Did I shut the window?
Did I lock the door?
Did I turn the stereo off?
Did I dry the floor?

Did I switch the oven off?
Did I cease to snore?
Did I leave the house at all?
Don't recall no more!

(05/04/19)

Tuesday:

Is this the Kung-fu Bruce Lee?

When the dying Nelson
Was kissed by Horatio at Trafalgar,
Was it simply passe,
Or was it considered vulgar?

Does the following qualify as poetry?

SILVER LINING

As you were walking down the road,
You looked up at the sky,
A crow messed on your face,
As it flew across, high.
And you didn't curse, or scream
Or even let out a sigh,
But just murmured to yourself,
"Thank God, pigs can't fly."

Today, on Valentine’s Day,
I remember bespectacled Alf from Montego Bay
Who started with eight for a hundred and four,
And with his twin Sonny got many more;

As that 50’s summer grew,
Their flight and guile blossomed anew,
And Hutton hemmed and Yardley hawed,
And Sheppard exchanged Lord’s for Lord!

And still they probed, thick and thin,
And had the world immersed in spin,
Aah! Those little friends of mine,
Ramadhin and Valentine.

Dolittle: Thanks!

瀬人様: In what way, may I ask?

With age my memory hems and haws,
My past is no longer what it was!

瀬人様: The only difference between a theist and atheist is the space between 'a' and 't'!

Fencer: Yeah, well, you see, I'm 'internetically' challenged!

rednaz23: Fencer had already approached me about a year ago, but I couldn't handle the font.

瀬人様: I am 47. I mostly write nonsense verse and prose in Bengali, I have 2 published books (1991 & 2002). Nowadays I'm trying it out in English. You can try my blog http://harisabha.blogspot.com/
and also try the 'Ramblings' & 'Baba Leh-Tsi Bam' links therein.

Every time I get insulted in a tea party,
I can seldom come up with a repartee.
It’s only after partaking a joint
That I remember the rejoinder, to the point.

Whenever I write poems, in verses,
My rhymes evoke colourful curses.
And then I have a smoke and lines flow;
My poems are joint efforts, really so.

When suddenly I find myself in trouble
Like when the cement won’t mix with the rubble;
I retire, and have a deep toke.
Problems? What problems? It’s a joke!

When I sit and strum my guitar
And my fingers can’t e’en hold a bar,
I go to the toilet for a puff –
Lo! I’m Clapton or Page, in a huff!

And then, when I am stuck at work,
When designs don’t meander, they jerk,
I simply roll and light up a reef –
And suddenly the plans meet the brief.

But when a deadline’s gotta be met
And I realise I’m bound to be late,
To get inspiration, I get blown.
Alas! By then the client has flown!

瀬人様: Got it! (From a friend in San Jose, CA - this internet stuff is quite something!) This is how it goes (or so I'm told):

Chori chori hum gori se pyar karenge...

Chori chori - secretly; hum - I or me; gori se - with a fair maiden; pyar - love; karenge - will make. I'm sure you get the sense. (If you ask me, its all nonsense, anyway!)

瀬人様: Now you've got me completely stumped! My Hindi is poor and my knowledge of (modern) Bollywood songs even poorer! "Chori' means 'theft', but what on earth is 'hangorise hyangaringe'? I'll try to find out and let you know.

GOING TO THE MOON?

Recently read in the papers that soon
ISRO scientists are planning to send someone to the moon.
For that purpose they are trying to build a rocket;
And asking the government to take the country and hock it.

You see, they have presented a multi-crore budget
Though I dare say they're soon going to fudge it
And the expenses shall increase again and again.
"Unforeseen necessities" is the usual refrain.

So, the poor shan't be fed, the ill shan't be treated,
The infra-structure shall remain completely depleted;
No one's thinking of the common man in RK Laxman's cartoon.
And all this just to go to the moon!

Well, they can easily save much pain and a whole lot of money
If you send them to me, honey.
I'll simply roll them a Manali, stiffy,
And they will reach the moon, Mars, Venus or for that matter anywhere in the blasted universe in a jiffy.

[NB. ISRO = Indian Space Research Organisation]

playBunny: Dark, maybe, but brilliant!

Radiant Aunt: Dear Radiant Aunt,
For the last couple of days I've been trying to open the link you've sent so kindly, but in vain. Everytime I click the link, my computer hangs. Would it be possible to extend your kindness and mail the poem (text) to me? I'm dying of curiosity!

Templar: I read it as a poem in 1983 or so in our alumni mag. For the last 15 years or so I'm looking for it. I'd be most grateful if you can unearth it.

Many years ago I read a poem in which the (anonymous) poet hankered for the "Good Old Days" when 'gay' meant happy or joyful and 'grass' was something cows ate and 'pot' was what you used to cook with and so on. Have anyone read that poem? I would like to read it again, but I can't find it anywhere! Please help!

This morning, 6 seconds after 6 minutes after 6 o'clock,
I got a veritable shock!
My digital clock read 06:06:06:06:06:06!
What an incredible fix!

Cup of Glory

(With due apologies to Rudyard Kipling - and to Bill Shankly)

Oh, East is East, and West is West,
And never the twain shall meet,
Unless it is the World Cup time,
And men kick balls with feet.
There is neither East nor West,
Nor border, breed or birth,
When two teams kick-off face to face,
From different ends of earth.

Twenty-two men, all fit and strong,
And mostly slim and tall,
Go helter skelter o’er the field,
Chasing a single ball.
They push and strive and sweat and toil,
They collapse on the mat;
‘Tis not about just life or death,
But so much more than that.

rednaz23: Absolutely brilliant!

