Live Life Like You Mean It…or


Move it

Walk tall as if your head
is in the clouds, and damn
the fools who frown
on daydreams.
Dreams are the titans
of our darkness –
floating, colourful and intangible –
air castles inside our
own fantasia,
running amok among the cotton
fields up there around our ears –
ear muffs that might help defend
us against the brutality
of this world.
Visualise your goals, and set
the titans free in a race of all time.

Play it

Life bursts its door wide open
and our curiosity should be piqued.
My brows are creased –
my curiosity is furiously
furrowed as I become enthralled,
and grasping – always grasping –
but, I don’t feel
any connection.
Instead I am cast adrift
on the waves of the music seeping
through the cracks left to me
once I’d slammed the door shut –
its fluid curves, clarify
and crystallises the purity.
I hear great ideas taking shape
in a string of notes as they are
played out just for us.

Climb it

Walk the boardwalk –
step on the lines you dare
not always tread on – fall down
some holes and let them
take you places.
Climb that imaginary ladder
and reach for the moon
or just for life itself – grasp
the veneer of creativity
and creation – then scrape it away
and discover it for yourself.
Find the oblong in the rings
of those distant spectres –
tantalising baubles hung
out there to seduce us.
Tirelessly climb and make the
connections to be made
inside this island universe.

Sing it.

I want to play like I’m five
years old – sing before my voice
grows old, and I want to sing
a vast song, nothing mediocre.
I want operatic lungs
and a diaphragm built to suck
in the plankton of everyday
and forever. I want to spew through
a blow hole making an ocean
of notes; a sea of song among
the order of cetacea,
and I want to create
a new Atlantis.

Lose it

I’m going to be passionately
impractical and intensely
unsound – I want to make it rain
again, I want to make it pour –
I’ll wear bright pink
Wellington’s – stop the traffic
as I listen for a dinosaur’s roar.
I want to chase some dragons when
they fly towards me through this
green haze.
I’m going to make a difference
one of these days – I’m going to do
something – I’m going to do more
and more.
But for now I prefer to be moonstruck,
and in perfect harmony –
being slightly unbalanced and unhinged,
screwy, touched, deliriously
and expertly
deranged and just that little bit
whacko – perhaps I’ll go bat shit crazy –
who knows what I want to be.
I know I don’t want to be like you.
– all of the time.

Dream it

I’ve got great dreams to live
and things to do
If I concentrate I can feel the waves
of the music again too as it crashes
on those unfeeling hearts and minds.
I can see myself outstretched
basking in the sun
on the shores of disbelief.
I turn over – turning over a new leaf,
and I’m on the moon again and
my tan is done. I rise and slowly
turn to see my footprints in the grey
dust. I climb back down the ladders
and run fast along the boardwalk –
hitting every gap and crack –
The tide is out, the sun has gone down,
and I am glowing.



The Apprenctice


The familiar but intimidating cobalt tip shone aloft as Gustav approached through the heavily shadowed arch of the cold, granite message tunnel. Snaking through the shuffling and twitching as we stood as apprehensive as ever, an unusual aroma struck us and soon made us still. Something was different this eve; doom was in the air amidst the ghastly stench now roaming closer as it threatened our nostrils and sent shivers through our very souls.

Gustav waved a free hand to the granite floor, and soon his body descended flawlessly. Nothing less was expected of Gustav, and so all appeared normal – at least for now.

As he floated between the two stone-pillared receptacles, which held the fire of the lost spirits, Gustav looked among us eagerly searching. Quizzical, but soulless black eyes held each of the boys standing nervously awaiting, and then one by one he let them go; as he did they would drop to the floor once the grip of his abusive power loosened.

A small face that held the most impish of grin’s despite the theatrics of this demonic spectacle belonged to Hythro who grabbed at my robe sleeve and tugged.

“What day is it tomorrow?”

I gave him a puzzled scowl.

“Ssh, young friend. Wait until this is over, then we can talk till the moon is exhausted.”

