Whatever god made flowers such as this
With beauty even stronger than  they need
Also made the tiger and the lamb
And humans too who make each other bleed.

We are not his puppets on a string
Whom he toys with when he feels inclined
We are conscious  but we fail to see
The  need for love and nurture  of  our kind

The lack  of affect and the need to win
Make  us less than human in our ways
Flowers only show their beauteous forms
As if that is enough to make life plain

 

God loves excess beauty and the wild
We cannot  see his face and live defiled

Tormented by a need invalidate
I fell into the bath where sponges mate
As there was no water I’m unclean
What a  metaphoric sign, what does it mean?

My need for validation is so bad
My friends drop hints like,are you going mad?
If I were I’d not be writing here
I’d go to Scotland, where they still keep deer.

My  first degree was valid, I proclaim
Even if I were a touch insane
For if your problem solving is  still great
Madness  helps  your thinkings as they mate

If you wish to hide your true intent
Clean the windows now and pay the rent

https://www.merriam-webster.com/word-of-the-day

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https://afzalmoolla.wordpress.com/2018/02/25/the-cost-of-revolution-2/comment-page-1/#comment-9749

 

The Cost of Revolution …Afzal 

(in memory of the June 16th 1976 student uprising in South Africa)

You hurled rocks, stones,
Molotov Cocktails,
Sling-shots against the brutality of racial oppression.

You fell on the streets of Soweto,
Thokoza,
Kagiso,
Sharpeville,
Tembisa,
So many more I cannot begin to mention.

Tasting the acrid stench of tear-gas,

Feeling the flesh ripped off your bones by their dogs,

Drenched by water-cannons,
Stung by rubber-bullets,
Whipped by sjamboks,
Shot in the head by bullets,
Paid for by your country’s gold.

You stood trial for Treason,
Facing the hangman’s noose,

You stood firm, you did not break,
Even though,
You had wives, sons, daughters, lovers, brothers, sisters, and friends to lose.

The revolutionary dream burned bright,
In all your hearts,

Even as the jackboot of Apartheid,

Fractured your bones and tore your families into broken and splintered parts.

You left your brothers,
Sisters,
Sons,
Daughters,
Lovers,
Wives,
Comrades and friends,

Seeking out foreign lands,
With only the ammunition that you held in your hearts, your minds and in your never-wavering hands.

The enemy did not waver either,

Tyranny didn’t cease.

2 AM knocks on doors around this land,
Meant to stifle, to intimidate,

Yet,
You took a stand.

Hungry,
lost far away from home, pining for freedom and your loved ones,

Still,
You stood firm,
You fought on,

“Release Mandela and all Political Prisoners” was your cry,
In capitals of far-off lands,

You feared not the bayonet in the enemy’s hands,

The revolution was burning bright,

Even as the dawn of Freedom was in sight.

Finally on a February day,
They released him and the joy was palpable, nothing stood now in the revolution’s way.

All the while,
The enemy consolidated its power,

Paying off traitors,

Seeding violence,

Orchestrating mayhem to taint the noble cause,

And still you took the tyrant’s rifles and clenched their muzzles in-between your brave jaws.

Never standing down,
Backing away,
Retreating to safe space,
The fire of revolution burned,
Spreading through the plateaus and valleys and townships and cities and villages in this pained land,

And still,

Still,
You held that Kalashnikov in your hand.

And when that day of freedom came,

You felt the stirrings of joy and pain and yes,
Of shame.

You felt the shame of leaving those you left behind,

You tasted again the pain,
Of economic hardships,
Of capitalism and its illusory promise,
Of a revolution left incomplete,

Till,
Every man, woman and child has enough to eat.

A revolution still incomplete,
Where hunger stalks the night,
Where mercy,
And comradely solidarity,
Left last night on a first-class flight.

You stand tall still,
Working as you always have,

Polishing the metal chariots of those you once bled for,

Still feeling the injustice,
Of not having the two cents more,

That deprives you of your daily bread,

And you try hard to remember,

Whether this is the revolution,

For which so many died,

The countless whose names remain unsaid,

The brothers and sister,
Mothers and fathers,
Lovers and friends,

Who lie cold and dead.

