Life of Ms Anonymous
sometimes, baby
you’re soft and angelic;
for some time you’re a saint
and sometimes you’re a bitch
sometimes life takes you along
sometimes you’re Athena
sometimes you’re innocent
and taken for a ride;
sometimes you’re the CEO
sometimes you’re dumped bad, darling O;
O sometimes you’re the Black Goddess
and sometimes you’re Dylan’s White Goddess
who shines the light on God
and we know He’s the Devil in one
sometimes you’re happy
sometimes sad;
and often enough a glitch
you don’t know what you are
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poem by Raj Arumugam
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They only want love
lots of people
and lots and lots
of travelers, wayfarers
and activists and visionaries
and canvassers
and vendors
and realists and romantics
They have all asked for my love
but my constant answer is:
“No, you can’t have my love;
but you can have my money
if I can find any”
it’s the same with family and friends
strangers, neighbors, children
and relatives and enemies
eccentrics and couples
They all ask for my love
but my unwavering answer is:
“No, you can’t have my love;
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poem by Raj Arumugam
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Cat Peace
What? What’s up with you guys?
can’t a cat have peace in one’s own home, yeah?
never seen a cat eat before?
can’t you just mind your own business
and let a cat do a cat’s business of eating, ha?
HA! - what’s that laugh for?
and for goodness sake put away that camera
You think I’m cute, ha?
wait till I get my paws on you
and a flick of my tail while I’m in mid-air
will take care of your camera
What, you some kind of paparazzi or what?
OK, let a cat eat and you mind own business, yeah?
Oh, I’m really suspicious about you guys
Maybe you’re hungry, yeah?
go get your own food guys;
stop looking at cat food
or at cat as food – I’m really not sure about you guys
You’ll eat anything!
OK, jokes aside
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poem by Raj Arumugam
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Ha Ha Ha Happy Family
See see Papa Trench Bottom
dig in the mines happily, laugh ha ha happily
and drink at night and hear him
snore before the day
happy happy Papa Trench Bottom
he he he he he ha ha happy happy
at home and at work
See see Mama Big Bottom
she she she he he ha ha happy
Dance happily Cook with joy
toss with levity
and puts dishes aplenty on the table
for all in the family to eat and be merry
See see Teenage Tough Dude
he he he happily walks in the streets
Cool at school
Very Pop with the babes
and eating lots at home, with gravity
very serious in look, sparse in his words
but loves his mom, dad and sis
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poem by Raj Arumugam
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a mouse teaches Diogenes
You see Diogenes living in the slums. He lives in a barrel. This is the man even Alexander the Great admires. So it makes you wonder about Diogenes.
So you pretend to be there quite by accident and you ask: “Diogenes…Who was your teacher? ”
“A mouse was my teacher, ” says Diogenes.
You are quite confused. And you say: 'A mouse is your teacher? And how is that, Diogenes? '
“Well, most exquisite Sir, ” says Diogenes to you. “Most cultured Sir, ” he says. “I had no home and I was in the streets. I almost killed myself. Then I saw mouse. Mouse ran around and looked for food and it found some and I observed mouse for over two days. And I realized how resourceful mouse was. And then I said to myself: ‘Learn of the mouse, Diogenes- and all will be well.’ And so I learned of mouse. And every time I have a problem, I simply ask myself: ‘How will mouse solve this? ’ And so mouse became my teacher. And now, most Exquisite Sir, I have a problem. You. I want to get rid of you and I ask myself: ‘How would mouse solve this problem? ’ He would bite…”
You listen to this and you are afraid – and you run. And Diogenes has done well; he has learned well from his teacher. And you can hear him shouting to you: “By the way, who was your teacher? ”
poem by Raj Arumugam
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Moon, Moon, Crazy Moon
moon, moon, crazy moon
natural moon
torn apart and snoozing moon;
lovely moon, romantic moon
poor poor moon
the romance
plucked out of its drab surface;
moon moon going wild
moon moon running away
from the earth -
O moon, why do you run away from the earth?
does earth touch you in the wrong places
and you've got no Body
to which one could lodge
a complaint about sexual harassment? ?
ah, moon moon, temperamental moon
dark moon
glowing moon;
sexy moon
and old-woman hag of a moon;
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poem by Raj Arumugam
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Titles And Respect
I am told often
(all that,
presumably, to nurture some sophistication in me)
that one must address people with an apt title
or salutation:
Sir, Miss, Mr, Mrs, Lady, Guru,
Your Majesty, Most Revered Sir;
Most Holy Representative of God;
Mr President I Kiss Your Feet;
God Almighty,
Dr, Professor, Most Reverend, Your Highness …
and the likes;
this, I am advised (or warned as the case may be) ,
shows one’s respect
but what I cannot fathom in my simplicity is
if it is the case that I have no respect for a kangaroo
if I simply call it joey
which simply anyway crawls back to its mum’s teats;
and if a child laughs and speaks to me with no titles
but simply with a: Hi, my ball is in your yard;
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poem by Raj Arumugam
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walking with Vincent: an imaginary dialogue with van Gogh
prelude
it is the time, the natural occasion
of an orchard with the flowers on apricot trees
uninhibited, and flowing and easy coming
smooth as water and quiet as deep sleep;
the dance of children in free, untutored movement
a blossoming of trees in disinterested fullness
the stranger speaks
like an aimless wanderer, an un-liked gypsy
like a vagrant, shunned, moving and unkempt
like the pale knight of Keats’s ballad -
O Vincent,
you walk alone in these orchards;
and with only canvas and brushes and paint
and what little food you can carry
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poem by Raj Arumugam
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A Calendar Poem
1
in January
I met Jane
in February
it was all love
flying Cupids
and St Valentine’s
in March
we marched down the aisle
I slipped the ring in her finger
and she let me slip into her that night
in April
I came home early and saw her kissing some guy
and when I coughed
they both laughed at me and said:
“Happy April Fool’s Day! ”
A belated one, though;
still - I just laughed,
always love surprises
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poem by Raj Arumugam
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Mummy, Mummy Who Invented School?
mummy, mummy,
who invented school?
oh, sweetheart,
what a clever girl you are;
why don’t you tell me first
who you think invented school?
I think, mummy,
school must have been invented
it must be by people
like old grumpy Uncle Grim
next door;
and the grouchy Aunty Scowl
who lives behind our house
oh no, darling,
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poem by Raj Arumugam
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