The Owl and The Pussycat (a sequel)

 

The Owl and the Pussycat went out to sea
in a beautiful pea- green boat…….

They chose not to tarry,
found a nose-ring, to marry
by the light of the moon,
on a silvery sand dune,
wave a festive balloon,
and a blinged up festoon.

By the cold light of day,
Puss pouted, ‘you’re a dull grey!
With this nose-ring
and a festoon of bling,
you led me astray!
 But I will not stay.

I could be playing croquet,
watching cabaret,
sipping cabarnet,
slurping sorbet!’

Owl yelped and yowled.
Puss skulked and scowled.
‘Give it a year,’ he prayed.
She was not swayed.

She prowled, with their honey
and all their money,
including their five-pound note,
back to the pea-green boat.

Thus singly she sailed away
to the neon-bright Bongh-Tree Bay.

 

Poonam march 2020 

 

Prayer

 

rugged metal chains
grip the ribcage
clench the heart

stomach hollow
hollow limbs
coursing despair

each chain a niggling fear
a negative thought
a needless desire
a nagging doubt

act of will
to live, love, give
 love life
give love 

in silence
the cosmos
seeps into sinews
as though by osmosis

ask nothing
something is received

a breath
a hymn
a chain breaks

ribcage opens
limbs  relax
blood flows

thoughts bright as
snow peaked hindkush

May 2019

Things I always carry with me

 

Be it on my own, or on a fun spree
there are things I always carry with me.

My arrogance
my brilliance
my annoyance
my buoyance
my joys
and sorrows
hurrying and scurrying
like there are no tomorrows.
My passion, sometimes alienating
high spirits, sometimes dominating
humour, sometimes irritating
my kindness, sometimes  suffocating.

No matter how different I try to be
what I carry with me always, is ME.
I keep tripping and tumbling out of my bag
for  you, me and others, to see.

Poonam/11 March 2020

 

The We Are Worth It Brigade

 

Sleek shiny hair! I’m worth it! Dye it just the perfect shade!
I’m a paid up member of the We are Worth it Brigade.

Breakfast must be Brie, with Rose’s  marmalade;
little treats to start the day of We Are Worth It Brigade.

If only they had fewer kids they would not need our Aid;
we go for what we want at the We Are Worth It Brigade.

Designer goods and gourmet dining are so retrograde!
Meaningful experience for We Are Worth It Brigade.

Life-enhancing holidays, beautifully portrayed;
‘been there, done that’, mantra rules the We Are Worth It Brigade.

Turn off those TV shots of one more famine and air raid;
we owe ourselves compassion at the We Are Worth It Brigade.

Go diving with sharks, and feel deliciously afraid;
free our inner child and play the We Are Worth It Brigade.

I’m sure my hair tint will receive its rightful accolade;
I’m a paid up member of the We Are Worth It Brigade.

 

Poonam November 2019

On Plato's Republic

 

Plato’s Academy, in Athens City;
wars are fought; slaves are caught or bought;
idealist thought is taught.

Hear the air in the market-square
throng with Socratic dialogue.
I think and speak, but who will care
to hear a mere slave’s monologue.

An accident of birth determines our birth;
you stand  proud and free; how can you  see
my earthly bondage,  lowly, lonely outrage.

You talk of Truth, Goodness, Beauty;
is it reality, illusion, or collusion?
Is there really a place in your Republic for me?
Or is your dialogue deceitful delusion?

Poonam  June 2018 November 2019 Version 2

 

 

Pretty Girl

 

Oh for a straight nose and lashes that curl!

O how I long to be a pretty girl.

 

Mousy hair, eyes set too wide, crooked teeth,

ears  far too big; don’t make a pretty girl.

 

Feet too big and legs too small, skinny arms

and  scrawny neck, not quite the pretty girl.

Use this lotion, grandmother friend says, and this

herbal cream, will make you a pretty girl.

 

I crimp my hair, tweeze my brows, pinch my nose,

boys  still do not call me a pretty girl.

But when I sing, my nephew laughs, he thinks

I am the best; the mostest pretty girl.

 

My mates are always there for me, they don’t

give two hoots that I’m not a pretty girl.

 

I write, recite, I ski, surf, swim; I dance,

I laugh, have fun; more than a pretty girl.

 

She sashays out of fashion mags, pouts her

lips, sways her hips; now that’s a pretty girl.

 

She plays the harp? Or writes a play? No way!

It’s pretty pointless being a pretty girl.

 

So Poonam, do let your spirit unfurl.

There’s more to you than being a pretty girl.

 

Poonam March 19

 

Spinning gold

 Days full of laughter and fun

like endless golden sunshine

or a cheery dandelion.

The height of summer;

the florets withered,

some blown away by the wind, 

some I plucked

brutally

with the thoughtlessness of

one who has known no loss.

The gossamer remained.

I could not hold it,

watched 

helpless

as it floated

afar

in the gentlest breeze.

Now

days

stretch ahead

empty

long.

I stare

into the bare kernel

hopefully pluck

into the pores

search

for something

for some meaning

some straw 

to build myself

to clear the cobwebs from my heart

to spin gold from straw.

Poonam/August 20 (first version June19)