A flight of fancy to mystical land in Arjun’ chariot I crossed Ram’s… to that cinnamon isle of gold-grai… —tear of Mahabharata On a palm-trellised beach I held…
When the steely strings gets picke… the dark desert highway is life pa… I’m sure not bound for Californ-i… no doubt, no turnpike –cool breeze… This place we call life is the shi…
You’ll cheer for the thief on stag… Root for the urchin and crook. Believing yourself of judgement mo… Why throw that aside with the book… What of the chav; 'have not’ to yo…
When I at last shall die, what th… the meaning in this world of men - the flux that formed before my wak… when from that tranquil harbour fo… to pass again thru’ terra’s fiery…
A bigot blind will never see, we are all as John Donne’s flea since Adam claimed mortality, who knows what hues in history flowed in darker veins than thee,
Marks on my thoughts, accents of introspection; Acute I find my observation. Grave deep the world; circumflexion breeds my circumspec…
In that term, as I remember, I first built my delusion. From September to December, Was childhood’s conclusion. Back at home for Christmas,
A sophic bridge of signs to worlds beyond the magical, long taken as mundane by the disregarding masses. Obscure and yet discerned
To yearn for love is not a rarity but every man’s inevitability; craving satisfaction for our unbroken hearts - affirmation of existence
Late inside The Orange Tree, a burly builder on his knees. Well earned pint now cast asunder, he sought respect - his only blund… -
Our fodder, which art in Devon Mallow be thy name When springtime come thou will be yum, from earth, green leaves are heave…
There is a thread of gold that binds the ancient tomes ~ a filament rare, ne’er to be found ~ lest this first be known; Though some men may read all,
Spider Spider in my head the days grow short before I’m dea… so while we live and breathe and s… Spider, won’t you set me free. Spider Spider in my mind,
Faruk Asan, a very good man took heed from the great Ataturk - He came from the land of old Otto… by way of his sheer hard work. In Malvern he set up a kahvehane
“The engine never made a sound!” —His terminal thought, as he looke… That crossing place he knew so wel… resounded to his final knell. On the scene, there was no sign;