(dedicated to all South Africans who sacrificed their lives, their families, in pursuit of the revolutionary dream. A dream that remains a dream to many, and a dream that will continue to be dreamed)

 

I sat afraid to make a pencil mark
While round me all the others made a start
I felt like  a new baby in the dark
As worry stabbed me in my artless heart

Then I gripped  my pencil  in my hand
I’d bitten it so hard I’d made two   holes
Then like a  lost soul in a foreign land
I took  a step in  as I  had been told

The science of art is  rarely talked about
Measuring, proportion,volume,size
We hear of drama and of anxious doubt
But not that we should set free our own eyes

It’s simple but not easy, I should know
Every  drawing  pains me  like a blow

A visitor was frightened by this cat
What would Socrates have thought of that?

Would you choose  purgatorial fires,
Or would you rather  freeze to pay sins’ debt?
As communal sinners we desire
That every human being should be a liar
Of course the thoughts of suffering  upset
The    positivity we are told we must embrace
We are struggling in this  mad world  yet
Where men of power  are blind  and have no grace.
We walk on  with good will though so beset.
Is God for hire?

Did anyone believe blind rage expressed
Could benefit the agent without harm?
Did anyone read Freud and then digest?

Feelings need the heat of blacksmith’s fires
Held inside until they find their form
An image worthy of our right desire

As well as rage, we should mistrust love too
Be backward in expression till more’s known
Or risk an avalanche of cruelty.

Take care of others, they are not our fools
From sacred meetings all mankind has grown
We misuse folk to test our worth and tools

Holding in the inner fires our wish
The blackness of the heart can turn to gold
No contradiction hides such sacredness

Take your love and in your arms enfold.
The future of the world is growing cold
We liked to have the choice for rage and death
Until we found the charred remains of bliss

http://www.powells.com/post/original-essays/on-wildness-cracked-worlds-monsters-and-the-odd-nature-of-the-short-story

 

“I took a step back. Pulled my Pulaski from my back and held it above my head like a sword. I kept my eyes tilted away. I had to see without appearing to see, assess without aggressively observing. I needed to see with my other eyes; to hear with my other ears. I had to feel his movements with my skin. And in my feet.

(It’s how we build stories. Do you see?)

The cat made a sound. I don’t have a word for it. It wasn’t a roar or a bark or a growl or a snort or a snarl. It was something bigger. He didn’t make the sound with his mouth — or, at least it wasn’t only his mouth. He made it with his feet, his tail, each muscle, each bone. It rattled the ground and smacked the air. I could feel it vibrating in my molars. I swung the Pulaski over my head, and brought it down to the earth with a crash. I opened my mouth and I made the sound that the big cat made. That exact same sound. My feet, my muscles, my bones, my throat, my tongue, my teeth. They had never spoken that way before, and they never will again. Not a growl. Not a roar. Not a snarl or a bark. Something else. I didn’t look directly at the mountain lion. I knew better. I saw him with my skin instead. I felt him start. Startle. Rear. And then he bounded away.

(You see it, don’t you?)”

My washing machine wouldn’t work
[I thought this was a  poem?]
At least not my favourite programme
[Sounds like a TV!]
Then  after 6 months you came and fixed for me
[I don’t recall that]
You said, change the spin speed
[No, I said, do you like seaweed.actually]
And now my programme is working
I am very grateful  to you
[ Deafness has advantages!]
So, would you like to come round for a meal one evening
[Do you cook food in the washing machine,then?]
Well, what do you feel?
Yeah,I’d love to.
You love me!
I suppose I must.

It’s not compulsory
No, of my own free will,I would love to eat with you
We can talk about my Will later.
Am I in it?
What did you say?
“You must begin it.”
Start with dinner.Do you eat meat?
I like Roast Beef
How wonderful.I have this recipe:Topside with green peas by Harold Wilshaw
How about blue peas?
Yes, green is redundant
Like some men feel
I know men like a feel
May I feel you?
That’s a funny way of asking
Would you enjoy it?
I have no idea but you do smell nice.
I’m in luck.I got some Homme Soap
Om soap, sounds like a mantra![ She’s a  Buddhist!
What about puddings.Do you like Ginger Mould?
It depends where the mould is
I use a white china souffle dish
No mould on that
I  make the mould in a pan.It’s like a custard and cream mixture with ginger in it and then I set it with gelatine
[Jelly beans, do you have beans in a pudding ?]
I have a huge pot of gelatine. I bought it online
Can’t you buy it in a shop?
No,people don’t make their  own jelly now.
Well, that is interesting.Is it a metaphor?
Stop talking about abstractions.I’d like to sit by you and watch TV.
Why?
Because I like you.And I like TV.I like rubbish.”Rubbish” is the in word now
You’re in luck.It’s mainly rubbish now
It’s relaxing after studying 5 dimensional geometry
Just stop studying
I never thought of that.You are so kind  to me.
I don’t see it as kindness
You think about me.
I dream about you!
You seem like Father Xmas’s younger brother
An original idea!
So Sunday 7 pm
I will be there,God willing.
Great.I  can’t wait to talk to you for longer.
Then we’ll see Leonard Cohen.
Is that because mould causes hallucinations?
Surely even LSD can’t work that fast!
Jews do fast, you know
That’s tangential.
I give in

