CLOCKWORK AVOCADO

Laughing at insipidites,
they lap up
the delicious tang
of her smile –
a glint of a dimple;
once in a while…
Unsuspecting souls
imprisoned by
naiveté,
drink in
not beauty,
but the skill
to beat them at
a game
they conceived.
Now, they
serve time
in her hypnotic hold.
The winning ways
of a bewitcher;
behold!

**

Swipin’ into clockwork orange,
a pattern begins a day…
Courtesies play out
their cuckold farce,
‘auto-smiles’ activate
their charm,
and inane banter
natter it out,
in a horseplay,
that’s ambled
far too long.
Wallowing in
wanton cesspools,
egos have the last dance.

**

He’s intrigued
by the enigma
that’s she…

As she
unravels,
he finds,
what’s concealed,
hidden behind
the door revealed.

Many moons
later…
he’d like to try
another door…
another room
with a view,
one which
promises more
mystery.

The law of
diminishing
marginal utility.

I found myself!

Perennial pundit came by
the other day,
and probed…
with his eagle-eyed
vacant stare.

With his short
attention span
for all things
insipid,
I wondered if
he was really there?

But it’s when
he began
to spill
a few gems
on blogging,
I was
all ears.

Though what he declared,
in his characteristic
stance – rude;
that ‘a blogger’
aren’t my comrade
or I be,
tweaked my curiosity.

Now, rather
than take offence,
I decided to
build my defence…
but found
to my dismay,
that he was
right all along.
I wasn’t a
creature of habit
who blogged
compulsively,
everyday.

Instead,
I’d pen
whilst
courting spurs
and wrote in verse,
– a form that few chose
to compose
their daily grind;
and what’s worse
pen cryptic
of what goes on
in my twisted mind…

Neither did I
write prolific
on the economics
of Oligopolies
or the backwards compatibility
of PS2'S
or have the stoned
countenance of
a cerebral.
Nor did I hardsell
my sex life…

Never linking
to blogs that I loved,
I revelled
in the anonymous comments –
– a trail of thought
that snaked through
a labyrinth of theories
and a circle of concepts
– the delicious obscurity
of one night stands…
of never asking
or wanting to know
but remembering
the tenderness
of a strangers hands.

And then it dawned on me
that I was a ‘lurker’…
loitering among
the abstract and
the astute,
voicing an opinion
while still being mute.

Mind it!

Ideas peep out
at me,
from a stranger’s face.

I shut them away
and think of
a warm embrace…

They needle
their way through…
to the arena
of thought
and die
a martyrs death
in a battle
fought
with
the paper tigers
who sought…
not originality
but assembly-line rot.

**

Pupils shuttle
from left to right,
right to left.
A orangish-hued light
curtains the drama
that ensues…
Flashes, dashes,
crash into
one another;
beginning where
another ends..
A phantasmagoria,
your eyes mind pens.

**

The first time
it reared its head,
I never saw it
or at least
thought I didn’t.

Second time around,
it drew near…
I wore denial
on my sleeve.

Frequenting the
places I’d go to,
it lingered patiently.

Thought I was safe,
hiding in my bubble,
until I came
face to face
with it
one day.

That fateful day
I knew
that I’d never see
anything as ugly
as the persistent pout
of pointlessness.

Men-never-pause!

Whoever said men don’t gossip
never had the privilege of
working with an all-men team.
It’s like a perpetual walk
through their wet dream.

Indulging in constant babble
— about who’s
working less and
getting overpaid…
who’s the lucky one
courting one chick
and with another
gettin’ laid…
their double entendre
puts sexual comedies
to shame.
It’s their frustrated libidos
I blame.

Gorging on food,
bordering on the crude,
innuendos socialise
with political leanings…
Never try to read to
much into what they say
or their purported meanings.

Come to think of it…
after a week of nation,
I need a vacation
to sift through
the thoughts in my head…
or soon enough,
I’d be checking out
that well-endowed babe
and salivating like ‘em
instead…

Lock, Stock And Two Smoking Barrels (Review in verse)

Wasn’t plannin’ on
spendin’ a nite
with a bunch of ‘em
petty thieves.

