1944

Where are the winter snows
the Christmas trees with silver tears
color lights that glow
under golden angel hair
the scent of pine lingering in the air
and cold crisp nights around the radio

who stole my years.
I want to know
and where did the old folks go.
where are the winter snows
the wreath of pine on the side door.
where is the boy of three
why was he left behind
in nineteen forty four

I was just reviewing the fact, notwithstanding only one

Condemning me,
Has my poetry reached the masses?
Poetry I say, you may say,
PROSAIC

I saw almost hundred percent poems composed by me,
Had been read
And
The ones I supplemented in my BLOGS,
Which, because of my prolificacy, was banned here,
I saw almost hundred percent Blog poems,
Had not had, a single read

So I thought tis better to convert,
Blogs into poems,
Though composed eons ago
Hence this teen agers one

When fire flares up in the bush or house
Be careful with what you use to put it out
It could well be just an additional fuel
That may shoot up everything out of control

Excesses escalate into extremity in jihad
And holy crusade becomes a child’s play
Generations of able men, women and children
Wasted away like rain flood in hollow pits

You can see me at the beach
I’m a hunk and there’s no doubt
In my budgie smuggler pants
You can tell that I work out

With my Speedos fully loaded
I’m a magnet for the women
And I always get molested
When I’m in the water swimming

I can’t help if I’m oozing
Sex appeal and charm
As I walk along the sand
With a honey on each arm

So you guys, don’t get upset
If your girl comes on to me
When my passions on display
They can’t help it, don’t you see