Tuesday, September 18, 2007


photo courtesy google images

On the day of the attacks, Giuliani proclaimed, "We will rebuild: We're going to come out of this stronger than before, politically stronger, and economically stronger. The skyline will be made whole again."[9]

Osama and President Bush
Both conjoined twins
Mother hate
Father evil
Separated at birth
Both have one goal
Fucking the Peace on Earth
Creating a Hell on Earth
One from the safety of a White House
The other hidden in the darkness
For all he is worth
Satanic serendipity
Funereal futuristic fall out
Ground zero
A new hope
Awaiting a Spiritual rebirth
The "Pile".that time and tide
had to unearth .
To bring back human dignity
Happiness and mirth

To my friend Frank James Ryan Jr

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Date & Time: 9/18/2006 1:10:00 PM
Comment about: firoze shakir (photographerno1)
Member: Foster Blaine
Comment: Nothing to be found here; criticism and complaints with no viable alternatives. This is exploitation of the word poetry.. Prostituion awaits the reader.

Thank you foster blaine
This becomes my favorite poem
1090 th poem
Your prophetic words like bullet shots on my asss train
A new happiness a caress devoid of pain
With your words Firoze Shakir
Is finally slain
In you and your screwed up
American racial profiling consciousness
The best of me ingrain
For resurrecting me a as a prostituted
Poet in vain..
Heavy are the manacles of your words
With which you a more gifted poet my inner most feelings explain
On google search I have made you more
Famous a poetic sanitary pad
And a drying clotted
Menstrual blood stain
That is reflected in a vain glorious creature called
Foster Blaine.
A voice in a silver casket
That holds everything but brain..
Thank you Foster Blaine

this as an old poem last heard Foster Blaine was sento Iraq for miltary and returned in a silver caket
buried with honors in Poem Hunter Racist Poets Graveyard, next to him lise James Foulk, he walked in his sleep into the face of a speeding train, a liitle further lies Ivan Donne Carsewll he was bittn by a mad India dog, he died in pain of hypodermia, the mound that you see close to the public toilet is the grave of Allen James Saywell, he died of shock , he put his finger in a socket thinking it was a lady poets orifice, he leaves behind Gangubai the Gonorrheal Whore and little Allen James Saywell Junior...
he has made Little Bim Bombay Boy to look after his family ,and all his wealth too including his limericks and unpublished poetry he has left to Jefferson Carter Poet God of Poemhunter Forum fame

one day all bloggers fuck newsmen

As a sensitive street photographer you shoot pictures first on the heart of your consciousness, the mind pulls you towards the picture you were predestined to shoot ,
Even if you don’t have a camera at a that time , the subject will come back along with the moment to be shot by you.
I possess the third eye of Shiva embedded in the consciousness of my camera bodied brain, I had finished my walk at the Carter Road and while the rickshah sped away I saw a man asleep in a sack and some words on the iron fencing , I turned my rickshaw and took two shots.. such is the art of unlearning poetry .. through a pictorial frame..

Meditation is medicine for relaxation and inner peace
Said the writing on the iron fence,,
Man lay enwombed in a sack and no defense
All this captured by Shiva embedded in my camera lens
Man asleep with nothing but his loneliness as common sense
Across the road Otters club cars Honda Toyota Mercedes Benz
He slept undisturbed. his troubles woes wretchedness
Handwritten by gods pen..
Animalistic cravings of a specie self destructive that they call men
A cock that needs to crow each morning before humping the mother hen.
A ghost dog of a American lama who eats stinking fish. At buzznet they call him ben
Me my words he calls mantras ..his kindness my talisman..
As a mind logging blogger I have one death wish that one day all bloggers fuck newsmen..

a caress

a caress
Originally uploaded by flickr photographerno1
Life has gone
on a window shopping
leaving me on a bench behind
as i some other
persons memories unwind..
times were harsh
times were kind
to her feelings
her tears
i was selfishly unkind..
yes i was certainly blind
she a heart beat
in a pocket watch
in my morbid mind
two little hands
that an eternity bind
a mechanism going rusty
wont rewind
where ever I go
she within my hearts
shadow I find
like a new goddess
on my soul enshrined.
her silence
my eloquence spellbind
loving you
a designer
in your web
each poem
to you
i pen and remind
words wounded
healing ..
recovering .
in a feeling less
a caress
as a poem

