Love be like a favourite stuffed toy (NaPoWriMo)

The love that we share is like the misshapen stuffed beagle
our son dragged by the ear when he was barely four
passion has dulled a bit like his button eyes
but the cuddles are as warm as they were before
the mundanity of living has taken toll on the sheen
but the familiarity has only increased our rapport
we both may be spilling out of our seams
the sight of each other still makes our hearts roar
just as it occupies an honourable space
our love over the years has quietly matured.

Today’s challenge is to write a poem that contains at least one of a different kind of simile – an epic simile. Also known as Homeric similes, these are basically extended similes that develop over multiple lines. Perhaps unsurprisingly, they have mainly been used in epic poems, typically as decorative elements that emphasize the dramatic nature of the subject (see, by way of illustration, this example from Milton’s Paradise Lost). But you could write a complete poem that is just one lengthy, epic simile, relying on the surprising comparison of unlike things to carry the poem across. And if you’re feeling especially cheeky, you could even write a poem in which the epic simile spends lines heroically and dramatically describing something that turns out to be quite prosaic.

Life is words

Besotted, you watched intently
as words dripped tellingly from my
fingers

When I laced my fingers through yours
heart tattooed its favourite song
you’re mine

That summer of love drenched in rain
we traced dancing shadows lying
awake

The intricate latticework of
passion enfolded us in its
embrace

No dream did seem impossible
but then, life didn’t like our planning
ahead

Shattered shards I pick everyday
never knew broken dreams could hurt
so much

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Pain assauged through each word written
therapeutic exercise I
employ

Each experience enriching
however broken; beautiful,
life is.

Written for dVerse. Today’s host, Grace, says:  write a Synchronicity poetry verse.

This poetry form is written in the first person revealing accidental yet seemingly synchronized events.

The definition of synchronicity is the state or fact of being synchronous or simultaneous; synchronism. Coincidence of events that seem to be meaningfully related.

As a poetry form, this consists of eight three-line stanzas in a syllable pattern of 8/8/2. This poetry type has no rhyme and is written in the first person with a twist. The twist is to be revealed within the last two stanzas. This form was created by Debra Gundy.

Colours of love

Flame-of-the-forest or butea monosperma also moduga or tesu

When spring springs a surprise
and disappears before one can
say hello to the soft begonia sky
sprinkled with cotton candy clouds

no dewy dawns or dreamy dusks
flame-of-the-forest blazes across
heralding the festival of colours/love
earth carpeted with fiery blooms

but this time reminiscent of
a faraway bloodied land under the pall
of gloomy granite-grey skies
with determined eyes devoid of tears

as I smear blue and yellow on beloved faces
the bitter aftertaste of sweets lingers
a reminder of truths we dare not face
my heart prays for the elusive peace.

In India we celebrate Holi today.

Written for dVerse OLN.

Love is salty (a quadrille)

I still remember the dusky
saltiness of your satin skin
the way it turned liquid
under my warm gaze
the first time I tasted
the saltiness of love was
when I kissed your lips.
now, a solitary salt laden tear
I shed in remembrance.

Written for dVerse. Today’s host, De, says: Today, I want you to sprinkle the word salt into your poems. Whether you make it the seasoned center, or just dash a smidge of it in at the last minute, just be sure some form of the word salt adds a little zing to your piece: Salty. Saltine. Salting. Saltlick. Saltatory. 

Love’s silhouette

We met in the dark of the night, didn’t we
I knew for sure, for you, no one was I
Me with my rent heart, invisible me
Why I never was of note, tell me why!

Shadow boxing, through the darkened shadows
Black eyes we gave ourselves, blackest of black
Throw punches we did, at each other throw
Dark souls devouring each other in dark!

Light I felt when saw an inkling of light
Purged of all despair, uncertainty purged
Fight the black veil, O my beloved, fight!
Emerge from the obsidian depths emerge!

No more residing in penumbra, you know
Blow gently sweet wind of love gently blow!

Written for dVerse MTB. Today’s host, Laura, says:

Your challenge is simply(!):

write a sonnet poem of 14 lines and 10 syllables (iambic pentameter is optional extra)

choose the Italian, English or French rhyme form

start and end each line with the same word (including derivatives and homophones)

put ‘shadow’ or its derivative in your title

use the notion of shadow as metaphor or reality somewhere in your poem.

