Like no other

Because there are no blood bonds
no sacred vows exchanged
no enduring promises made

age, gender, colour, religion
nationality or caste play no role
distance cannot dim its cadence

it lasts a lifetime; if not burdened with expectations
suffusing life with
the fragrance of bonhomie

to share carefree banter
and laugh unrestrainedly
to give with nary a thought of take

it is the most beautiful joy
often underrated and taken for granted
but friendship is a blessing like no other!



Chocolate eyes gaze steadily
My eyes ask, “Me?”
He thumps his tail
My innards quail

It is colder than a witch’s teat
Chilly poor feet
Wait, my eyes plead
He pays no heed

My eyes rebuking, out we go
I can’t say no
He lays warm head
On raw feet dead

Written for dVerse. Today’s host, Grace, says: write the minute poem.

The elements of the Minute Poem are:

1. narrative poetry.
2. a 12 line poem made up of 3 quatrains. (3 of 4-line stanzas)
3. syllabic, 8-4-4-4   8-4-4-4   8-4-4-4 (First line has 8 syllables of each stanza.  Remaining lines has 4 syllables in each stanza)
4. rhymed, rhyme scheme of aabb ccdd eeff.
5. description of a finished event (preferably something done is 60 seconds).
6. is best suited to light verse, likely humorous, whimsical or semi-serious.

Lunar decline

“Yes, in the predawn black the slim slip of the waning moon.”
                      Jim Harrison

At night my terrors are watered by my tears
every passing second diminishing me
I know not what the dawn will bring
the fire that fed on the familiar wood
is now all but a mere shadow
along the bare willow boughs, wind sighs softly
am pared beyond recognition
my breath is slow tortured release
the fire-folk I relied upon for company
have all left. Leaving my slim sliver self shivering
I want to shine fiercely like a flame
does before being extinguished. The predawn black
promises the pinkest dawn in its wake
my destiny is to wane quietly.

Written for dVerse poetics. Today’s host, Linda, says: So today I am sharing with you lines from eight different pieces in the book Songs of Unreason. The challenge is to pick one line and use it as an epigraph for a poem inspired by the line. You may write your poem in any form you wish.

Lonesome (a quadrille)

All alone, with my eyes closed
I sense you quietly coming
and sitting across
I can feel your bourbon eyes
intense with passion
resting on me.

Startled, I open my eyes
a curtain flutters,
the cold draught makes me shiver
and my lips quiver.

Written for dVerse. Today’s host, Merril, says: Use shiver–or some form of the word—in a poem of exactly 44 words. The form is up to you. Shiver in rhyme, or shiver in free verse. Shiver in the past, present, or future

Those were the times…

we were young and the times were heady
the future glowed rosily
through the beauteous rose-tinted glasses
as giddy-headed clouds raced against time
we lay squinting at the sun
lacing our fingers, weaving sugar-spun dreams

sadly we forgot to bottle and preserve those sunny times
lugubrious clouds of discontent hang heavy
hiding the affirmations badly needed
harsh realities of living are the sodden blanket
that leave us shaking and vulnerable
sitting on the edge of twilight zone of living
I wonder if the luxury of oblivion will envelop us
if only for a while!


When we held hands
we believed our destinies were entwined
our paths were the same, so was our destination
our eyes set on our goals.

The dreamer that I am
was entranced by those I met on the way
I wanted to play with the butterflies
and sleep with the fireflies
run on the dew drenched green grass
and dance with the wildflowers
ready to lie low and not rush past time;
the journey and my follies were my guru.

The go-getter you are,
you remained single-minded and focussed;
not given to dawdling
ready to postpone joy
in favour of ambition
oozing confidence, you moved ahead
I fell back; our hands no longer entwined
our paths became different.

Today you stand precariously on the twin peaks
of success and loneliness
surveying all below with suspicion and unease
there is no room for happiness there
and contentment is the price you paid for the top spot.

We have the freedom to choose our destiny
but our choices define us;
my journey, as important as the destination
your destination more important than the journey
two destinies entwined
two hearts estranged.

Sharing at dVerse OLN.

