Pulp Poetry: In the Fifth …

[Only for Pulp Fiction fans, the rest may OD on it]

In the fifth your ass goes down

In the fifth, your ass goes down
the fifth is just ’round the corner
sometimes, you open the door
and life stands there
with a barrel of a gun
pointed at you
and if you surprise her
she shoots you

In the fifth, your ass goes down
yes, I know you want to choose
mainly because
you want to believe
you can

that’s pride, fucking with you
fuck pride
for, pride — He will tell you —
only hurts
it never helps;
especially not
in the fifth
when your ass
goes down

but then He lies…
what He means
is this:
pride is only for those
who decide
who’s ass
goes down
in the fifth

and if it’s your ass
that’s supposed to go down,
you swallow your pride
or be prepared
to run
to survive,
you’ve to run with your pride

yes, Zed is dead, babe
Zed did not realize
that you don’t
mess with those
who decide
who’s ass
goes down
in the fifth

Zed was a character
but that doesn’t mean
he had character
in fact
he was
a filthy animal

What you don’t like this?
English, motherfucker
do you speak it?
say what again?
I dare ya
I double dare ya

I don’t even have
an opinion;
I’m sorry
did I break your concentration?
But you see
we have a Bonnie situation
and the fifth,
it’s just round the corner

In the fifth,
your ass goes down.


Why Are You So …

IMG_20141004_094526624_HDR (1)

Why are you so offensive?
Why are you so stubborn?
Why are you so angry?
Why are you so emotional?
Why are you so intellectual?
Why are you so restless?
Why are you so sulky?
Why are you so verbal?
Why are you so silent?
Why are you so sarcastic?
Why are you so cynical?
Why are you so trusting?
Why are you so self-satisfied?
Why are you so unconcerned?
Why are you so concerned?

Why are you?

The Oracle



And when I finally found the Oracle, and asked him to advice me, he, without even looking at me, said this:

“There are three rules of advice that you should know:

One: Never ask Oracle for advice, for the omniscient is impotent to change the course of future.

Two: Never base any decisions in your life on anyone’s advice

Three: Never trust anything that an Oracle says, for if he is indeed an Oracle, he won’t care for what he tells you, for he knows future won’t change no matter what he tells you. And if he isn’t, why are you even asking him?”

But, this is so contradictory, I said.

“And you think life isn’t? ” asked he, waving his hand in a gesture of dismissal. When Oracles ask questions, they’re rhetorical by definition.

Turquoise Blue

You and I will
paint the sky
turquoise blue,
you said

I checked the
shade-card again
and looked at
the ceiling

“not that one, silly”
you admonished me

yes I did laugh
as if I too played
your juvenile games

I laughed at you
and at me, too
turquoise blue
will look awful
on the ceiling

by the way
I never saw
the hint of blue
you claimed
in your eyes
I tried, really …

you like to
repaint everything
in different colors
same colors even

and then that day
you insisted that
you literally turned
deep purple

very few can literally
turn deep purple
and talk about it later
i insisted

you are too literal
you retorted

this, to someone who
looked at the ceiling
when you said sky!

turquoise blue will
look awful
on the ceiling
I insist

Coffee, Love, and Casserole

in the coffee-shop
the potent mixture
of coffee steams
and love dreams
will never again be
for me

the coffee’s still there
so am i and so
will you be, i am sure
with or without me

i always refused
to lead, you
wanted to be the
pro`te`ge´, then
you changed

you decided to
lead, take me to
lands i was happy
reading about

for the record, i
always lusted after
you, but it was not

it was so easy to
end up wrapped
in a bed, but
that is so damn

so we baked
casseroles instead
and talked over wine
and burnt cheddar

today we have found
the equilibrium, i always
longed for

no leading, no following
or pulling the other
to roads unwanted

no looking at the bed
longingly, and fighting
stupid platonic urges

nor will you and i,
bake another casserole

Flash Fiction – The Cynic

The cynic gave a contemptuous laugh.

“That bad, eh?”

“You call this Flash fiction?”, he shook his head vigorously.

“Yeah? How about this for a flash-fiction?”, I said, as I took out my gun and shot him.

He gave another contemptuous  smile.

“It’s a flash alright, but fact not fiction”

Those were his last words.

(Old) New Year’s Laboured Rhyme

[Poem I wrote in 2004: Just as I had started blogging. I don’t know if I ever posted in on a blog, though]

And the lord said unto them,
Go drink, drive, but don’t do both
Dance, till you drop, if you have to
But don’t break any oath

For that’s the thing for tomorrow,
And the day after …
Didn’t we invent the mantra
Resolution today, break it later

That’s another thing, added the lord
Almost as a post-script
Walk down the stairs, for god’s sake
Don’t always use the lift

That was a self-referential humor, of course
Anyone can understand that much
And those who work in tall towers
Didn’t appreciate that as such

That’s all that the lord said
But I’m going to do better
For I’ll spell out my resolutions
That I’ll break right after

Sanity first, insanity later
Restraint today, indulgence day after

Frivolity limited, quality unlimited
Work with passion, and early to bed

No more excuses, send mails on time
And write more poems, with a laboured rhyme


Wish you and your loved one (and I hope I’m one of them) very happy
new year. Wish you don’t have to read another such poem every again in
your life.