Getting a hold-----Sunday Scribblings

Sunday Scribblings challenge is Powerful. What does it means to us?


The very word has strong intonations. One can feel a surge of power thinking about this. Children as a rule, feel powerful as they do not have to think of the past nor the future. They live in the present. That is itself is control. They might know not what it means. Still they can manipulate adults to suit them, to give in to their wishes.

When we can control our life, we do feel the sense of power. We think, we can rule the world. What is this powerful feeling? The sense where we can contend with ourselves, deal with our lives, the situations with no seeming problems and with smooth running. We are effused with positive feelings.

There are situations where we want hold over others, to be able to have authority over others. We want to play God, having some sort of influence. This gives us some kind of high. However, life is not like that. The opposite circumstance may persist which saps our strength. Whence we might take some time to gather ourselves.

The whole world runs over power equations. Money influences power, so does politics. Bigger, stronger countries want to control smaller ones. They want some kind of authority to run those according to their whims. History is replete with such anecdotes and present is not far behind.

Do I need to be powerful? Yes, to the extent that I can stop injustice to human kind, to be able to prevent abuse to children. Beyond that, what use is power?

sleeping beauty----[Fiction]Friday

[Fiction] Friday Challenge for September, 28 2007:
Give a virtuous character a sordid past.

melting luscious lips,
soft as rose petals
moist, glowing
sensually inviting

though asleep, she
made him fall in love.
he swayed, ready to
wake her up with a kiss.

with breath held up
she waited for his lips
to merge with hers,
so as to she could

simulate to be woken up.
a prince who loved
her to eternity and back
for what she was.

she wanted to leave
her past far behind-
she was so fed up
witch had cursed her

a new lover each night
since she was sixteen.
for a while, she enjoyed
pleasures of the flesh.

while those thoughts
chased in her mind-
the prince bent down
kissing her softly.

voltage jolted through,
it ceased being a pretence.

ups and downs---Poetry on Thursdays

This week's prompt is Walking in the World and our host is Tracie Lyn at The Red Door Studio.


with despondency you hang your head
as an addendum, you get back to bed.

nothing seems to move for time being
all your aspirations seem to be fleeing.

up and downs are nothing new to fear
go right ahead, do not let it come near.

explore other areas where you are strong
with the right moves, it won’t go wrong.

impediment are but testing our endurance
why give in to self-destructing grievance?

taking on the world, perish that twisted view-
remember, your loved ones rally around you.


Next week's host is Liz Elayne at be present be here, the prompt being Utopia.

journal ride----half a poem--3WW

Caught
Eager
Perfume

with eagerness
borne out of curiosity-
I flip through old journals.

teenage angst
stops me on my track-
I shake my head surprised

about the way,
I used to behave back then,
uncaring for others.

I cringe
at what I was as an adolescent;
ruled more by hormones.

I flip bit more-
going through those elated
times getting truly caught

in the past.
I get a waft of perfume of olden
times left far behind.

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This is only half a poem. I don't know if I will get around completing it.

fly in!------Writers Island

fingers itch, face twitches-
wide browed stare
searches moronically
for that fly which escaped.

slowly head turns toward
roof, taking in the walls
too at a glance.
the fly eludes, moving

out of periphery.
with a blink, eyes gather
themselves, collecting-
return to task at hand.

I key in the words
of this observation
for posterity. fly zooms
in to trouble some more.

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Want to be keyed?

shrouded and hushed--Monday Poetry Train

rouge winds blew by a big tree
leaving leaves untouched-

playing hide and seek near the bark
flickering silver at sundown.

where an exhausted bird lay still
in its worn out nest waiting

for her tiny ones to emerge
by cracking the eggshells.

no shadows of prey are seen
over the spread of nude branches.

in a non-descriptive alley-
time waited for moon to emerge

which has shrouded itself
in an uncalled for vow of hush.

