::~::Life::As::A::Bog::~::By::Gob::~::

A Hiatus

2004-09-25T16:38:00.000-07:00

Gob is called away!

Pardon me, my dear friends; for, an arduous journey is at hand
It takes Gob, far and deep into a treacherous never-never land

Gob hopes to return in a few moons, back to the boggy tale
Now, I'm afraid it's time to board the rickety raft, and set sail!

Gob wishes ye all, many merry days and cheers to y'er health
May the light flood ye, from the bright candles of literary wealth!

Foreword

2004-09-24T08:29:00.000-07:00

...To an epic

"I trust you read the daily news Gob, especially today's essay
And that you had a nice long look at the sketch that came your way?"

"Of course!", Gob replies, setting Nicholas's opening query to rest
Secretly wonders what other details, Nicholas is going to test!

With a flapping around of those great wings, Nicholas paces around
Looks troubled and makes an undecided gentle clickety sound

"Oh, where shall I start, my dear Gob, for, the tale may wear you out!"
"Young souls, I fear, take to my narratives, like the old to painful gout!"

Gob smiles a little inwardly, at this rather amusing allegory
Hastens to promise a patient hearing and set Nicholas's fears free.

Thus assured, Nicholas embarks on an epic tale of old Boglands
Spanning hundreds of centuries that have left their mark upon the sands...

The interview

2004-09-23T11:00:00.000-07:00

...Takes a surprising twist!

To a maroon ottoman, in a blue roofed hall
Its back towards a splendid, fresco covered wall

Gob is ushered in by the many feathered Wiseman
A redolent breeze envelopes Gob, from a ceiling fan

From a tiny bag, Gob now carefully takes out the blue scroll
Nicholas grins, as Gob's absorbed actions appear rather droll!

But the grin turns to astonishment, as the scroll is unzipped
Eyes go very wide indeed, seeing the blue manuscript!

"Young Gob! Where did you get this relic from beyond?
For, my amazement knows no bounds, so pray respond!"

Gob is taken slightly aback at this rather intense reaction
For Gob expected wise Nicholas to be, not even surprised a fraction.

"Oh wise one", Gob warily asks, "what propels thee to such consternation?"
"Is my finding this simple scroll, some very unexpected aberration?"

The pearly feathers rustle around, as Nicholas summons up his breath
As they fall silent, Nicholas begins a tale, in a manner, as ponderous as death!

Seeking Zen...

2004-09-19T15:47:00.000-07:00

Amongst feathers!

Gob enters a wonderland, the official Wiseman home
And fascinated, gazes up the curves, of an alabaster dome

Gob's reverie is broken, as a powerful flutter of wings
Fills the air around, with an unseen ripple of rings

Nicholas, with his shrewd eyes, watches Gob, intent
And now proceeds to say, in a sing-song accent

"So dear Gob, what brings you here, at this hour of dusk?
Have you too come seeking, some elusive fragrance of musk?"

"Oh no!", Gob replies, "I come seeking thy mighty wisdom,
So that the light of knowledge can banish my dark thralldom!"

At this, Nicholas smiles, and the feathers rustle again
Gob feels strangely comforted, and very near a fleeting zen

The melodious voice comes through once more, as if in a dream
Gob realizes that the feathers are giving out a peculiar gleam

Iridescent and pearly, they seem to have a life of their own
After all, with Nicholas, over innumerable lands have they flown

"Whatever be your quest, Gob, let's have it out over a cup of brew!"
Gob couldn't have wanted anything more, and beams over a "Thank You!"

The Sapphire Bell

2004-09-17T08:16:00.000-07:00

...At Nicholas's Door!

Gob takes a step, towards the Sky blue door
Which seems straight out of a fantastic folklore!

Eyes are arrested by an embedded sapphire gem
Exactly positioned, and sparkling with stratagem

Gob feels unconsciously attracted to its spherical charm
Is it just there as a doorbell, or to stave off some boggy harm?

Well worth trying it out, for whatever it is, Gob thinks
A powdery bluish glow emanates from its minuscule chinks

Gob quits gazing and rings the majestic sapphire jewel
A cheerful gurgle of a rivulet sounds, merged with a tinkle of a tiny bell

What a pleasant sound, which instantly touches the heart!
Makes one think of the times, when one played with a go-cart

The door opens, and there stands, 'Wisdom Incarnate Nicholas'!
Resplendent in his colourful quills and an outlandish truss!

Nicholas Wiseman

2004-09-16T08:38:00.000-07:00

"Bog-Brain" Supreme!

So did you wonder, what do Bog souls do?
When faced with an unsolvable riddle from Peru?

Why, simple! All roads then lead, not to Rome
But somewhere much closer to Gob's boggy home

Where the eternal "Bog-Brain", Nicholas resides
Dressed up in his colourful porcupine skin hides!

His lawn, a profusion of tropical blooms
His mode of transport, a pair of retro-fitted brooms!

Reaching his porch, Gob gazes, as usual, in wonder
The wildest of imaginations are promptly torn asunder!

A pristine white shade above, made of a metalled alloy
Is overrun by a bunch of pungent flowers of soy

The floor is tiled in an exotic shade of feral violet
On each tile, is an engraving of a unique cabriolet

Each, proclaiming how well their owner is travelled
Each, a mystical culture, waiting to be unraveled

As for the porch pillars, they are august caryatids
Laid down painstakingly in supporting emerald grids

Encircled by a multi-hued Chevaux-de-frise
Lest, they get disturbed by an occasional truant breeze

If for bog-souls like Gob, Nicholas's porch itself is aweing
Will, what waits within, be straight out of a da Vinci drawing?!

The Dark Hour

2004-09-15T08:05:00.000-07:00

...Engulfs Gob!

Taking up the blue scroll again, Gob hits a thought dam
It refuses to budge, even when attacked by a battering ram!

