Thoughtlings

Murmuration by Lee Madgwick

Lying supine
a tiny, niggling, not-so-good thought
waits for darkness to descend
then like a magnet
attracts many more
coming in droves
all flocking my mind

soft murmurs turning cacophonous
tumbling, jumbling, shrieking
moving at lightning speed
traversing my mindscape
finding gaps, filling niches,
overwhelming my being
making my head throb

then finally tired of chasing themselves
they depart
leaving behind an empty shell
denuded, deprived, distressed.

Written for dVerse poetics. Today’s host, Sarah, has asked us to write an ekphrastic based on Lee Madgwick’s artwork shared.

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Stop (NaPoWriMo)

Stop!

stop the din in my head

stop the clamouring

the constant hammering

can’t you come one by one

why do so many of you come all at once

you hound me in my sleep too

I often wake up with a start

sweating and clammy

stop please

specially the dark ones

depressing me beyond words

you cloud my clarity

and blanket all light

pushing me in a limbo

give me some peace

a few moments of blankness

where I could immerse in nothingness

just nothing

and come out clean

remove your tentacles

suffocating me no end

they choke all the happy ones

driving them far away

from where they never return

I am left shivering

even at high noon

my spine turning into an icicle

ready to snap anytime

Go away

Please go away

let me cleanse my body and soul

in the heat of the moonlight

and air all crevices and nooks

remove all cobwebs

maybe happy thoughts will then

decide to reside.

Today’s challenge is to write a poem that starts with a command. It could be as uncomplicated as “Look,” as plaintive as “Come back,” or as silly as “Don’t you even think about putting that hot sauce in your hair.” Whatever command you choose, I hope you have fun ordering your readers around.

Imprisoned thoughts ( a quadrille)

(From Pexel)

Sillily squabbling
talkative thoughts
cooped in a cramped cell
elbow for emancipation.

unable to defend their debilitated existence
they resort to unsuccessful rioting.

most are old timers
biding their time
others; new inmates.

only the lucky few will be paroled on paper some day.

Written for dVerse. Today’s host, De, says: Today, I want you to play on paper with the word paper. Just pen a poem of precisely 44 words, including some form of the word paper.

Bereft

Forlorn, forsaken, alone it stands

loneliness resides now in its once vibrant grounds

this house was a home once

ringing with laughter and voices

pattering footsteps, whispered secrets

boisterous debates, guttural guffaws

serenading songs and comforting silences

It was the scene of serenity and tranquillity,

of get-togethers and meetings,

of anniversaries and soirées,

of hurried breakfasts and languid dinners,

Sunday brunches and sometimes takeaways

a kids’ haven, a wife’s domain

a man’s refuge and a shelter for the elderly

welcoming and peaceful

a place, where weary heads when laid on the pillow

awakened invigorated and rejuvenated

It was bright and warm on a cold night

beckoning invitingly with its cosiness

in summers its cool confines provided solace,

soothing heart and mind

the smell of baking inveigling the senses,

smell of freshly laundered clothes, flowers in vases,

just like it should be

in a home.

and then, everything ended

it is now a mere shell of itself

quiet, desolate and abandoned

life moves on relentlessly, inexorably

and strangely,

turns homes into houses in its wake.