Not to be swathed, Hythro came back, “It’s my birthing day. I will be chosen tonight, you’ll see!”

I brought a thick, heavy grey sleeve to my mouth to muffle laughter that might escape. As I turned to look at his exuberant face, a vision of death appeared in its place. The cruel and ghastly mask that had overtaken the young boy’s pale and gentle face shook my very core.

“What is it Jansus?” He pleaded with creased brows and a quizzical stare; I was clearly frightening him.

I could not hear him, his voice became tame and separate in its own muted bubble. All I heard were dense voices reverberating inside my head and a swirl of mist had gathered where my thoughts once were. I watched my dear friend, who had become more of a duty to me since our inception and as near to a real brother as one could have, be lifted and held whilst the followers chanted and naked flames from torches licked at his tortured body.

One by one, arms of sweat and muscle released their grasp, and Hyrtho levitated before the dark and sinister black of the tunnel. I was abruptly brought to my senses by the bustle of the fellows preparing for prayers to be held before the mighty Gustav – our Teacher and Chooser.

Gustav prodded me through the air with his sceptre to force me to worship along with the others, as I knelt I was forced to look away and to the floor by the familiar pressure of obedience emanating from his staff. I could not pray, instead I thought of Hyrtho and his exuberance, and knew only too well what fate awaited him this night.

Was I the only one among us who was cursed with these visions? With every service I saw the face of the ‘next’. Do I send them to their doom? Are my eyes the only eyes he finds whilst he searches? I had come to fear every service because all of my visions had been honoured thus far.

Whilst the others prayed, I tried to thwart the sensation and images in my mind. Desperation forced me to summon my own demons to rewrite the premonition. Serpents of time snaked between my wrists and pried open each palm, mocking prayer. I watched as they weaved and writhed and listened as they spoke to me.

“Look to what looks inside you, look at him and see.”

I lifted my head and peered through the half-light of my hood at Gustav’s burning eyes; eyes that were already awaiting mine. The beads of sweat on his naked crown glimmered with the ricochet of flame either side of him. He paced heavily, his eyes not leaving the inside of my head for one second. I felt I was being buried deeper and deeper into the uneven stone floor we had adorned for years and years, and into the black light that was our lives. The humbled gathering smothered the hall in murmurs and prayer, which gave Gustav the opportunity for ceaseless battle with my mind.

Hell’s door opened wide and the same foul smell grew stronger, nearly suffocating me before I was all but swallowed whole, and before my demons had time to gather their wits and surge upon his soldiers awaiting us. Flickering fires tormented me by engulfing my fellow prisoners. I gasped with an urgency to give in, but my warriors placated me and fought the fire with conviction and showed me how false and cold the wall of fire that surrounded them was – that it was just an illusion created by Gustav’s trickery and deception.

Whilst the vision of a black robe and the cobalt eye of Gustav’s sceptre remained ahead to deceive the praying boys, Gustav loomed above me and choked me with a cold, black stare until I was sent to my knees – my hands no equal combat against his sheer force. The emerald and ochre serpents released to me a power, which raised me bodily, high and level with my oppressor’s angry stare.

“You dare to challenge me now?” Gustav snarled. “Tell me what has brought about such insubordination; all of this for such an insignificant, small and weak chink in our display – a link that will endanger all we have built, all we are – surely not?”

“Don’t mock me Gustav, don’t underestimate me either. I am done being your instrument. I am done with this black putrid space we call our home. I have grown and maybe I have outgrown you!”

I watched an onslaught of black images grow in number before me before I was snatched back into darkness and my tomblike existence; the only existence I had ever known. I was used by each successive in the Order and chosen for my power; a power they quickly ceased on and were loath to let go – hence my survival. I was their tool. A tool that delivered to them what it is they sought, without blood stains touching their hands – all of their sacrificial gifts to the Source. Should Gustav fail then his soul would be torn from him and fed to the depths of depravity in Hell. The latter did not worry Gustav, the idea of not being The Chooser of five hundred years this eve, and cajoling with his demons and his master, Satan, did.

