As your beloved, faithful dog
returns to his dear master's hearth
after burying deep some promising fine bone
as hostage to the future,
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The poet's world and the philosopher's
may seem to be in aim, and truth of act,
so different; the poet offers us
fine dreams of heart; philosophy, fine fact;
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Better new kindling
...
Spiky, a mass of spikes more threatening than sharp -
what are they fending off, what are they protecting
so fiercely with their green carapace like a thoughtful womb,
dropping their hidden beauties in reflective autumn
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2007, he said, was a memorable year for poetry.
A world conference of poets held
somewhere NewMex way, came to the view
...
Do only poets know
how every word is born,
comes winging from eternity,
to be tasted, savoured on the tongue
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'O Lord, I am Your goldsmith on this earth'
sang Sonar, Maharashtra's poet of old,
who hammered out the ingots of pure truth
to poetry, that turns speech into gold;
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There was a young laddie named Pefecation
Who passed hugely and frequently, defecation;
But the social disdain
And the blockage of drain
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How many noble schemes from goodwill's heart,
how many splendid plans and fine ideas
have foundered, lost their glorious craft and art
through hesitancy born of baseless fears?
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'A great Poet must have
... the ear of a wild Arab
listening in the silent Desert;
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You know what it’s like
- surely you do –
you introduce one of your bestest friends
to another bestest friend,
...
poets are holy hypocrites;
it’s their blessing and their curse.
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