When I die, call a hospital and donate me. someday, someone may see a better vision with my very eyes.
In this life I know I have been useless— at least death should be useful.
By Jay Gandhi
White plaster peels from damp walls
red plastic shot cases wobble
on gust blasted window sills
of this empty house of trouble.
You insistent we have to go,
fretted your dad would find out.
The white plaster trod on posh carpet.
The red shotcases moved about.
Need to go. Now your voice echoed
Until our voices hung in empty billows.
Its garden overgrown snapped beneath our feet
as we ran through its black rusty squeaking gate
into a stable yard and up for the rafters leap
into damp spiky haybails cracked our pates
with no vinegar and brown paper
to heal our heads and youthful fever.
2019 Paul Brookes
Not of Morello cheese or of cherries
nor of Morello gang of 107th street
nor of dollar bills printed, counterfeit
nor of Morello’s lost airship, at sea.
nor of Joe the famous Jazz drummer
nor of Tom the famous guitarist
nor of any character from TV artists
but surely of the famous Morello
special personal horse of Lorenzo il
Magnifico, an Italian Statesman de
facto, a poet prince Italiano
Morello refused oats from any other
hand, no heel pressure no kicks or whips
but reverence bestowed,neighed and
whinnied in respectful loving return-
Noble Barbary breed, with hardy
stamina fiery temper and high speed
Magnate Lorenzo with his favorite steed
would lead the pageant , to the play
Then reciting his poem to inspire
‘to horse, to horse for frolic and fun
dance and carol on and on, everyone
enjoy the jousts play on, all the way ’.
This is the story of high spirited Morello
the favored mount of Magnificent Lorenzo’
2019 © CER Anjum Wasim Dar