Who has picked up pencil colors,
Such deep red colors,
And lighted a little red fire,
on that pine shrub:
Who, O Who, has made
this red cardinal!
On this colorless white
morning, who made my
morning, lucky with red!

© Manan sheel.

I never saw it coming
But she called me kind

Kind is not the first word I would use to describe one such as myself
Probably not the second word or even the third

And did I relay even know her?
Not at all, she was just another girl like me

Almost a year since I've seen her
And yet she remembers me enough to think of me as kind

She ignored my hellos, or didn't bother to listen
Maybe she has been listening all along

Maybe she has been watching and getting to know me
But the again if she really knew me she wouldn't call me kind

love's a distant relative
dropping in uninvited
murmuring condolences for a girl I thought I buried away
eons ago.

There’s always a bustle here
In my ritual place of ribs and beer
The sharp scent of ginger and coriander
The acrid burr in my nose of seared flesh
Fusion food served around me
But I go for Hirata.. again.
Can’t argue with taste, and it tastes
Korean bbq and Buddha beer
A brief nod to the moments of clarity
As said by drunks
The beer bottle cool in my hand as I reflect
Beads of condensation forming on Buddhas belly
And I’m here hoping for Constant
It’s now my third attempt
In as many months to catch a glimpse
And tonight apparently the stars align
Jupiter and Mercury on the rise
As I walk in
There is a way about him
So much bluff and bravado...
reminds me of someone I once loved
There is a mischief in his smile
Something warm in his eyes
Even beyond his jokes of his ego
Too big for the Room, apparently
I don’t discourage..
He’s honest in a way that piques
So here I am
Third time lucky finding Constant
To my delight he recognises me instantly
“Lucky Buddha for the lady?”
His eyes dance..
I interpret, maybe to much
But believe he’s pleased to see me
So we joke..
We laugh
I watch him get an earful
For not concentrating on the flow
The manager in tow..
and he side-eyes me and winks
Inwardly I hi-five myself for
Timing this so perfectly
So here I am
Trying not to watch Constant flow
Trying not to blush as he looks my way
“I’m too old for this ****” I think
Then feel like a kid
When he throws a grin my way

I cannot write of love, or poetry, or stars
I cannot creep into the dark abyss
I cannot seep into the sink with yesterday’s cabbage
Help me, I am burning in the oven!
-My Pizza

Surprisingly.
I am surprisingly surprised
About things already surmised.
This dullness
And sameness,
The monotonous feeling
Not a thing new revealing,
All the same trials,
In familiar styles.

Surprisingly.
I am surprisingly surprised
Though not one thing has been disguised.
Broken hope,
Such a dope,
I just wanted to believe,
This time I’d get my reprieve,
But I was shocked when
Life fooled me again.

Surprisingly.
I am surprisingly surprised
That I still have not realized,
I have earned
What I’ve learned,
While predictability
Is not such a tragedy,
I smile to myself.
Life repeats itself.

A soft hat makes it considerably easier
to avoid the inevitable purple headache
it's always too warm in the winter here
everyone wears their coat and sweater
but the heat stays on for courtesy

don't let the voice wake you
as often as it wakes everyone
you know it's coming so drown it out
with something sweet in headphones
like Tom Petty or the Nutcracker Suite

sometimes peacefulness surprises you
on your way to Rosedale in the dark
submerged in December outerwear
falling asleep against the cool glass
of the southbound train window.