I have written an English sonnet in pentameter. ( Writing again in iambic pentameter would have driven me crazy;) )

Labour of love

Poetry is a labour of love, dare I say
it starts in the mind but then the heart holds sway
Words start stringing themselves prettily in the mind
lustrous they are, when with heart they are entwined
Words woven with the warm threads of emotions
myriad colours expressing all notions
Gradually through words heart begins to unravel
sometimes it snivels and sometimes it can dazzle
I hide behind the images that I create
but disrobing of soul is what I abominate
Poetry is a labour of love, dare I say
It starts in the mind but then the heart holds sway.

Words start stringing themselves prettily in the mind
lustrous they are, when with heart they are entwined
My words and I become one when through them I speak
whether I write of joys untold or of sorrows bleak
I lay bare my self all naked and vulnerable
sharing my pains and what makes me miserable
Anger finds release through sharp, stinging, staccato words
as my heart releases these tormented caged birds
Storm clouds darken my heart when atrocities it suffers
viscous black ink spills forth without any buffers
Poetry is a labour of love, dare I say
it starts in the mind but then the heart holds sway

Words woven with the warm threads of emotions
myriad colours expressing all notions
Mending, healing, becoming whole happens organically
through the pen, when words flow unchecked and free
My broken heart heals when sutured with verse
it is often a blessing but also a curse
The language of souls speaks in a common tongue
all hearts in a common thread are strung
I am filled with diffidence with every verse I write
though even the most nondescript one fills me with delight
Poetry is a labour of love, dare I say
It starts in the mind but then the heart holds sway.

Sharing at OLN dVerse.

One hug

The crisp paper crackles
sending a frisson up my spine
the familiar sprawled letters bring back memories
I had pushed in the recess beyond recollection

the imagined fragrance takes me to the doorway of past
I hesitate at the threshold,
hovering. The staircase of longing beckons

destined to live apart, we had blazed briefly together
toying with fiery passion
and then treading the path chosen for us

in the twilight of a predictable life
ripples threaten to rock the anchored boat
yet I give in to temptation without demur

as he strides towards me with his eyes twinkling
I rush forward and embrace him
unmindful of the people milling around

there will be no more tomorrows for our togetherness
this one hug will be enough to colour my monotone dreams;
enough to live by.

https://lifeafter50forwomen.com/2021/11/01/what-do-you-see-november-1st-2021/

The cup that cheers (OctPoWriMo)

Day 28

Prompt: Tea

Form: Free verse

Soother of jangled nerves
peace broker par excellence
rejuvenator incomparable
deal maker, irrespective of the size of the deal
world unifier,  conversation starter.

never finicky about how it is served
equally at home in a snooty fine porcelain cup,
a glass, a steel container
or an earthy earthen cup
nor bothered about accompaniments
shining on its own and graciously sharing limelight
with dainty sandwiches, cakes or pedestrian samosa and bhajiya*
warming hearts and hands together.

most versatile and chameleon like
changing colours according to surroundings
heavenly in its pristine avatar with no add ons
perfect pairing with milk or cream
sweet enough without sugar
but welcoming both sugar and sweeteners
suitably changing self to suit different tastes.

in good times, in bad times
for celebrations, at mournings
in a meeting, on a road trip
to welcome guests, to bid farewells
on rainy days, on cold wintry days
in the summer heat, in the humidity
all weather and all time favourite.

Warming, cooling, calming, uniting
tiny curled leaves unfurl gracefully under heat
fruity, smoky or musky aroma
manna for a parched soul.

*Samosa: south Asian savoury snack. Fried white flour pastry filled with spicy potatoes.

*Bhajiya: vegetable fritters

I must have written and discarded at least six poems on this topic. As is obvious, I am an ardent tea lover. This is more of a stream of consciousness write. Please overlook mistakes and repetitions.

Sonnet 611 (OctPoWriMo)

Day 16

Prompt: Love (or not!)

Form: Sonnet

Marriage of true minds is all bunkum;
On seeing impediments in its way,
It proves to be not at all fair dinkum,
With trepidation it does quail!
Nor is it as steady as the north star,
In the wide inky star spangled sky.
Easily shaken by even a tempest in a jar,
Incapable to withstand every how and why!
Love is surely Time’s fool, when beauty wans
Ravaged by its relentless march.
Love flies out of the window if visits to salons
Fail. Unable to withstand Time’s forward charge.
If at all thee thinketh love can last forever,
A bigger fool than thy, can there be never!

(Taking liberty to turn sonnet 116 on its head😅)