Straight Lines

Spellbound

2012-01-07T22:41:00.008+05:30

Jalapenos aren't in this season spicy,

Nor is putting up a facade dicey,

A coup de grace'll lend the land a firm handle,

While Hanukkahs kill the sale of the candle,

Negligees -- they don't any more enchant,

Eons can be short but an angstrom can't.

But
Jalapeños are,

A façade always is,
A coup de grâce won't,

Ḥănukkāhs don't,
Negligées do,
Æons can't and an ångström can.

The Bards that Moaned

2012-01-02T11:24:00.018+05:30

'Take out the garbage yourself', said the poets.
'Pick up the children on your way back,
Don't ask me to do the dishes any more.
Make love I can, when one of us needs it --

But my domestic obligations end there.
I'm a poet first and a poet last, and
I need all the time in the world to
Polish my rhymes, sharpen my metaphors,
Revise the metre, alliterate a little bit.
What do you know of the joy of writing?
The rapture, the tears of cathartic fulfillment,
The comprehensive car-wash of the soul.
But do you realize how colon-clinchingly
Time-consuming it is? Leave me alone.
What if I die tomorrow and you
Bury me with a poem in my chest

That never got to know the light of day
Or the scent of paper?'
Ergo, the wealthy man kidnapped them all
And put them in a spaceship.
'Now, ladies and gentlemen, you haven't
Anything to complain about', he smiled wide.
'You have now all the privacy you want.
Time lies sprawled at your feet. We shall fly to
Triton and back; that gives us nineteen years.
Slip a cushion beneath your bottom,
Get out all the verse in your bosom.
I hereby bequeath you the paradise
You sought and longed all your lifetime for.'
Within the first year,
The poets killed themselves.
They had nobody to read them.

Thither Spat James Joyce

2011-10-07T19:42:00.011+05:30

agreed a rose by any other

name would smell as

sweet

porcelain pots peddled under
synonyms make no difference to the
rod and the cone

a vodkamartiniwithasliceoflemonpeelshakennotstirred ordered as
whatever else would land the bastard a
wanton blonde

and a cadbury square etched with a
hieroglyphic logo still melts its way past
your wagger

while quentin tarantino mischristened

eugene moses bartholomew would scarce upset his
b.o.

(call messrs. clemens and dodgson what you will, love,
they continue to
tickle)

as shall quantum electrodynamics known to our chums at the edge of andromeda as some other
fertilizer yet speak
gospel

but an onomatopoeia by any other
name...
now an onomatopoeia by any other
name doesn't sound a tenth as
onomatopoeiaesque,
does it, miss capulet?

Clerihew #6

2011-08-06T05:00:00.003+05:30

John Bardeen
Was fond of sardine
Try it: you, too, may turn wise
And fly out to Stockholm twice

Clerihew #5 [NSFW]

2011-06-15T11:39:00.003+05:30

Gustav Robert Kirchhoff

Made no time to jerk off

He thus had dysfunction:

Could loop, but not junction

Dealing With Me

2011-05-26T07:44:00.012+05:30

Inside your idle brain, come shine or come rain,
All work and no play all night and all day
Not even half a moment of sleep, you see!
Look for me in the details (or check in the fai retails)
When you're loathe to decide -- I'll then come stand beside
Whilst over your shoulder looms the deep blue sea

To your petty conceit placate I'll send my advocate
He'd gladly plead your cases with one of many faces
Of which he has thirty-six, like a pair o' dice
If you are lonely and laust, remember Comrade Faust --
You only need to sign on the dashed dotted line
And I give you on this sorry earth a paradise

Yet I seek no gratitude, only purple attitude
So that folk may call your air yours-truly-may-care
How I shall then take care of you dearly!
But I must speak to you because on your soul there is a clause
That you may haven't knone: let's talk this over phone
Just dial two-thirds of one thousand [well, nearly]

Culinary Wisdom

2011-05-26T07:24:00.009+05:30

For the Discerning Madrasi in Yankeedom

Pico de gallo and idli

Is a combination deadly

(They fit like lock and keys)

Never munch on fries

When you lunch on rice

(They're as chalk and cheese)