One of those excruciating times when, what Gob knows is not sufficient
When the knowledge to tackle unknown parameters, is pathetically deficient

Times, when the much touted common sense, doesn't come to one's rescue
In vain go all mental exertions; without exception, they draw a blank view

How does one go about seeking clues, when the basis itself is tottering?
Beyond reasonable understanding, all the meanings seem to be faltering

Out of depth, Gob feels, despondent and fatigued
It's a dark hour indeed when one stops feeling intrigued

Bewilderment replaces enthusiasm and ebullience takes a hit
It feels as if life has served one, a rather unjustified writ

Alas! Such times seem so long, and so terribly discomfiting
An interminable aeon spent, just cluelessly sitting

As Gob struggles to cope with this spate of ignorance
Gob's brain slowly recovers to work out a second line of defence...

A Way Out...

2004-09-09T08:54:00.000-07:00

...Occurs to Gob

What if, Gob thinks, we come out of our daze
Make an earnest effort to clear the haze?

Make ourselves strong enough to resist
From beastly fads, consciously desist

If mindless written words or moving media corrupts
If from our thoughts, many a violent feeling erupts

Gather up our will and move determinedly away
And not come under their devastating sway

Gore may very well be an art, an entrancing one at that
But we all know, do we not, the secret of the sauce filled vat?

So why should our eyes get glazed, seeing the latest firearm?
Are we so stupid to come under its unseemly charm?

Refuse to listen to morons preaching gun laws
We all have the power to perceive its inherent flaws

If we let a few idiots have their selfish ways
We will have eternal darkness for innumerable days

To netherworlds with this violence then, may it never come back
All the vicious souls that worship it, may they fade into black

It's time to move to the next level in our evolution
Where clarity reigns, and not confabulation

Can Calibans be Ariels ?

2004-09-06T13:13:00.000-07:00

Gob's little tempest

Gob seeks an escape out of the paper's hard reality
Dismayed by the depravity, oppressed by its cruelty

Even the sun outside, fails to clear the gloom
The heavy silence in Gob's mind, casts a pall over the room

A dark maroon bound volume, on the lair kitchen shelf
Now holds out some hope of lightening, Gob's wretched self

Reaching out and flipping though it, Gob comes upon a verse
Painting a character in words, illustrative and yet terse

Caliban : the ugly, a slave of ill-fortune
Gropes about in darkness, under the island's sandy dune

How true, Gob thinks, that we are all Calibans in some way
Ugly is our soul, its beauty and warmth, spent toiling away

We don't care what happens, to the rest of our kind
It's just our own affairs that have a grip upon our mind

It doesn't bother us anymore, if a thousand die, or two
We have after all, our own puny goals to woo

So, isn't it best, one may wonder, to mind one's own business?
Leave the planet to its own means, and its occasional grisliness?

Fair enough, but do we ever think, what happens in that case?
If we let the flowers of hope, wither before our very face?

Despots and Tyrants, who have no other jobs to pursue
Rise up among us, and it's peace, which they eschew

Whining then, about the rotten state of politics and power
Will do us no good at all, as upon a dead cause, we'll hover

The same goes for the culture, which we lamely accept as "Trend"
Yet, when it floods our own lives, the dykes, we are unable to mend

We lap up pulp fiction, glorifying hate crimes
Yet despise the same, when they bring us upon hard times

Why, Gob asks, do we not see where we are going?
Our rafts, drifting without aim, desperately need some rowing

Look at our duplicity, in books and movies, it's okay?
It's lots of fun, isn't it? ; but in real life, it's all grey

Flock to the nearest theatre like sheep, buy an expensive ticket
All to see a demented tale of a widow, wielding the deathly wicket?

More incomprehensible, is when real facts begin to resemble fiction
We shrug them off as "freak" incidents, aren't we a walking contradiction?

We intentionally chose to be ugly; chose to be a slave
When the Ariel within us was dying, we chose to dance over its grave

Spent all our money on what the few despots fed us
Sold out our soul; gave it up without any fuss!

We could've been masters or, even better, just free
Could've been Ariels or the carefree Banshee

Gob searches deep, for the evanescent solution
A way out of bondage, a graceful evolution

Anguish

2004-09-04T14:06:00.000-07:00

Four hundred lives snuffed out, and to what avail?
How hard it is to reach for peace, and yet fail!

Violence claws in, its vicious fangs tearing out life
Worthless has it become, in midst of such strife

Is being mortal not enough, that we quicken the coming of death?
Drag others into misery, rob them of the freedom of breath.

Even in peaceful times, guns seem to hold undeserved glamour
We must be blind indeed, for centuries we have let it enamour

Joining dots, for Gob, becomes such a deadening reminder
When, upon completing it, Gob is staring at a breechloader

When, Gob wonders, will we evolve enough to bury it forever?
The pain doesn't go away, when the truth is hidden by palaver

The Apostrophe!

2004-09-02T15:44:00.000-07:00

Gob's grammatical epiphany!

Gob's favourite game of join the dots, patiently awaits
As, in today's grammar corner, the little apostrophe baits

Teeters, the newspaper's resident epistemologist
Clears from among Apostrophes, some blurry grey mist

Till now, those tiny marks of punctuation, eluded Gob's understanding
Other diversions on Gob's time, have been rather more demanding!

Gob ponders deeply, whether one would append it after an "s" ?
Were the word not a plural, and used in case of a certain "Tess"?

Say, we were talking about Tess, would we be talking about "Tess's Dog"?
Or would we be chucking the "s" after the apostrophe, out into the wild bog?

It seems, as Teeters so lucidly points out, the "s" goes along too
It's only in the case of plurals, that one can stamp off the "s" with a shoe!

So, it would be Teeters's column and Tess's mangy dog
You would also be right if you said, you hated all the cities' smog

Thus ends a grammatical epiphany, a little confusion cleared
All learnt on the web, without a page being dog-eared!

Vicarious Villainy

2004-08-31T11:48:00.000-07:00

Boggy highlight: The Jesse Factor

Gob now reaches the world page of the fourth estate,
The Boggy newspaper reports, an interesting date

With a rather innocuous curly haired kid
Donning a bandanna and an attitude, unlike Sid

Gob peers at the little chap and wonders a little
"Don't be fooled!", the headline goes, "He's bristly as a nettle!"

From taking on Presidential candidates, to trashing pop stars
He has done it all, and that too, without any flashy cars

Letting his virulent pen, run wildly amok
Giving all his peeves, an eye-bruising sock!

