War and Peace

War

There have been certain similarites in girlfriends of old,
a smallness of stature has been common I'm told.
Clever, opinionated and strong-willed women,
with a personality larger than the height they've been given.

However when two strong people find common passion,
it seems they clash in the most extraordinary fashion.
Battles rage fiercly, without subject essential,
two losers and the outcome inconsequential.

Arguments purely for arguments sake,
stubborness and principal defining your stake.
Pushing the boundaries, in a way, immature,
mind games dreamt up, by the insecure.

But when the armistace is declared, the end of the war,
and you're two exhausted casualties, exposed and raw,
that very same passion that fuelled the madness,
lights up the room, replaces the sadness.

You quickly forget the collateral damage,
that's behind you now, you survived it, you'll manage.
Closer, all thanks to those "minor" spars,
two souls entiwned by their battle scars.

But when the foundation of peace is a delicate truce,
it only takes boredom or a similar excuse,
for the beast lying dormant, so close to the surface
to rear its ugly head, always with the same purpose.

To re-enact the same play, no matter the stage,
tell the same story, page for page,
sing the same song, with different word,
let the bee loose, against the bird...

Peace

There’s a little girl I know, who’s a little fond of me
She’s cute, kind, and considerate, and as clever as can be.
She knows everything about me, all the good and the bad
and listens tirelessly to every thought I’ve ever had.
I can’t fathom a reason, as to why we’d ever fight
It never seems to matter, who is wrong or right.
It should be ideal, she even puts up with my snoring
So why am I so terrified of simply being boring???

Written July 09, an exploration of my tendancy of old to fight with the people I love, and coming to terms with the equally beautiful and scary alternative.

The Understudy

It takes mere minutes for the eyes to tire
Each page dwindling enthusiasm's fire
Woke up this morning committed to the plan
Until distraction set in and procrastination began

Have counted the pages, time and again,
Yet not getting any closer, to the chapter's end
Read it all before, but the mind's a clean slate
It’s a foregone conclusion, left my run too late

Read the same sentence, till my visions blurs out
And still couldn't say what the chapter's about
Awake with a start, unaware I had slept
Hours have passed, my approach is inept

Fear kicks in, and brings adrenalin along
The mist parts an inch, suddenly focus is strong
A sliver of light penetrates the dark in my head
It’s all flooding back, words previously read.

Grasping this new development as if life relies
On absorbing every word in front of my eyes
Its mere hours until I'll be put to the test,
The goal is just to get through, know it won't be my best.

It’s amazing how many times I've been here before
Know starting earlier would have trebled my score
But it’s only under pressure that the fire can ignite
Each performance a result of the previous night

Sure I could have done better than rest on my laurels
Not relinquished to temptation, of both mind and morals
But it’s too late now for a false resolution
Time to pray for a question with a familiar solution....

Written May 09, in an attempt to find any distraction while I was supposed to be studyin (obviously) for my CFA.

Ridin'

He climbs aboard and puts his key in the ignition,
at first a gentle gasp but then she's purring like a kitten
He clutches her tight as they shift up through the gears
the changes smooth, both relaxed, a comfort borne of years

Even though he is loaded heavy with protection
it fails to hamper the pleasure of their connection
He shifts his weight at each bend to suit the terrain
she shifts hers, to find pleasure and avoid the pain

He gazes into her dials to judge their power and their speed
in this dance, of romance, it is clear who has the lead.
Although he is the rider it is she who has control
she moans to let him know, he reacts, and on they roll.

They maneuvre through the traffic, as one,
addicted to the danger and the fun.
The world is just a blur, racing past
how long, on the edge, can they last?

The final hill and he shifts up, towards the peak,
she holds on, for a while, and then goes weak,
slowly they come back down the other side
both exhausted from the thrill of the ride

It is a union borne of mutual appreciation
the journey as important as the destination.
Each alone would be simply standing idle
together, a hidden passion, they unbridle

Written April 2009, about the thrill of riding a motorcycle... or is it?

