Taken in November of 2013 at the Mysore Zoo
There is no smile
worn by a crocodile,
that’ll induce me to pet him.
There’s no grin,
neither wide nor thin,
that extends my treasured limb.
Save your beaming.
It looks scheming.
“No, I won’t go for a swim.”
The Hippo never took an oath
to watch its weight or check its growth.
Hungry, Hungry, it is in deed.
Five hours per day it’s known to feed.
The Greeks called it the river horse.
A horse that’s not a horse, of course, [of course.]
Hippos do like rivers, though they don’t float.
Submerged below, they’ll wreck your boat.
Where else can one find two tons of fun?
But careful, don’t think them too fat to run.
They’ve been clocked at 30 miles per hour,
and there’s scarcely a thing they won’t devour.
there’s nothing sadder than a monkey
who’s grown pudgy, blown up chunky,
and become a Mars Bar junkie
just cause we’re genetically entwined
makes it neither right nor kind
to give them a bootilicious behind
when swinger’s branches threaten break
and under foot the earth it quakes
it’s then too late to lay off the cakes
when dealing with our friends furry
remember no ice cream or curry
no panicked food drop and scurry
Hands of a surgeon,
Fins of a sturgeon…
Wait, no… that’s not right.
Let me admit that I have no gift
for mythical fliers that get lift.
One can’t just throw wings on a rat.
Of course you can, we call it a bat!
Alright, bad example…
One can’t draw wings on a whale,
and through the sky expect it sail.
Much better.
How did the likes of primitive man
create the myth of a flying orangutan?
They did no such thing.
Fair enough, then answer me this:
Who came up with ogres that eat babies?
Does a crescent-moon werewolf give you rabies?
Who first saw a spiraling dragon,
and how many drops remained in his flagon?
From whence came the fearless griffin
body of a lion and the head of a… chicken?
If by her shrill scream you know a banshee,
how’d you know it’s not any old woman she?
In how many beds are succubi layin’
in which the occupant ain’t already strayin’?
Leprechaun stories come from notorious drinkers,
and Gorgons and Sirens from a culture of thinkers.
My deficit, it seems, is as aligns with my fears.
Quick, get me a stack of books and a case of beers.
Taken at Fatehpur Sikri
Poor little rodent, run up a door.
Chattering and chattering, frantic, he swore.
Babel Fish Rodentia translated his words:
“It’s not bad enough, the cats and the birds,
hectic humans and their frantic pace,
always running about like they’re in a race.
Stuck on this peg for nigh half a day.
‘A break in the traffic’, I fervently pray.
Pfff! Bipedal humans with their gigantic feet
designed to crush chipmunks right in the street.”
Bat black skies above
Jinking, rolling, and dipping
Dog-fighting for food
The Morning Glory
After dark is monotone
But remains shapely
A pack of street dogs
Bursts into barking, relief
Their mark? Lunchbox man,
Shadow silliness
Man flails his arms overhead
Walking behind me
What if the world that we know
is just a two-bit reality show
or some high-def video game?
Wouldn’t it be terrible lame,
if we were the toys of an alien race
of underachievers from deep outer space?
What if our planet currently resided
on a beat-up, old card-table–lopsided,
in the basement of a strung-out dude
who sat around in a cloud in the nude?
What if all of the wonder and foreboding
is just the result of some skillful encoding?
Stiff iron trusses
skeletonize a building
outlining order
wind whistles over I-beams
flexing, moaning, and rising
Steel lugged upward
welded into false order
chaotic city
don’t pretend order reigns here
litter skitters on the wind
From: the Butterfly
To: the city residents
Sorry my flapping
caused the storm that destroyed your
lovely burgh. I didn’t know.
Taken Nov 3, 2013 at Hampi
Gazing into the distance
he renders his assistance
to the mischievous monkeys–
making him a monkey flunky
A watchman of the langur pranks
yet not a part of their prankish ranks
He screeches warnings now and then
on sight of broom-wielding women
He neither seeks nor needs praise
just the occasional banana raise
He does it not for power or glory
just the occasional funny story
Taken Nov 10, 2013 at Bannerghatta National Park
The lion is a kingly beast
Whose eyes no lies can abide
If you don’t wish to be his feast
Please act with tact and don’t chide
He doesn’t take to teasing well
He’s still but to kill is in his blood
His placid face may look swell
But a strong heart pounds THUD-THUD…
THUD-THUD
&
another thing
He may look like a big plush toy
But he’s no fun for a girl or boy
Don’t get your kid a big feline
Unless your exit is a swift beeline