a muse who ran away leaving me in a husk of a poem far behind


Originally uploaded by flickr photographerno1
From the basin
of her eyes
Falling on her
Cheeks chaste
I quickly
On my parched lips
Cut copy and paste
Saltish innocence
Sugar sweet taste
From her soul
To my soul
In my pain
Miss spelt
Each time
Her name
a caress
me an ass
crossing a divider
totally outspaced
see the picture
for this poem
at flickr
photographer no1
to know how disgraced
love an animal
feeling covered
in human waste

to you
never to be erased


Originally uploaded by flickr photographerno1
Man eyes shut
fast asleep
on a cold slab
to give
him comforts
like a new reality
but he has to pay a price
as nothing in life is free
a small premium
to be paid even
for adultery
he fucks the maid
pretending his wife wont see
while the wife behind his back
fucks the plumber goes scott free
till a new time for another
cybernetic conspiracy
emailing bewailing
smooth sailing unfailing
a new name
“Fuck me more”
a new identity
fire escaping
another calamity
fuck love
she says she is a woman
leads you on a spree
till you discover she is nothing
but an automated response
fucking your mind for free
till you die in self pity


Originally uploaded by flickr photographerno1
reality bogged deep
jumping over his
one dollar each
gigantic leap
shown the door
self same
trembling door
by a diva
a blog goddess
who was beyond his reach
the road of cybernetic love
was far too steep
axle broke car halted
with a screech
dumped rusty
useless unforgiving on
on salton sea beach
do you like it
a pictorial crusader
who knows how to preach ..
man fucked asleep
in an unreality
cosmetic tears
that don’t need to weep
we both have a new muse
poetically inspiring to housekeep
love like beauty is only skin deep
a throttled heart
trying from
a decayed body
to a fresh pasture
falling head first
the near by grave
his remains
a mound
dust heap
how the the shadows
on his multi colored ass
doth sweep
face down
genuflecting mother earth
let the ass hole
finger fucking
mother fucker sleep.

its ok i understand

i have not forgotten u m just busy 2 day

a punishment a silence that love has to pay
each time you come like Cinderella dance ..dont stay
just runaway..gestureless my thoughts betray
me gaping into nothingness no words to say
every second away from you does outweigh
me clinging to unreality my feet of clay
living in Mumbai …touching dreams in USA.
a poetic prison nostalgically reminding me
of a guantanamo bay….
leashed like a tortured emotion ..learning
to love live and obey…
since the time I met you
me my life in disarray…
telepathically in an inbox I convey..
without hurting your sentiments my pain portray

this was a stupid moment of my madness falling limbless in akimbo..hunter who became a prey.
never fall in love with poets just read their poetry comment move along...within the parameters of your punctuated personality dont stray ....beware of games people play...especially medusa haired poets who ensnare in your own leopard lair...even a poets love does outwear .

dreams caressing sigh

What can I say
That you do not know
Your thoughts pursue me
Everywhere I go
Like Marys little lamb
They follow
Do you feel the same way
I would like to know
Or the color of pain
In my heart I show

The breeze of your
Kindness enters my door
On my soul
My destiny
Waylaid on your seashore
My dreams caressed
As I sleep and snore
And on waking
I keep asking for more


Originally uploaded by flickr photographerno1
did we meet by chance ..
or was it the almighty
sprinkling love
to conjoin us in advance
you love to sing write poetry
all 5.7 of of you ..
brown hair
each day
discovered a new
my soul entranced
i dont know the color of your eyes
but i am sure they are mesmerising
to captivate my inner being , a mere glance
for me only your window sill
of a homecoming
like a homing pigeon
this cybernetic romance
only you
i see beyond
the horizon of my limited expanse

Soliloquy of a Soul

Wave after wave that lash my soul
foaming frothing bash my soul
roaming homing thrash my soul
bossing tossing dash my soul
splashing smashing slash my soul
thoughts of you
tsunami saronged waves
tounge lash my soul
weeping sweeping waves
whiplash my soul
meaningless monotony
backlash my soul
the curtain of your eyelashes
the tabernacle of your eyeball
hides my soul

a caressing moment down loaded

was it a one night stand
serenity a seducing
platonic games that
with catatonic
emotionless hearts
we played
you in me
i in you
like perishing
that strayed
now a silence
of the lambs
feeling s
utterly betrayed
don’t ask me
what that means
in my corner
like little jack horner
i should have stayed
services rendered
in kindness that you paid
a caressing moment
the page cannot be displayed