That too,
not any of ‘em
shandy-drinkin’ sods.
But these bunch of losers
caught my eye
with their detached wit
and more importantly,
Jason Statham.

‘Bacon’, he called himself…
Never thought
bald was beautiful
until I laid my eyes
on his shiny pate.
(His throaty voice
did me in!)

Oh…
had to hold back me
blimey mouth from whisperin’:
“We could make a great breakfast;
you bacon, me eggs! ”

Right.
Thereon,
the plot had a hard on…

Losin’ a shitload of quid
on a poker game
these jack-a-lads
find themselves
in a soup –
more of a foul
clam chowder.

Taking the cue,
the whole hog
of baddies —
“Fucking northern monkeys
and southern fairies”
make an entrance.

The underhanded Harry “Hatchet” Lonsdale
and his nasty right hand man,
Barry the Baptist;
the crazy ass Afro, Rory Breaker:
and psychotic Big Chris
headline the dysfunctional quartet
who are after
our stupid stiffs:
Eddy (Nick Moran),
Tom (Jason Flemyng),
Soap (Dexter Fletcher),
and Bacon (Jason).

Far from your
usual gangsta
flick,
deadpan humour,
pokerfaced irony,
and suggestive violence
fight it out
for screen space.

Razor-sharp dialogues
and stylish cuts,
make it a great watch,
if not twice,
once.
For anyone
who begs to differ,
I only say
“Piss of you nonce!”

Surprise package: Sting plays Eddy's father.
Thumbsupski: Guy Ritchie’s screenplay makes for a friggin’great mind-fuck!
Best Dialogues: “Your stupidity may be your one saving grace.”
“When you dance with the devil, you wait for the song to stop.”
When Big Chris with his matter-of-fact, void-of-any-sentiment look
says at the end of the film “It’s been emotional!” — the movie comes full circle — a fuckin’ vicious circle at that!

Grapevine The Musical

Overture
Announcer: Ladies and Gentlemen,
you are about to hear
a tale of greed, sloth
and those who came to naught…
of adultery, of indulgence…
of hoarding more
than what they sought….
AND everything else,
you’ve gossiped about.

Amusez-vous bien!

The story unfolds
as the fop
ponders over
“to be or not to be
a butcrack…”
Alas, his class act
turns out to be a ‘bummer’…
So, he bids adieu
and decides to try
something new..
Butt obviously,
what else could he do?

And out pop
a slew of dramatis personae
whose whims are
a dead give-away.

Lo & behold,
the mockshaver;
he swoops down on
demure Bob
and an unlikely
romance blooms.

(No, he hath no
charm but
just those
bare hands
with which
he strokes & grooms!)

The Yeti’s
silent treatment
achieves what
no one else has
done before…
The wayward tomcat
doesn’t dare to wander
far from his door…

Oh, lookout,
here comes
the one who
wears no kilt…
Even if you don’t
understand his inflections,
you’d know he’s
gabby to the hilt.

But the duo
who got everyone
to their feet,
are the ones who
indulged in a shouting brawl.
Their shrieking salvo
had one & all
eye the champion
and the defender —
one a “alleged” Lothario
and another a
could-be gender-bender.

And of course
there are those characters:
the amateurs, the bit players, the extras,
the thespians and walk-ons
with even more interesting quirks
whose lives are mental perks
for the less fortunate others.

But somethings are never meant
to be aired out;
if you know what I mean,
you are clever,
beyond a doubt.

For those who
can be talked about,
the one who turned up tops
is the mohican mop
— who’d sneak up
on you and ask
you to stop
whatever you’re doin’
“This is protocol” spewin’…
But, his reign draws to a close too,
for he is one of the those who
decided to head
back to his nest.
With too many cooks
spoiling the broth,
he thought it best.

As Heads began to roll,
so did tails.
A rumble in
the jungle
and everyone began
to bungle
lest they were left out,
in this brewing storm;
the coming of
a manpower drought.

Nothing perturbed zombie
who was oblivious to all…
he might as well have been
a martian
or a dead fly on the wall.

When whispers turned to rumours
and rumours to a babble blizzard,
some decided to eat crow,
while others got ready to go….

And what happened next;
is for me to conjure
and you to guess,
for it hasn’t happened yet!