My Disclaimer, By Conditioned Me.

In time, I will be remembered by a password-protected document of my writings. In time, I may never be known by this ridiculous document.
In time, I will learn more about me from my writings.
In time, I will deny all of it. I already do both.
When writing steps out from me, its colors are like tender flesh, not yet cultured by the skin of conditioning.

Conditioning stops us from being stupid, masochistic, and victimized by our whims, and sometimes makes us all of the above. But
Conditioning empowers me, and I look upon detachedly at ridiculous rhymes that should pass for ‘A Novel’, not inner voices of poetry.
Indeed, I should have been a poet-actress. All this drama! But
this is what I wrote before i thought about it.

Michael Ondaatje

Things have been busy in my world lately. I haven't been writing a lot, but I have had moments where a poem has popped in my head. I have loved Michael Ondaatje's poetry for a long time, and this one is probably one of my favorites. There have been a million times when i have known exactly what he felt when he wrote this one.


Bearhug

Griffin calls to come and kiss him goodnight
I yell ok. Finish something I'm doing,
then something else, walk slowly round
the corner to my son's room.
He is standing arms outstretched
waiting for a bearhug. Grinning.

Why do I give my emotion an animal's name,
give it that dark squeeze of death?
This is the hug which collects
all his small bones and his warm neck against me.
The thin tough body under the pyjamas
locks to me like a magnet of blood.

How long was he standing there
like that, before I came?

Sand-between-the-toes

This last weekend, we went down to our favorite beach. The day was hot and bright as we left home, and cool and grey as we reached the coast. Skeptical about the weather, we trudged to a spot on the sand, settling down our kite, our towel and our toddler. She set to work on her sandcastle, but was bored quickly. Then, distractedly, she buried her toes in the sand, and ran her fingers deep in it, and let out a squeal only a happy kid with sand between the toes lets out. This one, an old childhood favorite. By A.A.Milne. Remember this?


I went down to the shouting sea,
Taking Christopher down with me,
For Nurse had given us sixpence each-
And down we went to the beach.

We had sand in the eyes and the ears and the nose,
And sand in the hair, and sand-between-the-toes.
Whenever a good nor'wester blows,
Christopher is certain of
Sand-between-the-toes.

The sea was galloping grey and white;
Christopher clutched his sixpence tight;
We clambered over the humping sand-
And Christopher held my hand.

We had sand in the eyes and the ears and the nose,
And sand in the hair, and sand-between-the-toes.
Whenever a good nor'wester blows,
Christopher is certain of
Sand-between-the-toes.


There was a roaring in the sky;
The sea-gulls cried as they blew by;
We tried to talk, but had to shout-
Nobody else was out.

When we got home, we had sand in the hair,
In the eyes and the ears and everywhere;
Whenever a good nor'wester blows,
Christopher is found with
Sand-between-the-toes.

- Sand-between-the-toes, A.A.Milne

Independence, World Cup and all

Incensed Thinker asked me the other day
what I allege my loyalty to-
this land or that one?
I've never understood patriotism as different from parochialism.
But I do
throw my heart into my memories
everywhere. This land, that classroom, this cafe and this beautiful land.
Phooey, he said. What fun is that when you're watching the World Cup?
Oh. That's an exception for me, I supposed, thinking again.