Clerihew #4

2011-05-25T05:21:00.003+05:30

Sunil Manohar Gavaskar
Must visit Madagascar
He might perhaps in that place
Have a few more sunny days

Ack.ment

2011-05-19T01:47:00.002+05:30

The last three poems were inspired by these jewels --
1, 2, 3, 4

At the Beach

2011-05-19T01:19:00.008+05:30

A wave slides in, and covers

the Pacific dioxide of Si

A boat in the distance hovers

like an oil drop of Mi

Cheat Never in Medical School

2011-05-18T12:50:00.013+05:30

Learn from Roberto's Exam Hall Misadventures

Poor Bobby -- would've turned out a fine Dr.

Weren't he caught in the act by the Prr.

Asked about his action

He thought on his feet,

Hesitated a fraction

And ate up his sheet.

For, you see, he wasn't quite the conCr.

Limerick #14

2011-05-18T12:11:00.008+05:30

A Brief Peep into the Life of a
Member of the
Haunting Spectres Society

An abandoned abode was he put in c/o;

When there were prospecting visitors to sc/o,

He rip't out a shriek

And out they'd freak

You got to admire his lungs, or lack th/o

Calf Muscles

2011-05-06T06:22:00.005+05:30

Sometimes they pull
We know not why, or how
But they make a splendid bull
Or cow

History, A Brief

2011-05-06T02:21:00.003+05:30

Progresses in Science

Most were occidental
Some, the other ccidental

Clerihew #3

2011-04-27T06:02:00.002+05:30

Barack Hussein Obama

Has sure a sense of drama

Not even would Abraham

Have dreamt he'd be Uncle Sam

Limerick #13

2011-04-27T05:48:00.003+05:30

There once was a gent Kronecker

'Sir Succinct' was his moniker

He invented his delta

And told Levi-Civita,

'My tensor is laconicer'

Clerihew #2

2011-04-10T23:27:00.001+05:30

Michael Jackson

Had a black son

Who yet might

Turn out white

Clerihew #1

2011-04-10T07:17:00.003+05:30

Richard Phillips Feynman

Was no Simple Simon.

Asked to prove himself, he

Came up with Q.E.D.

{Every pun is intended}

Padma Shri 2009 for Arts

2009-02-04T19:58:00.002+05:30

Art today be ash,
And artists, trash.
They art sick,
Their art sicker.

Limerick # 12

2009-01-13T20:08:00.011+05:30

[One of my entries for Saarang Online Creative Writing Contest. The topic: 'Connect these three not-so-obvious ideas/themes into one single piece -- Schadenfreude, Shoes, Shame.']

The Price of Oil

The world wide web laughed itself dead
After this journalist stood up and said:
'Shameless moron W!
This is gonna trouble you'
And flung his shoes at the president's head.

One Day in a London Flat...

2008-08-10T11:47:00.007+05:30

'Good morning, sir,
Wake up!
Your coffee's in the
Tea cup!'

'Dash it, Jeeves,
It's just eight!
Until I myself rise
Just spectate!'

'Very good, sir,
I'd been remiss.
In passing, let me
But mention this:

Your aunt Mrs Travers said
She'd again call.
And an angry Mrs Gregson
Is in the hall.'

Limerick # 11

2008-07-25T11:09:00.005+05:30

Ode To Srinand Fishy Rao

There was a young man named Fishy,
Who in matters of tobacco was pushy.
Better give him a smoke,
Else your neck he'll choke;
Your only escape is to become a she.

Limerick # 10

2008-07-21T14:24:00.004+05:30

There was a botanist who to her rank disbelief,
Learnt that her beau was of communist belief.
She yelled, 'You make me go... RED!'
'Is that so? In that case,' he said,
'Marry me and I shall turn over a new... LEAF!'