I had never in all my ‘existence’, until Hythro, experienced the inner peacefulness of human bonding, kinsmanship and duty…or love – brotherly love. It had touched upon something in my lost being, from a time taken from me but that would never be snuffed out. This past echo ignited further powers in my possession, hitherto hidden and suppressed.

“Hythro is the chosen one and will die tonight, whether you like it or not. You chose him. It is your black blood that sends him to his death and to our Saviour! Be honoured that he chose you to channel his thoughts and hears what you have to say.”

“I am ashamed and insulted,” I conceded. I could feel the hatred as my face creased when I spat out the words, “Our Saviour, the loathsome spiral on which we all slid ignorantly and you the weak subservient who drove us, are nothing but a fallacy, a want, a fairytale made in ‘hell’, and you are so weak as to believe in it. I will not allow this anymore!”

“Ha! Oh you won’t? Then die!”

My screams wrung out and seeped into those gathered below me. Gustav’s blue sceptre of torment pierced my brain and summoned black putrid showers of molten liquid upon the boys.

“Look! Shouted Gustave, “See what your brother is doing, how he thinks for all of you. You should despise his whims and feelings…we must punish him… he must die. Now!” The army of serpents rose again to shield them and the voices breathed life into the boys.

“Fight! Fight! Use all you see, look into each others eyes and see. Look deeply.”

Hythro broke from the trance first and removed the hood of the boy next to him and ushered the next to do the same until all watched the air above them. As the smothering putrefaction dripped onto their robes a few cries were let out before a realisation that they were unharmed. The liquid turned to water and Gustav dropped to the floor and his weak and broken body lay crumpled before them.

The valiant Serpents tore through his tunic and gorged on Gustav; the cobalt blue flickered until its breath was finally extinguished. The warrior Serpents and their effervescent trail  paved a pathway through the cold tunnel, and the boys followed it until a luminous end greeted them; its warmth and radiance took their breath away.

Spirits that were released from the ruptured fires; kept burning for centuries in the vessels that guarded the tunnel’s doorway – pranced and spread laughter ahead of the children who turned and called to their new leader, still away in the distance in the sour darkness. Jansus walked towards them and they engulfed him with the power of the love that had assured their deliverance once and for all.

Jansus felt a familiar tug at his arm.

It must be my birthing day by now, mustn’t it?” A small imp like nose turned skyward only to be met by a sturdy cuff at the back of his neck.

“Don’t you ever give up?” Jansus picked up his small brother and ran into the new family awaiting them.



‘Everything and all existence is connected’,
then we will always be, and so we will always
have you.

Kneeling on the dying repercussions
of an autumn caught just within the colder breath
and tentative icy touches of winter –
its fruition yet to unfurl –
I turn to face the dying winds.
Cradled in my arms, the flakes and fragments
of all that is left.
The tangible weight echoes
the palpable loss I carry –
you have gone from my world,
and left it empty –
inside of this vessel, microcosms of dust
make it as empty as when life
ceases to be – but, inside of here,
you also become extant.
But, still,
I can only hold that which would not fall
through my fingers.  Instead,
I will imagine a springtime to come
to intrude on
this time, so a butterfly
can perch gingerly on my finger –
and linger, barely awake,
and I can pretend it is you.
Of course he flies away, so
I will imagine a story
telling me where the butterfly went,
and how far it did wander
before it became
once more.
Before you leave
this final solitude to
begin the journey of
your free soul; a soul that is eternal reality,
indestructible and bliss –
you stop to say goodbye;
but only for a short while, so
I imagine a place where your soul is flowing,
where the fragrant petals flutter
until incongruous winds
interrupt and sends them to join
you on your cyclical journey
and my exquisite butterfly will follow –
where the story and you, will continue.

