frenzied entropies

trying to taste coffee from your lips
I stop space and time with a kiss-
eroding all the rules of diplomacy
with madness and neurotic honesty

coaxing our flesh to confess
what our words never dare profess
simmering, shivering, reckless kiss
igniting arson between our hips’

inciting the surface of our skin
frenzied entropies lurks within,
catastrophe of emotions and thoughts
which alternatively distort and contort

we unwittingly undrape deceits,
writhing under the silken sheets.
molten tongues, roving palms
yielding to contagion of giddy charms

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

And don't forget to join the poetry train this Monday.

moon faithfully fantasizes---Writers Island

was it but a year ago, the moon shining bright,
(etched in my mind, so well);
I strolled with my loved one in the orange light,
our voices intermingling like twinkling bells

suddenly the moon grew dull-
my love seemed to have sprouted wings;
he appeared a face of a smirking skull
what I felt in my heart was a ghastly thing.

fantasy was it? for my love lay still
within my arms, his eyes aglow;
wondering why my lips were chilled.
silently I pulled him closer, kissing him so.

one year gone, the moon is still bright.
too bright, like a ghost of woe;
I am standing by a newly dug grave tonight
with a wrecked heart, it's bizarre you know.

Mom is the word--Totally Optional Prompts

get that comb, and do up your hair
it is almost noon, still you laze around?

food gone cold, and congealed on plate
you stare at nothing with a morose face

your books lie awry, your PC switched on
ignored, neglected looking so very forlorn

worse than a child, oh daughter of mine-
why is that at home, you lose your shine?

even as an infant, you never slept so much
now at four decades of your age, life's such

"you are still here, and I still have to care"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Psst: please don't tell my mother that I wrote this in her voice!

one day in the life of a sari

deep mystical eyes with bronzed skin-
silk sari with shades of green,
draping it around, she did preen.
encircling thin golden chain
on her waist added to the sheen.

movement so graceful, fluidly flowing.
hair raven-black, wavy, cascading,
lights from amber sunset, flickering;
richness of her attire, gleaming;
happiness within her sparkling

suddenly her joy was under attack.
every plan of hers went awry, off track
she slipped, almost damaging her back.
now laying on her bed, her mood so black,
gnawing her lower lip looked at an almanac!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It is a true account. Kind of narcissistic, isn't it? For three days, I could not move from my bed.

*Update: This happened a long time ago. Now my back is perfectly ok. With regular walks and Exercise.

Do ride the Monday Poetry Train

epistle of dribble---Totally Optional Prompts

as a last resort, I write to your esteemed paper,
kind sir. never having addressed to an editor,
please do excuse my very poor language skills.
lest I forget what I need to say, drain water spills
inside my apartment block, despite repeated
remainders, authorities have remained seated
glued to their chairs, wholly deaf to my entreaty
stink is too much to bear, shedding my brevity
now I want needful to be done pressuring them
via your printed media, drawing a bit of shame
on their demeanors, so they dig deeply into soil
laying sewer line ten feet under, so that their toil
would not go wasted- all that muddy stench is rested!

I now end it here, before I go on about more dribble
hope you publish my epistle as soon as possible.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This is a true account. Sewage water was flowing through our Apartments block and no one was ready to do anything. I contacted the local papers. After they published it, the pipelines were repaired in no time. I obviously did not write it in a poem form!

lording over----Totally Optional Prompts

This week's prompt is from Kooser's book 'Delights and Shadows', published by Copper Canyon Press.

Horse

In its stall stands the 19th century,
its hide a hot shudder of satin,
head stony and wilful,
an eye brown as a river and watchful:
a sentry a long way ahead
of a hard, dirty army of hooves.

Though I began with great ideas, somehow I lost interest half way through it. Still I posted it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
lording over

on that pedestal, you stand proudly with a fixed stare,
sun reflects your ebony structure wit abandoned glare.

past glories are gone, it is time to consider; reflect upon
what would have happened, if battles had not been won.

combat was the way of life, winning the ultimate prize.
success was measured by seized monies and land size.

it has all come to and end. glorious days have forever
ended. forgotten, hooves held high up, you try to sever

ties with your bygone days. a bit of regret creeps into
the stony heart, chilling it to frost, anaesthetizing unto

nothing. fountains of dust break open the now frozen
thoughts. slowly emerging gleeful feelings are chosen

over sad ones. glimmering scabbard glows even more
sentry duty is taken into stride, heart is no longer sore.