Death In Domesticity Muslim Women

shabana azmi
an actress
spoke about the hijab
pre empting modesty
this upset a shahi mullah
who called her a nautanki
said she was not an authority
on the koranic interpretation per se
remarks off the cuff denigrating
woman who in his interpretation
of Islam are treated as minority
i think the most important aspect of Islam
is the women should be educated
the mot important priority
but this goes against the tenets
of a male muslim dominating majority
woman fodder for the man for his
out bursting masculinity
woman in Islam was born in captivity
produce children die in domesticity
in the end no accountability.
three times talaq and the end of marital
no end to fatwas that grow on a mullahs tree

the muslim women here refers to those who live below the poverty line , downtrodden, living in a hell hole of city and rural landscapes.. in India

The Curse of a Girl Child..

sitting in a train
two girl performers
one hides her face
the other looks
me in the eye
as life’s train on a track
passes us by
a dickhead Indian
thinking i am a foreigner
tells me i must not shoot the
poverty of India
i almost die
show him my press card
tell him the poverty
is not in a girl child
but in a politicians eye
today on the
birthday of Nehru
childrens day
loves labour lost
time went by
the girl child an evil
in the womb she must die
a crystallized tear
a voiceless cry..
from the cradle to her grave
a commodity sell resell or buy..
this truth often sounds like a lie
if you were born a girl child
in India
you would not ask me why.
a girl child born as a muslim
her first clothes a hijab
like a shroud tightened
so she in her accursed fate
of womanhood does not fly
triple talaq
other man made goodies
will come bye and bye.
the mullah overhearing my
Words on the sly
he who gives shelter
with fatwa telling lies
muslim women its time to
arise …break the choker
modesty is what you prize
give the male dominated muslim
society a surprise
remove male hijabs
their two timing
hypocritical disguise
education self dependence
will make things alright
hijab is a covering
within which
truth lies
eternally living
never ever dies

beauty lies in the eyes
of the beholder

who is born blind
an inner sight
gift of an
unconscious mind
a naked woman
(a metaphor)
fully clothed he sees

the fault lies in man and not in the hijab.. he undresses womankind such is his nature of his masculine eyes and this is an after thought…

raindrops keep falling on my bed...

the dining
the sitting
the bedroom
the store room
all on the main street
the toilet at CST station
across the road ..
such is life of a woman
who has made
Mumbai her heavenly abode

in the nights
the stick -hits
of the cops
street walkers open their shops
the hijdas merging in the darkness
of bus stops
the pimps white clothes
touting their wares at paan shops
for the heroine of my poem
life is living amidst such backdrops
she a garbage collecting woman..
braving the monsoonal raindrops
recycling a garbage of unloving
on the mean street pawnshops
till one day the municipality hearse
will come to collect her as a corpse
no name just a tag.. till
another woman will soon
take her place
on the cobbled outcrops
among the nightly
commercial sweat shops..

I am not a poet.. but yes I write poetry..

to write a poem.. or to father a poem.. you need words floating in the amniotic fluid of emotions..love..in circular motions.. a lady love the mother of all your devotions.. no poetic commotion.. rub it in sweet the languishing of sunburnt lotion.. on flesh..a drop of a tear that has eternity reflected in an ocean....loving needs no preconcieved notion or a poetic mushy sales promotion

Love on the Net Russian Roulette

After two direct hits
one in the head
the other to the heart
i decided never to
fall in love on the net
words i repeated
on my worry beads
lest i forget
lest i forget
on a banana peal
of my poem
before i could
say holy mother
of god i was
miserably in love
once again on the net

this time
not a blog goddess
nor an Alaskan fern
may the rest of me burn..
love means
never saying sorry
a thought
to unlearn
goods unsold
cannot be returned
hell, hath no fury
like a hijda spurned
that got my ass burnt
what was uncovered
also sunburnt
case adjourned
pouted lips
silver chromed

well I have fallen
in love on the net
a new experience
no commitments
no demands
right from the outset
you take what you get
fleeting caress
falling in love
cybernetic freedom
new thoughts to inject
like a talking dolpin
caught in her net
the same wretched old heart
on the block to sublet
idon’t even know if
she is a blonde or brunette
no she is not Jeanette
Annette or Suezette
no trembling door
nor window sill
a poetic
injurious thought
to fuck or forget
me and my soul
American sunset
a bridled beauty
a costly asset
burning away
on her hearts diskette
she and me
similar feelings beget
falling on the net
i hope this time is not a
Russian Roulette.

