The Lad is a Poet

Where are you,

said the voice on the phone

Where am I,

Ah yes, all alone

What happened

Said my friend, bit concerned

Hey high flier

Did you crash and burn

Whoa, you used to be

that guy at top of class

Dressed too sharp

with eyes that could cut glass

Look at you now

said my friend ,anger rising

a beatnik poet

you think it is funny

to say hasta la vista

to all that obscene money

Ahem, I say

I try and clear my throat

Stop roasting me now

Like a dead goat

I am the same,

always was the same

Appearances changed,

so did the reference frame

I got what I wanted,

I get what I want still

Promising wont stop

get what I need untill

There is a time for money

this time is for art

better to be young

than regret late blooming start

How was I

I am fine thank you

Your doubting voice

I am sorry cant help you

The lad is a poet

For this is who I am

So this is where I stand

With poetic words

Close at hand


unknown, usually by choice,
unidentified, unnamed, unsigned,
Synonymous to dissent,
digitally  eponymous

criminally Fabulous,
technically, marvelous,
quick deciders like an hippopotamus
welcome to the world of anonymous

gags , faps, dubs, trips,
OP, images, causes, flips,
the ones who know who,
must always be named yet unnamed

the revolution will not be televised, brother
it will be streamed
in a secure server far far away

Self Pity

of all the drugs ever sampled by humans

self-pity has the most addicted

once bitten you cannot stop

inertia doubt medication leave you conflicted

you yourself are the victim

found guily and convicted

of all the schemes depravations

and misery ever depicted

till one day you have an ephiphany

a burst of sunlight in your mind reflected

this was not what you used to feel

this was not the life they predicted

you can struggle and win

get this addiction duly evicted

self pity equals self pain

too much already  inflicted

smell the roses

live life unrestricted

self pity is for self losers

you can be a winner in time duly depicted

lest these words leave you

too much of a self effort constricted

heal thyself life is too pretty

for you to be so self afflicted

Normal is Boring

Normal is Boring

We must all innovate

If we cant create something new

Rewind, Rechurn , Regurgitate

Spawn some spin

Jingle some buzz and hype

We fight with the weapons the Lord gave us

Our fingers rapidly type

Till we move to read to scavenge

Pluck once more some idea from obscurity

Can not beat them so join them

Cajole our creative insecurity

We do influence swaps

Trade favor in a game

The more things we say have changed

The harder we try to make sure they remain the same

Normal is boring yet undeniable

Bell Shaped curve pretty reliable

Pause and think breathe and blink

Gasp and swallow the daily load to drink

Mundane and boring

Reminiscently storing

Differentiating for the sake of

Creating a better mouse trap someday

Today we innovate

Tomorrow we fade away


Another day spent

Evening from  morn

Another night questions

What shall we do until dawn


Writing, reading,

dozing, watching,

walking, sleeping,

eating, bathing


That was the day

But now darkness is around

Dig deep my brain

Till some sparks can be found


We need to write some more

We need to finish our daily ration

Lest we forget this was the life we chose

When we threw to the winds our caution


So let me list, lest I forget

What I wrote this date

One poem, two blog posts,

thirty status messages “what are you doing” updates


I really should try the iambic pentameter

They say it is the prozac for  a writer

Too lazy to write in prose

Until my ineptitude causes me to fetter

The notion I could be even better


In my mind sits a machine

tick tocking churning

thoughts ideas notions

weapons of mass instruction


To  be a writer was so fat

When played in the movies

To be a writer can be so nuts

When played in real


This is nuts I should have learnt

to play the guitar than play with  a word

when the guitar playing ends atleast

there was  no odor absurd



But at the end

If you are still around

Un distracted by the image I found profound

Know we write because we were chosen

By the Gods to tell you our  amusing tale

Prophets live forever

but poets enjoy more

much more