Cycle of life

(From Unsplash)

1.
At the promise of spring
the schooner is finally set to sail
’tis better not to kvetch

2.
Soul sisters share stories at night
doing mother’s will
Winning battles our way

3.
With me, you better tread with caution
as passion often incites treason
bubbling and frothing to putrid death

4.
I do have a yen for the luxury of anonymity
with appreciation, this heart does beam
keeping me warm and safe

5.
As life transits towards the end
it makes my staid life a mural of flavours
and in my dreams the lullaby carries me home.

The first four stanzas were put together for the MTB at dVerse last week. Both Jane and Merril mentioned that it would be a cadralor if I added one more stanza. So I went back to my poems and picked three more end lines. Is it a cadralor now, do tell!

Sharing at dVerse OLN.

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Giving thanks

Winter’s indulgence
indulgence of life’s transience
transient tastes triumph

triumphant nature
nature’s gifts reaped together
to gather to toast

toast, waffles and jam
jampacked is family do
doing mother’s will

Written for Sadje’s wdys, Eugi’s moonwashed musings weekly prompt and David’s W3 (a chain verse of at least 3 haiku including the word mother, by Aishwarya). Sharing at dVerse OLN.

Happy Thanksgiving to all those who celebrate.

Will, would, who knows!

From Shutterstock

Will my words sit timidly
on the threshold of life forever
hesitant, directionless and self-deprecating
or like restless vagabonds
traverse the unlikeliest of places
wandering on the lips of strangers unknown

What determines the life of a song
is it the number of times it is sung
or when its relevance surpasses time
to flow into eternity
morsels of soul wrapped in metaphors
do they satiate other souls
or meet disdain and curl up and wither
trampled by indifference

From these tattered, stitched up verses
would anyone try to piece my lies
or would they lie gathering dust
under a stash of showy strophes
would some wise eye espy the thread
of truth discreetly running through
or would they be dismissed as trite tedious tropes

Spring-like these words gurgle on their own
they know not what they want
except that they want to flow
my pen gives them the spotlight that they crave
though I crave not the spotlight
a mystery, an enigma I claim not to be
I do have a yen for the luxury of anonymity.

Written for David’s W3 where POW Larry has asked us to incorporate chiasmus in our poem, for Eugi’s moonwashed weekly challenge.

Sharing at dVerse OLN.

Autumnal musings

1.

Warm ochre and orange blooms
vibrant hued festivities
season of sweetness overload.

2.

Yellowed leaves gently falling
providing warmth to the earth
from the oncoming chilly winter.

3.

Smog chokes ragged breaths
descending greyness
settles cozily in the lungs.

4.

Hot, spiced pumpkin latte
welcoming the darker half
a spook fest on the cards.

5.

Autumn’s celestial bodies
cast a golden mellow glow
rites and rituals and fruitfulness.

Written for Sadje’s wdys, David’s W3 to Sylvia’s prompt (a cadralor on autumn) and Eugi’s moonwashed weekly challenge.

Sharing it at dVerse OLN.

Bubbling to death

From Istock

Stay on the back-burner for a while
I pleaded with my passion
let me play other roles for now
you have to learn some patience

I could see it floundering
in a rush to be ahead of others
flailing and falling helplessly
so it needed to feel before flourishing

Stepping back would help it ferment
and then foment with excitement
slowly stewing steeped in its juices
to effervesce with vigour and vivacity

alas! I let it be for too long
it started feeding on its fetid self
my passion that was raring to go
bubbled and frothed to putrid death.

Written for dVerse poetics. Li had asked us to write on fermentation. Since I am late, I am sharing it at OLN.

Hangover (revisited)

The half empty bottle of vitriol

that you left on my shelf

when you moved on

I take a sip from it everyday

the days, as a result, become palatable

but the nights need

something stronger

so I drink a cocktail of vitriol and torment

sometimes I add a dash of despair

and always garnish it with self-pity

but sadly it is still not potent enough

to knock me out completely

the hangover always leaves me

crying out your name in anguish.

Sharing it with dVerse OLN.

That heavy feeling

The grainy texture of hazy memories
evokes myriad long forgotten tastes
some ambrosial, some miasmic
some that leave me pasty faced.

suspended in the half light of living
an unnamed bird flutters haplessly
singing no song of eternal hope
yet it can’t stop whirring its wings endlessly.

tonight the moon’s forehead is lined with worries
the fragrant skies will smolder throughout the night
heaving under the haze of monochromatic thoughts
the sun’s endeavour to slight the moon may never come to light.

time fades bit by bit bleeding every second
hunger throbs voraciously in my aching bones
tears gather drop by drop in the hollow of my neck
I brace myself for the colossal shadows of unknowns.

Sharing with dVerse OLN.

Frenzy

Hush! I tell my weary heart not to cry
as mayhem is unleashed in a flurry
I sip life slowly; the world jostles by
the time has come for us all to worry

as mayhem is unleashed in a flurry
wonder if people ponder their time here
the time has come for us all to worry
I frown, as I try to blink back a tear

wonder if people ponder their time here
a frenzied rush leading no where
I frown, as I try to blink back a tear
as I hear of killings here and there

a frenzied rush leading no where
I sip life slowly, the world jostles by
as I hear of killings here and there
hush! I tell my weary heart not to cry

Written in response to POW Kerfe’s prompt for W3 challenge run by David. Her prompt guidelines are:

  • 16 lines or less;
  • the first and last lines must be the same.

Also sharing at dVerse OLN.

That thingamajig

The time is upon us of those hot, long days

everything moving at such a slow pace

I think I can hear the footsteps of my mind

though it seems to find itself in a bind

that thingamajig which kept it ticking and going

has vamoosed completely and gone into hiding

playing peekaboo with precipitous peeks and glimpses

like a novice I fail when within a few inches

is it roaming like a nomad in search of greener pastures

am I no longer a good, clever master

has it has been lured by someone else

for I can see in the vicinity a jealous elf

all these years of practice at writing

gone to waste with that thing flying!

I enveigle it, as one would an errant young one

with treats of likes and comments well spun

I chew quills, tear empty page after page

raging at being so unfairly caged

if you see my thingamajig lurking somewhere

just show it the path to my aboutwhere.

An old poem reworked for dVerse OLN being hosted by Sanaa.