Check for more poetry on mondays...

mood swings-----Sunday Scribblings

Sunday Scribblings prompt for this week is "Hi, my name is.." to be interpreted in any way we want to.

a woman
trying to fit in-
to carve a niche
in blockades of time.
emotions make me
those mar me too.
you say I am moody
I know I am moody-
unpredictable too;
which is nothing new.
you try to plunge
into my mind;
I too try to plunge
into it unsuccessfully.
you say you cannot
understand me.

“do I understand myself?”

phobia

with perfect coiffure,
not a single hair
out of place.
Looking in the mirror
dabbed a bit of perfume
touched up her lips,
checked on her studs
smoothened her dress.

satisfied with herself
she was ready to face
the world again.
she was afraid of
aging, ‘even’ gracefully.
a dead giveaway-
her gnarled fingers!

spice it!-----Poetry on Thursdays

This week's host is jillypoet, the prompt being uncorked---uncork whatever you want and pour it out into your next poem..

spice it!

cleaned, cut into squares
sun dried, salted.
tossed around
once in a while
with condiments,
tangy spices.
ginger, chillies, mango
fighting for supremacy.
bottled through summer
soaked in so long-
oozing with taste.
mouth-watering
aroma reaches out
well before uncorking!!

Next week's prompt is Walking in the World and our host is Tracie Lyn at The Red Door Studio.

ambiguously so---for want of better title...3WW

Ambiguous
Nine
Slept

with dried tears, she wept
tired, clasping non-descriptive
toy to her cheek, she slept

at last, when clock struck nine,
her world fallen apart. the epistle
had hit home taking all shine

from her. future was uncertain-
with most part being ambiguous
childhood no longer sustained.

in span of few hours, all was lost
her parents killed, her house blown
lifetime gone in mindless blast.

he watched her sleep, smoothing
her frowned brow, he smiled tenderly,
his hardened heart finally melting-

‘clutched his new daughter to heart’

gifting away----Writers Island

mundane stuff bought at vague places
passed on to faceless people
how much does that count for gifts?

rare are those who give it any thought
about what you like, indulging you
no end. clothes, jewellery, trinkets

count for nothing. that particular song,
much leafed through pages of books
selected with love, take you back

to reminiscences visited so long ago.
cherish I do, times when taking off from
everything, you listen without judgement

to all I have to say, my words broken, disjointed.
journeying neither from here to there, not
making any sense to anyone but you?

“for someone who has no time, you have no dearth of it for me”

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Is it mushy? I am not too sure. I do agree it is vague.

Read more on gifted writings here...

afterthought---Monday Poetry Train

I often picture myself
lolling on grass, staring at the sky-
longing to submerge myself in the vast island of
seemingly nothingness.

where stars romance with me,
I touch the sun along with the moon
with other celestial bodies thrown in good measure;
away from the banality
of routine.

such a place where
anonymity gets to be so much a part
striking individuality, striving even further to exist
with determination
and dignity.

as an afterthought
that reminds me, ennui setting in,
apparently, for no reason, I have been bored
with you of late.

Check more of poetry train here...

Hoarders of the World, Unite!-----Sunday Scribblings

Sunday Scribblings calls out for Collector Personality.

Does a collector have any kind of different personality? Can anyone make out if a certain person is collector or not? We all have collector personality. As human beings, we tend to hoard things. In no other species, you will find this tendency unless it concerns food, which does not count.

What do we collect? I should ask what we do not collect? As kids, we start with toys, pencils, crayons and slowly graduate to coins, stamps, playing cards, music albums, and books. (A few are even known to collect weird things. I will not get into that!!) The collection of these/or other things might continue into adulthood. Why do we collect things? There are wide and varied reasons for that. These give us a sense of comfort, or take us back to childhood or may be such a hobby, which might be lucrative. People have been known to make a fortune out of old coins, stamps, paintings, books etc.

What is it we actually collect without realizing it? Dreams, hopes, memories. Dreams are what make us going, giving our best. Some of our dreams are fulfilled too. Without hope, we cannot achieve any kind of goal. Hope keeps our dreams alive, fuelling our desires, wants and needs.