To my love, Mr. Thesaurus

When fractious clouds of uncertainty bellow and roar
then quivering counsel timidly whispers and disappears

My heart, in dissonance with my mind, rip-roaringly points at you
I surrender in peace to the vociferous clamour

You are the microcosm of all the learning that is there
The minder of words, the doubt-tamer guiding me forever

Your dulcet tones are poetic melodies to my eyes
Euphonious tonality smoothening harsh edges

Words gurgle happily as I turn the pages
Sometimes yelling capitally to attract my attention

I beseech them to prettily embellish my writing
They intone lazily it is banal and too simple!

Written for dVerse. Today’s host, Laura, says: Write a SOUND POEM which includes AT LEAST ONE from EACH of the FIVE HEARING CATEGORY SELECTIONS below: (reference the hearing words you chose in your post).

bellow; clink; drone; jingle; quiver;

clamour; dissonant; rip-roaring; tempestuous; vociferous;

dulcet: honeyed; poetic; sonorous; tonal;

blabber; cackle; dribble; gurgle; seethe;

beseech; chant; drawl; embellish; intone

Feel free to dip deeper into your chosen words by elaborating further from the Thesaurus with synonyms and antonyms


2. Simply write about the Thesaurus

Beyond books ( Prosery)

Looking at the young, fresh faces she felt a rush of enthusiasm. Teaching was not the occupation of her choice, but her love for literature and the challenge of teaching troubled teenagers had made it her vocation. In the quest to become a better teacher, she had become a learner again. She opened the book, glanced at their disinterested faces, then put it away.

“Come on, everyone! Let’s go out to the playground. And bring no book, for this one day we’ll give to idleness.”

They looked at her in surprise. One smart alec at the back remarked sotto voce, “I am sure she is quoting a poet or an author!” 

As the backbenchers sniggered, the young teacher’s mocking voice rose over the hubbub.

” Can you identify the poet?”

The class erupted in laughter. She was relieved to sense a thawing in their response.

Written for dVerse. Today’s host, Ingrid, says: Use the line “And bring no book, for this one day we’ll give to idleness.” from  Wordsworth’s ‘Lines Written at a small distance from my House…’ in a piece of Prosery. The rule is that Prosery should be no more than 144 words, excluding the title.

Poem and Poet

ben Alexander, who blogs at The Skeptic’s Kaddish, launched Poetry Partners a while ago, inviting fellow bloggers to send him a poem of theirs. He publishes it on his blog alongwith a personal poem inspired by each featured piece.

This is the poem I sent him.

I am a poem

I am a poem, read me
syllable by syllable
let the vowels roll
around your tongue at will
immerse yourself in
the free flow of rhythm
undulating whimsically
in its own rhyme
the meter; sometimes
measured. But oft not!

Read me at leisure
recite me aloud
let me suffuse your
entire being with joy
come alive as you
discover hidden nuances
let my darkness
illuminate your soul
cry in empathy
at my pain
allow giggles to
spontaneously erupt.

Don't try too hard
to unwrap the enigma I am
study me sip by sip
then come back
to gather more in gulps
let the meanings remain
couched in obscurity
savour the beauty
of words strung with care
the more you imbibe
the more you will come back
addicted to unravelling
me bit by bit

Decipher me at dawn
devour me at dusk
peruse me compulsorily
as you breathe
once you become one with me
you will realise life is poetry
to be carried in your heart.

A poem in two parts by ben Alexander of ‘The Skeptic’s Kaddish’

I. Blank Verse

The note was left taped to my computer
screen; 'We've got your Verse,' ito read, 'If you want
her back, you'll do exactly as we say.
We'll be in touch soon.' Poet that I am,
I immediately knew contacting
the police would bring about a cliché
(actually... dare I say, 'prosaic'?)
storyline. I'd have to free Verse myself.

II. Free Verse

I fancy myself a poet, even
teaching my child to rhyme words
in different languages, sometimes
across different languages;
words being the primary currency
I p(l)ay with for understanding ~
pushing them into thin metal slots,
pulling the little levers,
watching as cheap balls with comprehension
and assembly instructions roll their way
around and out my mouth.

Smooth plastic capsules,
with neat cracks through the middle,
perfectly round, entirely unnatural,
of course, but so easy to spit out through
my teeth, lies that they are.

I've been trying to stuff foreign terms
into vending machines, even filing them
down to size - it never works
for me.

Worse yet, I was once beyond excited to see
a malformed plastic spheroid,
dented into an uneven, ugly crescent,
wobbling down the tube,
but it got stuck
halfway down, and the blasted machine
wouldn't express it.

I gag and choke on reality.