Do you have a bottle opener?
Yes, I always come prepared.
Oh great, you found opportunity to mention what a real keen taskmaster you are.
Cut to the chase. You were soaked with the mere thought of him. Just let him take you down.
He sits down on the love sofa. In her mind she finds this hilarious. He's on the love sofa. She wonders why they are called that.
I mean seriously, how many people make love on a sofa? Hmm.
How long can you stay? She asks.
About 2 hours.
Oh no, she thinks. We don' have much time. She wonders how they can absorb each other in a mere two hours.
Let's go lie down, he says. I want to look at you.
You promised that you wouldn't force me into anything, she says.
I wont, he says.
Against her own advice she starts to look into his eyes. Oh God, they're green. Look away. You always were a sucker for green eyes. They'll bewitch you...Fill you with regret.
I remember you from the last time I saw you, he says.
Really? When was that? she asks.
I'm not sure. It was in the Ratz Keller, I think. I may have been drinking. I may have been dreaming.
Oh. she says, her voice trailing off. I don't remember, I'm sorry.
From out of nowhere…I want you to stroke me. Would you like to do that? The bulge in his jeans huge.
So many memories...
Frightened, she looks at her watch. Do you know that it's midnight? Their time together had evaporated.
Really? he says. I have to go.
I wish you didn't have to, she says.
Call me ok? She asks vulnerably.
Sure. What's your name and number?

Written by Sara Fielder © 2012

poem by Sara Fielder
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Through the eyes of a Field Coronet (Epic)

Introduction

In the kaki coloured tent in Umbilo he writes
his life’s story while women, children and babies are dying,
slowly but surely are obliterated, he see how his nation is suffering
while the events are notched into his mind.

Lying even heavier on him is the treason
of some other Afrikaners who for own gain
have delivered him, to imprisonment in this place of hatred
and thoughts go through him to write a book.

Prologue

The Afrikaner nation sprouted
from Dutchmen,
who fought decades without defeat
against the super power Spain

mixed with French Huguenots
who left their homes and belongings,
with the revocation of the Edict of Nantes.
Associate this then with the fact

that these people fought formidable
for seven generations
against every onslaught that they got
from savages en wild animals

becoming marksmen, riding
and taming wild horses
with one bullet per day
to hunt a wild antelope,

who migrated right across the country
over hills in mass protest
and then you have
the most formidable adversary
and then let them fight

in a natural wilderness
where the hunter,
the sniper and horseman excels
and any enemy is at a lost.

Let them then also be patriotic
into their souls,
believe in and read
out of the word of God

[...] Read more

poem by Gert Strydom
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