Tag Archives: poetry

John Anderson, my jo

John Anderson, my jo, John,
When we were first acquent;
Your locks were like the raven,
Your bonie brow was brent;
But now your brow is beld, John,
Your locks are like the snaw;
But blessings on your frosty pow,
John Anderson, my jo.

John Anderson, my jo, John,
We clamb the hill thegither;
And mony a cantie day, John,
We’ve had wi’ ane anither:
Now we maun totter down, John,
And hand in hand we’ll go,
And sleep thegither at the foot,
John Anderson, my jo.

Robert Burns

© 2019 Marlon de Souza. All rights reserved.

Everyone wants

There’s a pigeon outside my kitchen window this rainy July morning in the monsoon. It’s soaked completely, its feathers striated and streaked by the rainwater that’s still dripping off its body as it sits under the ledge, sitting out there waiting to dry. Sitting and looking out at the darkened sky, wondering perhaps when the rain will stop so it can get on with gathering food – it’s still early in the morning. From inside the comfort of my kitchen, all I see is the pigeon’s back, its pinkish-red claws clutching the top grill of the plant nursery outside the window. There’s no movement from the pigeon, no bobbing this way or that, no sounds, no coo-cooing. Its head is pulled into its body as though it’s defending itself from the elements as it sits there on the grill, waiting to dry. Maybe it’s cold, maybe it’s conserving energy. I really have no idea. So little we know from within the comfort of our homes. On the right, below an air-conditioner casing is another pigeon, relatively drier, curious about its temporary surroundings. Is it inspecting the casing for a potential habitat for when things settle, a place to raise baby pigeons? Are these two a couple? How did they come to be on this parapet together, outside my window? Accidental? Two souls seeking shelter? I have not a clue. So little we know from behind the all knowingness of our human eyes. 

Everyone wants shelter
Everyone wants love
Every one wants peace and happiness
From a lion to a rain soaked dove

Monsoon dove

Everyone wants love

Everyone wants nurturing
Everyone wants love
Every one wants to be cared for
From the worms to the birds above

Everyone wants healing
Everyone wants love
Even the people who say they don’t
No one wants to starve

Everyone has little time
Little time on earth
Every one wants acceptance
Before they turn to dirt

Everyone you see will go
Every one, it’s true
Every one needs acceptance, for
Every one is you.

©2019 Marlon de Souza. All rights reserved.

Three new poems

From the desert
In the eyes of the Pharaoh,
I could do no wrong
until I spoke my mind.
He abandoned me
to the dungeon where he kept
the evil gods
whose spirits, like mine
were never to be mentioned.

Many years later,
they still proclaim
how brave I was
to leave the safety of Egypt.
I did not want to leave,
I would have died if I didn’t.

© 2012 Marlon de Souza. All rights reserved.

Unspoken words
The generous host that speaks
no ill of his guests
but feels it all the time,
will destroy himself
with kindness to his visitors,
until he kicks them out
in the middle of the night
because it torments him so.

© 2012 Marlon de Souza. All rights reserved.

Happy Happy, Joy Joy
Drip —
That’s how it feels like,
sitting on the subway,
avoiding a rude jackass’s knee
because his ego is so big,
unlike mine.
I don’t want to start anything
On the subway
with someone I don’t know;
I’ve seen
what happens
On the subway
when you tell someone
to not invade your space.
So I sit there, unhappy,
letting my space be invaded,
as he snorts and chortles at a text message.
Sometimes I wish I were a woman —
women seems to be extended
More courtesy
On the subway.
But I don’t want to be the woman sitting behind me
with hair that pushes against the back
of a commuter like me
Trying to get space.
I move to the seat beside me
and reading my mind,
On the other side
She moves too,
Hair and all.
So I move back,
Across from Big Knees.

In the next train
I am squished between
Two women —
one polite,
the other needing to express herself
Across the space.
She must be from Wall Street —
Because only people from Wall Street
can be This Rude.

Next time I’ll stand
Because I’m polite like that.

© 2012 Marlon de Souza. All rights reserved.