Pardon Me

She was looking
for something tasty,
when she chanced upon
my blog,

“Pumpkin Soup”
she said. “Easy and rich”
“Kind of sounds like something
a girl could sink her teeth into…”

I was in a quandary
perhaps, I misunderstood her
I’d read about thing like this happening
to others, but this site had stories and prose
not a recipe kind of blog!

I wrote a reply to her comment, trying to help out.
“Natural mistake on your part. Happens
all the time, but if you go over 1,2kg of pulp,
then you’ll have to double the recipe”.

Her next comment was:
“I’ve never tried 2 at one time, but I am open
to suggestions.
Do you add the cream first,
or, do you wait until things get hot?”

I had to loosen my shirt collar a bit, as I thought
of my answer.

“Perhaps, you’ve made a mistake. This site might not
satisfy your cravings”. I replied, thinking that was a good answer.

She replied: “Well, if you didn’t want to tell about how to
make Pumpkin Soup, you shouldn’t have mentioned it
in the first place…..”

“I’ll just have to keep on searching for someone who can/will satisfy my needs, and in the future, remember don’t lean so close to your laptop, your breath is fogging up my monitor….”


Flat as a…

My dog has gone flat
not pancake flat

He lies in the way
anywhere, I am going
and manages to be
in the way, when I return

Earlier, he was all pumped up
larger than life
hunting the elusive flea
chasing strangers by their reflection
in the window glass,
barking at TV-dogs
until they listened
to him,

but now,

Now the air has gone out
leaving him by Dog sighs,
only resembling
my early friend
by placing myself on the floor
looking sideways
at his flatness
imagining him to be the dog
I once knew, and fed,

He moves
from room to room
absorbing the coolness
from his overheated
transferring it to
someplace else,

Perhaps, a prudent move
in plain view of the refrigerator
or other tempting areas
where food has been known
to fall down,
would be considered?

I say to him
“I knew you when
you were
a bit more
3-dimensional, but no less
desirable, only being

No response, again

If only a small morsel
of cheese, or meat
would tend to escape
that largish box, one
that is opened far too few
for the sake of one needy

If only,

Then perhaps,
it would be worth
being a bit more pesky,
3-D pesky
in order to get what is needed
at any

If only….

A Piece of Paper, Containing

My thoughts
at this place and time
wanting to fit
this paper, and yet
my words, flowing
drifting over the edges,
curling around the backside
looking longingly onward,

My thoughts of you
never contained at one place
on one piece of parchment,
my hand writes your memory
across the sea of wondering
over and under the finely, spaced lines
stopping, tripping over commas,
trying to stem the flow of what I have,
what I need to tell you,

“Dearest”, it might begin
That word alone conjures images
of walking hand in hand with you
wondering how, and why it was me
you chose?

“Dearest”, starting again
but stopping at the thought of how
you entered my life, and my thoughts
never were we apart again, even though
those 2 points on the map showed us
that we were indeed, distant and afar,

“Dearest”, as I attempt to write to you
attempt is a feeble word, created to show
a lack of conviction, a lack of caring,

“Dearest”, These words, that are flowing
from me to you, come direct from the heart
no u-turns, no false steps, not an evil, misplaced

“Dearest”, my words cannot express
not entirely, not to their fullest expression,
never in anger, always with a sense of wonderment,
a joy with abated breath, a murmuring of silence
you sending your fingers through my hair,
like the wind blowing along the shore,

“Dearest”, my words mock me with the sense
that only the spoken word will do you justice
these few words, these few thoughts
those that have fallen upon this piece of paper
words with your name, with the essence
the way that you are, and the way that I am
when we are together. My words, written in pale colors
being faint strands of music woven into your smile,
the truth that is you, tearing away all doubt
like pieces of paper, written with these words
that you now are reading,

A piece of paper containing, the last thought I harbored
the last moment of the day gone past
the last few notes of the song that you told me about
the last time, we were together,

A piece of paper, containing my words
my present to you
with the hope of finding new words
new patterns of thought
to express what I really feel

about you….

Mopping the Floor

I’ve been
mopping the floor
using my photographs
of her,

A better use for them
was something
I couldn’t find
to wallpaper
the dog house,
giving him peace of mind?

I could also
post them
around town?

“Help me find
my lost love,
last seen on
Lonely Hearts Road
dusting off her pride,

Her smile turned smirk
looking at me
I dilute her memory
in an otherwise grand

First the kitchen
then the bedroom
then out it will be
water, mop and all
no one to argue with
no one to see

What all of this cleaning
has done to my life
leaving a bit more room

Leaving a lot less strife,

The floors never, ever
have looked so fine
but if they are lacking a bit more

My tears can make them shine,

Mopping the floor…

She Wrote Me

Her letter
telling me how she felt
about her and I,
cut short due to a cramp
in her hand, caused by
her tight grip on the handlebars
of the motorcycle
driven by the man who she ran
away with,
while she rode behind him,
passing by the mailbox
where I stood reading

Her letter……

Four by Two

My office
a smaller entity
about four by two
feet or meters
doesn’t seem to matter, meter,
the space allows me, just
to occupy space in between
the other spaces,
but only just,

My home, my castle
my broom closet
where dust comes to die
where my thoughts rummage
my feet outstretched,
amid the wires, boxes and papers
where my possessions tend
to possess me, waiting
watching for an opportunity
to toss it all
and start over again,

Four by two,
by 2+, thinking in cubic measurements
if only, I could live on the ceiling

instead of climbing the walls…..

The Glass

Shatter the glass
let the night dance
on the fragments,
let the outside in,
while we drink to the stars
arm in arm, glass to glass
my thoughts take me farther
traveling along the darkened pools
where your eyes flow, your waters deep,

Break down the walls
the house shudders and shakes
the whole of the hillside starts to slide
into the ocean black
make love to me while we fall
locked in passionate kisses
oh, how the bitterly cold water
fights for our attention,
but your gaze and mine
never will yield to other distractions,

Blow up the cars
let the flames ignite our love
stretched across the bed
gripping the edges, while the gasoline
the climax, the height of excitement
the flames die down, the ashes, the coals
burning yet, as I stroked your skin,

Our love
rising like a Phoenix
from the flames, the ruins
of our burning passion

Burning yet….

Attention Span

She always
her finger held
guiding my sight
away from the divine
her Nirvana, so to speak

adjusting my span of attention, back
to the matters at hand,

like her Christmas Present
for example…

Shortness of Breath

My shortness
of breath
was witness to
my highest ideal

That ideal being you
a testament to someone
who has managed
to take my breath away

The thin air
causing lightheadedness,
a feeling enhanced
as I climbed higher towards
my goal

We sat there, just
our feet dangling over
the abyss of time, and us
just sharing a popsicle that tasted
of heavenly banana

My shortness of breath
my longing for you
my highest ideal
the lowest step being,
the first part of my journey
on the staircase

to your eternity,