abstracted---Fiction Friday/Friday 5

What throws your characters off their game?

his brush evenly moved on canvas-
each stroke a masterpiece in itself;
he gave in to his creative instincts-
propelled by inner forces unknown.

sounds of piano was vintage for now,
his fingers refusing to run over keys.
her cries of death never left him-
his life gone, music was cacophony.

in broader scheme of endeavours-
duple functioning of talents so intent,
latently displaying twisted mind-
his assessment had all but ceased.

poignancy harboured inspiration
abstractly painting out his agony.

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

The Friday 5 words are:

duple
scheme
vintage
harbour
cease

Combined both Fiction Friday and Friday 5 to write this down. Somehow it has not come out as I wished. Suppose, abstract poetry does not come easy for me.I will get around it some time later. Or maybe not.

earthy feel----Totally Optional Prompts

burrowing in, burrowing out
following no particular path-
aerating solidness of soil
fertilizing it all the while.
roots are deeply embedded,
nourished too by thoughtful
gestures. lowly creatures
selflessly so environment
friendly, wriggling all over’
loam, are those earthworms.

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

I wrote it a few minutes back and posting it here un-edited.

up in smoke---3WW

Afford
Cigarette
Dim


few hours left
of soothing darkness-
only ones I can afford
to converse with night.
pausing, I crush moist grass
between my bare toes.

sharing pocketful of secrets
to last until morning.
I send them up in
smoke signals
from my cigarettes,
before moon gets dim.

**Disclaimer: I do not smoke, drink or do drugs!

post haste----Writers Island

Writers Island prompt is letters.

ineligible, chaotic language
spills into paper-
too fast, too numb,
befuddled sensations, mixed-
creates havoc with writing,
hastily pen moves,
ink splodges on sheets-
fingers shake, yet I know
what I do is right.
churned to core,
beating heart grows cold.
finishing, I seal it
sending it post haste,
before I change my mind.

guarding bitterness---read write poem

readwritepoem asks us to eat, drink and write a poem. So I write one about a vegetable which leaves a bitter taste in our mouth. However, if cooked the right way, turns out very tasty!

tapering ends, bloated middle
elongated cylinder
with a rough skin.
scrapping clean that surface
I cut it lengthwise-
washing thoroughly.
marinating it salt water,
I prepare the fillings.

chopped onions, tiny piece ginger,
two pods of garlic
also chillies few,
one raw mango, a few spices too-
all ground coarsely
fried in oil until
mouth-watering aroma
pervades my pores.
adding salt to taste,
I let it cool.

taking a handful
I stuff, cut bitter gourds,
taking much care with
white threads, toothpicks,
I bind them. In a sallow pan,
in a very low flame-
I fry them crisp.
all done, I serve with hot sauce!

untitled------Monday Poetry Train

deciphering words
amidst tattered pages-
resulting from folding
refolding,
of yellowing letters,
wrapped carefully
with love.

a single tear flows.


This is for my mom. She was going through my dad's papers. She found a wrapped bundle of old letters. Those letters were written by her to him. She never knew, he had kept every single one of those. I did not intrude on her privacy. Someday, I hope she allows me to read those letters.

I could not find any appropriate title for this.

photo courtsey: google images

More rides on the train...

never ever wasted---Sunday Scribbling

Sunday Scribblings has a very interesting exercise this week. It asks us to write about our misspent youth.

In retrospect, I find I did not do too badly. I might not be what my dad wanted me to be. Nevertheless, I turned out ok, I suppose. As a kid, I was somewhat very clever. I always knew too much. Maybe that came out being around older super-intelligent brothers. What I did not know, I asked them. As I recall it, I demanded to learn what they knew. They were very happy to teach me. That was another reason, I did not like school. I already knew most of what my teachers taught.

My dad despaired for me, as I hated to write anything down. My memory served me well. However, in school you need to complete your assignments and do well in exams. That is, writing. I was slack in my assignments but did well in my exams. I tried to show off my knowledge way too much. I was considered a good student although that was not my intention. Possibly my results offset my behaviour. I was too good in sports. However, I could never sing. I still cannot.

