Archive for category Poetry

The Marriage of Shiva and Parvati — By Dan

When things had only just began

Shortly after dawn of man

A god called Shiva did appear

All pow­er­ful, mighty, caused great fear

But though he was a god and tough, he

Per­son­ally was rather scruffy

And peo­ple got a big surprise

When meet­ing him– he had three eyes

Long black hair which was fright­fully matted

(Later he would have it plaited)

Was cov­ered head to toe with ashes

Now and then he’d smoke some hashish

Half naked, wild, he looked alarming

But actu­ally could be quite charming

See, gods are just like ordi­nary folk

Who sit around and have a smoke

Apart from the third eye of course

An attribute of godly source

You’d think. But actu­ally the fact is

That with ded­i­cated Bud­dhist practice

You can grow your own. Sensation!

(Fail­ing that, try trepanation)

Now Shiva loved the god Pavarti

Nice girl, good fam­ily and quite arty

And she fan­cied him which was just as well

Nobody else could put up with the smell

And the blood on his loin­cloth after slaugh­ter­ing foes

His habit while eat­ing of pick­ing his nose

The things in his hair and his ash on her dress

But when he asked her to marry him she just said YES

Though nor­mally dar­ling, I would say maybe

But I have to tell you I’m hav­ing your baby’

Shiva dumb­struck but Pavarti

Said ‘We’d have a smash­ing party!

But we must do it quickly, honey

Cos pretty soon I’ll have a tummy’

They spoke to the vicar of their devotion

Set the wed­ding plans in motion

Sent out lots of invitations

To friendly gods and their relations

The cater­ing was left to mortals

Soon food and wine came through the portals

Of the villa they had rented

With the gar­den fully tented

(Pavarti’s house was far too small

And Shiva’s wouldn’t do at all)

Next day the church was filled with flowers

The con­gre­ga­tion waited hours

Until the groom, trans­formed, appeared

Plaited hair and shaven beard

Mas­cara painted round his eyes

Rented suit of largest size

SOMEONE’S influ­ence was clear

Sud­denly there came a cheer

And up the aisle strode fair Pavarti

Really gor­geous but not tarty

Shiva took her by the hand

Slipped on her fin­ger a golden band

Then he grasped her round the hips

And with pas­sion kissed her lips

Oh what joy, what jubilation

After such anticipation

Ring the bells, set trum­pets blasting

Sing for hap­pi­ness everlasting!

(I got that last bit over quickly

I find that sort of thing quite sickly)

Thank god that’s over’ Pavarti said

I’ll spend the after­noon in bed’

But no, she had to stay awake

To look at presents, cut the cake

And pose for por­traits which took forever

Cos they were painted, slow but clever

Cam­eras hadn’t been invented

Which meant artists were contented

Pavarti def­i­nitely tiring

Presents mostly uninspiring

Tow­els, ser­vants, gold in chests

(Shiva’s mum gave him a vest)

That’s it, I’m dead’ Pavarti said

I’ll have a drink and go to bed

I don’t think that’s a good idea’

Said Shiva ‘The evi­dence is now quite clear

That too much booze affects the foetus

When it comes to par­ties, you drink litres’

Dar­ling, don’t be such a pain

I only sip the best champagne

And any­way, look who’s talking

I can tell from the way you’re walking

You are com­pletely out of your tree

So don’t go preach­ing stuff to me’

She sneered at him and then departed

As usual Shiva was outsmarted

To cut the story rather short

I’ll only give a quick report

Of the party which ended early

Due to exces­sive hurly burly

And Shiva, danc­ing, stoned, elated

Mis­tak­enly decapitated

Some hap­less human, no-one important

But it intro­duced a note discordant

And Pavarti shouted at him shrilly

Danc­ing with swords is VERY SILLY

Blood all over my wed­ding dress

Don’t expect ME to clear up this mess!’

With that she stormed off to her bed

With­out her things became rather dead

Shiva smoked a final joint

And tear­fully asked ‘What IS the point

Of mar­riage?’ So you will agree

Their rela­tion­ship is all at sea

But has their love gone done the toilet?

Well no but I don’t want to spoil it

For you because that’s it for now

Later there’ll be more… somehow

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Life in the Limbic Cave

What you must know, my dar­ling girl

Is that trap­pists are chattier

Part of the knack is to make your talk small enough

You must also learn to dodge the ele­phant when serv­ing dinner

Even so, there will be the hall of cloudy mirrors

Dimin­ish­ing dark reflections

Of a crea­ture so alone, that, were she not you

You would put your arms about her and give her cake.

What you must know, my dar­ling girl

Is that to be with the silent one

Is to be spin­ning in a black vortex

Is to lose the sense of who you are

Is to pad­dle in madness.

You must be armed with Stentor’s shout

For when the words that cost so much to say

Dis­solve into the air leav­ing you

An invis­i­ble, inaudi­ble unbeing

You must be pre­pared to devolt, unwatt

Col­lude with the jerk­ing strings

Fake igno­rance of the trip­wire, and the joke

Whose punch­line leaves you winded.

And for all this, what will be the gift, the treasure?

One night, when you are a soli­tary speck

Float­ing in the space between the planets

When your voice is thready with silent screams

The beast will open his shaggy coat

Hand you his heart with cal­loused paw

And let you in

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Waiting to be Born

In a time before time, before sun, before night and day

Mind­less drift­ing flot­sam in a nar­row amni­otic sea

With only the steady metro­nomic thud for company

A depth-sounding echo calls from an unimag­ined world.

Just being. This slow med­i­ta­tive dance has left in me

Ter­ror of small places, cramped spaces, the thought of mines.

I can­not imag­ine what pre­his­toric urge dri­ves men

To put on rub­ber suits and inves­ti­gate tight potholes.


There was noth­ing to see, but what was inside my head

And inside my head there was nothing.

Wait­ing in a dark som­nam­bu­list trance of evolution

A dot divid­ing, trans­mut­ing, gilled, rep­tile, finally

Mam­mal. Mamma mean­ing — inti­mate beyond comfort -

Breasts. I was a stranger to my mother and she to me

The thought of start­ing life as an alien invasion

Lay­ing siege to her belly, still makes me squirm.

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