Parthian Shot

2008-07-06T11:31:00.004+05:30

'Yes, goodbye!' I retorted in T9. 'I too
Am ecstatic that we wont have to SMS
Each other ever again'. I viewed my
Message in the Sent Items by
Force of habit and switched off the
Instrument. Sat back and cursed her
Profusely. 'Don't cry for her, don't', I
Told myself and put my face out the
Window of the bus. 'Oh damn', I said
Aloud a moment later. Switched
My mobile phone on again, typed up a
Message furiously and sent it and
Deleted her number from the contacts
List. Without informing me my
Fingers took me to the Sent Items
Folder. Before I could look away my
Eyes read the final message: '*won't'.

Sleepless in Chennai

2008-06-24T19:08:00.005+05:30

It's raining cats and dogs here,
With lightning and loud thunder.
True, it inspires awe and fear,
But my sleep does it plunder!

O darling, my dear sugarcane juice,
Is it raining pets at your place too?
If so, let's hum a tune you choose,
And leap like a kangaroo.

On the Advent of Teenage

2008-06-06T12:56:00.002+05:30

Beyond any doubt
There came about
In my gastronomical
range
An astronomical
change

Limerick Latte -- # 7, 8 and 9

2008-06-06T12:27:00.007+05:30

As sms-ed to annoy a friend.

[Note: Lab = Labrador -- her hypocorism; AJX504 -- mine.]

There was a young Lab from Trichy
Who was understandably bitchy.
When called a sow
By AJX504
She also proved to be a bit touchy.

Twenty minutes of poetic exercise,
The next five -- of wild surmise:
'Was that a good limerick?
Will it flop or will it click?'
And all she remarks is 'Lol. Nice.'

There was a young girl from Sir Sivaswamy Kalalaya
When asked 'உங்க school நல்லாருக்கா நல்லாலயா ',
She fumed and said,
'You're gonna be dead
But choose பன்னிக்கோ என் பல்லாலயா இந்த கல்லாலயா'

Limerick # 6

2008-03-06T17:02:00.003+05:30

He is All Over My Universe

He has heavier-hearted brethren,
He ensures balloons aren't barren
And stars aren't invisible.
He is fulfilled and noble!
But so are Ne, Ar, Kr, Xe and Rn.

In the Eye of the Beholder

2008-03-03T17:05:00.008+05:30

'Love at first sight' is a phrase today
That spells more than I could say.
A dimple on a damsel sends X up, up and away,
Whereas Y and Z become her shoulders' prey.
Some chaps fall for missies with hair all astray,
While others prefer it combed in neat array,
While some others swoon at a braided display.
Inference of aesthetics does not rules obey:
If one bloke deems a lass' frame just OK,
The next man sends her an anon bouquet.
I know of boys dreaming through work and play
About girls you'd goggle at only if you were gay.
But no one could top my pal called Jay,
Who's wired up in a fashion I can't convey;
His romantic tale is far, far from a cliché,
For he fell in love with a maiden's X-ray...

Love's Price

2008-02-04T21:47:00.001+05:30

There was a certain tomboy who fell in love,
Who knew not how her lad's heart to move,
And to which end her every thought strove.

Two courses to take, she judged, to win his awe:
Either improve her looks, go coy, play the ewe
Till he comes to realize that love doth he owe,

Or kidnap the boy, stuff him up in a damp hut,
Starve him, and threaten to turn him inside out
Unless on a love pact his signature did he put.

Her upbringing and pride ruled out the first case;
But her swift hands ruled in his abduction with ease,
By landing on his mid-skull a beautiful ceramic vase.

But when she gathered that the Superintendent of Police
Was father to her object of interest, Passion ran out juice
And was replaced by Panic; time it was to pay love's price.

Love's price was exorbitant, and cost her all her dough:
Till the Superintendent felt he had enough,
Sack after overflowing sack was sent through!

Limerick # 05

2007-12-18T13:23:00.001+05:30

Edward the Unintentional

Her farm life gave Astronomy no role,
Thus is good Sue today a loveless soul:
She split up with Ed
When he fondly said,
"You attract me like a black hole".

Need Poetry Rhyme?