Although, my dad wanted me to study engineering, he was not displeased when I chose Chemistry. After completing my studies, I took up teaching. Irony is, I troubled my teachers excessively and now my students trouble me. I am lovin’ it!

I know my kid self would like what I am doing now. My youth was not misspent. It prepared me for dealing with pupil like me!


**Update: Nowhere I have said, my dad wasn't proud of me. As a matter of fact, I was his favourite child!

family moments----Fiction Friday

[Fiction] Friday Challenge for November, 23 2007: Reveal something about your character by telling about one of their Thanksgivings--it can be present, past, or even backstory (if your setting doesn't include Thanksgiving, make it a similar family-oriented holiday).

festive occasion-
family descended in hoards
famished for food.
hugs, cheers spread like fire,
moments recollected
about long separated years.
changes brought forth
over those period of time
too were discussed.
eating, drinking lasted forever,
soon came, time to
go our own way to real world.
all were so miserable
nevertheless, much refreshed.

**We meet like this every year on the eve of Diwali.

school memories----Totally Optional Prompts

sorting through my papers, I find my lost diaries-
leaving my work I flick through yellowing pages,
smiling at my jottings in my foolish teenage years.

I despaired over balancing equations, chemistry
for a long time remained a mystery. newton’s law
of motions set about whirled locomotion of mind.

dissecting earthworms was not my idea of biology;
probability in mathematics toned down my stability.
sanskrit was a mumbo-jumbo, eating in class with

a novel was the best combo. english literature was
a point in case. all through school, it saved my face
writing for it was a cakewalk. I could remember all

by a lark. sports were a big highlight. with that under
my belt, I had no worries about diet. yoga kept my
mind, body in perfect form. slogging for studies was

usual norm. my ancient journals took me back in time.
as i started to flip more pages, suddenly bell chimed
jolting me to present. despite my pains, I had done well

stronger in sciences, mathematics, languages. thanking
my alma mater for making me what I am, meticulously
retying journals, putting aside, I went to work at hand.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Do check out CafeWriting. Read what it has to say:

"CafeWriting.com is about capturing that spark, only instead of being inspired by the clinking of silverware, the clacking of heels on tiles floors, the scent of coffee or tea, or the sound of others’ conversations, the prompts are here, and the digital napkin is your own blog.

Participants will be linked upon completion of a project. Please commit to at least one piece a month."

The November Project is on going. Do participate. Melissa is very welcoming!!

feeding demon

Somedays, one just keeps feeling hungry! Hence I had to write this silly piece! Whirling Dervish has tagged me about favourite kitchens or culinary disasters. I will do it soon enough. As of now, hunger disaster!

hungry, I searched for food-
found nothing, only fruits.
bit into a succulent apple,
juices spurted on my chin.
grapes waiting to be eaten,
I chewed on a few. peeling
papaya, I cut into squares-
mixed with bananas, I
squeezed a lemon. eating
all, I satisfied hunger demon.

covering the basics----Writers Island

I am now hooked to American Sentences. Please do read my previous post congealed to know more about it. Here I write another one taking Writers Island prompt Dream. Penning down whole poems by the combination of American sentences is dream come true!

As for the tone of the piece, I am in THAT kind of mood lately....

covering the basics---american sentences

walking out of that store, I am barely conscious of reaching the woods
weathered trees stand soaring, I look up into the sky through the branches, awed
grain in that wood have rather a compelling anecdote to say to
those who are concerned-stopping, pause a little to lend them an ear

although I have too much in my platter to consider going out of my way
I touch rough wood, almost welcome abrasive nature digging into me
slowly atmosphere transforms, brilliant sun disappearing into the clouds
melted asphalt underneath my feet sets yet again to concrete hardness

gingerly I walk measuring my feet carefully lest I fall in a ditch
current of air has already blown the dreams away, only vast emptiness left
feeling the heaviness of it, I put my bag of grocery on that hard ground,
wait wretchedly for that forlorn bus to arrive, wishing for it to hurry

I get into that bus, take a window seat, watch lights fade into gloom
soon, arriving at my destination, I climb down, dragging my feet
to a place everyone calls my home, for me only where I sleep in
if food, clothing, shelter is what it takes, then all my dreams are fulfilled.