A whole life is built on collection of memories. These keep us grounded, taking us to places, which otherwise we would forget. Good memories fade away and bad ones have a tendency to stay for longer time. It is the human tendency to exaggerate the unpleasant ones. To project those to beyond what really took place. Some memories fester and release poison into our minds. Some people tend to fan those acerbic and vitriolic thoughts feeling comfortable with the pessimism. Collection of these appalling memoirs is most dangerous of all. These tend to spread beyond the mind of that concerned person filling the surroundings with what we call negative vibes.

Collecting anything should be in a balanced manner, be it mundane things or dreams, hopes and memories.

Check out more collectors...

crossed and dotted---[Fiction] Friday

This Week’s [Fiction] Friday Challenge is to write a story, poem, or essay from the point of view of an inanimate object. I had started with a series called classroom compendium, which I had abandoned for no rhyme or reason. This is a great prompt to revive it. Continuing with my stationery series...

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screwed or welded
nailed and chiselled
evened rough edges.
body marked, scarred
penned, dotted with
love or wrath.

each new day filled
with a tale to tell.
whispered secrets
held in my grained heart,
witness to laughter,
scolding and praise

I am taken to task
for all misfortune-
resigned to the
kicks of rage.
strong, sturdy
frame stands aloft.

my solidity yet
offering comfort
at times of need.
kids do fidget
but enough of me-
they cannot get.

much involved
how do I take
them to task-
I love those mites
despite being only
a classroom desk!

factorizing fear ---Poetry on Thursdays

The travelling poetry show is being hosted by Carolee of The Polka Dot Witch Blog. The theme for this Thursday was Confront The Fear.

factorizing fear

confounding thoughts as ominous as night.
mysterious clouds camouflage moonlight.

necropolis is calm extenuating that end.
explore around, you might find a friend.

tombstones covered with mossy grime-
disintegrating with passing of time.

lifeless corpses recline in damp graves.
with epitaph “in death, he is saved.”

only remnants of those long since dead;
are carved stones, placed at their head.

in this austere place, misery is released;
all journey into intangible, eternal peace.

I stare standing, head bowed down,
longing to sleep in quiet underground.

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What better way to confront the fear other than in the graveyard. This is a re-worked poem from the archives.

Next week's host is jillypoet, the prompt being uncorked---uncork whatever you want and pour it out into your next poem..

Click travelling poetry for more....

Click what I read in when I am having troubled times...

Hounded-----unpoem---3WW

Original
Racket
Skipping

camera prying
even in womb-
sacred original home.

while you exist-
no skipping from
spying racket.

after your demise
dignity rightfully yours-
divested brutally.

scouring through
supra nakedness
of your skeleton

death offers no escape-
grave dug, bones dissected;
genes analysed.

ubiquitous marketers
hound universally.

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I couldn't end it the way I wanted to. Somehow, words fail me today. Consider it an unpoem.
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I wrote about my friend in my last 3WW. After her reports came in, her doctors say although it is going to be long haul , she is going to be absolutely fine. I am very glad for her and her family. Thanks to you all for your support.

Fantasizing Ecstacy---Writers Island

A new writing forum ,Writers Island for tuesday posts, was started by Rob Kistner. The inaugural prompt for this week is My Imaginary Life to write poetry, stories etc. Hope it fills that vacuum which has been created by closure of Poetry Thursday. This is my first offering for that Island which belongs to writers!

Fantasizing Ecstacy

through a
lopsided smirk
looped ears
dreadlocks dropping
down my back
I play the guitar.
half-closed eyes
trance-like state
unbidden passion
pours forth,
hitting a high
trouncing a low
with a flourish
I take a bow.

imagination had
triggered this fantasy.
euphoria woke me
up from ecstasy.