TGIF

Finally you've come again, it seems an age since we parted
Recalling just the thought of you, gets my heartbeat started
I hope you hang around this time, for an extra hour or two
Do you look forward to seeing me, as much as I do you?
Alas, I know you'll slip away, just like each week before
You'll soon be someone's Saturday, and my Friday no more..

Written Feb 2008, a quick thought during one Friday afternoon beer o'clock at work, an expression of my love for my favourite day. What ever happened to acrostic poems?

Credit - Where it is due?

some saw the warning signs, some had a hunch
but nobody was prepared, for the credit crunch
ignorance met greed, and colided with fate
once the cracks were apparent, it was already too late

house prices fell, while rates were on the rise
the US saw a bubble burst in front of their eyes
the NINJAs couldn't pay, so the CDOs tank
low-income housholds now belong to the bank

S&P gets Moody cause they take the blame
while inter-bank lending will never be the same
the investor is stung, so stocks take a dive
banks turn to the government, just to stay alive

so rates are cut, and then cut some more
many a banker is shown to the door
world currencies crumble, and with no end in sight
institutions of old disappear into the night.

Merrills is missing, and the Bear has been tamed
and don't turn to AIG when your Citi lies maimed
Leahmans went Fannie up, while Freddie got fingered
the mighty have fallen and the lucky have lingered

some see it as justice, a blow to the rich
but when the trains off the track, we're all in the ditch
an economy is built on investment and consumption
when you cut off the head, the body ceases to function

supply is just inventory, until it meets demand
and your confidence is down when your caps in your hand
liquidity is a mirage, the bonus pools dry
belts are tightened as we all try to get by

many forgot profit is just risk's return
played in the fire, and were surpised by the burn
the market is cyclical, a recession overdue
mums and dads bit off more than they knew how to chew

there are so many victims, and its not over yet
but it will turn around, and in time we'll forget
the lessons we learnt, the pain in which we wallow
cause when the money comes back...the greed will follow.

Written Feb 2o09, about a very real issue in my professional life, and increasingly in greater society in general.

personal training

his shadow is cast long by the early morning sun
already sweating though the day has just begun
step after step his tired feet pound the ground
a lone weekend warrior, with his boot camp all around

she wears her oldest clothes and yet she beams a smile
she's glad that she's back and has kept it up a while
aware the hardest part was just getting through that door
a single dancer, moves with her class across the floor

they shake off sleep and the morning chill
time slowly awakening and honing their skill
they pass to one another with a comfort borne of years
two teams of individuals, in a field full of peers

the air rushes from his lungs as he heaves at the weight
he repeats one more time though his need to rest is great
all around him there are others who sweat, moan and groan,
sharing an addiction, and yet each a junkie on his own.

their battle is a mental one, the results physical
but to call them vain or proud would just be cynical
though they fight in isolation, so too they alone achieve their goal
sound of body sound of mind and at peace with their soul.

Written Jan 2009, while running along the beach, started wondering about the individual nature of exercise, but how the individualism is mental and not necessarily physical.

Beauty, The Beast

I woke up this morning, confidence poor
couldn't bring myself to walk out the door
one look in the mirror confirms my fears
use all of my strength to hold back the tears

a discarded magazine lies crumpled and haunting
the impossible beauty of the model still taunting
perfect features and a chiseled physique
same age as me but at their physical peak

their skin doesn't blemish their tan doesn't fade
effortless glamour, heavenly-made

but the clothes never wear as well on my frame,
and I can never get my hair to fall quite the same
my body has curves where the muscles should be
and is that a zit I see winking back at me?

powerless, I guess I'll just grin and bare
apathetic on the surface, even if below I care
a deep breath and with my head held high
I step out into the world, wanting to die

"Mr Pitt, you look great, smile over here"
the camera captures my image, but not my fear
I stare at the crowd, jealously
if only they would trade places with me....

Written Jan 2009 for a gorgeous friend of mine who fails to see what everyone else can.

To You, From Me

The crimson maiden’s voice rings true,
Her epic crisis is anything but new:
“See my eyes, feel the fear,
Tell me what I need to hear,”
Her voice is soft but her eyes betray,
The need in her voice, her eternal dismay

Once again the duty falls on the knight,
To slay the beast, and to the princess’ delight,
Run the gauntlet adorned with none but a rose,
Defeat Caesar’s army; vanquish all his foes,
He must test every muscle, every sinew, every nerve,
He must be one man in the name of love.

