The Poets of Goa

The poets of Goa were hidden
though mutterings pelagic were heard
does poetry reach us unbidden?
a beach with no poets? absurd!

a sky without clouds is a rarity
a field without weeds is most odd
sans poets how show polite charity?
is Goa as silent as God?

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This poem is responsive to a prose reflection (posted to Facebook) by Vidya Nayak (who hails from Bangalore, and is lately living part-time in Goa).  She wrote:

Was thinking I have not yet run into a Poet in Chinchinim. Or elsewhere in Goa. Not yet. The signs are all there. I have seen grown men with longish locks, stubble on chins, glasses askew, muttering at the sea. I have seen women sitting on rocks, looking into the sunset, tabloid in hand, the tips of their tongues sticking out, muttering at the sea. I have even caught myself looking into cobalt waters and seeing faint languid outlines floating and dipping beneath the sheen, muttering at the sea.
And the other day, at a party where all was merry and folks were doping and smoking and drinking and generally living it up, the host came up to me and said, you know what, you must meet this friend of mine, he's a poet.
Que sera sera.
(And to be honest, I'm missing them, my poets)
 

0 1 / 1 4 / 2 0 1 4 [poem]

We who've endured to two thousand fourteen
have lived through what cannot be easily said
at least we're enured when two thousand fourteen
comes laughingly quipping "at least you're not dead!"

the Y 2 K worries that fizzled away
have long since departed our "don't worry" head
it's true many say we've still got hell to pay
but let's be insouiciant! it's better than dread

some wizened now hobble while newlings yet spread
fresh-leafing delights as they brave the new day
through winter I've inklings tomorrow grows green
for we who've endured to two thousand fourteen

After Rumi [rubai]

Beloved! (I said)     you became
                                                         the beautiful Idol of my life!

If you are mine    why do you talk about
                                                    (replied the beloved) your life?

Well and why do you (my rejoinder)
                                                   jab me with your jewely blade?

Because still (his answer came)
                                      your claim's a lie!   you love your life!

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[Based on a literal translation done by Mehernoush McPherson, for which thanks.]

The Superfast Old & Natural Technology: A New Year's Eve Sonner for my Parents

If I would send a letter to my parents
to greet them once again at this new year
might it be carried on the lilting currents
that wisp around the universe?  I hear
the heart & mind are everywhere! no matter
what region of existence one abides in
what lingo one employs for idle patter
what deity one pictures & confides in
the wish or prayer or letter one dispatches
employing one's own heart-mind for the task
flies swift as thought & without error latches
into the loved one's mailbox      we ask
a natural thing when sending our hello
compared with this the internet is slow

Sam & Betty at Summer Camp [sonnet]

When both your parents pass away
within three years of one another
and then another year passes and
it's holiday time & nearly the
new year thoughts might turn
to the afterlife what's it like?

the idea that comes to mind is
it's as if they're off at a new
summer camp even if what's going
on underneath is processing the
experience of the life just past
this happens as it does for us

in dreams through the semblance
of being somewhere doing something
and so they're actually very busy!
a lot of activities (veiled forms
of the one activity) review process
eke out a mite of wisdom from the

long narrative of days of being an
embodied being with a name on earth