Spewing out acid, and glorifying free speech
Sucking out the blood from even a stray leech

However, Gob does note, Jesse never loses his humour
Even when spreading his tentacles, like a malignant tumour

An undercurrent of twisted wit, runs like a vine
Through his posts, which with polemic, entwine

Acerbic to the core, but engaging all the same
Wildly over the top and never quite tame

Intense, but yet loaded with muted sarcasm
Bridging the width of a dark, but expressive chasm

Hooking in interest, shocking another moment
Churning up the evil depths of an infernal ferment

For a fourteen year old, that's quite impressive
Gob thinks of penning him a lyrical missive

But bursts into a spate of uncontrollable chuckles
Reading yet another "Jessescapade" hanging by the buckles!

Yesterday it was a saintly sage, today its a winsome villain
That's Gob's world page for you, under a boggy fickle pen!

A Nicotine Free World

2004-08-28T11:08:00.000-07:00

...Gob's song of hope

Onwards to the third page of the fourth estate
A colourful little banner reflects from Gob's shiny pate

"A world, nicotine free", it merrily announces
That awful sooty pollution, it wordily trounces

Who is this eloquent and enlightened noble scribe?
Fearlessly battling against the odious nicotine tribe!

Who but Bertelsen, yet again, writing an ardent piece
With his persuasive style and cleverly penned litotes

One who has experienced the pain of being addicted
Only knows how hard it is to quit, and avoid being convicted

In the pathological court of fine tissue and blood
Nicotine wrecks havoc like a devastating flood

Soot, its ugly and filthy companion at arms
Spewing out the chimneys of evil fag farms

Together they slowly paint all the pinks to black
If one is not careful, one may hit the permanent sack

Ah! The defiant may bawl, it's just a fancy of the nerd
To make us smokers, behave like the rest of the herd

Oh! So if you are so unbelieving, go and dissect your lung
So black it will be, that you may forget what you ever loudly sung!

Along with the soot in the background, there will be cancers too
Malignantly swarming out and insanely devouring the tissue

Once poor blood, which was being enriched with oxygen
Now finds itself being stripped of it, by dragons in a sooty den

Twenty years and you will be coughing out in wrenching pain
Afflicted with COPD, your heart pump headed down the drain

But, it need not be so drastic and such bleak an end
If from nicotine slavery, you strengthen your will, to defend

Grit your teeth and pull out your sword to fight
Know that nicotine is wrong, and you are always right

Spare your loved ones, the sooty misery
Give the wretched fag up and set yourself free

In Gob's heart, this little refrain brightly resounds
"Put down the loathsome and depraved nicotine hounds!"

Oh so delightful, will be those smoke-free hours
Does it not now, find an echoing answer in yours?

Introspection

2004-08-24T13:49:00.000-07:00

Gob peers within...

Debating universal trends, may sound very fine
But has Gob ever tried to look inside, and seek an outline?

I'm afraid, that has rarely crossed Gob's mind
But now that it does, surprisingly, Gob does find

A soul inured to the bog's bizarre ways
A spirit blind to hope's illuminating rays

For, as Corey says, so blunted is our faculty
We have ceased to use it, under a myopic fealty

Given in to the misery of a sightless existence
Without even realizing its festering purulence

So caught up are we, that we resignedly accept
Every fad in the air, as a controlling precept

So eager to conform, so easily lead astray
The little stifled soul inside, has lost its way

When good thoughts come by, we do get inspired
But the moment passes so quickly, we forget what transpired

The dull lead of burden, comes to rest instead
In our heart, in our work, in each homestead

So reflects Gob, and wonders, if there is a cure?
Can we ever go back, to a state more pure?

Where we are free to think, what we really want to
And not what we are fed forcibly, immured in an unlit zoo

Not what catches the fancy, of a mass of mindless sheep
The cattle will move on soon, and leave us to weep

Their influence may be unseen, but insidious all the same
Seeping into the spirit, like a smouldering flame

That is not life, Anti; just a well-disguised prison
That we have created for ourselves, for want of a vision

It is time for Gob, to work around this handicap
Time for rebuilding and getting past the energy sap

And so will it, for all the dear friendly souls, Gob hopes
Time to see the bog anew, through colorful kaleidoscopes! :)

Thought For The Day...

2004-08-21T19:00:00.000-07:00

.. Or Gob sees the dilemma, the cafeRg way.

Just as Gob's finicky mind decides to call it quits
Eyes stray over a piece of cafeRg's wits

In black letter, is, "cafeRg's Thought For The Day"
Fitted in neatly into the second page outlay

"No-one notices substance, if not for the style",
"Once they are hooked, though, substance wins the smile"

Gob wonders, just why this is universally true?
Is it so hard to give credit, where it is is due?

Why is it, that a mere shell, to us all, is so alluring?
Why do our senses ignore values, deeper and enduring?

Gob Reflects On Bertelsen's Thoughts...

2004-08-18T10:32:00.000-07:00

...and on some boggy economics

Leaving the essay, Gob flips the page
Responding to flippancy, with a justifiable rage

Comes upon a gem of an article, which sends thoughts flying
A piece of exquisite utility, a lease for the dying!

Bertelsen, the savvy epitome of perfection
He, whose name alone, would serve as an apt description

Whose journals on the web, blaze time itself
Writes today, and his words just leap from the shelf

For, words well written, often have the best impact
They value substance, and don't distort a fact

Substance, as one may or may not agree
Comes in many ways, but always for a fee.

Style on the other hand is actually cheap
Afforded, even by the poorest of sheep

Why?, you may ask, doesn't it sound contrary?
If you asked that, you do yourself credit; being wary

How much do we pay for the love that we receive?
From dear ones, from friends, even from a pet peeve.

We pay a lot, my dear friend, we pay with the mind
Loving them back, we pay quite richly in kind

"Ha!", you may still argue, "Not a penny departed my purse!"
Halt right there, Gob has plenty to say about that infernal curse!

Why do we measure everything in a monetary balance?
Has money in itself got some chemically attractive valence?

That, we talk about it frequently, and passionately so
Other topics get from us, a priority quite low!

One defiant voice shouts, "Gob! Money even makes the mayor go!"
"Why, I can use it to effectively bribe you or the venal foe!"

Keep silent, dear friend, the Bog has no use for such cash inflow
That, you make such assertions, and spell them out, cheekily so!

