the wolf and the crane and the moon and the clouds and the night

and then the moon sighs and breathes out a few clouds
the ripples on the surface of the lake cut
the moon into thin silver slivers -
no mercy - the breeze pushes those silver blades
to the edges of the lake

the crane stands on its one leg, looking at the moon
and the clouds and they sing their blue song together
the silver gray of the mindless night hides the tune
with its veils

across the sky jumps the one winged flying wolf
whistling its own song - ooo-ooo-ooo and the world
freezes for a moment, nothing moves

the feathers of the crane all shining a-white, the moon
light and the wing of the wolf that slowly flaps
the crane and the wolf - moving moment after moment -
through their lives, in shades of abnormality

especially on such nights, and quite so often - on
many a day too - with similar thoughts
punctuating their every breath
'why did i do it then?'
'why didn't i do it then?'

it's just
the wolf and the crane and the moon and the clouds and the night

stars

you can do it once again, tonight -
to look at the stars of this night and search
for your name or the other name -
the stars don't really care - for
twinkling is their duty and so they'll
twinkle on - the way they did the night before
or the night before that, when the world hadn't
changed much with you

when the sun rises and then when
the stars disappear - the names that you had
searched for, may become invisible for a while but
they never disappear - how many names could
one night write on its sky, with the stars and how
many could be searched for, and read?

names searched for in stars become invisible -
they don't disappear, neither are they forgotten
somewhere or the other

the night skies of waking moments - and the
night skies of dreams when you sleep
are essentially different but the stars
that twinkle - they always feel like they are
all the same, night after night...

(yay!)

at least in my dream the night before, i got a hole (yay!) with my newly bought shirt and skirt, at no extra cost.

'free, free!' i remember the wrapper paper screaming, about the hole that came absolutely free with my new shirt and my skirt (yay!)

once worn, the hole along with the new shirt and my skirt, i remember seeing the green (yay!) of the next layer of clothing below or just pale brown (yay!) of the skin - that depended on where i chose to wear the hole that came

absolutely 'free free' with my new shirt and skirt (yay!)

mug shot

a black and white mug shot was found
drying on the line, inside the dark room
where the photographs were left to dry

the photographer, found dead outside
the dark room, inside the studio, besides
the camera, a bullet hole on his forehead

the frame that held the killer in the mug
shot did not disclose the hand that held
the gun, the face only looked innocent

the gray eyes, the cold stare, the folds
on the lines of his denim shirt did not
give away any intentions of a murder

so there was a crime, one in the studio
and many in the papers the next day -
many stories of speculation & suspense

balloons oh balloons

balloons.
balloons in sizes many.
balloons small, balloons large.
balloons in red, blue, green, yellow and white.
balloons to play.
and more balloons to play.
floating around, tied to a string, the other end the hand that holds.
and hands to hold and play with.
helium balloons, balloons with breaths.
flying high and high or just floating from above.
balloons fear not a fall.
balloons always float and land safe.
i play balloons.
balloons play me.
balloons play my mind.
i see balloons and balloons can see too.
balloons oh balloons.
helium balloons are hard to reach, but not impossible.
helium breaths are likeable.
i play helium balloons when on a hill top or the top of the world.
balloons with breaths are more likeable.
balloons with breaths or sighs float and land but not fall.
balloons with breath appeal when i sit in a dark pit, below, deep below.

balloons, I always play balloons.

balloons are balloons.
balloons are balloons and more.
i play balloons, the balloons play me.
and to play balloons is to be.
balloons oh balloons.

bbbzzzsssurrr-real

surreal scapes
in bright green and pink
that the eye can't see -
but they oh so definitely

 - are only
real after all
only a squint
or a little more is
all it takes

to bring them to light
or life and be
seen...

circle. circus. citrus.

~
nothing but a set of dots spread around another dot, all set equally away or equally close to the dot formerly addressed 'another' dot
~
without a start and without an end can a walker walk on with no sense of beginning and no sense of end and with no sense of position any point in time
~
angels, angel wings in silver, fluttering over and above the traced line or them dots set next closely to each other and the angels blink and blink and think and think
~
where the beginning is the end and the end the beginning, there's nothing in between and everything's in between, and there is no in between or it is only in between, to state for the in between-th time
~
ah grapes, not citrus at all, said the fox when it was seen last somewhere around, with a sour face, sore feet and a handful of angel dust
~
nothing but a set of dots spread around another dot, all set equally away or equally close to the dot formerly addressed 'another' dot
~

shooting star

shooting, falling, twinkling from afar
ah that's another shooting star
go ahead, smile, make your wish
ask for a pet dog, or a gold fish
if you don't see - just keep your hope
run on now, go get your telescope!

