Braid – In honor of National Poetry Month-#NaPoWriMo

Braiding my

cryptic 

tangled 

knotted 

words

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Inspiration

“Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash.”  —Leonard Cohen

They ask what my inspiration is 

I say,

a falling leaf 

a withered rose

a shape in the clouds

a long-lost song on the radio

or a sunset

I long to see

Trick

“if it doesn’t come bursting out of you

in spite of everything,

don’t do it.

unless it comes unasked out of your

heart and your mind and your mouth

and your gut,

don’t do it.”

― Charles Bukowski

Speechless

Dreamless

Bedazzled

Lost in your thoughts

in complete awe of your

demeanor

A Valentine’s Day Giggle Poem

Poetry challenge: Valentines poem.

.

If you’re a gentleman and can make a gal giggle,
There’s a good chance that gal will like you.

Question ( Micro poetry)

I blog at Megha’s World

Hang in there ( Micro poetry)

Conveyer

As she opens the door

with the anticipation

eyes frantically looking 

and gazing into the emptiness

Racism ( Micro poetry)

I blog at Megha’s World

Ripples

Those shimmering lights
dancing, 
teasing, 
turning
every flicker of light 

Raven ( Micro poetry)

I blog at Megha’s World

Lighthearted At The End of the World

Ed: I’m researching one or more works on climate fiction –CliFi–that will tiptoe through a increasingly alarming future. In the process, I’m finding some previous works that, while dark, are also windows into the subject. So, to brighten your day, here are two:

A Song on the End of the World

BY CZESLAW MILOSZ

On the day the world ends|
A bee circles a clover,
A fisherman mends a glimmering net.
Happy porpoises jump in the sea,

By the rainspout young sparrows are playing
And the snake is gold-skinned as it should always be.

On the day the world ends
Women walk through the fields under their umbrellas,

A drunkard grows sleepy at the edge of a lawn,
Vegetable peddlers shout in the street
And a yellow-sailed boat comes nearer the island,

Innocence

 

The sound of children

comes in swells

like the sea…. I love

how they fill the emptiness and silence

Location

Between the thumb and the forefinger
where I’m counting and mapping your freckles
as my fingers slide
over your curves
and etches
a map of my universe
where
my soul
my love
my passion
finds solace,

Flaw (Micro poetry)

Breaking point

“One of the greatest regrets in life is being what others would want you to be, rather than being yourself.”
― Shannon L. Alder

A thousand sweet praises
I can listen sweetly
and keep forgetting them
the next day I rise

History of love

Our love is an illusion

a mirage,

like the sun setting in the sea

the light has traveled

from the past

to reach you and me;

Passion (Micro poetry)

I blog at Megha’s World

Fatal attraction

“Mysteries of attraction could not always be explained through logic. Sometimes the fractures in two separate souls became the very hinges that held them together.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Devil in Winter

That insatiable thirst

which rises from the depth of my soul

and devours me like a wildfire

this incessant need

to be wrapped around your soul

like an unstoppable contagion

Pause

I’m getting enraged

constantly irked by the 

inconsistencies in life

bothered by

the roadblocks

ups and downs

and inequality

small glitches 

and bumps

and those 

occasional stops 

which hinders 

forms a patina

to its  

constant glow

knocks down the 

its ebb and flow

Fruitless

And when you smile
And try to hide 
your giggles and laughter
And those tinkling bells
Which will sweeten someone soul

Half empty/Half full

I blog at Megha’s World

CHANGE

Submitted by The Dark Horse

.

Do seasons shift?

Why do you stand in a limbo
Faithfully expecting the sun to remain

You’ll burn out from the rays of its ceaseless continuity
Only to then be eroded once the downpours turn up to your shores

Does passion eventually disenchant like fashion?

Most haikus

Submitted by Ed Ehren

.

Most haikus one reads

Are nonsensical bullshit

Much like this one is

Why we hate Trump

Submitted by Ed Ehren
.

We don’t hate Trump because he’s Muslim
We don’t hate Trump because he’s black

Lost in Translation

“The quiet sense of something lost” 
― Alfred Tennyson

I’m lost in the translation 

wandering between the pages of  a book

hiding between the folds

and sitting under a neatly folded

dog-eared page

waiting to be pulled

Cleanliness of thought

Submitted by  tejaswibenjamin

.

Cleanliness, purity of mind, thought and heart,

will surely make you a sweetheart.

Meditation and yoga are the way to go,

the benefits of it you will surely know.

Clear all bad thoughts, you will reach the skies,

you have only one life, so be wise.

WHEN

Submitted by Marie Tarrant

.

I’m remembering days of yesteryear,
When fags were cheap, and so was beer.
When London streets were plagued by smog
When fires burned from coal and a log.
When steam poured out of engines of trains,
When there were no traffic jams in lanes.
When cars were new and bikes were rode,
When the coalman called and dropped his load.

OLD FASHIONED WINTER

Submitted by Marie Tarrant

.

The smoke from chimneys climbing high
Form cloud like objects in the sky
The mist lies hovering over a field
Logs for fires in gardens build
The smell of cooking through the air
With bonfire smoke, they mix and share
The sun is out but cooler now
The farmers put away the plough
Trees undressed and waiting for,