2007-08-22T16:23:00.002+05:30

I composed this poem on a rainy evening.
My friends said: "This is not poetry at all!"
Dad, too, was not the least convinced:
"Bad piece of work, my son. Improve."
And mother was particularly scathing:
"Bland and pointless. Drop it in the bin."
There was no hope in profs' words either:
"Care to hear my say? This'z pure crap."
"But why?" I cried, "How's this not poetry?"
"That is quite evident", they all replied,
"A poem has a rhyme scheme, young man.
ABAB, AABB, ABBA, ABABB -- you name it.
Show us the rhymers in your - er - poem."
"So that was yer charge, eh?" said an irate I.
"Then 'tisn't my fault, sirs and ma'ams, that
When a poem stares you in the face, ye
Can't tell it is one. Bad 'nough ye didn't
Grant my piece a poetry status. Worse --
All ye pundits found it self-satisfying to
Call it a worthless frill and brand me a fake.
Worst -- ye all failed to notice that the
First words in each pair of lines rhyme!"

Limerick # 04

2007-08-20T22:18:00.000+05:30

There was a doped hostess who went high,
For no earthly reason she started to cry --
She beat her chest,
And kissed a guest,
And they said she was as irrational as π.

Rotten Rime

2007-08-07T18:50:00.000+05:30

Buds mayn't blossom, snakes mayn't slither,
Joeys mayn't jump, but divorcees may date!
Falcons mayn't fly, bestfriends mayn't bother,
Bradmen mayn't bat, but all may alliterate!

Limerick # 03

2007-08-06T18:59:00.000+05:30

The Nightboat Crew Club

The strict fourteen-member ship,
Elected to cancel his membership,
When helmsman John,
With all the lights on,
Pinched one female member's hip.

[ Note that lines 01, 02 & 05 are more than rhymers ;) ]

Oh Revered Judges

2007-08-05T21:51:00.001+05:30

[The title was specified in the contest. Personally, I don't quite like this piece.]

Oh my revered judge, revered judge,
Plastered to your seat sans a budge,
Watching kiddish lawyers via your glasses --
How could you just listen to those asses?
How could you sit there tapping the gavel,
While the holy courtroom echoes with drivel?
Why did you acquit the former convict,
Whom you knew was the one who did it,
Just because his attorney the @$$hole
Had struck upon the law's loophole?
Just a single nut in your head loose,
Could send a guiltless guy to noose.
M'Lord! Justice is in the heart of Man,
Secondary is the verdict of your clan.
I gather you've mastered the law,
But not without too many a flaw!

Quackpot

2007-08-02T17:49:00.000+05:30

'Doctor, doctor, I'm very ill'
'Patient, patient, pop a pill.
And now you try to keep your still,
For what you see here is your bill.'

Limerick # 02

2007-08-02T17:30:00.000+05:30

Boarded the bus a wily pick-pocket,
And didn't care to purchase a ticket.
He took the conductor's purse,
Then for better or worse,
Jumped off the bus and kicked the bucket.

Ubiquity

2007-08-02T17:08:00.001+05:30

दीदी, यह हवा kidhar है?

वो hither है और thither है

Limerick # 01

2007-08-01T18:27:00.000+05:30

Once they let out a caged okapi,
Who hence turned terribly happy.
He excreted his goo
Throughout the zoo
And they put him in the dinner recipe.

I Die

2007-07-31T16:45:00.001+05:30

[Written years ere, in the wake of learning of stellar deaths]