Substance takes many forms, love not being alone
In each, when compared, style is a cheaper clone

Be it the Google Navbar or the flimsy essay
Everywhere, style comes off, cheaper in pay

For, however snazzy the vehicle may be
Style cannot, a performance, guarantee

The same can be said of a thoughtfully given gift
Would you rather have use for it, or through its packing, sift?

Everyday, we are lured to our decisions
Deceived by appearances, led by our faulty visions

But do we ever, Gob wonders, stop to analyse?
That, trusting style over substance, cannot be very wise?

There is, however, an occasional shining ray
When, this theory, in practice gives way

Along with the shine of style, sometimes substance is chanced
A moment of discovery, when the unknown is romanced

But, Gob concludes, such moments are rare indeed
Like precious flowers, overrun by a bed of weed

Ambiguous, though it may seem, Gob chuckles
A mischievous gleam, in Gob's eyes, twinkles

Stops and stoops to smell the aromatic flower
I think Gob will keep it, though not its entire bower!

Gob Is Googlified!

2004-08-17T11:53:00.000-07:00

Does Gob want style or substance?

Big words, complicated style; that's the way it was
The essay below, much to Gob's disgust, was filled with unbelievable gloss!

It began nowhere, it lead nowhere, it just went around in circles
It could very well have been a monograph, about sea-faring barnacles!

Who wrote this piece of junk?; how in the bog, was it published?
It looked as though every sentence was left, intentionally unfinished!

It wasn't related to the coal sketch above, neither did it give a faint clue
It just specialized in jumping, it seemed, to unrelated topics like a kangaroo!

Not unlike the new Google Navbar, which adorns the space above
For it, I'm sure Gob doesn't have, even a shred of lost love!

The essay, as well as the Google Navbar, don't really do their job
No proper references, no comprehensive search, just the presence of a snob

Of what use is an essay, which defeats its own cause?
Just a waste of acreage and an irreplaceable time loss!

Why peruse the essay or for that matter, the new Navbar?
When alternatives exist, far better than an empty cookie jar!?

A Coal Sketch

2004-08-14T15:37:00.000-07:00

On the grainy newsprint, is a sprawling image
Taking up, in black and white, the paper's acreage

Underneath a caption screams, "Trail Of Grauballe"
Followed by an eloquent, and wordy long essay

May be, to a Bog Soul, it might not have accounted for much
However, it holds Gob, by the hair, in its stirring clutch

The image is just a grayscaled bit, of the mysterious blue scroll
It seemed as if someone had scrawled it, with a piece of coal

But Gob does note that something is terribly amiss
Besides the colour, the markings, as in the original, just don't exist!

Morning Blues...

2004-08-12T16:15:00.000-07:00

...And a shock!

How does one cope up with the morning blues?
Gob's mind is filled with contradictory views

Should Gob get up now and start the daily grind
Or stay in bed and, for an hour more, unwind?

Knock Knock, the doornail sounds; the mongers are here
What's Gob to do now, but answer; what a fate! Oh dear!

The streamers are exchanged for the roll of news
Today the mongers also deliver a packet of fresh brews

Ah! Surely a sign that Gob should shake out of sloth
Fix a hearty breakfast and shake up the table cloth

So humming a piece of melody, picked up from a boggy jaunt
Gob drags aching feet to the familiar morning haunt

The kitchen has been sleeping for almost a day now
Gob presently bustles around it, and indolence takes a bow

Finally, the kettle is whistling and the morning meal is done
Gob settles down at the table and chews on butter and bun

Why not join the dots today and see what the sage has to say?
Gob thinks, and unfurls the paper, but is blown away!

The front page of the paper leaps to Gob's consciousness
Whatever sloth was hidden inside, now makes a speedy egress!

Saturn's Boggy Sojourn

2004-08-10T14:43:00.000-07:00

In Gob's metaphysical world, we take a peek again
Journey to a reality, in a different ethereal plane

Though Gob sleeps peacefully, inside there is chaos
A huge saturnine visitor, is planted in a field of moss

Boggy creatures buzz around, in the aestival night
As, resplendent in a bluish glow, the guest arrests the sight

Smooth and shaped like a globe, streaked with pearly white
A encircling luminous ring levitates, in a size just right

Gob is among the multitudes, who have gathered around in awe
"Why has this thing come to our bog?", asks a yellow macaw

No-one knows the answer, no-one attempts a guess
Of this brilliant stranger to the Bog, no-one knows the address

Gob watches from a corner, and is puzzled as can be
Vaguely wonders how nice it would be to have a cup of tea!

The globe suddenly ruptures, sends out dazzling rays
They hit Gob piercingly and directly on the face

So intense is their brightness, that Gob can't stand the strain
Wakes up and sees the sunlight streaming, in from the window pane

Its Tough...

2004-08-09T13:55:00.000-07:00

To sleep on a bed of moss!

It's past midnight and the Bog crickets are wailing
In dark purple puddles, queer insects are sailing

Gob awakens with a jolt, to realize
That, sleeping out in the open, has its price

Nasty little creepies have crawled up Gob's face
Licking every feature and finding their spiral ways

The heavy green moss from the boggy bed
Sticks persistently, to the back of Gob's head

To make it worse, a light drizzle has started
The clear deep blue, from the sky, has departed

Getting wet is one thing that Gob can't bear
So finally, Gob gets up and hurries to the lair

It's been a long day and Gob longs for a cup of brew
Something to eat would be very welcome too

But who will now go and fire up the cooking stove?
Cut up the veggies and grind up the clove?

Gob isn't inclined at all to work up a sweat
When one is extremely tired, hunger is easy to forget

Icarus At Night...

2004-08-07T20:24:00.000-07:00

Spellbound by the deep blue wealth of the skies
Unwilling to leave, bewitched Gob lies

Gazing through the stardust, with enchanted eyes
Gob's soul is imbued, with their myriad dyes

As the landscape of the heavens, enthralls the mind
Unexplored niches, Gob's eyes, ceaselessly find

Whizzing giant dragons, blinking little tots
Falling graceful angels, seven-rayed dots

Luminous greens and vibrant new violets
Merge into blues and celestial epaulets

The angel of sleep now graces the screen
Serenades the clouds, in a robe of aquamarine

Gob's eyelids droop, as wings sprout from behind
Wave about and flutter, like a venetian blind

As Gob soars off, into the land of the nine Gods
Helios and the Moon applaud, and wave their magic rods!

