Nights are meant for loving

Beat a tattoo on my drum
I’ll sing, or maybe hum
Fireflies will give us light,
As we dance away the night.

Or maybe you should beat
A tune for the moon
To come out to play
Bathing us in silvery moonbeams
It seems we own the night.

Nights are meant for lovers and loving,
That everybody knows.
So why does the old lady hiss
And turn up her nose
As we lose ourselves in love’s throes?

Let us dance on our tippy toes.
But can you tell where this stream goes?
Is that fire in your eyes
Burning me or keeping me alive?


Souvenirs d’un amour passé

His kiss was like poetry
Spoken in tune with the harp
His fingers strumming sweet chords
On my hair-strings, heartstrings
And in that moment, that instant,
Time froze
As his tongue took mine
Down exotic paths
We discovered new galaxies
His kiss was bliss
And that’s what I really miss.
I miss his kiss.

Il me manque,mais surtout, son baiser.

Nandi’s Ocean

Her thick lashes draped over her downcast eyes. He looked at her, trying to figure out what exactly was wrong.

Nandi’s lower lip quivered ever so slightly and she quickly caught it in between her teeth. Her shoulders seemed to droop even lower.  Nandi never cried. She always had it all together.

Not in front of him, anyway.

Denjei felt like wrapping his arms round her and holding her to his chest. But that would probably be awkward since he’d never as much as taken her hand even in a handshake. Not that he hadn’t wanted to. Several times. Especially when she wore that aqua blue dress with the lacey, plunging neckline. That seemed to be the only dress she had that wasn’t black, brown or grey. There was something about that shade of blue against her chocolatey brown skin that made him feel the air conditioning in the room had been shut down.

But, she was his boss. Thinking about her in this way was just…just…somehow.

Another awkward ten minutes passed before he spoke again.

“Maybe you should take the day off, ma’am. I’ll handle everything here and call you later to report….”

She raised her head and looked at him, her eyes wide with fear.

“He’s going to kill me.” No emotion and matter-of-factly.

What? Who? Where? Why? And half a dozen other questions tumbled over each other in his head, each one wanting to be the first to get out of his mouth.

“Who’s he?” It was more of an exclamation than a question.

I had no idea there was a ‘he’ in her life. She didn’t seem like a woman who needed anyone…any man. Heck, he was even scared of her most times.

In response to my question, she turned her back to me. I thought she was wringing her hands in front of her until with an almost imperceptible shrug; her black dress fell off her shoulders. I swallowed hard, anticipating seeing more of the skin that had been the object of my secret fantasies. I threw a quick glance at the office door, trying to remember if it was locked or not, hoping no one would come in and spoil the moment for me.

I turned back to look at her bare shoulders, totally unprepared for the sight that met me. Her back was riddled with long wounds in different stages of healing. One particularly long welt was still fresh, obviously administered the day before, judging from its redness.

A string of expletives left Denjei’s mouth in rapid succession.  She turned round to face him. The tears fell fast and free, disappearing the moment they landed on the front of her black dress.

“Take me home, Denjei.”

“I….I…I’m so sorry. I’ll call your driver immediately.”

“No!” She said firmly, grabbing his arm. “You drive. Take me to your house. Take me anywhere. Faraway from Sarema…and his father.

Daydreaming Again

“I heard an airplane passing overhead. I wished I was on it.”
Out here, up there, going anywhere,
As long as he was not on it.
Your head is up in the clouds, he said
That was the only page of my book, he’d read.
The rest, I’d locked up in a cage,
Lost keys.
Twas for my good or I’d be dead,
Or leashed.
Distant lands, calm seas and quiet villages,
And that dark-haired stranger at the bar in the inn.
Brown eyes, well-worn pages,
Slightly wrinkled at the edges.
Slender fingers ready,
To write volumes on my skin,
Of stories I’d left unwritten.



The first two lines of this poem in quotation marks is a tweet at 12:28 on 02/01/2016 found on @PoemsPorn timeline. Good stuff on there. Please follow. That tweet inspired the rest of the poem.


I just sat there and stared. Blankly. There was a constant ringing in my ears. I wasn’t sure whether it was from the drone of the fat nuns in the choir singing a dirge or from the sweet smell of the burning incense from the altar that reminded me of something I needed so badly right now – a cigarette.
I had endured the past week without being able to smoke as freely as I would if I were back in my flat. No one in the family knew I smoked. Anyway, It would have been hard to detect through the layers of expensive perfumes I wore. My signature ruby-red lips kept my charred lips well hidden. I was hardly seen without make-up.
My nicotine craving was quickly forgotten as the rustle of clothing and creaking of pews made me realise people were getting up. I stood up with the rest of the family. The clergymen files past first, followed by the bearers of the hearse. The immediate family members followed, and I took the rear, as usual.
The buzz in my ears continued as we made our way outside to the church cemetery. There, the smell of freshly dug earth mixed with the scent of the incense, was his scent.
No, it wasn’t a figment of my imagination. It was his scent. No one else smelled that way. I looked up, and around, calmly telling myself if was the grief (or maybe the nicotine craving) that was playing on my senses.
And then. I saw him.
Same white kaftan he wore the last time I had seen him…..
He and I had had a fight. He had driven off in anger. I heard from his friend two years later that there had been an accident. No survivors. I had been too angry to grieve for him. He had hurt me so bad I actually told myself he deserved to die.
And now he was here, by my father’s graveside. The dead mourning the dead.
But, his gap-toothed smile looked too real to be unearthly. I moved closer, the priest’s funeral prayers were became white noise, muffled by the rush of blood to my ears. I moved towards him like a moth drawn to a flame.
He held out his hand, ready to take mine as I approached him. In that outstretched palm I saw hope, and a chance to love again. I had gone six years failing at every attempt to find love and now, love had found me. Just when I needed it most.
I got to where he was and his smile widened and all I could think of was whether his lips would still taste the same after all these years.
“H..hey.” My voice was barely a whisper.
“Hello…from the other side.”
His raspy voice sounded faraway, like a half-wail, drowned out by shouts and screams from all around me.
“She’s falling!” I heard someone’s shout, just before my cheek connected with the red earth at the bottom of my father’s grave.