Fallen angels!-----[Fiction] Friday

[Fiction] Friday Challenge for October, 5 2007:
Use the first line of a nursery rhyme (your choice) to start your own story.

Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water

born on the same day
inseparable since birth
both always had a say

about what went on in
the other’s life. toddler
days were not to be seen

for sometime now, even
childhood was left behind
adolescent feelings driven

to core. hormones bubbled
jumping forth. unfamiliar it
was too. step that stumbled

was no surprise. climbing hill
was but only an excuse. dread
after the deed added to thrill

to escape from parent's fury
they fell and faked self-injury!

skip it!--------3WW

All you poetry lovers do read my review of A Poetry Handbook by Mary Oliver!

You can safely skip this poem or read it at your peril. Writer's block is not conducive for good poetry. What the hell even Keats wrote trash at times!!

Feather
Misplaced
Useles

feather rhymes with leather
thinking of writing a poem
i am at the end of my tether

my judgment seem misplaced
trying to collect the words
i got those even more displaced

itching fingers type in trash
writer’s block makes me useless
maybe I should start afresh

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.

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’

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.

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

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...

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!

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

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

Click for more poetry...

Taciturnity-----Sunday Scribblings

I suppose this week, Sunday Scribblings slipped over! No wonder they want us to write on Slippery!

I have had my share of slipping and slippery people. I wouldn't like to dwell on that right now. Here I offer a poem which formed in my mind out of the blue moon! It might seem incomplete to a few. Nevertheless, as for as I am concerned, it is complete. Again posting it straight out of the mill- raw, rough and unedited!

Taciturnity

how did i slip, not acknowledging
the obvious- how did it happen
with me? blinded by sheer feelings
i plunged with my eyes wide open.

there cannot be any justification
for my actions. i was sucked into
the vortex, without rationalization
knowing about blind alley thereto.

however, the mind refused to see
spirit being relatively insensitive.
hollowness persisted within me,
permeating, hence accumulative.

convictions burned, dehydrated
all the pores- resulting in vacuity-
numbing moratorium culminated
into withdrawn state of taciturnity.

For how long could I stay slipped?

For more slips...

An aside: I have posted the review of Defy the Eagle by Lynn Bartlett. It is a historical romance. It made a good read. All of you, especially my women friends, can chk that out on my Reading Room!

Update: I am so happy that the Taj Mahal too has been elected to represent global heritage throughout history.

Phantoms Play----3WW

..............3WW ........... stroke, summer, leave


Phantoms Play

in the middle of the hot summer night,
moon behind the cloud sheds orange light,
dancing fireflies are in a perpetual flight.

tired, harried and hungry I arrive alone,
looking for a place to rest my tired bones.
midst of nowhere, i see a house of stone.

eerie silence permeates the surroundings.
the sudden stroke of the clock enhancing
the hush. massive clouds look seemingly

like phantoms playing without any care.
inside the house, virtually no one to share
hastily i leave, as staying there; I don’t dare!

Soul--------Ecphrasis------Poetry Thursday

This time in poetry thursday, we have to write something inspired by images. It is known as ecphrasis. I have done this before but I did not want to post one from my archives. I had been thinking on which image to write about and stumbled upon an image by jac. This image affected me no end and words simply poured out in my mind. I asked him and he was kind enough to let me use this image.

Photo Credit---Jac

I titled it SOUL. As I found out that soul means "A sense of ethnic pride among Black people and especially African Americans, expressed in areas such as language, social customs, religion, and music" from answer.com. It goes well with the picture.

SOUL

Why do you look away from my stare?
do you unearth questions that scare
you/me? If they do I am not aware

why. That boy is all I have got now,
for loss of other, to God’s will I bowed
not knowing answers to why/what/how.

Much I have been through- strife, war,
maiming of mind, body, soul; hunger
too, unaware where one started, other

ended. With my misery, wretchedness
I live in my drab world where darkness
prevails. For power, persists lawlessness;

my lone motivation is my child-
I’ll ensure he is healthy, not reviled
as was done to me in this wild

jungle of humanity. Each of those years
I lost a kid, now I tread slow with fear;
nothing to save, leading a life of austere.

His future is in my hands, I can’t shirk that
I would go great lengths, no matter what.
Too long I accepted anything like a doormat.

Our world has no gray shades, it is either white,
black and bleak. Various colours- so very bright
you see is only in my shawl which I wrap tight

around me to save me from further disgrace
where you can look & write on my visage.

.........................................................................................


This is the longest poem I have ever written. It is as raw it can be, not properly edited as of now. I do not know if I will get around editing it.

Click image inspired.