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Click imaginary lives for more..

ode to insomnia----Monday Poetry Train

twisting to one side-
eyes gaping so wide,
purple miasma visible
gloominess is tangible.

rolling over and chased,
innermost thoughts glaze.
moon hides behind clouds
voices are still so loud.

yet silence speaks faster
akin to a roller coaster.
solitary quietness deafens
agitation has no defence.

ah, cacophony echoes
that state of restive pathos.
how long must I carry this load?
insomnia! For you I write this ode!

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By penning down odes, I am trying to compete with Keats... Posting it without fine editing.

Click for more poetry...

belles-lettres-----Sunday Scribblings

Sunday Scribblings prompt is: Tell us what comes up when you think: writing.

What does one say about writing? Any who writes understands the strange compulsion we have, to write. Even when we think that our muse is dead, we want to write, we need to write. We want the words, which are blocked, to pour forth.

Some are born writers. Some learn the ropes. Some writers make use of such words that one needs to check the dictionary after each line. A few others have the aptitude to write simplistically which is understood by most. I think writing should be such that even a non-professional should assimilate it. To get across what we want to say, is very important. Indiscriminate use of obscure words fails in that purpose.

Words are in the blood of a writer. When those fail for any reason whatsoever, it feels as if something is dying. I have had that feeling a few times. To overcome that, I resort to write reviews. Somehow, that loosens up the block and I start penning down poetry again. I have felt words wanting to hammer out of me. Any other writer would understand that state very well.

Every writer wants that his/her work to be read and appreciated. In the blog world, we get instant gratification but our words are forgotten as soon as the next post comes up. Nothing can take the place of a book where we savour the words. We leaf through it repeatedly and wish someday someone would treat our writings the same way.

Touching another aspect, there are books, which help us understand poetry or prose. A few teach us the nuances of writing in a particular style. I read, understand, assimilate and develop my own style. I make use of structured poetry to write about modern contemporary issues.

Currently I am reading A Poetry Handbook by Mary Oliver, one of my favourite poets.

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For more on writing..

Three wishes---[Fiction] Friday

Here’s this week’s challenge:

[Fiction] Friday Challenge for September 7th

A character gets three wishes…

I looked at that tarnished pewter on the coffee table. Where had it come from? I did not recall seeing it before today. I kept staring at it and picked it, rubbing it unconsciously.

Whoosh! “What can I do for you, mistress?” I almost bolted out of my armchair. “Who are you?” I croaked.

“You must have heard of djinns.” He said condescendingly. “However, I cannot stay with you for long. We djinns are always in shortage of time and we keep moving, changing masters. We get bored with the same one, you see.”

“How did you get here?”

“That’s not important. You make three wishes. I will grant those.”

“Three wishes?” I sighed. What should I ask? World Peace? Wealth, Beauty, Fame for myself? I had always wanted some one to grant me wishes and here I was finally getting it and I could not decide.

I looked at my feet. I blurted out, “Shoes, I need such a pair which is very comfortable and never gets old. I do not want to shop for another pair ever.” I hated to hunt for the right pair.

“Next? “The djinn was impatient.

“Eight hours sleep, daily. I am always so tired. Please read my poem, ode to tirednes.”

The djinn disappeared in no time to God knows where!

Ode to Tiredness-----With due apologies to Keats---Poetry Thursday

bones feel dead
each single muscles is going limp
eyes are drooping,
ears stop hearing.

body refuses to rest
cracked voice cannot let out a thing-
brain cells go numb,
thoughts fly away.

sleep is absent
inactive yet awareness persist
supine, stupefied feet
lay limp with fatigue.

in that restful state
where mind sleeps body moves-
where body sleeps mind dances-
I stand in attention

saluting, paying tribute
to our dear friend,
otherwise known as tiredness.

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For more poetry, click, The Travelling Poetry Show, hosted by Left-handed trees.

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Do read the previous post, for you, my friend and pray for her.

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**Update: I have received two blog awards from two different sources:
1)


This is from ces.


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2)


This one is from A E Roman

I thank you both.