Crow's Feet

2004-08-05T10:50:00.000-07:00

Among The Stars

The Bog is verdant underfoot, with tessellated vines
They creep and twist on its floor, cloaking the peat mines

Gob dreamily staring and marvelling at José's smiles
Trips now over one of these, treacherous Boggy tiles

Down, down, down, the drop goes on forever
Till Gob comes to lie facing the star spangled sparver

The vast welkin seems to be alight with them tonight
Dotted and milky, strewn with gems sparkling bright

Wispy clouds, who'd rather not come down as rain
Float around playfully, amidst the giant astral chain

For Gob's eyes, a panoramic accidental feast
Who could care about getting up now, in the least?!

Tracing majestic outlines, Gob now espies
Orion, with his panoply, raging in the skies

Does not the hunter's eyes twinkle with merriment?
Jagged wisps of crow's feet adorn his lineament!

What a delightful trick of nebular illusion!
A minute of fantasy; a joyous delusion!

What A Smile!

2004-08-04T13:23:00.000-07:00

At "Pluck"...

Gob smiles a smile of happiness, now that a stamp is stuck
And takes a nightly stroll to the delivery-service, "Pluck"

On its front is a calligraphed billboard, letters stencilled on a frame
Wooing the denizens with a 24-hour service,"Pluck" lives up to its name!

A bunch of gutsy toads of the Bog, handle the dispatch
In the small rickety Bog-Post-Office, its ceiling made of thatch

As Gob walks in, a croaky welcome resounds the air
Gob is their frequent visitor and quite well known there

José, the head postmaster flashes Gob a massive grin
It stretches and makes more obvious his funny double chin

"Hola Gob!, ¿Cómo es usted?", he croaks out in Spanish
"Estoy muy bien", Gob answers and sees José's eyes vanish

How does one, Gob wonders, put their whole heart into a smile?
So the whole face transforms in a stroke of joy, so very versatile!

José has one such charm out of his many, that transcend
The barriers of language and borders, they effortlessly bend

To be flashed that very charming smile, Gob had learnt the phrase
Of the language, which sounded, so full of lyrical intensity & grace

Some day, Gob wished, probably touching a life of nine decades,
To be well-versed in twenty tongues, and their varied shades

Dear Danny...

2004-08-03T01:00:00.000-07:00

Gob writes to say...

Gob curiously picks up the mail; who in the Bog could it be?
The letter, as it is flipped, gives a faint scent of the salty sea

In neat flowing alphabets in blue ink, it spells out a familiar name
Ah! Gob is relieved that it is not spam, or a weird guessing game!

Danny, The Poet, writes from an exotic land, beyond the great blue sea
For Gob, stuck for aeons in the Bog, it's not at all an event, wee!

Breaks open the seal with unstifled haste, as excited little eyes seek
Musings of tragic verse, unexampled, even in classical Greek

As Gob scans through Danny's letter, disappointment creeps right in
The Poet has written in to say his journal would now, only hit the trash bin!

The reasons he gives are even worse; he actually thinks it's boring!
Oh for the love of the Bog, does he not see that it sends imaginations soaring?!

Gob grabs the soggy pencil and furiously scribbles out a reply
Such matters are not to be ignored, or left off with only a sigh

Dear Danny, Gob writes, ...And how do you do today?
Hope the cheerful sun in the sky hit you with its sparkling ray!

Nasty things in life abound, which might make us very sore
Many souls and circumstances which make us rage like a boar

But giving up writing is not a cure for such coughs and hiccups
For, writing is truly an art which perseveres through downs & ups

In dealings with your wild world, you've no doubt been bruised
Your verse is your weapon against those, by whom you've been used!

You fear, if your decision were revoked, you would be "perceived as a liar"?
That is so entirely laughable, it sounds funny even in my gloomy mire!

Do you even know how many of us fans are out here waiting for your prose?
So we could do our best to cheer you on and, to your life, raise a hearty toast!

According to a little snippet I read, there are two Billion souls on the web
A miniscule of 'em had had a chance to read you and yet, you choose to ebb?!

"Attention Seeking", you say; young sir, you definitely are NOT!
Do you go about the lair-tops screaming that you are about to get shot?!

Worse, do you go about mailing spam highlighted in sickly yellow?
Or do you secretly combine nitroglycerine with inflammable tallow?!

To hell with the judgmental idiots; your life is, but your own
Leave 'em to rot till their carcasses turn a grauballine roan

The beauty of life, my dear friend, lies not in finding sorrow
Do what you can today and forget it 'cause there is still a morrow

If you have to toil and sell your soul to make it, in your brutal world
Don't you repent 'cause it has long been, that with lady luck, you twirled

For, she is a fanciful mistress and also a fickle-minded old dame
When you think least about her, she'll be back in your game!

Cheer up Danny boy, the toads in the Bog are a dancing
Rework all your strategies and learn some crafty romancing

Your journal is your friend through the thick and thin of your blood
Don't abandon it, especially now; don't give in to a grumpy flood!

Fight back & drive those demons of doubt far away, into gloom
They'll never dare to come back to you; they'll crash to their doom!

The Ninth Sense

2004-08-02T14:44:00.000-07:00

Gob's Art...

The fronds slowly weave together, almost magically, as one
Some ornately patterned after crescents, and still others, as the sun

Caressed by almost a divine touch, they flow out like a rivulet
Reflecting Gob's mood just as the waters mirror the sunset

In Gob's Bog there are nine senses. No, they don't come in fives!
The ninth one is kinesthetic, for which every Bog-soul strives

The sense of touch and of position, combined in a unique way
They open the window of the soul to every perceivable outlay

Before ye think it is a "gift" of birth, let me hurry & clarify
The ninth sense of the Bog is, by most, easily passed by

For, it comes with happiness and an extraordinary will to love
Thy work, spirit and most of all art, peerless as a pure white dove

The streamers are almost done now, they are hung by the window
Giving out the luscious perfume of a dew-soaked spring meadow

As Gob prepares to go back to the scroll, in peals a chime of tin
The passing night-mail-mobile chucks in a letter sealed with paraffin.