My heart aches, as all my hydrogens,
Tucked deep under my skin, are
Now exhausted, and I have nothing
To do but swell with whatever
Superficial hydrolium is left in me.
                                           I have no sympathy for Mercury,
                                          For he is a jerk, trying to win
                                           The Orbital Race and unfortunately
                                           Does win each time with a foolish
                                          Mind of triumph, the puny fellow.
Chewing hin away, I turn my eye
On Venus, the hot-tempered girl. She,
The silver medalist forever and so the
Most furious and hottest, challenges me,
Says she would eat me instead!
                                           That, I permit not, and suck her
                                           Into one of my infinite nostrils.
                                           The tertiary victor was patient till
                                           Now, and at my first signs of
                                           Approach, shrieks, 'Wait a minute!'
She might as well say, 'Wait a
Millenium!' Proceeds she, 'Have my
Offspring not worshipped you? Have
They ever inflicted a crumb of damage
Upon you? Have you not a heart?'
                                           'My dear blue baby, it is that my
                                           Heart shrinks and there is but
                                           Nothing to curb myself from gobbling
                                           The first three of my kids, sadly,
                                           Including you, my priceless jewel.'
She is not deterred. 'I considered you
Almighty. It was you who embedded
Life in me, you who nurtured it and
Brought it up. Sans you, I would've
Been just as lifeless as my siblings.
                                           But it is now your wish to swallow
                                           Me, to vapourize me.' 'It is not my
                                           Wish.' 'You lie! O you are not
                                           Grateful. My best child, Man, has
                                           Paid you innumerable respects.
He, your grandson, my grandest son,
Has attempted to understand you, for
Which he poked out telescopes in all
Directions like cannons. He had, you
Should remember, extended your lifespan.
                                          He has dumped hydrogen in you from
                                          Your neighbour Alpha, as though he
                                          Were Robin Hood. He has loved you,
                                          Cared for you, and how do you return it?
                                          You give his womb an undeserving death.'
'My dear child, he made me live
Longer for his own selfish need.
He wanted more time afore he could
Evacuate all my nine children,
Before I turn red and gianty.
                                         Ah, my great daughter, you are a
                                         True mother. You choke of radiation,
                                         Your lands've dipped thro' fusion blasts,
                                         Yet you defend the rogue who has
                                         Deserted you and killed his brothers.
Why die of radioactive suffering,
Self-combusting, and synthetic volcanoes,
Armageddons and comets and endure
Agony till your deathbed? Why not
Get mercy-killed in an instant?'
                                         And thus I cast forth my tongue,
                                         Swish about her and recoil it
                                         Deep back into me. The other six
                                         Weep fraternally; my fourth child
                                         Glares, angry and as red as I.

Comment On Dr Flea's Weblog

2007-07-31T08:13:00.000+05:30

I dunno why you with this crap clog
Your otherwise unmatchable blog.
'Clap, if from me you are a mile,
Respond, if you are here, with a smile;'
If that goo is what you call poetry,
I'll better hang myself from the next tree.
One expects greater stuff
From a literary buff
Like you, you mad maundering moron!
Surely you can write better, come on!
Your other poems were really nice--
Especially those packed with lies...
And do me a favour by not commenting
On my blog with poems rhymingly revolting.
For how many times have I told thee
That poetry is not my cup of tea?
As far as my opinion goes,
The best writing form is prose.
Because sometimes poetry loses sense
When the poet's brain is intense
In groping for rhyming words and word-wit,
Resulting in utterly meaningless bullshit.
OK, man, me got to put on an outdoor dress,
Unpark the cycle and go to the mess.
And as you know, dude,
I didn't mean to be rude.
I criticize only for your better.
Alright, I'll chat with you later.

Twinkling Sun

2007-07-30T16:44:00.000+05:30

What would befall us if
The sun starts twinkling?
Seconds of sharp illumination,
Alternated by deep darknesses;
People using twinkling lamps
That glow during the dark seconds
And switch off at sunlit moments.
Eventually sleep belonging
To daytime, and Schooling
And Job to the even night.
Birds having hell as though
An eclipse recurs too oft.
Nursery rhymes shifting to
'Twinkle twinkle biggy sun,
How I wonder where you run,
Up above the world so high,
Like a tubelight in the sky.'
In spite of these I am sure,
Somewhere, now, light years away,
Peculiar heads are looking up
At the night sky to behold
Our Sun, a dot among dots,
Twinkle via atmospheric strata...

Escaped -- On The Spot

2007-07-30T16:37:00.000+05:30

[The first two lines were given in the contest]

The hundred and second dalmation.
Was stranded alone in the station,
With fake ink-spots on his skin,
Waiting for his bitchfriend, lips a-grin.
But what came wasn't just the train.
'Twas accompanied by ink-washing rain!
Train and rain hissing, the wheels screeched,
And out came Cruella, her hair all bleached!
She spotted him, but the rain had de-spotted him!
And the dog-catchress left, muttering 'It's not him'...