Hop Along Frogs

Frogs bounce hop-along

slimy balls, heave ho!

So cuddly for a frog, warts and all-

Send shivers all along;

But don’t you dare

or make a splash in my soup tureen!

Frogs pounce with ladles

So fantastic spittle festooned

Flies stay put for their meal;

Hop-along, slime for slime

To whichever pond you find

But don’t you dare

or make a splash in my soup tureen!

It makes me goggle eyed

Such finesse has a croak

As crooked as Quasimodo’s


The Last Hole Unbound


Foxes have holes and so has

Luciphor his hole to lord over;

Of hares and beavers I shall skip –

Holes you make in wide earth

Are not as natural as you create

With all your convoluted reasoning

Such infinite space of ignorance,

no truth can plug nor erase:

No flow of ash, rain

Oh no not even a traumatic climate change

touch the hole nor pull towards center.

Unto the last the folly of his very being

Shall remain though sifted through time’s sieve

Interred in some ignoble loam

or deposited in an unlamented urn.


I never seen an Ant


I never seen a single ant

But millions all in one direction

Which is singular.

An ant is Nature’s befuddlement:

Brook no argument

When they bivouac in a mound

And your foot is found

In its fundament.

A broken mound is worse than

Pyroclastic flow

From Mount Merapi;

Ants when unhappy

Have trillion bites at once-

But bite, bite, bite they do

Not one by one

But en masse as one.

I never seen a single ant

Without mayhem in its mind.


Slow Stain of Beginnings

Where shall I begin or end

Loses its meaning over broadcloth

Of stars from which we

devise symbols as we will.

Leave the loom and maker

Whose rede is not ours to reckon.

What do we read or trace our pointer

for others is our own.

In the birth of star

We shall rejoice and wail with bitter tears

For the loss of our innocence

Since no amends we may make

For a star that has died

In the cosmic mirth of beginnings.


14 Nov,13


A Quatrain- from Omar Khayyam

The sky is strewn with batter’d clouds and wind

A menagerie of sorts, makes from scraps.

Winds of change turn glory of man a thing wild

To disgrace, and the wind to stillness drops.


A Parody from Adonais by Shelley- lines ‘ Peace, Peace he is not dead….’

Peas, peas ! If you ask me, my sweet woman,

How long do you think a man can leaven

His sweet visions on this poor fare alone?

It isn’t rising, this dough though fondly

I seek as much as you want rounded bliss.

Peace, peace he is not dead , he is under par:

Mashed potatoes days together and

Sight of peas, a lean fare fit for dead

Make soul as well my bed as cold as hell!


Before the Beginning

We are Space We are Time©



Before beginning was Consciousness

Shall we begin with words?

Sense shall serve us for stars

In their birth in the nursery of Knowing;

Red dwarves or worm holes

Make no sense till we dandle them-

Theorems are fine and logic holds

While our very sense is lost

in the tangle of semantics.

In the beginning was Word

What is Consciousness

Unless named at some point?

From where we range our inside out 

Past Stars, and Time

Shall we name our stars as our very being?
( originally posted in bennythomas’ weblog)