There Is A Black Monkey

sitting in a tree

meditating on the world

it sits still

looking into the distance

lost in the beauty

of the green forests

and mountains around it

and a brown cow

grazes on the grass below

the baby next door

cries and cries

it is heart wrenching

to hear

after long it stops

and a bird begins

to chirp

and then another bird

with a really beautiful voice

begins to chirp

it is like the sound of a videogame

only better

so loud and sweet

and then there is another bird

that chirps

this one too has

a beautiful melodious whistling voice

so clear

and then there is yet another

and that one too has

a great singing voice that tweets

its song

and then there is silence

in the forest

and in the evenings

I lie down in bed

listening to jazz

or just simply

listening to the silence

and now I think of two clouds I saw

of the prettiest white colour

with circular lobe shape

and they were exactly

the way they were

in picture books and cartoons

and I tell you reader

that both reality and imagination

are strange

sometimes like trespassers

sometimes like siblings

saying something

you can’t understand.

My Mind Is Wandering

like the wind

we would go mad

if we could not fantasize

how much of life can we take

how much can we have

so we need excursions of the mind

for it to be happy

to fool around

to play around

a little

or else we will be

toy soldiers

never to come alive

you see this reader

we are not perfect

that is what the bird

keeps chirping so loudly

outside my window

we are mere dust

we’ve got to live

you see

it chirps

and slowly the sun

begins to shine

after rain

and people talk

and my silver camel

stands with its head raised

and Goofy is riding his engine

and this porcelain white skull

looks out at the world

with holes instead of eyes.

If I Was A Painter

I would paint the scene

outside my window this morning

Mograpada in mist

the small brown houses

in the distance

the railway tracks beyond

all hazy

the signal poles the buildings

and the trains slowly ambling

it’s like a scene

from some dream

a painting

in beautiful hues of whites blues and earth

I would draw

this local paradise

but it was while I was thinking this

that the best part happened

when an engine blew

its loud melodious horn

and had the final word.


The above poem is from my second book Circling the Sky (2013).

How Do You

go about

these rails of thought

so fast

you can only slip off

into the blue

where the birds are flowing

in flocks

over mountainrocks

so black and beautiful

there the trees are stock still


creatures of another time

and the ground brown


surely they know us

listening so silently

to our thoughts.


The above poem is from my first book Reeling (2012).

This Fall Into The Gutter

This endless swaying of the green treetops

The beginning of the world

The tie and the bridge and the tongue burning

The hare and tortoise race


Howling men and screeching spitting women

Children hanging from trees upside down grunting like stray dogs

I swallow the oceans with all its creatures and life

I switch on all the streetlights and then I switch them off

I hound all the bars all the shops selling skulls and bones and flesh

I eat 200 cats and 400 rats and 600 bats

I eat every strand of my hair running wild

Through the shops closing shutter

And now you can imagine my fall into the gutter.


was the word

the man said

imagine the picture

the vest

the god

the fluorescent tubelight

the green walls

the grey grey Wednesday

he said the spark

had caught

it had scored the music

he could see the other houses

sailing in the moon

their windows open burning with light

the red BEST buses

creating a roar

and the lines and lines of washing

singing in the wind

he said he could now hear the music

setting the stars on fire

making them jump and dance

in the municipal gardens

where the children made new friends

and cheered and played

he said it was the spark.


The above poem is from my first book Reeling (2012).

It Is Too Silly

of these buildings

to come visiting

across the garden

when childhood

and youth

have gone

when middle age

has taken residence

in my body

giving me hypertension

now it’s that rocket

in the middle

of that garden

that knocks

on my mind

reminding me

of my boy glimpse

into the atmosphere

the world beyond

the sky

I could not see

well it’s that same world

where I’d like to be

O woe is me

I’m an old monkey

hanging from a tree.

My Mind Has Bitten

on a big thought

with that in its mouth

it has slumped


in a corner

the thought talks its own talk

words grow out of it



my mind desperately tries to reach someplace

divided in itself


under its own weight.


The above poem is from my second book Circling the Sky (2013).

Now This Hot October Day

is bad

it will not let me think

it leaves me here

sitting stupid

and sad

I will not have this

I think of trees

and remember the time

I first encountered

a squirrel

and my wonder

at it

in the cool morning

behind my house

where I stood on

ground covered in golden laburnum

and the squirrel

grey fluffy cute

with black stripes

climbing up the tree

pointing into the blue sky

I look at the birds flying

small black ones

in flocks

and I know

I am one of them

I feel what they feel

I feel the wind on my body

and I know I am home

in this vast dome

and now as I write

the squirrel runs out of sight.