For my father – Dattatraya Vishnu Kulkarni
Always in my thoughts.

The Hanging of Deception



Is that my face
or is it the mirror’s blunt edged humour?
It could just be the wrong time.
Neither of us are flattered whether it be night or day.
The rag washed painted wall supports the fraud
and cracks under the strain.
Fine lines and powdered plaster filter through
the flitting sunlight –
deft breezes see the masquerade and thwarts
its attempts to settle –
they are blown
far and away, and she thinks of him.
Is that the time,
or another deceitful ploy to disrobe my mind?
He asks her if it would be so wrong to imagine
both of them pale in the gleeful shadows of morning,
but ingrained memories of loose women smear
the bed sheets; fine lines and perfect powder
are reapplied and she flits into the sunlight.
Jealous elements scowl and tumultuous rain
washes her away – sins follow.
Far away, she still thinks of him.


The Daily Post Prompt Countless

Countless interventions
Of famine’s starving nations
They are lost
I tell you why
Countless story messages
Of rich and prosperous nations
They are full it
I tell no lie
It is this whole understanding
Now coming to bear
We close our eyes
Between the scares
We are here
They are there
They are poor
We don’t care
Life is rough
Never fair
Countless variations
from the rich, their condemnation
They are cruel
But say they try
Countless apprehension
When bureaucracy in motion
Grinds to a halt
Then asks a why
It’s an astute misunderstanding
Coming from promises
I hope we can
Overcome this
For this –
Just be there
For those out there
Always care
And not beware
…Or lie

Ok, But Listen


Let me start by saying
I’m totally neurotic.
Let me speak and stop you
with a smile.
Let me be the one to say
I’m totally psychotic.
Let me stay a little, just a while.
We can lose our senses
and lose some perception
or we can always just sit and smile.
Will you stay, even try
to be a little platonic
or will I give up now;
will I just wait a while?
When the heavens burst
I am wintertime
I am icy cold
On a hot summer’s day
I’m the scar in your eyes
All your dismay
And you will remember
It was you who let me in,
took me to your heart
It was you who let me smile
let me make
a bold fresh start
It was you who let me
be all the while –
It’s just the pain
From the freezing rain
Won’t let me inside
With nothing to gain
Just free your mind
From all these refrains
And you will remember
Springtime burst through
the reigns
A lullaby brought new hope
to lessen the strain and dared
your soul
to give up being sane,
but can you,
will you,
do it?
my choice or yours?
To be free again
is my choice not yours
To realise that we
can’t all be set free
It doesn’t make sense
go figure –
It’s raining now
I don’t need you to scold
It’s warm in here
but I need the cold,
and love how much winter time
makes me such a liar –
I can’t stay warm
I need my ice fire –
without you.
So stay safe,
I wish you well,
and if there’s ever a time
when your mind is unwell –
don’t look for me
and all that we had – well,
wouldn’t that be ironic?

Pity Her


Choked, half desperate weeping
from within a heart still half sleeping.
What are tears if not for keeping,
where no solace
or comfort
or whole
is to be found?

Smouldering, burning awakening,
from within a soul left churning.
What is life but a yearning,
where no recourse
or remorse
can be found?

Sad eyes, flickering, dimming
from endless drowning never swimming.
What is her life but simmering
without a flame
or love
to be found?



Let the Music Play On


Shall we dance
in tired dreams –
revitalise the moisture
of daydreams?
Shall we sing
our daydreams –
rekindle long lost fires
and dampened themes?
Shall we dance?
Shall we sing?
Or just quit
and become farewell friends
of first impressions,
leaving behind lingering,
fragrant sessions,
of whimsical, musical memories
their lesions ache now,
scarred with the past
and pride’s mistakes?
Let staccato notes play
out each day –
high pitched and alone;
rapid, fiery, no rhythm, no sway?
On separate sheets of music,
we have become
as disjointed as the notes
and their stinging hum.
So, shall we dance?
Shall we sing?
Or, just call it a day?


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