Though battles and dragons pose him no threat,
Ask him bout his true feelings if you want to watch him sweat.
“But who really could?” the knight often wonders,
Express what the heart feels without those awkward blunders,
Convey the desire, the passion, the emotion,
Raging more fiercely than a tempest, than an all-encompassing ocean.

What words could possibly do any justice,
To the feelings that run so rampant between us?
What man would be foolish enough to even try?
Express the love he has for the one for whom he would die?
But alas, dear lord, this is a quest that he must make
To stifle any possible doubts, not for his, but for her, sake.

It surprises me daily that you remain unaware,
of the feelings I have for you, the love that we share.
Lost would I be without your “gentle” touch,
On the edge of a precipice, you’re the rope that I clutch,
Vertically we differ, there’s a sizeable gap, but
Everything always seems so right when you’re on my lap.
You are the one, my rain, wind and fire
You are the one, whom I’ll always desire
You are the one:
M ystically
I rritating,
N aturally my
E verything

Written in 2003 for my first serious girlfriend after continually being asked to "express how I was feeling". I have fought the overwhelming desire to change any of the lines, aiming to keep the poem as originally written.

The CrackBerry

In those moments where I find myself standing alone,
It only takes seconds to pull out my phone
I’m not checking the time, or a text from a mate
I’m just trying to look cool while I sit here and wait

I need something to do with my hands and my eyes,
Is she looking at me, what about those guys?
Where are my friends, the bus or the train?
On my own only my cell keeps me sane

Before the phone there was another distraction
A way to make sure there was never inaction
Constantly fidgeting because I’m too important to wait
There’s a high-powered meeting for which I’m obviously late.

Why do I feel this constant need to impress?
They’ll never see me again and I couldn’t care less
I’m only the centre of my own universe
She’s not interested in me, her head’s in her purse.

But what makes me so afraid of just standing and being
No matter who is looking, nobody is seeing
These moments alone are a misused gift
The chance to stop, reflect and let the mind drift.

So when the urge next strikes to stare into that screen
Instead I’ll think about how good my life has been
So limited is my stay on this earth
Its time to treasure these moments alone for all that they’re worth.

Written Dec 2008, to all the insecure people who fidgit while waiting alone in public (of which I am definitely one)

The Love Story – A Novel Romance

They say its not right to judge a book by its cover,
but if you aren't entranced from the outset will you ever really love her.
Sure its the chapters inside that capture your heart,
but you'll never make it that far, with no reason to start.

A book without a reader is just blank pages bound,
Its not until you look inside that the magic is found.
But no matter how pretty the jacket or tempting the blurb,
There is something bigger that makes the match superb.

A book chooses you as much as you a book,
It was across a crowded room, and yet you knew in just one look.
For years you had searched, seemingly to no avail,
Then just when you gave up, there was the perfect tale.

Was she big or small, her cover soft or hard
A Mills and Boon or a sonnet by the bard
Was she new or had her pages been turned by other guys?
Does it really even matter if she’s perfect in your eyes?

No matter how many times you’ll thumb through the same pages,
One book for the good times, the bad times and the rages,
The story is ever changing, each new page a surprise
Never on another book will you lay your eyes.

Though you used to like a genre, be it fact or fiction,
You can now say proudly, and with conviction
“Between these covers is the story of my life,
I don’t exist without it, without you, my wife.”

Written Dec 2008, what began as a silly couple of lines turned into an idea...

The 8:05

I have often found myself wondering, as the morning train pulls in
where exactly I am going and where it is that I have been.

For some it's about the journey, and for some the destination.
But surely it all depends, on the arrival station.

Is this where I thought I'd be, when I hopped onboard this morning
or has my trip been diverted, unbeknownst and without warning?

Have I been in control, of this journey I have made?
Or am I just an actor, and it's been a part I've played?

