Back from the future: Saving lives

Umbilical cord

Umbilical cord (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

A knock at the door catches you off guard. Upon answering it, you’re greeted by a man who says he’s from the future-and he can prove it. More important, he says he has information that will save your life.

“I’m a man from the future,”, he said,

As he stood at my door.

“Not a future man,” I replied, with a smirk.

“Another crank!” I thought as I tried to shut the door.

“I can save your life”, the man said,

“I can bring you back from the dead.”

“How so?” was my involuntary reply,

He had startled me so suddenly.

The man needed just the excuse,

To launch into a sales spiel,

Of gene therapy and mankind’s welfare,

Of my babies’ too.

All I’d need to provide is some stem cells,

and my babies’ umbilical cords,

And they’d make sure that my kids and I live,

Well into the next century.

At least, that was the dream!

And I let him go on,

‘Cos my lovely neighbour was spell-bound,

Yes, that pretty air-hostess had eavesdropped in

On her way to her flat up.

So I let the sales rep continue,

While I drank in her beauty.

But then the tale grew gruesome,

With a turn towards needles and hospitals.

And as the lass bid adieu,

With her face pasty white.

I decided it was time to say no,

For now, I’ll live in the present!

Alphabet poem: Words!

UWM alphabet

UWM alphabet (Photo credit: 2fs)

Write a 26-line poem using all the letters of the alphabet. Have the first line start with the letter “A,” the second “B,” the third “C,” etc.

Alphabets are what this poem is made up of,

Better than alphabet soup and random letters, I guess.

Completely in sequence, not one out of place,

Devil take you, if you dare!

Empty though it may seem,

Fought to find some symphony, some harmony!

Great to see the flow still continues,

Haggard with the effort, I’m surely not!

I make the words rhyme and yet make sense,

Jealous, are you?

Kingly a talent, it is not!

Low-balling a target, you think!

Making a rhyme for a dime,

Not sucking at it, I hope.

Over every objection about such trivial pursuits,

Pen and pencil could never match the way I type.

Quest for a holy grail this is not!

Rest assured, I will not be a poet laureate!

Sum them up and you may count the words,

Tete-a-tete over this poem will be a cup of coffee, dear! Starbucks?

Underwhelmed by the effort, the readers may be,

Victory is just four letters away!

Wise the man, who has the time and mind.

X’mas come early , a gift indeed!

You may laugh, you may cry,

Zebraesque verse you read here!

Poetry: Anger


Singeing my soul to its very depths!
I try to leave it behind! It depletes me!
But the angered and the incensed follow me everywhere!
Interrupting, disrupting , until rage manifests itself  in me!
Who shall countenance it? Always? This great detractor!
But yet again, it shows.


~Linus Fernandes


St. Anger

St. Anger (Photo credit: Wikipedia)


Anger Controlls Him

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)


Poetry — Thoughts In Projection

I might be slow;
I might not dance
The way you’d like.
I might not be your dream;
I might not even cry
When you want me to.
I might be blunt;
Sharp if need be
And even ignore you
When you need me.
But then you ought to ask
Did you dance for me?
Did you smile when I wanted you to?
Or was I to be your puppet,
Was I to be your moppet?
Or maybe this is just me
Projecting me on you.
But then I’m too slow
And you’re too fast for me.

—Linus Fernandes


Poetry – The View

He drew the shutters; 

The view was constant.
The car park in Smart & Final
The busy street;
Passing cars;
The church steeple beyond.
It was not a view he enjoyed.
It was ordinary, mundane.
That’s not what he had craved from life.
Where was the adventure?
Where was that excitement?
Why did it elude him?
Why was he jaded?
He’d wanted to change the world.
When did the world change him?

—Linus Fernandes

The Guy In The Glass

Glass Mystery 4

Glass Mystery 4 (Photo credit: cobalt123)


When you get what you want in your struggle for pelf,

And the world makes you “King For A Day”,”

Then go to the mirror and look at yourself,

And see what that guy has to say.


For it isn’t your Father or Mother or Wife

Who judgment upon you must pass,

The feller whose verdict counts most in your life

Is the guy staring back from the glass.


He’s the feller to please, never mind the rest,

For he’s with you clear up to the end;

And you’ve passed your most dangerous, difficult test

If the guy in the glass is your friend.


You may like Jack Horner and “chisel” a plum,

And think you’re a wonderful guy,

But the man in the glass says you’re only a bum

If you can’t look him straight in the eye.


You can fool the whole world down the pathway of years,

And get pats on the back as you pass,

But your final reward will be heartache and tears,

If you’ve cheated the guy in the glass.

- Peter “Dale” Winbrow, Sr.





Random Poetry

A American Sweetgum (Liquidambar styraciflua),...

Image via Wikipedia

Trampled grass

Squishy soil

Red earth on shoes.

The carpet absorbs it all.

I walk in, barefoot.


Free fall
Winter nears
Fading leaves
Colors of dawn
The inviting dusk
beckoning into the dark night.


Cherry blossoms
Japanese spring
A click and a ring;
The chimes of tones
City life , gardens fusion!


Seasonal changes,
falling leaves.
autumn dawns, the chill bites.
Do you have winter clothes yet, dear?


Crumbling walls,
sheer grit,
love, the binding force.


- Linus Fernandes