Latest Poetry
A Fanciful Ode Picked
It is all imagination, of course. (But isn't everything?) ...
Mariangel
...
Unfulfilled Cravings
In need of some shag ...
The Chase.
...
The Night Worker
Unnatural nature is no fable ...
no answer (some small poems)
why was the world created, aimless, weak logic, but it was created, like a miserable magic ... we know killing is bad, revolvers, pistols, guns in the hands of children of all ages; wealth created by manufacturing such toys, playful instruments, films that market killing, deceit, treachery, violence gain on visibility ... good and bad, my mom must have taught me to gang-rape a woman, the skill to kill, and steal, she must have taught me ...
she calls
the conquest of death ...
A con is a con Picked
Subtle ways of getting your own back? ...
a journey
anger, the salt of life, lust, the sugar of life, weapons, the spice of life, i sacrifice to the sea, i destroy the part and parcel of food I love to eat, I acquire a new taste, destroy the beliefs of the culinary art; those waves thrashing, blurring, burning the pure meat of the vegetables, swallowing the depth, clouds gobbling the expanse, killing the appetite of a wise gourmet limiting the discolored lid, with the ...
The Mythicals: i witness
the prequel to The Mythical set of poems ...
the pen
pen, an eye of the storm, in the middle of chaos, the smell of the ink, the touch of the skin, the look, shades of identities in the noisy crises struggling to write a horrid, a borrowed story, a silent traveller bewildered in the crowd of unspoken words the device finally triumphs to proclaim the squall with a sound of a crack ...
Kali Yuga
A piece that's been in my W.I.P. folder for ages; and could still be improved. But I thought it might benefit from an outing. As for the jester, please insert your own name, and aren't we spoiled for choice! ...
Recipe for an African Kitchen Picked
One you won't find on Saturday Kitchen ...
the slaves
We're all slaves of our professions, possessions; masters, slaves alike all accursed. In bondage of our habits, words, of our fears, wars, of what we see, hear, taste, touch, and smell; perpetually condemned within the walls of the manufactured hell, our false universe. The heaven above, the garden beneath, lying in vain, unable to deliver, make us breathe ...