Who is the fat controller, whom dictates where I go?
And why is that the trip, is always so painstakingly slow?

Should I take an express, or another faster train?
But what am I trying to skip, through pleasure or through pain?

Would my life be different, if it involved another station?
Or would it be no more then a subtle variation?

I guess I'll never know, instead I'll just ride the 8:05,
It's not the most glamorous trip, but imagine if I had to drive!

Written in the summer of 2006, while an intern on the way to my first real job.

Trendy and Alone

As I sit surrounded
in a world that's left me behind,
I wonder if they are looking,
and if they are, just what they'll find.

I've never seen myself
through the eyes of another man,
never even seen a photo,
from which I haven't turned and ran.

Is this the new norm
for this chic world of ours,
to somehow feel alone,
in even the trendiest of bars?

People are like snowflakes
all of us unique,
so why is it only,
about others that we speak?

Why is there no longer time
to wander through one's soul,
and why only under drink,
is it possible to lose control?

If there is no point
to the superficial madness,
why does fitting in,
still fill the heart with gladness?

I have lived, and seen, and done
what most are yet to try,
and yet often feel,
that this world will pass me by.

I also have a dream
for a world not unlike this,
but in which people appreciate,
the simple things they miss.

I guess we'll never know
at least not for sure,
whether conformity is a disease,
rather than a cure.

And so we will leave it
to ponder another day,
time for me to join them,
and drink these thoughts away...

A poem I uncovered from years ago (possibly written in 2006), but oddly still relevant.

the man without a plan

sheepishly he admits that there is no plan that has been laid
life has been the product of both good and bad decisions made
some dreams have been realised while others still remain
time sees a few grow stronger and lets the others wane

but can one's choices be decided in such an ad hoc fashion
can a life's direction be governed by only passion
shouldn't you have goals, each one carefully selected
or will you forever be haunted by the options you rejected

should you aim lower then you are able and achieve as you desire
can you live in potential's shadow and only dream of hitting higher
or should you set your sights up high, well above your weight class
and each time you jump you miss and land back down upon your ass

it really all depends on your definition of success
is it that the needs are satisfied, or by the level of excess
does the checking of all the boxes signify a life finally fulfilled
does the cup need to flow to the point of being spilled

or is it that you lived your life, and not just played a part
that you controlled the journey, it was not mapped out from the start....

Written Nov 2008, the alternative approach to the previous...

The Man with the Plan

Cautiously, he moves through life with plans but not a vision,
Vigilantly, he considers the consequence of each and every decision.
No action is to be taken until the facts have been collated,
The data never lies and as such each fear is in turn abated.

He is happy with his path because it “made the most sense”,
He ticked all the right boxes and watched others from the fence.
The epitome of rationality, caution and hesitation,
He fails to feel the extremes of depression and elation.

But in the quiet moments when he sits and reflects,
Does he see in his love of logic the very obvious defects?
Sure he has achieved everything, and exactly as he planned,
But life has run through his fingers as if it were grains of sand.

The future’s caught the present and it’s too late to enjoy what’s been amassed
There’s not a lot of time left, and there’s no comfort in the past.
Sure the wife, house and car, leave the Jones’s a little green
But there’s a hole in the perfect picture where the life should have been.

Written August 2008, trying to decide on how a life's direction should be determined.

Leaving

Light in the wallet but heavy of heart,
Its time to go home and make a fresh start.
The months felt like days, our heads are still spinning
Is this the end of a chapter or the next one’s beginning?

Are we different people from those that left in November?
It seems a lifetime ago, can you even remember
The cucumber salads, the jelly bean games,
The inability to remember everyone’s names.

The awkward conversations that plagued every table
Did you really think we’d make it? Were you sure you were able?
So now that it’s done and we’ve proven our worth
Will they welcome us back to the land of our birth?

Or will they look at us strangely if we eat with our hands
And grow weary of our tales of far off lands.
Will we fit back into the grooves from which we came?
Even though our grasp on reality may never be the same.

Of course they’ll have us back, even if we bore them to tears
And life will resume to just the same as it has been for years
Cause there’s no place like OZ, the home of your heart,
No more fitting place to end then back at the start.

