Hello everyone!
You might have noticed I haven’t posted for almost a week now nor have I visited many blogs or responded to comments. I am taking an indefinite break from blogging.
I will continue to host my RDP and dVerse slots and try to read and respond in between.
Take care and I hope to be back as soon as possible.
Lots of love,
Punam
There will come soft rains…
– Sara Teasdale
The day will end and
the night will come too
but a heart did break
and seeing your tears
millions cried along
toil of many years
wiped by hundred grams
emotions changed gears
“tigress” her label
on the streets and mat
put career at stake
indomitable
she fought a good fight
was implacable
forget all the smears
listen to our cheers.
Written for dVerse MTB Thursday. Laura, our host, says:
And for today’s MTB prompt we are going to write an Octameter – designed by Shelley A. Cephas in 2007
Poetry Style:
Poetry Topic: There is no set theme but if you wish to try and write in the style of Sara Teasdale or dedicate a poem to her, with or without epigraph, here are some more of her poems.
If you are following Olympics you may have heard of her. If not, you can read about Vinesh Phogat here. She is much more than an athlete.
A fleeting glimpse, a flash of gold
ephemeral and elusive
glimmer-a-shimmer
disappearing dazzle
born of sun-spangles?
cursed by Midas?
a half smile, was it?
why curtained by hair?
someone from the hoary past
or portent of frightening future!
perturbing recurring visitations
a vision, maybe hallucination
or a conjuring of dream-deprived eyes.
Written for Sadje’s wdys and dVerse Poetics Tuesday. Truedessa is our guest host today. She says, “For today’s prompt I would like to challenge you to write a poem based on a dream or a tidbit of a dream. If you can’t remember a dream, use your imagination to pen a poem about dreams.”
The song of toads is insistent
mate-hunting as incessant rain falls
on the cusp of night
lightning cleaves the stygian sky
clouds run helter-skelter
suddenly all is quiet and clear
the black velvetiness starts twinkling;
fireflies escape from the jar of an errant boy.
Written for dVerse quadrille Monday. Our host, De, invites us to write a quadrille (a poem of exact 44 words) including the word jar.
I remember, Mrs. Lal, our neighbour, a comely new bride
had impeccable sartorial taste and a sweet smile
but behaved like a bellicose harridan,
making our lives wretched and miserable
keeping an eagle-eye on our comings or goings
guarding the mango tree in her courtyard very zealously
she threatened us, the colony kids, with a kitchen knife
if we dared step anywhere near it
(but none of the ladies, including my mom
would boycott her from kitty parties!)
that coveted tree bore those
tangy, succulent yellow-green teardrops
the stuff of our mouth-watering, epicurean fantasies
many a hot, lazy summer days were spent
in plotting the great mango robbery
since I was small for my age and flexible too
(thanks to the yoga lessons in school)
I was the chosen one for this impossible mission
I am told I looked guileless
with my buck-toothed smile and wide eyes
the boys would fight raucously in the street
to distract her and I would shimmy up the tree
to quickly pluck as many as I could
then we would retire to the banyan tree
to share fairly our priceless booty
we did this for a couple of seasons
then I was too tall and no longer innocent looking, so…
Mrs. Lal, if you are reading this
I just want you to know that
I still feel that tantalizing tingle on my tongue
when I think of that golden-green lusciousness and
a sassy susurration up my spine as I recall my preposterous audacity
believe me, it is a helluva tale to recount to my kids!
Sharing with Eugi for her moonwashed weekly prompt and dVerse OLN, where our host Mish has given the mini prompt “Write about a similar memory of seasonal fruit, bringing you back to a time, place or person associated with it.”
Waif-like, grief walks in
clinging to my arm
then makes way to my stricken soul
sitting on the rims of my empty eyes later,
we sit together through many
nights that refuse to sleep
my hollow husk, bereft of feelings
waits for daybreak;
days stretch and quiver like bow-strings
the air is heavy with torpor
immobilising my world
and as suddenly as it had arrived
grief leaves
lips learn to curve again.
Sometimes in the middle of the night
between wakeful sleepiness and sleepy wakefulness
grief just sits on my chest
my breath snags on a jagged memory
ragged heartbeats I quell
tears pool into the poor pillow
my empty shell too tired to sob
suspended hows and whys pin me down
the unseasonality of grief
makes me appreciate
sudden drizzles of joy
Life is still worth living.
Written for Sadje’s wdys and dVerse Poetics Tuesday. Yours truly is the host today and we are writing about grief. Come join us.
As I watch moonlit mist draped milky way
my heart, a crucible, unfurls languidly
listening to love’s language avidly
surrendering to passion’s play
my heart, a crucible, unfurls languidly
as I watch moonlit mist draped milky way
’tis now a smouldering fire that rages on
scorned heart seethes on a slow burn
devastated by fate’s fickle turn
vitriol it spouts from dusk to dawn
scorned heart seethes on a slow burn
’tis now a smouldering fire that rages on
Written for Eugi’s moonwashed weekly prompt and David’s W3 where POW, our dearest Sadje has challenged us to write a Biolet on love/hate.
Saturday night, I am alone
but my hips wanna dance and sway
do come and drive my blues away
a song to melt my heart of stone
Saturday night, I am alone
just for a night, I wanna play
wanna be happy for a day,
a day when I won’t moan or groan
Saturday night, I am alone
with my leaden heart you can play
for tonight let’s keep love at bay
my excesses, I’ll later atone
Saturday night, I am alone.
Written for dVerse Poetry Form Thursday. Our host, Grace, has invited us to write a Ballata.
Agitated at my inability to summon my muse
I hatched a plan that involved stealth and ruse
clouds promised to provide the much needed cover
the moon shrunk itself to just a sliver
audacious it was, but I was at the end of my tether
my verses were losing gravitas; now flimsier than feather
the idea was to steal Sun’s seventh horse. Wasn’t it foolhardy
desperation! All I knew was, I couldn’t be tardy
each one named after meters of Sanskrit prosody
‘Pankti’, the seventh one stands for meter, lines and melody
I set out on this unprecedented quest, chasing the horizon
would stealing a god’s horse amount to treason?
by the time I reach the sea, the sun is already astride the chariot
blazing across the sky, raising his lariat
I am no Icarus, I can’t fly up to the sun
but one day I will surely steal the seventh and run!
Written for dVerse poetics Tuesday. Dora, our host today says,”Use horse imagery in any way you like, either as the focus of your poem or in passing. In allusion or metaphor. An ekphrastic. Or just a mention will do.”
*According to the Hindu mythology, the Sun god, Surya, rides on a chariot pulled by seven horses. Seven signifying seven days of the week, seven colours of rainbow, seven chakras of our body and also the seven sins. These horses are named after the seven meters of Sanskrit prosody. The seventh horse stands for dreams and aspirations. The seventh horse is also a metaphor for the weakest and slowest member of society, who determines the speed of progress for the entire society. Moreover the seventh horse symbolizes control over baser emotions.
His summer dreams
in mid-winter
melt the snow
leaving shimmer
on twigs and sprigs
diamond-droplets
sparkling each thought
beginning and ending
with her –
the frost-bitten heart
that howls for its beloved
thaws bit by bit
at the hint of spring
promising a summery tryst.
It’s Quadrille Monday at dVerse and our inimitable host, De, has asked us to write a poem of exactly 44 words including the word summer. Also written for Sadje’s wdys.
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