Dusk

2004-08-01T10:57:00.000-07:00

Gob Toils...

It is nearing dusk, and the sky is overcast
A gloomy grey duskiness reigns over, unsurpassed

Soon the night will envelope all vestiges of light
There will be just dark olive green everywhere in sight

In Gob's little lair a lamp burns its wick out
Gob is working at something, with an attention devout

Intertwining strands of moss curl out from the desk
Intricately showcasing a beauty romanesque

But Gob's countenance is full of impatience
The air is laden with the dusky bog incense

It is surely a demanding job and well, it must be done
If Gob were to have tomorrow's news even before the sun

Gob's still on it...

2004-07-31T08:42:00.000-07:00

Perseverance Pays ?

Past noon in the Bog, and the wasps are droning
Gob's little stomach is miserably moaning

But Gob heeds not, its lamenting cry
Pores over the scroll steadily, aiming high

Doggedly scrutinizes its every single part
Including the red circled script in its heart

It seems, however, to make no sense at all
Baffled Gob is, without any wherewithal

Perseverance, they say, pays in the end
Echo it to make lazy souls, their ways, mend

Sometimes however 'tis not the case
Whatever you do, failure licks your face

Follows you through hours of your toil
Whatever you do, its doggedness, you fail to foil!

So what do you do then? Do you sigh & accept it?
Drop resignedly and end up in the morose pit?

Of course not, you try and you try, till your chin is finally up
Whoop wildly & rush to celebrate with a champagne cup !

For all the failure licks are well worth their price
Roll without fail and land the 'six' in the dice

Sweet indeed is the glorious sight of success
After all, you escape the dreadful failure mess

Life anywhere and in Gob's Bog is almost the same
A rose and a fern are themselves, whatever their name

The Blue Scroll

2004-07-29T08:03:00.000-07:00

A Gob's Eye View

Too much of ranting, now its time for some intrigue
Were ye not on the brink of a prosodic fatigue?

Gob's scroll lies waiting, beckoning thy eyes
Who knows what awaits in its powdery blue guise!

Gob's eager attention, it holds for pretty long
Bewitching Gob with its remote & arcane song

Funny rows of runic symbols are scattered as if in code
Could it be an esoteric attempt at penning an ode?

Gob's brows knit in an attempt to decipher it all
It now seems as tough as spotting ferns in the fall

On the background of blue is a bizarre pattern
Could it have been borrowed from the crypts of Wyvern?

Thin lines and thick lines of varied colours
Were they a part of secluded abstruse contours?

In the middle is a black script circled in red
Could it be the beginning of a ciphered thread?

A myriad of puzzles now seep into Gob's consciousness
Probably their answer lies hidden in an obscure recess

We will trust Time again to unravel their yarn
Exit now through Gob's carved lair door, cedarn

The Bog-Long Itch...

2004-07-27T08:19:00.000-07:00

Musings On Being "Different"

The light blue roll lies waiting, its mysteries shrouded in time
Gob eagerly unrolls it and finally, gets off the placid dime

Isn't it so irritating when things get postponed like they do?
Really want to do something?, Get a million other chores to woo!

When you want to sleep in the morn, "well-wishers" think you are sick
When you want to work at night, they tell you not to light the wick!

Conventions of this ridiculous world are so hard to understand
If Gob or me had our way, we would wave 'em off with a wand!

Alas we suffer from the same old fatal malady,
Squeezing ourselves into shape to pay the usurious fee

So how do we change our patterns of action and assert our very soul?
That is such a hard question, it could figure in a global tough poll!

In a Bog where denizens think only about their next hearty meal
Gob is hopelessly stuck for aeons, a classic and real raw deal

To be different is a predicament, a jellyfish among crabby hogs
It is totally a class apart than being gifted with the ways of bogs

For, being gifted is simply being good or perfect in a banality
But being different is a curse that to the world appears as a frailty

A way out of mundane existence hardly ever presents itself
The only means of freedom appears to be clawing out the pelf

The Arctic Warrior

2004-07-24T13:18:00.000-07:00

At Gob's door...

Tindling Ting Ting Ta Ring goes Gob's doorbell
How different in their cadence, from the tolling knell!

The arctic warrior from the northern lands has chosen this day
To descend from his icy abode and come the boggy way

As Gob ushers him in, he gives his radiant cheerful smile
His deep blue eyes reflect Gob's face, devoid of any guile

No new news but of the Grauballine flight, but Gob is still delighted
The warrior's dulcet tones make interesting, even topics blighted

As he speaks, his deep blue eyes sparkle with a lambent light
His narration makes even awry things seem perfectly right!

Ah! But a new bit of information makes Gob's ears prick up
As Gob hears, his brew spills over from the ceramic cup

Seems the robbers of the rubbery beast were back at the crack of dawn
Hunting through the bog for something lost, seen by Gob's friend John

Searching furiously, they had ripped through curtains of boggy green
By the warrior's description, to Gob, they seemed ruthless & pretty mean

The warrior now hands over to Gob, a shining round disc
Rainbow lights spring off it in a coloured pattern, brisk

It seems he had found it in his icy domain, a few moons ago
Wedged in between the jagged rims of a massive floe

Now he gifts it to Gob with his characteristic beaming grin
Gob cannot help but smile at the little dimple on his chin

What does one do with a shiny disc?, Gob now secretly wonders
But one doesn't carp when one gets a gift from generous Alexanders!

They have some cookies from Gob's kitchen, plum flavoured and sugar free
Better to abstain, than court a disease that wins the pathological grand prix!

The arctic warrior now takes leave and floats off to boggy domains
The Bog has been made extra-slushy by yesterday's heavy rains

Now Gob has an additional reason to be curious about the purple thing
Gob is sure now that it was the reason for the robbers' newest boggy fling

Bog-xotic Brew...

2004-07-22T18:51:00.000-07:00

For the merry shrew!