But the kids won’t know the words to Resham Phiriri
And I doubt any will ask for your family tree,
And in those quiet moments when you allow yourself to sit and reminisce
You may well find it’s us and Nepal that you miss!

Written Feb 2008, for the girls I volunteered with as we headed home.

The Chaturale Challenge

The head rumbles, the stomach grumbles, the muscles roar,
The worker fumbles, the pick tumbles, the tears pour.
As the sun gets higher his hole becomes an oven,
He needs a shower, a night’s sleep and some lovin’.

Each day he wakes a little weaker than the last,
Still distracted by the nocturnal battle with his past.
With each swing, a pain cedes, replaced by another,
A more fierce and nasty version of its brother.

The sun is set, his quota met, the day is done,
With no regret, he’ll soon forget, all but the fun.
Despite the hard work his mood is light,
Long ago his body gave up the fight,

But it’s the earth and not his spirit that will be broken.

Written Jan 2008, volunteering in a rural village in Nepal.

The Shepherd and the Sphinx

Religion is a beautiful old monument like the pyramids or the great wall,
An eye-catching monstrosity built on the backs of the weak masses.
A testament to one man or being now standing idol,
Neither has with it today the purity of its intentions.

Just as the African offers trinkets to Gaza’s tourists,
The missionary hawks his wares to the African people.
Each buyer falls in love with the romanticism of the moment,
But removed from the preacher becomes weary of their purchase.

The pyramids failed,
Despite the devotion of the masses the pharaohs never made it to the after life
What wasn’t robbed from them as they slept is now ogled by busloads of heathens.

One man does not need a temple to be buried in, and no one book has all the answers.
The slaves of Egypt believed in their cause as much as the foot soldiers of God,
but each resigned themself to a bigger power that hadn’t their best interests at heart.

The pharaohs were not mere men but gods incarnate.
They brought fertility to a land, science to a people and a cause to the masses,
But exclusivity will always isolate, which in turn will breed hate.
Every idol is a false one, and no mortal contains within him a truth hidden from you or I.

Be good to your neighbour and they’ll do the same.
Black is black, white is white and grey is a challenge.
Question everything reasonably and you’ll get reasonable answers.
Think of those less fortunate but be fortunate you can think.

Written Oct 2007, inspired by several months in the middle east and on the sub continent, as an attempt to define my religious beliefs.

Humpty’s Dilemma

There are times in your life when you reach a junction,
Something that was failsafe ceases to function.
Time to reassess what you thought you never would,
Can you finally see the faults in what has always been good?

It felt so natural that you began to relax,
Glazing over what were fairly obvious cracks,
In a foundation laid in faith and good intention,
Nice from a distance but under close inspection,

Not enough to withstand the extent of the blows,
dealt time and again by both friends and foes.
But the question that needs to be asked at the end of it all,
Can all the cracks be patched or do we need a new wall?

Written Jan 2008, the beggining of the end of a great relationship.

Ignorance = Bliss?

Apathetically, they wander through life accepting things as they are.
Emotionless, they fail to feel the extremes that define us.
Ignorant, they know not that they march to the beat of someone else’s drum.
Unfortunate, they will always be no more, or less, than satisfied.

Written Nov 2007, regarding the apathy is cool mentality of my generation.

Land of the free?

There is a lot of talk of freedom, and all it represents,
a blessing to the masses, and what the repressed laments.
The term at first seems noble, but is seldom understood,
For its connotations cannot be limited to only being good.

Freedom to do what, to whom, and at what cost?
Each time you exercise your own, is someone else’s lost?
If you were granted total control, to do just as you wish,
Would others benefit or are the gains purely selfish?

If the downside of your choices cannot be easily seen,
Are you standing in a spotlight where someone else should’ve been?
Freedom is not as simple as it’s often made out to be,
The chance to govern your own life comes with responsibility.

This is not to say that you shouldn’t do just as you please,
But consider the repercussions to both your friends and enemies.

Written Dec 2007. Inspired by a work giving tree in which I chose to purchase the word "freedom" for charity, and the subsequent questioning of my decison.