Use

We use each others bodies thoughts minds ideas -just as so much of fodder for our art and our lives. Each and every one of us- the mother the wife the farmer cleaner businessman beggar dog stone on the road and weed- am not beginning where Whitman left off -thank you!
If we look from afar or very closely we'll see the links and how we are connected.
It's only to nod in acknowledgment as we pass each by -if that's enough- well and good. It's we who decide what a nod defines encloses and comes to mean. Truly. Or should it be just a smile or a casual calculated brush aside or a handshake or a hug a fifteen minute lasting forever kiss or a lifetime spent together doing special and ordinary things sometimes together and sometimes apart in the comfort of knowing that there is an invisible cord that binds and which finds you even if you forget or lose your way.
When do we stop? And say- ok yes. This guy will do.
Often we don't. We move on.But move as we do it comes to dawn more and more that the more we move in there is more space more time more meaning. Ah yes somethings simply fall away-they lose charm and value without ceasing to bother.
Because the Spirit is endless and it's there we truly draw from -it's that deep tube-well of dreams drawings uncertainty and the perfectly phrased poem as complete as a crown jewel.
So even if one commits to someone for this life it is in utter certainty that it's only for now- be it a man a job or a child.To commit with an open palm- to commit without clutching - to understand and understand some more. Ear on the earth- ear on the heart - ear on the soul- listening deeply. All else is utterly useless.

James the Rock -Size Doesn't Matter

Easy poems for difficult men

WALL



What if, right now,

All the tall talks

You have built

Between us

Like a great big

Mighty wall

Crumbles and fall,

And every bragging brick

From your bag of tricks

Is taken away from you?

Whatever would you do?

Before you start to walk away

I'd go knee down, anyway

In the muddy water drag

And plunge my hand deep

Into that sticky swirling mortar,

Twine your fingers with mine,

And in all that fine mess

let our bones conjoin.

Slowly set to stone

I guess!

It seems so far away...

My Day



I stitch your torn buttons and my frayed sling bag.

I boil the water for morning tea



I wash your soiled socks and

Soak the dishcloths and rags for later,



I hang them out to dry and pick the ones

From yesterday.



I wipe the kitchen platform dry after filling

Mine and your bottle at the sink.



I catch the cobwebs from the window sill

Amma missed in the daytime cleaning drill.



I put the electric heater on for bath

Propped up on a precarious hanger.



I clip my nails too close and use your foot scrubber

And help myself to a clean kurta and some of your kajal.



I shop for fresh vegetables and spices

I don't recognize.



I dice I chop I grate.

I cook , clean , clear away and wait.



I check what needs replenishing

And make a long mental wish list.



I wish I could buy ten hands at the bazaar.



I sigh, light a cigarette which dies



sit down on the bare floor and



Write some poetry.



-At Rakhi's

Gachibowli

Hyderabad.

Lessons from a guru on a perpetual creative high!

1.Draw one spontaneous drawing every day.
2.Make everyday objects look unreal
3.Draw 1 remembered image from a dream
4. Leave out more than you put in.

(This was Lesson 1 via sms...followed by an offer for more!
With a visual reference thrown in! Wow!Thanks Randhir!)

Lots more. I'd be happy to do a few sessions sometimes.
Have you seen the work of Ralph Steadman?

Lines

You can't cry and draw at the same time. I have tried.

Maybe that's why we created lines in the first place.

And that's why we need to keep creating them- over and over

again.

Princess Diaries Part 2

I found myself watching this sequel , bleary eyed, till one at night.

The typical chicklit , teenage fantasy stuff in pink powder puffs - is just not my scene!

But glad I persisted. I think it was Julie Andrews. Still untouched, decades after her unforgettable performance as the loveable singing nun Maria- she got to me.
She played the quintessential queen-mom to the hilt complete with that gilded voice!

Here are some gems I found in the most unlikely places- which is
where gems are usually found!I quote:

Sir! The word 'fear' is not in my vocabulary!"
"But it is in your eyes!"

Other people lose it, but we are supposed to find it!

Being married is about being yourself...but with someone else.

The heart does things for reasons that/which reason doesn't understand.

Courage is not the absence of fear...it is the ability to choose that
which is other than fear.

"Power, my boy, means ,never having to say you're sorry!"

Not sure whether the last was a good thing..but definitely made me sit up...
and think of the commonality between all the uptight push-oversI've ever
met in all my life...they are usually quite unappologetic!)

To the Giver Of Rhymes

I will not ask

I will not ask of you for,
Say,
Straight dark sheets of endless hair
Or white even teeth true to the core

If I must
So let it be
White endless sheets of even verse
No hearse or dead scores to drag
Behind me but
Just straight ahead
Long lustrous lines
Smooth unblemished
Flawless rhymes.

I could do worse.

No more
Of whip lashed eyes which
Drown a million daring men
And pull them naked fighting
Back ashore
Make them
Blindly climb compel
Stride down endless mounds
Of kneaded hips
And lose their pride to
Flushed exhausted mindless sleep
Crushed down on open ocean shores
Which neither take to task nor teach
Nor ask nor risk, give in or reach
Or try to bind

Just lines.

Well pounded
Ground by hand
Smoothed blended perfect
Rhymes.

No husk to bind.

No more
Will I solicit for
Snow crushed breasts
Pink flocks of rising flamingoes
Flaming nipple moons
Which grow and wane
I will not strain for crested peaks
Stripped bare brown naked sunset lips
Lest lost words drown
In mighty struggle
To be formed

Still not born.

Just herds and droves
Mile after mile of heady lines.

A curse of verse unending.
A ready milk-heavy flow
Which gush and grow
In leaps of rhymes
Unbound by style
Unreaped by reason
Bending, wending in and out
Spare swinging careless bold and sure
Ful,l lush and ripe and strong they grow
Right down the seasons

A steady flow

That’s all I ask.