Gob has had enough of poring over fine print
It's time now to brush off the gossamer of brain-lint

Cheers to that Bog-xotic aromatic dark brew
Which turns any snail into a rustling shrew

Slithers past the window and scoops up the purple thing
Heads deep into the lair towards the kitchen wing

Right to the stove where a kettle merrily steams
Rips open a packet of brew, bursting at its seams

Oh! To breathe in that heavenly, piquant heady scent
Feel so invigorated, close to a cent per cent!

For such is the power of the brew that Gob now drinks
Drives away sloth, that hankering after forty winks

Sipping it, Gob flips over the purple creature
It splits up again to reveal its hollow feature

In a corner is, rolled up, something powder blue
It doesn't look as if it were a mere blob of glue

As Gob probes further, the roll comes off loose
It unfurls a bit more with a gentle little whoosh

On it are lines, some dotted and some with colour
Series of symbols, some smaller and others taller

As Gob spreads it out fully over the kitchen table
The roll seems to spell out details of an arcane fable

Ah! But you my dear friend, have to wait a bit more
For Gob pauses now, hearing someone at the door!

Pages Within

2004-07-18T14:05:00.000-07:00

Gob's Newspaper!

So Grauballes' cousin had vanished into the world unknown
Gone on a permanent vacation without a holiday loan

The report debates the future of the bog, without
But within Gob's mind it finds no resonating shout

How ironic, Gob thinks, that his presence made no news
But now that he was gone forever, it took on vivid hues!

How insane the bog was, to take little notice of souls
When they were very much present, and not absent like ghouls

Funny how the world in general, though bustling with incessant life
Thrusts the living into oblivion until they are murdered with a knife

Oh well, thinks Gob, and turns to the page beyond
Stares at a full page feature of a gullible bog-soul conned

Everyday it was the same, some new victim notwithstanding
The name of the publication could very well be, "Injustice Unending"!

Flipping a few more sheets brings Gob to the world page
Here is a riveting profile of an extra-boggy wise sage

It seems the sage could remember happenings, a century old
A blurry picture shows the sage, sitting with a cross-legged fold

Wearing garments of Crimson, hair heaped to a curly bun
The sage's face is serenity itself, a smile radiant as the sun

"Peace", the sage, it seems said, "is so hard to come by."
"Yet the world flirts with war, a despicably big lie!"

"Greed drives all the souls in it, blinding them to simple love
They burn and plunder, and in the end, kick out the olive carrying dove."

As Gob contemplates this little message with a stream of thoughts
Flips the page again to come to the favourite game of "Join The Dots"!

Grabs a soggy pencil and traces the unknown outline
Is disgusted beyond words when it takes a shape, Grauballine!

Can't help wondering if there's a limit at all, to this unhealthy obsession?
Debating to death a long-gone soul, it seems, is the next big boggy passion!

Gob's Blank Wall...

2004-07-15T18:53:00.000-07:00

When The Soul Shuts...

It has been long, my friend, it certainly has been
A period of staring at space, for thoughts are lean

Gob has one of those moments now with an eternity numbed
Pages of memories flit by, with not a thought thumbed

As the news breaks and washes over Gob's sands of time
Gob stands there with pail & trowel as if in a pantomime

A castle & moat remain to be built on the beaches of life
But how can Gob's mind go ahead, when it is full of strife?

Dawn...

2004-07-11T15:41:00.000-07:00

In Gob's Bog

Meanwhile in the lair it is time to contemplate
As Gob's little mind decides whether to get up late

But as Gob slumps back lazily into the fluffy bed
Sees the odd thing by the window, a queer shade of red

Oh Right! Gob did have the better part of the day
To explore the contents of the purple castaway

But now as the light comes streaming into the little abode
At the door comes knocking the news-mongering horde

Now Gob has to get up and walk by the window
With a small bunch of sphagnum streamers in tow

Yep! Those are what Gob makes, to barter for news
The streamers help Gob trade in the world views

As Gob walks by the window, another head pops up
Peeps in at the window and asks Gob, "What's Up?"

Oh dear! Gob now wishes there were no windows and doors
The portals to a stream of pesky badgering rumour-whores

The newest head is of Meanie - The epitome of gossip
Sometimes Gob wished Meanie were castigated by a whip!

Alas! Gob is an observant mild-mannered introvert
Knows very well that belaboring someone would only subvert

All vestiges of conscience and all thoughts of reform
Could anticipate respect melting and hate entering in a swarm

One who is given to vice, cannot be contained with wrath
A little wisdom is needed before you enter the warpath

Think clearly of who your enemy really is
Are they worth spoiling your two cents worth of bliss?

If not, then why waste your precious energy in haste?
A future lies in store with many more pleasures ahead to taste

So Gob exchanges with Meanie some meaningless pleasantry
Moves ahead to hear about news of the happenings, in the hours wee

The News-Mongers are waiting in an impatient mood
They are part of a young and restless boggy brood

Shutting the door, a big screaming headline, Gob now confronts
Grauballes' cousin is indeed missing, from amongst the boggy fronds!

The hunter from beyond...

2004-07-09T18:49:00.000-07:00

John rules the skies from his eyrie above
A sharp pair of eyes beneath his bushy brow

A visage as keen as it is indomitably fierce
Talons so well-honed, easily could they pierce

The toughest of hides, in the bloodiest of savage battles
Be it a nimble-footed hare or the threat of serpentine rattles

Gob once had had a chance to see 'em up close
After all Gob was one of John's oldest foes

But Gob's erudition won over John, ever so grudgingly
For Gob faced the winged beast who made pettier mortals flee

John had a vivid taste of Gob's fiery eloquence
Was surprised since his quarries were mostly rather dense

Gifted Gob with life in return for his passionate plea
It was indeed, for a mere speech, a highly valued fee

And so, the hunter's war-cries float down from the skies
To swiftly prey on liars and crooks; rid the Bog of their lies...

An Infernal Vision...

2004-07-06T17:00:00.000-07:00

In Gob's Lair...

So we return even before the dawn breaks
The Bog's unending thirst, the stubborn rain slakes

Pitter Patter is not definitely the sound it makes
Slosh Slooosh is what one hears, if one suddenly wakes

We softly peep in through Gob's little lair door
Fast asleep is Gob, dreaming about some lore

Into Gob's dreams we enter silent and light
Whom does Gob usually have in nightly visions to fight?