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

Do check out CafeWriting. Read what it has to say:

"CafeWriting.com is about capturing that spark, only instead of being inspired by the clinking of silverware, the clacking of heels on tiles floors, the scent of coffee or tea, or the sound of others’ conversations, the prompts are here, and the digital napkin is your own blog.

Participants will be linked upon completion of a project. Please commit to at least one piece a month."

The November Project is on going. Do participate. Melissa is very welcoming!!

congealed----Read Write Poem & Monday Poetry Train

This poem is an attempt by combining a few American Sentences. Each sentence contains 17 syllables. It’s simply the name Allen Ginsberg chose for this poetry form. You can read more about American Sentences at www.americansentences.com, where Paul Nelson talks about them in detail.

time just moves quietly like sand pouring from the gaps of my fingers
red bricks visible to the eyes, those austere walls stare back, reflecting
nothing, starkness means we draw anything on those, not feel guilt ridden
is that possible? conditioned the way we are of embellishments,
plain objects means drabness, which needs to be taken care of drastically
by social norms, that standardizes so-called behavioural patterns.
hard-hitting questions dance around in mind with no specific answers.
blocking out, I take out milk and try to cook my breakfast, spoiling it.
congealed oats- stuck to the walls of glass- reminder of my gelled life.

I am trying out this auto-linky thing for the first time!!

unlocking

Cafe Writing Option Two: Poetry

Human life, old and young, takes place between hope and remembrance — Franz Grillparzer

hands locked into each other so hard
that it ceases to hurt after a moment.
the instant fingers untangle, blood
surges into palm, pain being almost
a relief. with that, lines disappear
from visage as if all was well again.

brushing the burden aside, taken as
imaginary crumbs of food particles,
that man straightening visibly, gets
up, walks out jauntily, now a smile
playing on his lips. out of anguish,
we observe rebirth of hope and life.

Burden of Carrying---Sunday Scribblings

Sunday Scribblings makes us write about I Carry...

bronze coin tarnished with age
lost in the recesses of my bag
somehow makes me feel more
secure. carrying this talisman
since how long, I do not know.

only way I can have dad by my
side that same coin picked out
from his assemblage of hundreds,
I singled out his all time favourite.

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

Carrying is part and parcel of life. We human beings have a tendency to hoard and carry things forward. All those stuff, we have not needed for years still end up being there forever. I suppose we are all programmed not to let go, may it be things, feelings, emotions or thoughts. We carry excess of baggage everywhere. While travelling as well as in our minds.

We need to let go. Only true power over ourselves is to shed what we always carry, shedding like a skin and start afresh. It is not as easy it seems but we human beings can do it, if we try hard enough. The point is we do not want to. In fact, humans revel in it.

My motto in life is to move forward, leave the past behind, learn from it but not dwell on it. Carrying forward should not get on the way of living. It should not take over life.

nicking a name---Fiction Friday

[Fiction] Friday Challenge for November, 16 2007:

Pick an existing character. Give them a nickname, but don't wimp-out and make it a common one. Now tell the story of how the nickname came about.

naming him after a great saint, his parents
did their duty, assuming he would turn out
like his namesake. living up to it was one
tough act, God knows, he did try his best.

guilt was never far away, saintly feelings
were so outmoded, how does one go on
being one? stuck forever with a moniker
like that forever was an utterly abhorrent

shortening his name made it meaningless
yet it made the burden a lot less agonizing.

shoes ramble on---Totally Optional Prompts

Totally Optional Prompts wants us to write about places

sun beats down on my back
tarpaulins has holes, i barely notice.
my wares are placed haphazardly,
right in front of me.

nails, polish, strings, leather,
plastics with solutions of various hues.
disarrayed shoes, clogs, sandals
lie in wait to be renewed.

i might stay at the same place
for forty odds years now,
repairing broken, torn down shoes
soles reattached, fixed with glue.

stayed, i have not in one place, shoes
do have tales to tell of places visited.

icy patch------3WW

Icy
Pause
Train

with a slight pause,
I train my eyes towards
a movement behind the bushes.
mist sweeps the surroundings-
cold seeps through my pores;
I shake like a leaf, my feet
holding on to hard ground.

visibility being almost zero,
I follow the sound
taking care not to make a noise.
tripping on a shrub
I fall flat on that icy patch.
numb for a few moments
I examine myself for bruises.

