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The Writer: Tirtinska

THE WRITER

Oodled in through the swing doors his literary mind
A few steps behind his limp fedora, cheap cigar.
The tearoom loungers dressed to the nines and la-di-da
Surveyed with frank disdain, took him in, defined, declined.

Scans them back. “Red angry pustules from a dose of clap.”
Thoughts laced with meander juice. “Know what I’m doing.”
(The story teller’s stock reflex on spotting a trap.)
“I can do this … No probs. I know the way out. Chewing.”
Orders coffee, two week old doughnuts, a cheesy wrap.

Ladies discretely confer deeming themselves refined.
“A dotty old grandpa. Hardly my cup of tea, dear.
What’s he doing? Pulling out a pen and notebook. Ah!
That’s it then. All’s forgiven. And not a bad behind.”

Reassessment : Senryu

REASSESSMENT

Everything scared me
With a slight readjustment
Now all is sacred

Broken Lines: Shadorma

BROKEN LINES

Here where the
Various varied
Versions of
Me hang out
Swung by to check whether these
Worn tear ducts still work

Polling Day

POLLING DAY

You always did your best
From your own point of view
And who am I to judge
Beyond my point of view?

Transitory

TRANSITORY

You see everything
So differently just now
While in a moment …

Stone Me!

STONE ME!

Life arises/arrives
In so so many forms
And all inter-related

Best observe, interact
Without attachment
For it is after all as it is

Come-on

COME-ON

If sex is magic
(And who are we to question?)
Let us explore it

Just So

JUST SO

Where no beauty is
Look to the eye or the mind
Never the beauty

To Whom It May Concern

TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN

We breathe in
We breathe out
Not always
Regardless

Blinkered

BLINKERED

We spend our lives in
Attacking or defending
Are(n’t) we all we are?

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