Renee Descartes' Insight

Up and down and down and up and
right and left and left and right
the fly crawled on the plane of the tile,
diagramming seemingly empty space.

Ideas are arrested in words
before they become lost
in the sea of intervening thoughts.

Solutions of elusive equations
can also be arrested in space,
before they become messier
than the problem itself.

They can be caught in dots
fixed between the space of two axes,
get a permanent address
on a line of various solutions
of the same equation.

No mathematician would ever be
lost in the blinding alley
of infinite solutions to
a simple problem.

This was the grand revelation
made to Renee Descartes
when he saw that fly crawling
up and down and down and up
and right and left and left and right
on the plane of the tile
on the ceiling of his roof
as he lay in bed.

The Think Tank Thursday #95 Wish

I wish i hadn't spurned my Lover
for she has turned me away
as if i were a lowly cur;
I am an infidel unworthy
of her indulgent affections.

I dropped her as if she were
a heavy burdensome brick
that hurt my hands,
scorned her delightful advances
went rushing to Responsibility's summons.

I turned truant just when
she chose to bestow me with
her most generous gifts:
divine flashes of inspiring grace:
ideas racing to lend themselves to poems.

And now when time is on my side
she refuses to return.
The gushing torrent of her blessings
has run dry with neglect.
I despair for deliverance from this dreary drought.

Ah! Sweet Mystery of Life!

You stand as ever
behind the latticed partition
half hidden from my view;
only your glinting eyes
and enigmatic smile
are allowed to filter through the net
like beams of sunlight entering
a dreary dismal dungeon.

Fate, distance and people
conspire in sadistic delight
to torment my restless imagination
into fevered frenzy.
Will i ever behold the whole
of your glorious frame
in my hungry gaze?

The Think Tank Thursday #91 Escape

My ego makes moving on criminal-
I'm a poet,
I'm a poet,
I'm a poet
and 'I' HAVE to BE a poet!
I can't escape being a poet
with that nagging itch to write;
for whom?

I'll be Back

My Dear Muse, 
 I'm wracked with guilt 
when i say this: 
You are a mistress 
i can ill-afford to indulge, 
a lover so demanding 
that my jealous wife, 
Responsibility, hisses that 
i should repent for 
all the time lost in 
chasing your tantalising hints.
Oh! Don't leave me, my spurned lover!
I'll be back.  

Is it wrong to long
for the key to the door of
forbidden pleasure?

The Thursday Think Tank # 83 - YES

 I know that this is a rather late response to a prompt but i took my time. I was reminded of something that my Kenyan brother, Salem Lorot had told me once. He had told me that i should respond to a prompt no matter how late i am. Thank you ndugu!
 Here's my poem-

The little girl clutched her dolly
as she took some hesitant steps
towards a bunch of girls like her.

Each child was engrossed in her own
play, feeding her fantasies in
calm solitude, drifting off deep
into her little universe.

And among those kids there was
harmonious solidarity;
they were playing with the same toys
in typical toddler fashion.

How much the little girl yearned to
be a part of their tranquil play!

But the instinctive wisdom of
her three year old antennae
deterred her from becoming the
unwelcome intruder.

Somehow she managed to muster
the courage to walk up to them;
and in her sweet soft voice she asked,
"Can i pway with ya?" The other
kid said a nonchalant 'yes'.
She grinned from ear to ear.