A purple haze fills the high-roofed arena
Gob is in court under a subpoena

The Judge peers at Gob through glasses a mile deep
He probably believes what you sow is what you reap

But what has poor Gob sown to deserve this?
A courtroom dream to disturb Gob's sleepy bliss

Clipetty Clipetty Clop, big boot steps resound
Along with the ruthless braying of a police hound

A huge swarthy officer brings in some more evidence
The court is further enveloped in purple putrid incense

Gob meanwhile is almost ready to violently puke
Couldn't care less if that were in presence of a duke

Senses assailed by the obnoxious scent
By the shrieking belch of Gob, the air around is rent

The officer meanwhile has unsheathed the evidence
Then withdraws to lean by the court's corner fence

On the wooden table-top right in the middle
The purple alien from the bog lies fit as a fiddle

Gob's eyes bob in and out in utmost bulging horror
As, at the purple nemesis Gob stares in terror

From the back of the court comes a collective gasp
Several voices chatter in a very excited rasp

The Judge gets up, disgusted by the scene
He is pretty massive and far from being lean

He thinks some and then raises his infernal mallet
But as he does his hand suddenly seems to miss his wallet

The mallet hovers unceremoniously over the table in mid-air
The Judge seethes, however the chatterers don't seem to care

Gob cowers with fright in the malefactor box
Sweat runs down profusely and soaks Gob's socks

Suddenly the whole court spins to a whirl
The purple haze vanishes with a little twirl

Gob wakes up from a nightmarish trip
Licks over slowly a very dry lower lip

In the dim light of the wet and early dawn
Gob then hears the cries of the hunter, John

Gob Explores...

2004-07-05T19:51:00.000-07:00

In a boggy lair...

A long slither takes Gob to the dark little lair
It is Gob's home in the midst of the Boggy mire

All that wet weather outside makes Gob rage and fume
It makes an already funereal Bog, look more like a tomb

Once inside, Gob scrutinizes the odd purple booty
Licks it a bit to find that it tastes a bit salty & sooty

It is shaped in a shape that Gob has never known
As Gob tries to figure it out, forehead wrinkles into a frown

On its purple surface it has an interesting little part
It shimmers in rainbow colours, here and there they dart

As Gob pries more, the purple thing breaks suddenly in two
It has a hollow inside with a roll of something light blue

Oh! The mystery deepens, Gob thinks what in the Bog it could be
Can't guess as to what this thing is except, its not a living flea

Let us part for today and join Gob at the break of another dawn
In this tale of life as a bog there are many who play the pawn

The Purple Stranger...

2004-07-04T09:36:00.000-07:00

Enters The Bog !

As Gob peers hard through the failing light
At the source of the scent so intoxicatingly right

Eyes grow wider and keener by the seconds
Must be somethin' good or so Gob reckons

Straining are Gob's Pupils in their diametric might
Bewildered Gob is, as it comes within sight

In the midst of all that wild boggy bushy muck
Lies a purple creature shaped very unlike a duck

Gob slithers closer and eyebrows shoot higher
Grauballes' cousin has been smuggled out the mire!

Pity overwhelms Gob for that misshapen rubbery beast
He who rested for long and troubled no one in the least

For a moment Gob forgets the purple interloper
Not unlike the distracted worried housekeeper

For Gob sees the muddy trail that leads out the Bog
Thinks, it's very unlikely that the beast went for a jog !

Thinking so, Gob turns, and eyes catch sight again
Of the queer little purple alien in the pouring rain

It has not moved , nopes, not even an inch
Gob thinks of giving it an almighty pinch

Its scent is fast vanishing in the wetness of the Bog
Gob hears the approaching rant of Meanie -The Frog

If Gob wants to know the mystery of the purple guest
The best now would be to avoid the froggy pest

In the recklessness of the moment impatient Gob hurries
Hides the purple stranger under his hood and scurries

A Scented Hunt...

2004-07-03T11:26:00.000-07:00

Through The Bog

As Gob tracks near, a crack of vicious light
Strikes close by, leaving Gob's heart in fright

What Gob fears is not the luminous threat
The Bog excels in getting unpleasantly wet

Makes moving difficult, makes life messy
Ruins one's attire, especially when its dressy

Gob's little bag with its silver spoon and fork
Rattles a bit as it brushes by the Bog folk

"Meanie, The Nut" - a frog to be precise
Looks in awe at "Gob, The Vile & The Wise"

But today is not the day for trifling little banter
No time to lend an ear to the puny measly ranter

For the scent draws very near, enticingly warm
The big splash still echoes, the Bog rippling in form

Parting the heavy curtains of thick spaghnum velvet
What Gob beholds is withheld for morrow, don't fret!

Another day...

2004-07-02T11:25:00.000-07:00

In Gob's Bog

Another day in Gob's life, a sojourn in the Bog
Unnoticed passes existence, no limelight does it hog

Thick and mossy the sky appears, as eyes glance beyond
A patch of blue they thirst for, obscured by a hungry frond

A meaning Gob doth seek to ease this wretched trek
Sometimes darkness descends heavy, robbing every feck

Yet some days dawn bright and gay tolling bells ring out
Doom is banished away and hope completes a rout

Fury lashes, voices scatter, and finally end with a splash
Into the prey's consciousness, a wafting scent doth dash

An evil smile spreads over Gob's face, wily and twisted
It's time to relish forbidden fruits, get unknowns listed ...

Blogging on Gob's Bog

2004-07-01T11:32:00.000-07:00

Why such a tongue twisting name? Well, life as I know it
is so uncannily similar to a Bog.

Still, why a "Bog"?, the persistent ones among you
might ask.

I answer with verse:

Carefully one treads in life, just as it is
Sucked in quickly, though contrary we may wish

Unpredictable as a bog, it does seem now and then
Predictable it was, though you can't remember when

Life abounds, and so does weary death
Cased in a brown and stained old breath

Stagnating and acidic; teeming with menace
On the surface though it seems, delicate as a lace

Flowers with colour and a charming queer smell
Get pricked by one and in your eyes, tears swell

Bouncing with vitality, appearances are fake
Beneath you find carcasses embalmed at stake

O persistent querying soul, did you find your response?
Lean back if you did, and in your couch be ensconced