The dead brown leaves crunch, dry beneath  the trees
Blackbirds dance and doves coo far away
There’s strong clear sun but watery pools still freeze

Nature is unchanged by  our unease
As leaders’ words lead voters minds astray
The dead brown leaves crunch, dry beneath  the trees

A few bulbs flower, as if to tease;
Pretend to us  false prophets don’t degrade
There’s strong clear sun but shadows dark  make frieze

Who has got the power to make believe?
Do the Veterans want a new Parade?
The dead brown  coffins burn beneath  the trees

What is wrong, why do I feel unease
Fearful how our leaders power degrade?
There’s strong clear sun but darkness my heart feels

 

When evil is admired and lies are paid
Then Satan rules .as from our hearts he’s made
The dead brown leaves   have come to their demise
There’s strong clear sunshine,  ice and fire bite  trees.

 

 

A man died in a shop doorway last night in Chelmsford. He had recently had his larynx removed as he had cancer there.What kind of country is this now?As we wait for the Arctic weather to arrive can we ask our churches and civic centres what they are doing.And what hospital turned out a man with no larynx and no home?

I tried to give my scarf to a homeless man this week.It was a cashmere one I bought for my husband.But this man would not take the scarf.Better if I give it to a Charity Shop or will one of the volunteers “buy” it? I would have been so happy if the homeless man was wearing it but it is hard for poor people to accept gifts.Maybe he thought I looked cold myself.
I am  thinking of this now.

PS If you are an artist,how can you make the eyes look as if they are looking inward at an image in the mind? I am learning how to draw faces and that is what I need for the above.
I suppose it must alter the rest of the face, the muscles etc.It takes a long time to notice and then to learn.
This week we have had some disgusting things happen around London.

Some say the young are kind and care
Some say they’re dumb
From my experiences so far
I would not want to  start war
But neither would I feel as numb
Like a zebra,tiger,beast.
Too visible, half scared to run
The pointlessness, the raw, the feast
The sugar coating on the plum
Beware,beware

I was in a coffee shop today.The service was slow and while I was waiting,surrounded by tables full of other people I suddenly began to cough.
It got worse and I felt as  if I was going to throw up, many tears ran down my face,my bladder seemed tempted to empty.Then I blew my nose and found  it was bleeding copiously.
Nobody took any notice at all!
This is England.I waved my arm and asked for water.Then, being ironical, I apologised to the people sitting near me!
Die in a coffee shop and they will prop you up till closing time.Luckily I had not wet myself,

 

I’ve been tamed
Well,I’ll be planned!
What’s the rock pucker got to do with me?
I use bed language.
I’ll never stalk a crone again
Study Hell.
Can women tear here?
Well,I hate the way you cook off without me.
A blithering consideration of a man
Rhesus heist.
He was too  aloof.Oh,hell.There’s  always a vexed time
Are your wits oiled?
Do you have any   stinging gasps  in your  trapology?
I don’t want a biblical orange of yew.
So you want to commit deicide? You can’t decide or spell?
Just one litter makes such a difference
She wants manual texts
Oh, Bob’s my wrinkle!
The therapist  said I’m God.Was there a comma?
A love of narcissi blighted his wife.
He said he’d be tanned.
What a tool you are.
I prefer being  schizoid.Men think I’m full of history.
I keep hearing voices,doctor.Pull that ear thing out and kiss ’em
My advice is, avoid slaying women too much
Her daughter is untaught.Oh,her.
Lost your tongue? Buy one,get one free.
What’s a mailed dart?
I use my heart  daily.
Are you him?
Who’s she, the cat’s other?
Why do women dare? I love ten