‘what else is broken other than my ego?’

weaving webs---Writers Island

a world of web, spider weaves webs steadily
with gossamer silken threads, chained strong
waiting to swoop for an unsuspecting prey
to fall into that parlour of smoothened edges

resistance is useless, as the lure of unknown
breaks it with skill. well versed with the art
of story telling, clairvoyance too coming forth
to conclude that breaking. wings smeared

with honey cannot fly away. crawling out
of it, with so much dignity, difficulty- victim
gets away, cleansing away that stickiness;
shaking to core, it flies soaring to open sky.

if friendship was the agenda, it had to fail
spider’s web can draw, however, has to let go
promises never made, can never be broken
persistence can never turn into persuasion.

mind’s rivulets have the potential to hold
another mind to ransom, yet with strongest
of will power, it escapes. it has to, for its own
sanity- out of nothing, no life can be built.

a world of web, spider weaves webs steadily
now it is with words, which are meant to pierce.

stonewalls enthrall---Monday Poetry Train and Cafe Writing

Using the following image from Option One of November Project for Cafe Writing, I wrote a villanelle after a very long time. I offer the same for Monday Poetry Train too. I know it needs a bit of re-work. I am still posting it.

















candle light casts flickering shadows on stonewall
marked with time’s stamps. attention fluctuates
between reality and fantasy, poised- thoughts stall

for more composure, pen flows with almost a crawl
on yellowed parchment, all of a sudden accelerates.
candle light casts flickering shadows on stonewall,

projecting images from the psyche, enthralling all
for unexpected adventure, which only can accentuate
between reality and fantasy, poised- thoughts stall

with closed fists, helplessly compelled. shawl
pulled tight, it is the cold, surrounding assimilates.
candle light casts flickering shadows on stonewall.

wavering by winds, awaiting eagerly for downfall
pen moves briskly on paper, whatever lips advocate,
between reality and fantasy, poised- thoughts stall.

so much history is contained between these walls
yet secrets have to be kept away- not precipitate.
candle light casts flickering shadows on stonewall
between reality and fantasy, poised- thoughts stall.

Blog Award--A Roar for Powerful Words

'A Roar for Powerful Words' award was started by Seamus. Canterbury Soul of door left open has bestowed upon me this award here.



The three reasons c.s. listed for awarding this are:

1. the ability to hook - there are writers who are capable of using the right words and arranging them in the right order in the right structure to generate in readers an addiction. has bestowed upon me this award

2. imagery skill - there are those who are so good at creating images with words that it makes you wonder if they already knew how to write when they were still in their mothers’ wombs.

3. the ‘wow’ factor - then there are people who, through their words and stories, just simply ‘wow’ you. it’s like the moment you start reading, you ‘wow’. halfway through your reading, you ‘wow’. at the end of the reading, you ‘wow’. as you think about what you have read, you just ‘wow’, ‘wow’ and ‘wow’.

I thank him for this award.

Before I choose five bloggers, I too must state three reasons for awarding this.

1) Impact: Some people have that ability to get across what they want to say in a a forceful manner. Thet can do it with flourish and unintentionally.

2) Beauty: A few have the ability to create beauty in our minds with their sheer use of language. Their words have eloquence.

3) Hooking factor: Then there are those who keep you hooked for more. You want to go on reading their posts.

Taking all those into account, now I present this award to the following, in alphabetical order. I know, I selected 7 instead of 5!

Brian
djpare
Don Iannone
floots
pia
paris parfait/tara
polona

So friends, go ahead and proudly display this award on your blogs!