Infinite Oblivian – Conversation Poem – September 27, 2015

“Some of us think holding on makes us strong but sometimes it is letting go.” By Hermann Hesse

Looking at the news today
I see more fruitless acrobatics
of our fearless talking heads
whilst the sands of time continue
to flow inexorably
into infinite oblivion.

What can the meaning be I ask
of sifting through this sandy chaff
looking for the heart of reason
in the wooden minds of men
dedicated to their causes
born in infinite oblivion.

Holding onto patient reason
whilst swaddled in emotional fluff
searching for logic and truth
where neither have ever been
patience is strength they say
[or maybe just infinite oblivion].

Bullets fly in place of stones
[the blood that flows is always red]
men still kill for their almighty truths
[those emissions of mental onanism]
children cry and die – the poor are yet poorer
And our leaders sit debating – in infinite oblivion

© G.s.k. ‘15

For more information about the Conversation Poem go here:  What Are the Characteristics of Conversation Poems?

Linked to:  Writing Prompt #126 “Collage 7″

Pakistan in Rovereto – Conversation Poem

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This file is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 2.0 Generic license on Wikipedia

Hello sir, you’ve a lovely shop here … does everything come from Pakistan?

No, I’ve food that comes from Turkey too, India, Syria, China and Albania!

I see you’ve ghee, basmati rice and tea … and look at all these spices too!

167 spices from throughout the orient, 6 types of basmati as well as 5 types of patna rice and 7 types of green tea, including Chinese!

And do you have halva, what of baklava?  I’d love some filafel and samosa too!

Alas, the halva is all sold out now and no one in Italy I know can bake baklava.  I have a mix for filafel, and samosa snacks in three flavors as well as frozen to be fresh fried! I’ve coconut milk and tahine …

I have fresh baked goods from Milan, made by a baker friend of mine.  (They’re really very very  good.)  Look at these  5 types of cookies, these pastries and in the fridge I have some special treats …  just like we have in Pakistan.

Oh my! I see you have henna as well … both for my hair or to decorate my hands.

Yes, and kohl for your eyes as well … and tiger balm from China.

As I looked around I saw Quaker oats, peanut butter and bottles of Coke imported from foreign lands.  Special cooking pots, fans as well as vegetables and meat … halal of course! 

I bought some samosa, some cookies, ginger beer and a tube henna, and promised I’d be back!

Inspired by dVerse Poets Pub – Conversation Poem

All in a Word – Bastet’s Sunday Prompts


War – Conversation Poem

The man sat at his vending-stall
one bright spring sunny day
selling his wares to one and all
and plying his interesting trade
people looked quite interested
in the bombs and the hand grenades
and he told all about their history
and of the 1914 war.

Some shook their heads
some made remarks
about that long gone war
too bad that all those young boys
died,  were maimed,
so many long years ago …
“aren’t we lucky” one man did say
“that war is now just history,
that no one needs to die today
for empires and positions”.

I heard a man sit there and say
“sometimes war can’t be avoided …
it’s all about peace, you know
and who first does the invading”.
I saw a woman shake her head
“I’m glad that war’s behind us!”
but then I think about the news
and say: “War is all around us.”


Written for All in a Word – Bastet’s Sunday Prompts

Today is Friday – Conversation Poem


Today is Friday … and in the past
I would have said: “at last!” …
but now, each day
runs one into the other
and whether week day or week-end,
it doesn’t really matter.

A life of work and study
makes Friday a special day for me
but, the realty is that
I no longer have any particular reason
to set my weekly watch on this day.
No work outside my home
no studies for which to roam …
each day is the same …
whether week day or week-end,
it doesn’t really matter.

But still … when I see the calendar
and that day pops into sight,
something quickens in me …
my imagination begins to plan
the weekend that’s up ahead,
then, if by chance it rains,
as so often does these days,
on a Saturday or Sunday …
I feel a little saddened, until I realize
that whether week day or week-end
it doesn’t really matter.

The rest of the world around me
still celebrates this magic day …
and everyone sighs with relief
and each one has his say …
with joy or perhaps disgust,
depending on the weather,
that Friday is so special …
Who am I do deny this habit?
Who am I to deny that Friday
is magic,
to others it is so.
For them it’s a goal, to me,
whether it be a week day or week-end
it doesn’t really matter.

Today is Friday …
and I’m going to go out and buy,
an espresso machine …
mine burnt out last night
and I’m reduced to drinking
moka-made coffee…
it’s just not the same.
So, now I have a special goal
something to look forward to,
because this week-end there’s a
special sale
at my favorite electronics store.
This makes a difference…
now, I cannot say:
whether a week day or week-end
it doesn’t really matter.

A life-time habit,
cannot be whisked under the rug
like the dust of time, that has settled
upon my shoulders and in my mind.
Friday, is another day, ’tis true
I cannot deny that
nor that any day of the week
is more special than another,
except for Thursday…
the only day of the week
when I still work outside my home.
without Thursday …
all the week days and week-ends
really wouldn’t matter.


This week, I presented two poems by Samuel Coleridge to my English Conversation group: ‘The Rime of the Ancient Mariner’ and ‘Kublai Khan’.  I also went over Coleridge’s life and omnia of poetry on my own.  Once again, I came across his conversation poems.  I was tempted to present  them … but the other two were more suitable and everyone seemed to have a good time.

I decided today to write a conversation poem, snce the thing started writing itself when I woke up this morning and thought; Today is Friday.  I don’t feel particulary motivated for it to have the scope of one of Coleridge’s works.  I’m not getting into the nature or morality of my subject.

Tell me what you think about Friday, is it special to you?