The Sensitivity of Scales – a poem

We can measure you
Equal amounts at 2
Decimal places.

No mas, the equipment
Lacks such further subtlety
And skeletons vary.

Bases make the means
For the end product variation
To tip scales.

Compounds expanded onward,
The limit in the manufactory,
It makes physics.

Pereira never knew such weights,
Magic in micrograms and structure,
The quaintness in a drachm.

Dreamnesia – a poem

Amnesiacs wilting in torrid summer sun,

We stumble en route to the stream

Coloured in shades softly forgotten and running

Like the tones tied to unworldly dreams.

Tripping up the superstructure skyscrapers

We look to the rails below, unsupported

With wires and betwixt them soaring higher

Other travellers along lines from flesh unfettered.

Level 5, hyper-dimensional complexity,

Totally real, the ultimate state of void worship,

A goal end reached in brain-centricity,

Calcium channels shut down, the ions licked.

Where are we now? See the wall?

What means the infinite door?

Reach forth, grasp that handle,

Pull and downward tumble…

Butterfly Rust – a poem

Butterfly rust, a sparkle in dust

Taut dancers in winter sun,

Faded when heat sucks

At melting concrete, knocking sense

From heads held in heat up too long.

When will the bees awaken

From winter’s hibernative slumber?
Now that summer has come,

Spring a strange foreigner,

Bypassed and the icy rivulets away run,

When will the bees awaken?

Shh! Do you hear that?
Gandharvas mayhap, in the forest,

A signal told in whispering leaves,

Echoing in the boughs, the eaves,

Wind sighs a song apropos of now,

Of love and laughter heard hollow.

Rust falls in hoary flakes of red

From the backs of butterflies,

Out there with wings outspread,

Looking for precious nectar,

Yet I wonder, when those others

Shall awake, and come back for theirs.

SHH!! I think I hear that, a new song,

The blue blur of bee wings

Brr’ing quiet and long.

A Taste Named

Voices in the morning birdsong
Conversations and long whispers
Tics in the keyboard pinging
A dream disturbing moment.

Repetition, frequent flashes
Of old songs, beat machines
Drumming a diabolical tattoo
Under smooth elliptical vocals.

So minor and silverfish
Terrariums shine magnolia
While rising messengers loiter
On silk running effectors.

Wedding Season – a musing

We always muse more
At weddings, now that season
Has arrived, the time of summer
And us singles are heathens.

Questions, questions, all
From all over the place;
Random aunt arm links
And stories heard to stew

Lines at the bar,
Ceremonies started late,
A holdover from other times
And soon to die before
Next few generations’ end.

Social pressures and expectations,
Natural reactions of the ego
And updates to the family
Who ask but rarely hear.

What mean these odd meetings
With 5 or more generations gathered?
A grouping for dancing and
over-eating, yet strange lie
These meetings, all and one.

Midnight Oils – a poem

Smoking the midnight oils

& to recall those lines of opening:

‘I’m your friend,

I’m not like the others.’

A fickle lie told in far Asia,

‘nary askance her eye neither,

arms open and inviting,

a sari of saffron summers.

The bazaar beat jabbering on,

haze in smell overwhelming,

sights seeing nothing in the whole

but the open lure of the charras promising…

Are You Ready…For Life? – a musing

The answer to the above question is a resounding ‘No’.

(hope you’re all hale and healthy, by the way)

I’ve been on and off posting on WordPress without any real regularity for close to a year now. Going from unemployed to working in the finance sector has made a big dent in my management of this blog. I make no promises, no final statements, because, as Isaac Asimov put it, ‘finished products are for decadent minds’.

I’m definitely at least a little bit decadent. :p

All my resolutions to get back to posting every other day, or every week, have fallen by the wayside. In general, life has caught up with me and hence the lack of regular, timely posts. This is not to say that I have not been writing, however. I’ll get to that in a moment. First I wish to lay down what all I’ve been doing.

Work… Work is long. The finance industry is not forgiving of mistakes, and there is very little leeway. Things must be done ‘just so’ or someone else with more attention to detail will do it instead. Thank the heavens that is one of my defining qualities in the work environment.

In the past three months a bank of three desks that can seat 36 has gone down to 25, a handful of those staff being new and so requiring training. It’s a job that you need to ask a lot of questions during your acclimatisation period, and that appears (in my experience) to take around 3 months. It did for me, anyway.

We have a lot of overtime going, and so I’ve been rocking that the past two months. Been putting in roughly 20 extra hours a month, and recently starting the work day at 0730 to get a head start. I’ve needed it. Took on extra duties, such as training new staff (which has been a joy and a detriment both) and organising a systems upgrade.

I get home, brain fried from looking at invoices and badly written letters, wanting to just chill out and- well, most of you know now the story of how one feels after a working day! Nevertheless I have been writing, and plenty. Apart from those days when I worked 0730 to 2000, with an hour lunch. In the toilet at work, in my head on the bus, on the weekend, on my phone whenever I get a chance. It’s just the posting of them which hasn’t taken place.

Nevertheless, it’s tardy of me and I can only apologise. To myself and anyone who reads this blog. Also, I can tell me to pull my socks up and generally fix up. There are literally tens of random poems on my phone, on pieces of paper scattered around my room, in torn up notebooks in my bag, and so on.

Yet writing has been happening. My Leo Ninsei series continues in good stead. No editing or release of the second poetry collection as of yet, however. Still, two new Leo Ninsei novels (full ones, maybe about 350 pages long, approximately 100 chapters) have been completed in the past 7 months. The first, The Wild Diamond of the West, and the 2nd, completed on 20_05_15, called Made of Grade.

I managed to book this entire week off and the time has gone by so quickly. Have averaged about 5000 words a day, which is, in my opinion, a solid writing effort.

I am now 26 and there are grown up things to do and think about.

Pension schemes and shares, health care, overtime, family holidays, what new pens I want to buy…

Etc, etc.

Am I ready for life?

No, but I’m damn well trying.

Peace, y’all.

Asian Mist.