misty, dusty

I clutch that wooden peacock
a remnant of my childhood
memory of it all surfaces

misted thoughts shadow
the reflected green walls
I stop, filter it all out

coolly watch the wind dancing.
that peacock moves in my palm
my psych dusts itself

cleansing all the remembrances
I make way for new ones
but that wooden peacock stays

"only a small token, but I love its faded colours"

blowing over that mug of coffee

blowing over that mug of coffee,
(a habit he had picked in trucker days)
he stared at its frothy stirrings
fracture of time had made him rescue her
from what he didn't know as yet
a hindrance she was for him, his work
abandon her, he just couldn't
without exchanging a single word
he could hear the noise she heard in her head
her stillness troubled him to no end

he watched her image vanish within the coffee
even though her reality was palpable beside him

static of the radio bustles at me

I dip the spoon into the coagulated milk
and let out coarse curses
I rant like a diode gone wrong
static of the radio bustles at me
your salacious sagas bore me to death
I run away and hitch a ride
and think of the fling I had long ago
now leaving behind another rancid past
I am homeward bound
enjoying the ride in that 8-track road
elocution of my joy akin to froth

your yellow shirt contrasts with the pillar

either you leave that pillar alone
or I go out of my way to pull you apart
oh, I know you say it's symbolic
I ask of what, you don't answer
I tap my shoes on the ground
playing undiluted music
boxes of my memories fall on it
I also see your shoes lying about
you stand there bare feet
trying to escape into the concrete
I catch hold of your hand
and you disappear into nowhere

I recall from inner recesses-
I buried you under that pillar
in your yellow shirt
but left your shoes alone

don't forget to get my cigars

Cemetery in Malvern by Doug Shaver

where have you led me
I don't see colours
green merges into browns
grays grow out of red

trees blur over my portrait
ghostly though I am.
a sideways mirror-
I like the macabre me

exhaust fumes
have marked headstones
as I am new corpse
mine is fairly clear

yet all this serenity
bores me to death
(oh I am already dead!)
come midnight, I come alive

hunting for new spirits
to feed on their souls
here in this cemetery
that's fairly easy

next time you visit me
don't get me flowers,
save too your precious tears
as your papa will die soon

"well, don't forget to get my cigars
and my new hat
and all those lawbooks
which helped me fleece people"

acuity of touch

hearts slump against each other
lost in the seance of love
flaming sky loiters towards them
sanguine espression dissolves
ACUITY OF TOUCH
dissolved sanguinity
flames the loitering sky
love for lost seance
breaks slumped hearts

"crying against that fur is so comforting"

abstracting

random papers
a few torn haphazardly
some cut precisely to size

lay jumbled on the floor
my nimble fingers trying
to bring some kind of order

that thimble-sized man
jumped into that disorder
moonwalked all over it

eyes fixed on its movements
I watched the fireworks
with a sense of wonder

patterns fell into place
with such grace and fluidity
papered into so much beauty

when he disappeared again
into my deep thoughts
I knew it was all unreal

"reality is creativity that comes from deep trance"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lately I am trying for abstract poetry. I don't know if I am succeeding or not. Feedback is welcome.

equus asinus asinus

smoky mist blows from the greenish sky
giant scorpion falls on the marshy land
its legs pull out a weed,
the wetlands split into two
strange creatures stumble out
with unaccounted limbs,
"equus asinus asinus- homosapeons"
calls out a croaked voice
all exclaim and fall silent
scaly body of that man-animal
scares even the weirdest of those
the sky falls to embrace all
blue scales shine giving out light
"we have a mission, it says,
"to go out and spread our seeds,
make it as much as like us,
with as many permutations
and combinations as possible"
when it turns and spreads its wings,
that donkey-head on a man's torso
along with the fishy fins
doesn't surprise them any more
snaky lions, tigerish tortoises,
wolfish sparrow, turn upwards
walk into all directions
circling in, circling out
but converge under the red mist
shout as loud as they can

"equus asinus asinus, we found a leader in him"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


I don't know what direction my thoughts took me but the photo made me write this.

I am trying to think of stuff I never told you, mom

I am trying to think of stuff I never told you, mom
practically everything about me you have known
right from the day I issued forth from your womb

yes, I never asked you those algebraic problems
those long chemical equations and Physics sums
without my asking you drove away my phantoms

this aries daughter of yours has been so headstrong
in your eyes she has not done anything wrong
even when your thoughts were linear, hers oblong

yet there are parts of me you will never ever know
when I turned towards him, bonding with you I let go
intense feelings for him, are not for any kind of show

"a time comes where space between daughter and mother is inevitable"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Do hop on aboard the Monday Poetry Train. Great place to hangout each Monday. What's stopping you?

x-y-z: all three axes

Once I started, it wrote itself. I did it without any pause, let alone editing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

angelically moving

like a belly dancer

who convolutes to a tune

she draped herself into him

her ethereal presence

formulated certain

gentle feelings

in that stone heart

inching towards his soul

he jack-knifed

knocking her

lovely form aside

as soon moribund

naked emotions

took over

progressing

quantifying

regressing

into sadness

like a heavy tomb

of umbrella.

a vellum fell from sky

walls demolished

x-axis of their love

intersected at y and z-axis.

