Balderdash

Time's punching me senseless

'Coz I, spud, plonked

My big arse on indecision,

Under-evaluation,

And other such self-flagellation.

Really, self-indulgence is such -

Pleasant occupation for suckers.

Kargi & his gloating

Had fun interpreting this image of my cousin Hysen outside the Colloseum.

Image courtesy Hysen & Oneida

Once upon a time, me Khargi, a wanderer of many names, took to walking past every broken monument in the dark in celebration of inconsistency. You see, incoherent habits such as these are really a way of cocking a snook at the world and its greats who are no different from the dead-and-gone aggrandized, narcissist builders of these egoistic monuments. I come here to laugh at the slowly corroding facade, and at the damp corners where dogs surreptitiously pee and lizards mate. You see, I might be a nobody and will leave behind no legacy, but at least I don't have to continue pretending centuries after I am dead. Or roll over in my grave because a dumb-fuck of an historian wrote that the old apple orchard was abundant because I was impotent.

Frothing Self-Love

Why I say -

Does it bother you so,

To leave the long courtship

Of a generous mercurial lover,

While standing on one foot

Is the piqued dream

Of your amorous hunger.

Was it your restlessness,

Was it your baseness,

Or was it you -

An unreliable self-righteous closet-chaser?

Whatever.

Just good to know,

At the core,

You are a narcissist,

Packaged like an aged-toothpaste,

Frothing the new-age mantra -

"Love thy self".

and death came calling

to the gods of inspiration,

you are a bleating,

noise, bleeding,

to the repressed soul.

Poems by Eunice De Souza

Eunice De Souza's poetry is a sculpture carved in words. Such measured words, such incisive breaks, so much feeling and emotion. As if the smallest of movement in her life or around is acutely scrutinized for meanings one cannot see with the naked eye (you know what I mean, right?). Yet, there's never a moment of self-indulgence. There's always humour, and a readiness to laugh at everything absurd that's called life.

Don't Look for My Life in These Poems

Poems have order, sanity

aesthetic distance from debris.

All I've learnt from pain

I always knew,

but could not do.

-----

Eunice

Eunice, Embroidery Sister said

this petticoat you've cut

these seams

are worthy of an elephant

my dear

Silly bra-less bitch

Eunice is writing bad words sister

she's sewing up her head

for the third time sister

the limbs keep flopping

the sawdust keeps popping

out of the gaps

sister.

-----

Bequest

In every Catholic home there's a picture

of Christ holding his bleeding heart

in his hand.

I used to think, ugh.

the only person with whom

I have not exchanged confidences

is my hairdresser.

Some recommend stern standards,

others say float along.

He says, take it as it comes,

meaning, of course, as he hands it out.

I wish I could be a

Wise Woman

smiling endlessly, vacuously

like a plastic flower,

saying Child, learn from me.

It's time to perform an act of charity

to myself,

bequeath the heart, like a

spare kidney-

preferably to an enemy.

What Dreams Told Me Before I Lost Them

My dreams said -

Do not worry
About money
Or snob values.
You'll still have
Your bylines
To flaunt in dungy bars
while drinking
Piss for beer.

Expect the pinch,
They told me,
Shrinking wallets do that.
Just buy smart.
See, Garnier or Loreal,
Both will dye your greys
Just the same.

Apparently
The sacrifice will be sharp
But its after taste, better
Than the bitterness
Of my envy.

Homeopath Dr. Ramdas' Clinic, Bugle Rock Road