Whispered giggles are
The currency of young girls
In the budding groves.
#590 On the Atmosphere of a Bookshop Cafe
The click and flush of
The coffee machine mingles
With tepid muzak.
#589 On the Sauronic Glare
Sentinel of fire
Upon its shadowless throne:
Angry eye, glowering.
#588 On This Vicious Parade
With daggered eyes we
Scowl at the Other; age-old,
This vicious parade.
#587 On Being Stuck in a Traffic Jam in Serdang
In metal coffins
We marched grimly as the sun
Baked us to a crisp.
#586 On Those Poor Children
It is as if the world is constantly surprised
That those who most ardently profess
Religiosity are often those who commit
The most egregious forms of wickedness.
Those poor, poor children: could we permit
Their suffering to be ignored, be pushed aside?
#585 On Mommy’s Nightly Games with Puff Puff
Every night, she jumps the shark of
Felt necklace and twirling string.
With eager anticipation of leisure,
She is a blur of black and white, swirling
In tune to mommy’s fierce fantasia.
Each evening, a declaration of love.
#584 On Your Subtle Benediction
Benedictus,
Beneath the humdrum throb of daily life,
I can almost hear the silent bassline
Of your Music: the constant and active
Act of Creation that disarms the knife
Of Chaos and repels the saturnine
And the unjust and the invidious.
I close my eyes; I will away the intrusive
Glare of vile, idolatrous strife.
I surrender to Your Music: subtle and benign.
#583 On This Portapotty Existence
Glassy-eyed, we walk past these corridors,
Chasing numbers across our yawning days.
A hamster’s hunt through the glass doors
Of swanky corporate offices, scurrying past
Our portapotty cubicles, our diurnal homes,
Like defeated castle gnomes, downcast,
Eking out one final groan, one final chase.
What kind of life is this? Who made this so?
How did we submit to this existence?
We who are made in His image, we who know
Better - we who are mirrors reflecting His Magnificence?
#582 On Your Torrent of Lies
Torrential stream of bilious lies
To try to smother unkind truths
To fulminate and to disguise
Your cruel intent, devoid of ruth
In disbelief I witness gall
Your chutzpah keeps your cult enthralled.