I don't know if I am supposed to pass those on. I might do so in a while.

for you, my friend........3WW

hiding her tears
beneath those sunglasses,
she tries to control
her emotions run wild.
thoughts pound
at the doorway
of her mind.

sitting still in repose-
she prays fervently
for her friend
to have a swift recovery.


When I met you for the first time after 17 years, I could not contain my happiness. One look at you and I felt I was looking back on time. We were both studying to be teachers. In our group of eight, you were the youngest. You with your smiling disposition, your ever-helpful nature, your positive outlook, and your playful nature, endeared yourself to us. We considered you the baby and treated you thus. We showered you with affection as well as bullying you a few of the times.

After completed our teaching degrees, we went our ways. We lost touch. What I heard, you eventually got a job in the same department as I, got married and had a child. Suddenly I see you transferred to the same school where I am teaching. You too are teaching the same subject as me, mathematics. More important, both of us from the Chemistry background.

We picked up the threads from where we left off. As if the years between, had not happened. As if we had never parted. As if there had not been any changes in our lives. You filled that gap I never realised I had. Many are surprised by the way we warmed up to each other. It did not surprise us. We know where we stand with each other. We know where to draw the line. We just know without being told. We know each other. Period.

Why did it have to happen now? You are in your prime of life. You have a young son to look after. You have a caring husband. Your father-in-law loves you like his daughter he never had.

I pray that you get well soon. It is your battle and you have to fight it. We are with you. I do not care what the doctors say. I know you have to get well. YOU HAVE TO. For us. For yourself. There is no other way. We need you. Yes, I need your presence in this world. To make it a better place for me. I am that selfish. Come, stand with me now. You can do that.

Here, I send you all my positive energy. All the positive vibes I can harness. Of course, you have my love.

untangled impasse

making sense yet once more,
thoughts re-arrange.
gone is impasse,
replaced by resolve.

wisdom prevails,
cobweb sweep away leaving
behind precision
of contemplation.

jumbled reflections untangle,
fusing with the
transparency.
great weight lifts.

buoyancy bounces off each step,
taken in new
direction. in course of life,
one can change avenues.

taking a detour,
following a new trail,
closing that door
firmly behind, he leaves

with a bounce in his steps…

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For my nephew who had a little setback a while back. He is ok now. He has to be. He is MY nephew!!

soundless applause---Monday Poetry Train

he plays the piano
deftly with his long fingers;
each key contains a bit of his soul.
lyrics comes from his heart-
strumming notes akin
to tinkling water from a spring.
rhythm fills in the gaps-
gaping within his mind.
with his eyes closed
senses attuned to the task,
he plays as if until eternity.
shutting out the world.
melodies dance into air
resonating with time.

"space is left alone with soundless applause."

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Click Monday Poetry Train for more poetry...

The Renewal-----Sunday Scribbling

The End sounds so final. It gives us so much to ponder about. Love ends, relationship ends, life ends. On a more mundane level, the things we do in a daily basis, terminate at some point. Certain thoughts close. Certain feelings conclude. Emotions cease. We feel the pain for a few of those endings. Elated by certain others. We welcome it too. End need not be sad.

What we call “The End” is it really that? I would say, no. It is a new beginning, a new direction, a renewal. That is necessary for the growth of our minds, nature renews itself, and life is born yet again.

After every calamity just when we think, everything has wrecked; the Earth renews itself creating new life apparently out of nothing. With that instinct of endurance, the indomitable human spirit always survives. Nothing can keep it down for long. If we lose something or get lost, we find other things, we find ourselves. We might not be able to know that just then. After a while, the meaning of it can be fathomed, it is not buried but comes forth. Our weaknesses are overtaken by strength.

The End, in reality, is a reinforcement of faith, belief, and spirituality. It is a beginning, a restoration of life. Whenever I have thought it is the end of the world for me, I have emerged stronger and a better person, almost reborn.

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While you are at it, do not forget to read "Bard's Dilemma" which reflects any poet's dilemma.

(Self-promotion never harmed anyone!!)