India my homeland, my nation,
The haven of religious proliferation.
The land of many a God, many a teacher,
Many a saint, among whom feature
Krishna and Rama, Buddha and Mahavira;
Ramakrishna, Nanak and Kabir in times nearer.
And today, in this land of the Maharishis
The girl child is one of the endangered species.

India, my country, my motherland,
Where great men were born once, I understand;
Men like Gandhi, Raman and Tagore,
And Netaji, Panditji and so many more;
Sages, all, in some way or the other,
Sages, serving their Mother.
And today, in this land of the sages
Religion is the watchword of violent outrages.

Life is but a fight
From morning till night;
So what?
Would you rather be dead and interred
Than alive, albeit wed and splintered!

(With due apologies to Rudyard Kipling - and to Bill Shankly)

Oh, East is East, and West is West,
And never the twain shall meet,
Unless it is the World Cup time,
And men kick balls with feet.
There is neither East nor West,
Nor border, breed or birth,
When two teams kick-off face to face,
From different ends of earth.

Twenty-two men, all fit and strong,
And mostly slim and tall,
Go helter skelter o’er the field,
Chasing a single ball.
They push and strive and sweat and toil,
They collapse on the mat;
‘Tis not about just life or death,
But so much more than that.

This morning, 2 minutes and 3 seconds after one,
I had some fun;
Without too many tocks and ticks,
My digital clock read 01:02:03:04:05:06!

What a strange, delightful sequence;
Doesn't occur with much frequence,
In truth, this will never again be seen
Until we are all dead and disappeared from the scene.

Perhaps "Earth, Wind & Fire"

Hi! I've seen this long, long ago, but I must say, it is one of the most brilliant short poems I've ever read! How about having a competition :- Find a suitable title for the poem!

DAFFY DEALS

Or

My Love Ignores Me

(With due apologies to Willie Wordsworth)

I wondered madly as a clown
That turns cartwheels in crazy guise,
When all at once I saw a frown
On her forehead, above her eyes;
The more I try to primp and please,
The more we get like chalk and cheese.

Continuous as the tap that drips
Through sleepless night till rooster crows,
I keep trying to come to grips
With lyrical rhyme and candid prose;
Ten thousand words I bring to taste,
Yet my fervour goes to waste!

The others smile, but she, alas,
Looks uninterested, like Chappell Sir,
I fret, I worry, I beg and curse,
(I'll probably get peptic ulcer);
And there she sits like Buddha Jade,
Quite oblivious of my serenade.

Later, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood
It flashes on my inward eye
That my chances are completely screwed;
And my heart goes roun' and roun';
I'll end my days a lonely clown.

I really enjoyed The Usurper's short poems. And your's, rednaz23. This gives me the courage to post a short poem of my own which I wrote a few years back - I hope it doesn't offend anyone - I was only trying to express my tremendous liking for the poetry of Ogden Nash:

UPPERS & DOWNERS

Every time I have some booze,
The main-screw in my brain turns loose;
But when I have some pot or hashish
I feel distinctly Ogden Nashish.

DITTY ON D.T.

There was this guy, Samuel L Clemens,
Whom you may perhaps know as Mark Twain,
He suffered (I suppose) from delirium tremens,
For he gave up smoking time and time again.

When asked how he could do it so often,
He'd smile benignly, and cop a subtle feel,
His eyes would twinkle, his voice would soften,
He'd say, "Giving up ain't such a big deal!"

"When your throat burns, and your eyes hurt,
And your stomach feels disgustingly queasy,
And you heart feels as if it’s being ripped apart,
Then giving up becomes remarkably easy.”

“Of course, as the new day dawns
You feel refreshed, rejuvenated, without regret,
You stretch like a cat and stifle your yawns
And reach a lazy arm for another cigret.”

“You have to do it, you know, to start again,
So another chance to give up comes along.”
Thus spake Zarathustra … err … ummm … Mark Twain,
Or so I’m told, though I may have heard wrong.

THE TIMES THEY’RE A CHANGED

Every time I venture out for a rock concert these days,
I find each band’s going through a fancy ‘hip-hop’ phase,
I get sorely disappointed by the numbers that they choose,
They seem to prefer soulful rap to good old rhythm and blues,
I get to hear some ‘MNM’ when I crave for Jethro Tull;
Well, life’s like that these modern times, nary a moment dull!

Then, when I take the family out for a routine evening meal,
I look down at the menu card and it surely does reveal
No Tandoori, no Moghlai food, no Thai, nor English Raj,
It’s ‘fusion food’ that fill the card, from Flury’s to the Taj,
That simple, wholesome Chinese fare is all but void and null;
Well, life’s like that these modern times, nary a moment dull!

Then, when we go out for a movie, we’re seldom in a hall,
Instead we find our forlorn selves in a glitzy shopping mall,
And after spending useless cash on designer corn flakes
We climb the escalator to a place called ‘multi-plex’,
Jostling for our places, like that storm before the lull;
Well, life’s like that these modern times, nary a moment dull!

VANITY FARE

One day, without trying too hard
I wrote some verses on humanity;
I thought, oho! I’m now a bard!
..... It’s a strange thing, vanity.

One morning as I sat on the potty
I composed a ditty on insanity;
As a musician I could be a hottie!
..... It’s a strange thing, vanity.

One afternoon, in a seminar in Silchar
I held forth on fertilisers and organity!
I’m now a Guru of agriculture!
..... It’s a strange thing, vanity.

One evening, while chatting with my wife,
I analysed the virtues of monogamity;
Oi, oi! I’m an expert on life!
..... It’s a strange thing, vanity.

The other day I met some lady friends
And discussed Pierre Cardin’s urbanity;
I do indeed keep up with the trends!
..... It’s a strange thing, vanity.

On line with an Al Qaida fanatist
I thrashed out Kashmir’s Pakistanity;
So I’m a great political analyst!
..... It’s a rum thing, vanity.