A Quest on Overdrive … :)

An eccentric rambler on life's lessons and mercies, found and lost… :)


In Comfort

If only I could

Tuck in cosiness

Those troubles you carry

Frozen by trauma.


If I could, perchance

Borrow the travails,

Fraying, threadbare…

Your rug, by the

Hearth of your passions…


If I could, then,

Add my love

As that blanket,

Shielding you from

The stray demons that

Lurk, in the dark,

Cover cobwebby corners of your

Hurting soul…


You know, don’t you?

I really am.

You’re long gone

In the distant realms

Of a far away

Thought galaxy.


But your heart beats

In sync with mine.

And that is how

Across the vastness of

This short distance

Across this table

Where we sit –

I shall lend my comfort.


In each beat

Wherein I love, live.

So that you may.

21 March, 2017

Online, blogged via app on mobile, after writing in long hand.

For the love of poetry (not that this qualifies 😛 ) on World Poetry Day 2017.

Also, Happy Nawroz, Gulshan Gev Bamboat, dear friend and constant, here on this blog too! ❤



There is so much I
Want to say.

I do want to.

So I do.

But, damn.

Double dayymmn.

Wants ain’t important.
Needs are.
They know that-
Them words.
Them words that rule the roost
In here.

So I say, want.
But them needs slip out.
Those sneaky sneaky
Words, slipping between
The spaces of those wants.

Too late. I’ve said it.
In Black and White.
Red in the face.
That slips into
The grey areas of my
Non existence.

Slip of the tongue.
Of the Mind.
Needs. Wants.

There’s a canvas
Waiting to be drawn
Quartered and hung.

A visible tapestry
A mosaic.
Intricate. Exquisite.

Because it is
Painted in pain.

18 January, 2017


Upon the Futility of Expectations

Well, yes, she says
It’s only human
(And I’m just a person)
To have them expectations.

Yes, he agrees, yes.
(Human? I can’t even begin to tell you!)
I, of course, am NOT a person.

See? This is JUST what I mean.
She attempts to draw out,
Dramatically, why he SO is.

Typical, he snorted, just typical.

Can you not be but repetitive?

Ah. Now, that is what I am?

That’s not a question.
You just made a statement
With a parenthetical interrogative.

So, I am?

Are you?

I’m what you expect me to be
All the time, anyway.
So, is there any other way to be?

That conversation above
Is what I’m privy to.
As Creator, it’s hard, you know
(Parenthetical interrogative, in place
I’m learning, you see)
To block out these
Conversations you’re NOT having.

Your bodies talk too much.
You don’t.

And, them expectations?
If I told you what I had,
And where you’re at…

Ah. The wisdom of a Creator
Is always in question,

When the outcomes
Are as human as you.

20 April, 2015

Day#20 of #NaPoWriMo
I’m unhinged. I’d be the first to admit it. You’re permitted to, of course, join me. 😀


The Book

Cover to cover
It shall be packed

Words (Duh)
Written on pages
Layered from the
Sloughing of memories
Neatly stacked
Trimmed for good measure
To shape well
What will be shared

I found most excaberating-
The unctuous, eager ones
To be those I so did not want
To write.

The ones that
(Try as I might)
I could not drop into

That day I did not want to fall in love
But did.
That time when indifference singed
That quiet moment, when the world stilled.

They impinge. Demand. Push. Worry.
Till I get them down, in words,
Where they preen for prying eyes…
Each emotion on display
Lapped and leeched by
The eyes that prey.

It’s done now.
Even though I wish I hadn’t.

But then the choice was this:

The Book.

14 April, 2015

Day#14 of #NaPoWriMo – where these come from I really don’t  know, but then thank goodness, each time they do rescue the rambler 🙂


Untitled-For Now

If you could only place each thing
In its proper place, she said to me,
There! You’d be all set for life
No doubt on that score- even or odd.

If you’d just chart the course
Before you set sail, he said,
There’s no way to get lost,
Even if you wanted to.

There’s always a way- always-
Sometimes the sidewinder way,
The flip-back step, or perhaps
The jog where you are.

Forward seems best, she reminded me.

Advice, aplenty.
Suggestions, sometimes scheming,
To see me get on with it.

Especially when I simply don’t.

I write, and don’t pigeon-hole.
No poetry for me, thank you.
Prosaic and evenness too glib
For a ‘tart’y me.

Still, I give you this. You try.
You’ll never give up too, I know.

How ’bout, I tell you
What patterns there are
In sheer chaos, kaleidoscope-like
The shifting of each particle-sheer energy.

And the journey I take
Shall be by the stars – age-old
And infinite, in their wisdom too
Steady or shifting- they call my gypsy heart.

Yes, forward does seem best,
But how I love to linger in the
Quiet, distant pools of yesterday!
Sigh, sometimes weep, but, feel,

Feel. So much. So very much.

I write. Not neatly.
No method to it.
Ramble, in strips, disjointed idioms
Excessive tautology. I write.

The hyphenated circumstances
That abet this nonsensical whim
To- write- the pages-all in random order
Reel it up, from middle to end and then the beginning…

Leave me clueless as to where it’s headed.

Where I’m headed, for that matter.

No wonder then, it remains, till when,

Untitled – for now.

13 April, 2015

Day#13 of #NaPoWriMo is seriously surrreal. I’ll let you figure this one, and then tell me about it 😀