"Love has to be three dimensional or may be four"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Posted for Read Write Poem and Totally Optional prompts

dance baby, dance

reflecting resplendently
three tiered gypsy skirt
beckoned to me to yard sale.
a gem amongst the junk
I twirled it in my hands

wrapped it around me
tiny bells tinkled merrily
and I was totally sold
buying it instantly
I retreated jauntily

felt someone pulling at me
begging for the skirt
angrily I turned back
ready refusal on my lips.
no words came out of me

"I gave it away with no second thoughts
at the fag end of her career,
Madonna needed it than I did"

strings cross with wires

strings cross with wires
all goes black
and then white
luminous yellow acts as a filler
a magnet pulls all in
containing all in a minute space
unwanted unexpected something
bubbles out to the surface
making it look like a cake
of non-descriptive colour
again wires cross with strings

"I desire to walk out of the desert intact"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Here I wrote whatever formed in my mind after each sentence. When I wrote it, it made a lot of sense to me. Sometimes, we have to give in to what our mind desires.

it hurt like a dead man's calling

it hurt like a dead man's calling

with all that silence between us
I kept on inhaling cigarette smoke
you kept on staring beyond me

it hurt like a dead man's calling

my feet tapped on the chipped floor
head was somewhere on the roof
but your stance did not change

it hurt like a dead man's calling

I did see your eyes blinking fast
once, twice, more I lost all count
I let my arms loose and dangling

it hurt like a dead man's calling

tumbled down, broken to pieces
both stretched to our limits
damaged irreparably

it hurt like a dead man's calling

I moved, standing in front of you
you moved, standing in front of me
bitterly at once, we turned away

it hurt like a dead man's calling

swaying ways

cemented in my ways
yet I make you sway
WILL YOU MARRY ME?
swaying to my tune
forever cemented


Give The NaiSaiKu Challenge? a try!

And try hyperlinking as asked in Read Write Poem

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

that burning heat reaches out, touching me, almost scorches my sensitive skin. Just as suddenly it touches those exhilarating heights, so calming. fire was never so welcome, coming from your inner core anything is.

Also check out The American Sandwich

wanderer

He had left home, left the green of his own country
to wander across the sun-bleached West,
the dry flat roads of the plains,
and the dark rugged mountains.
But no matter where he traveled,
stranger though he was,
he was never at a loss for words, for he needed none.
The music of his fiddle spoke for him,
and it was welcomed wherever he went.
Doors opened at its sound,
a place was made by a campfire,
and food and drink appeared.
it was a free life.

There it was again—a sharp shrill call.
A bark, he guessed, imagining the coyotes
No, he thought, uncertain now
as the wind brought the sound closer.
Not a bark, but the harsh cawing of crows,
their raucous voices rising from the canyon.

The whistled wind was hushed beneath their loud cries,
and the crickets were silent between the rocks.
into the swirling clouds,
they gave themselves over to flight.
He held his hand over his face
to protect it from the seething dust,
glimpsing in the turquoise sky
the black veins of their parting.
And then the winds quieted,
the dust was exhaled back to the earth,
and the sky shone clear again.
the sound of him playing the fiddle
percolated the air, calming his nerves.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Revised from this.

going from one extreme to the other

"enough" I said, throwing the sheets on the floor
I had been marking those all night
those squiggles did not make sense
my head ached with tormented symbols
undecipherable, unknown to all
wasn't this a torture
trying to read through utter nonsense
one who said teaching was noble profession
forgot the evaluation part of it
( it was deliberate, I think)

now my calling is to write poetry
about you, about me, about anything
that pisses me massive
those written words send out missives
to those regions in our minds hitherto unknown
(Here I am trying to be important, you know)
I try to dissolve everything that surrounds me
letting it permeate all corners of my mind
sometimes it sticks on the walls
(and why shouldn't it?)

"at this rate, going from teaching to poetry,
I will end up as a shoemaker,
or I might just end up as a rambler
only talk and talk, and do nothing"

mortal thoughts

this mausoleum built of pristine stone
I don't need it to shroud my rotting bone

nor do I wish for pyramids as a shrine
which too will crumble to dust with time

spread me on the earth, let me scatter away
let me grow under your feet night and day

soil thrives forever, so does the sky
those so called unliving truly never die

"why then our mortal body wishes for eternity?"



Picture Courtsey: Ashish Gorde of Eureka Express

Jazzy Z

reciting in sequence
I come to the end
I pause and say it again
liking the sound of it

it spins with happiness
loving my attention
children love it too
as much as they love zoo

when our Z dances,
zebra forms in the wake
foot tap with a zing
and circles zoom in, zoom out

"Z might be last letter-
in jazzy, it is in the middle"

sweat trickles down on my back

sweat trickles down on my back
shades too hurts my eyes
from that french window
afternoon sun stares at me
glaring at it I stare back
and look down blindingly

bending I scratch at my itchy foot
falling sloppily on my side
my side table topples over
spilling varied things on the floor
I right myself, getting up awkwardly
my left sole crushes the flowers

which you had plucked in spring
for me, for us, to celebrate us
as bright as those daffodils
open and welcoming,
pervading into our senses
but now dried and dead

'if only I had that knack
to glare proudly like the sun
and force down your stare'

over the ridges and hard planes

my palm flattens on your chest
fingers fleetingly flutter
synchronizing with your heartbeat
oblivious to me, you sleep on-
supposedly dreaming of me?

your shirt on that chair
half-torn, gently sways
to the fan above, dancing
to the shadows on the wall
from the starlit summer night

my palm moves yet again
over the ridges and hard planes
feeling the warmth of you
sighing, I fall heavily beside you
contented yet unsatisfied

if I could wake the sun up now, I would
on second thoughts, why should I

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thanks Aila for the italized line.