Yes I Have Sinned

Yes I Have Sinned
Originally uploaded by flickr photographerno1
yes I love you
several times
on my sarcophagus
heart tinned
a spirit
into stormy waters
of your bosom
future hopes
on you pinned
desires delirium
of a neurotic
recycle binned
my religion
a part of me
fore skinned
trouble chinned
gone with the wind
me beloved
i have sinned
my past
i rescind
me a rascal
thick skinned
poetic whirlwind
bottled as
an attar
made in india
sold in some
arab countries
as a shia thug
al Hind

Room with a View

Room with a View
Originally uploaded by flickr photographerno1
a hole
a gaping toothless
mouth in a wall
beyond life
emotionlessly held
on a dancing hall
only missing
deliriously dancing
silken footed
samba doll
mechanism not working
gone for a major overhaul
a photographer
a peephole
wrapped in a poem
of his shawl

Oh Hi Oh

Oh Hi Oh
Originally uploaded by flickr photographerno1
On a fisherman’s handcart I stand
no net no fish just Jesus in my hand
a silver stick my magic wand..
thoughts rioting in my mind
that poetically i disband
she who says
explain more
feelings of love
a healing touch
a wordless
cold contempt
posing as ignorance
that she commands
i hope this over bursting
reservoir in my heart
in her heart also expands
no commitments
no demands
a poetic trust
in pictorial hands
another effort to build
sandcastles in

Rich Man Poor Man God and Satan

one mans house
is another mans pavement
at poem hunter they will read the words
but wont know what it pictorially meant
a house , good housekeeping
happiness god sent
just across lies a man
on a cobbled back breaking pavement
a shelter no hope just the rains ,, god sent
one will die happy
the other not content
both one buried
the other cremated
for sins they will repent
to heaven and to hell
ascent and descent
may or may not come back
roles reversed..
the poor in a penthouse
the rich man ..on the pavement..
man a mystery unsolved by god
god commonsense hell-bent
god a huge boulder
man a mere fragment
being watched inconspicuously
by satan sitting on his trident

The Unsailing Kids Boat

holding up the traffic a boat
getting on everyone’s goat
searching for a parking space
a shoreline on a very busy
office time going crossroad
a cart and its content a ship load
being pushed by
the helpers who followed
the traffic cop did implode
rickshaw guys bellowed
honking car guys elbowed
kids unsaling ship
at carter road on the promenade
to offload .. for little kids
a happiness
of not getting wet
a wish of a journey
mindless oceans bestowed

Death Rehearsal

Death Rehearsal
Originally uploaded by flickr photographerno1
rehearsing his death
on the cobblestones
his rotten flesh
his creaky bones
sins of omission
sins of commission
his wretched
soul atones .,.
a wife who
predeceased him
children ..
they their wives
he disowns
rough treatment he got
from their
hearts made of stones
he, his
now his living
the moans
the groans
dreams on rent
borrowed loans
cultural inheritance
among gravestones
his destiny hovering
between unknown zones
waiting to meet his wife
on the other side .,.
a trickery of a thought
time condones
while he sleeps on land
the municipality owns
gravel pillow
as his head stone
home alone

To a Poet Friend,,

she says
she understands..
a finger slaughtered
by wedding bands
a hope fighting
palmless hands
stumps of sorrow
grounded to magical
cybernetic lands..
what she doe not want to say
her thoughts
in my own way i expand
am i being presumptuous
of taking her for granted..
spiciness of indian curry
to mouth watering food that can be bland
biding my time in a poetic adventurism
with my feet sinking in
feelings that wont go away..
bound like new born baby
straight jacketed..
wringing hands
a fledgling hope
wrapped in a poem
i hope she
in her ignorance

a dreaded poets society

sometimes i think
i d rather die
than live
in a world
where there
is hate
that grows
like a tree
the skies
the seas
treacherous lies
body on rent
soul on lease
no fresh breeze
much happier
than us our
the birds and the bees
untouched by mans
sinful disease
a single moment
unlike us humans
each second
in self pity
a rusty
corroded insides
a hairpin
as a master key
unlearning life
life’s greatest
to be or not to be
in the hereafter
a wordless poem
a dreaded poets society

He is Within Your Reach Bush You Must Impeach

the messiah of hate
borders of peace
did breach
political terrorism
playing god
unnecessary war
killing of innocent
devastation destruction
weapons of a mass destruction
in iraq he did vociferously screech
the devil of dubya
a weapon himself
colored red a landscape
that will never bleach
trampling human justice
a figure of speech
now finally
he is within your reach..
by the voice of a nation
a war criminal bush
you must impeach..
a lesson for the
coming generation
of leaders that they
practice what they preach