MOO. moo.

the mother cow goes MOO
while a half cow goes moo

(the half cow sure is a calf
 no, no, definitely no giraffe

a giraffe is something very tall
if you thought you knew it all)

the mother cow MOOs in capital letters
that the squeaky calf's moo easily betters

say what you may, blah, bleh, blub
a calf is only a cow's cub!

salt. pepper. spice.

(a) jester, a clown, an impish elf
(uh) another shadow yourself
(oh) new faces, new stories every day
(ha) endlessly to sing and then to sway
(a) rubik’s cube solving itself
(hmm) by tossing and turning oneself
(heh) easily and effortlessly (a crown, a bee)
(huh) ever a puzzle, else a mystery

hippopotamus (thank god, i ain't no)

thank god i ain't no
hippopotamus
i'll never get a window
seat in a bus

it won't be fun
if i were one

ask me not 'why so?'
let's not make a fuss
so much so
let's not further discuss

it won't be fun
if i were one

the little mermaid

her hair done in a braid,
the little mermaid
her eyes closed, prayed

sound as it may, kiddish
she did make, a silent wish

that the fishiness of her tail
and the humanness of every other detail

should never swap places -
for fishes seldom have pretty faces!

how dreadful'll  look one with a whale torso
and human legs to walk - oh god, oh no no!

Jack and Jill

jack and jill
came down the hill

having fetched a pail of water
and soon went "what er..."
as they looked down their shirts -
on the pockets were ink squirts

they threw a knowing glance
at each other, a look askance
for they knew - mountain mens
should never carry fountain pens!

when i was 23 (i was invisible)

to wake me up to wake you up the clock crows at the break of dawn in its all too well rehearsed and programmed electronic voice - the voice that is the same every morning and every night only that it sounds different when in times of joy or being alone

water in bottles by the bed side is only water yet it may resemble all of your yesterday and every other day in liquid time filling the bottle to the brim standing by your side waiting for you to drink or pour on yourself and soak in

at the wash basin the lamp, the mercury lamp sings a silver glow song, for the best songs are seen and seldom heard, when you open your eyes, music plays and all the colour bulbs do play a grand orchestra -  strings, flutes, bells, drums and all that you see or listen to in purple and green and gold and yellow and
 or or in just shades of blue

almost all evenings are the same, a fever on a winter night wouldn't help any with a cold, while one can only hope to fall asleep with a smile till the clock crows at the break of dawn in its all too well rehearsed and programmed electronic voice

when i was 23, i was invisible - at times i do talk about (being invisible within brackets)

sun

the sun
is only a twinkling star
seen

from somewhere
far away

straight ahead

straight ahead of one, nobody can go very far*

when the streets are dark and the lights asleep
when blinking does not obstruct vision
when it is only dark with eyes open or closed
when ahead of one, one can only go straight
when in the darkness, leftness is rightness
when there be no directions and no turns
when it only is right to just walk on through
when in the darkness, in its deepest blackness
straight ahead of one, nobody can go very far

* Antoine St. Exupery, The Little Prince

hare and rabbit (hide and seek)

The hare and the rabbit
Played hide and seek

The hare hid went afar and
Hid itself behind a tree

The rabbit quit playing
And slept where it stood

The hare waited behind the tree
While the rabbit just slept

Both till sunset
And so on till the next day

nonsense. junk. part 17.

the days are unusually long with almost always nothing to do
moments that pass by are senseless like the stars that twinkle at a distance
for no particular reason at all, for no one, but they are the same stars -
that did make sense once upon a little while ago - a day or a week or a year before
the moments are just the same that now just refuse to pass on by
junk generation, memories made and nothing besides - pushes one from moment to moment
and at the end of the day when one turns around what is left behind is
only a back-yard filled with junk that refuse to disappear or to fade away
when sense makes no sense, when nonsense prevails as it did all one's life past
it's only the souls of the running shoes that wear out and
still the back-yard gathers more junk in pink and purple, blue and green

beyond the horizon

beyond the horizon
is a brick wall

red rectangular
bricks

of no concern
one after another

of no classification
one besides another

of no consequence
one above another

rgb. vibgyor.

mondays gray
and tuesdays follow with pale green

wednesdays, yellow
and thursdays crisp blue

fridays, pastel blue
and bottle green saturdays

but sundays are almost always red!