Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
September 08, 2012

One Sigh Too Many

 I forgot my IWSG post this month, and I almost forgot this...having been away from my blog for over two weeks. 

 Before I proceed my Friday Guest post at Misha Gericke's  Blog sylmion.blogspot.com - guest post friday-rekha seshadri.html. Do  check it out. My first one. :)

RFW Challenge No 44 for Featured Writer/Runner Up titles . Post Any genre, any POV. Remember the romantic element. 

 My attempt at Prosetry for the prompt.

Wish I had kissed you then
When Chance hovered around, flapping her multi coloured wings. We were no longer just friends, but maintaining the status quo. So afraid of saying the word, so guilty of holding back.  
Now, empty words, emptier dreams, and emptiest memory that I alone drag along.

Wish I had kissed you then
A piece of You forever with me -precious and sacred, my secret visitation.
Nothing more than a Kodak moment,  a rarely visited spot on the shelves littered with books and stuff - your bored eyes proclaim. Is the spot taken by more significant others, old friends relegated to a rusting steel almirah at your parents retirement retreat?

Wish I had kissed you then
 Lost - the charmer, idealistic and innocent to the wolfish ways of the world. 
Found  - the expert rat racer, flipping through your black berry, revealing the unbridgeable chasm that separates us.
 Choosing what you once said never mattered, hollow words.  I see her by your side - tall, slim, vivacious yesterday as she was a decade ago, our proclaimed rose queen - every valentine.
Did you secretly wish to send her those 1001 roses her boyfriend deemed then, his exclusive right?

Wish I had kissed you then
Seeing you hand in hand -  in love? So easy for you with her, impossible for you with me. Was it me who keep you at a distance, or was I just an available backup while you waited for a chance with her?
Wonder if that ex boyfriend nursed hidden wounds in a dim lit pub, as I did in crowded escalators of the latest mall in the Metro.
I could never be her then, do I wish to be her now? Do I dare find unpleasant answers to  these mocking questions swirling all around me?

Wish I had kissed you then
These seven years past seem like seven lifetimes, the gulf between what we were and what you are, plain for unblinkered eyes to see. People change, it's oft said, oh, they do, not quite like you.
The real You before me in all his glory, kept well hidden from our unsuspecting hearts then, a pretender and a master of disguise? The simple, care free boy no longer, this one I'd rather not know.
Your smile is the same, but leaves no tugs on my heart strings, much to my surprise. Is it because I see with fresh insight, the smile of an all knowing flirt?

Wish I had kissed you then
On that watery night, taking refuge from knee high, black, muddy pools. The monsoon and her electric backdrop, sending shivers of a different kind amid much discomfort. 
Wished I had seized a stolen moment, that stolen kiss. 
No meaningless memories,  not wasted years of longing.  
My heart wouldn't have known betrayal. 
What we were - laughed way with tears of regret. 
What we could have been - unsolved mystery no more.
What we are - not evoking one sigh too many.


WC - 495  FCA















June 15, 2012

The Perfect Ex - Romantic Friday Writers

Had to enter the fray, since this will be the last RFW entry till August for me.

Based on the prompt of the same name as the title, a story or poem in 400 words or less.

Puts away his clothes as usual.
the routine followed each night,
He stands by, saying nothing.
Adjusts the covers on the queen sized bed,
another of those things to be done,
 aware of his eyes on the movements made.

That night, they lie down together one last time.
she knows, he knows, pretend otherwise.
Hold her hand, promising another string of lies,
she believed them often, now, not one.

The dark, sleepless hours seem never ending,
her courage peaks and wanes.
The dawn should bring respite for both,
 She, for once, no longer plays
the imperfect specimen of the wife,
embarking on the new journey of a perfect ex.

Lost in the pride of his invincibility,
a blind heart in denial of the inevitability.
These six weeks past mark her revenge
 a small price for the six years he has stolen.

The house is clean, the fridge is stocked,
the dinner awaits him on the dining table,
most of her things, he claimed took valuable space,
gone from this house empty of her footsteps.
All that remain are the few material pieces
he boasted to be acts of needless generosity.

She leaves behind memories of the past,
could choke and strangle any feeling mortal.
 Takes along enough of a future,
 no share or meddling by him, afraid not, any more.

 wc 217



For Romantic Friday writers



Writing after a fortnight was tough, I struggled and barely pulled through.

I posted this just about managing to keep the friday score. Will be visiting the others tomo and also those kind ones that read my previous post.



April 20, 2012

RandomMusings For The Day #47 and Some Verses Thrown In

How is it that despite child proofing your home to the best of your abilities, they find a way to injure themselves??


Decadent thoughts blight
the once beautiful

Life's rewards for 
 the faithful's watch.

Floating on dark, gloomy
 waters of humanity

A constant struggle 
against the inevitable sinking.

Pressures, now stilled
rechanneled to naively targets

This bloated carnival
awaits the recycling order.




* The poem's inspired by a fantastic picture found Here in Dreamstime.
March 08, 2012

The Tryst - Second Campaign Challenge

Using four of the prompts, doing a flash fiction, a pitch or logline,  an inspired poem.
Additionally, 
attempting three of the  activities tied by a common theme,
in a genre never before attempted,
and requesting a critique.


Flash Fiction

All that was left was to wait it out.
He stared at her, elegant looking despite the wet hair from the drizzle that caught them unprepared. Shooing away the starving kids at the garbage dumps hadn’t been easy, grim remainders of his past. He shifted his leg stump away from the jetting rails of what had once been the bridge of Bridgewater town. The pain would resurface soon making travel a nightmare.
The message had been delivered, the bird in his trap, dawn bringing the well earned reward. He day dreamed of the golden patterns, enjoyable side effects of the pain killing serum.


In a happier time reflected in her grandfather’s picture in the burlap, the sneak would have a name not just a number. The one who had foreseen the rise of Stonia, now something evoking fear and despondency was long dead but the movement he co-founded was alive in the hidden depths. She often wondered what had turned the still beautiful woman into the epitome of sadism.
Eric, she felt an ache at the very sound... this pathetic human staring at her brought her closer to the goal, the mission’s success hanging on his ignorance.

wc 198

Pitch/Logline


 In a world bereft of most natural resources, the International Council rules with an iron fist. The  self labelled high priestess and sadist Stonia, the true wielder of power ruthlessly mows any opposition. But the MOB, an underground resistance plots her demise, their reluctant assassin, the unassuming Charlotte, granddaughter of one of the founders,
A simple plan that needs only an image and the medical skills of the widow of the previous leader, finds her embroiled in a moral conflict that could sabotage the mission and destroy the movement...

Wc 89

Poem - Form 'Ode'


Grey cloaks the land,
Where once walked the green maiden
Lovely and captivating visions she spun.
The birds sang, the river hummed
the mad wind whistled in passing.
Happy faces, laughing eyes, scampering feet
were not yet yellowing postcard smiles.

She stood there, straight backed yet unsure,
taking in the detail,
stilling the mind and heart
with the skilled hands of years past.
The expectations weighed
heavy on her chest.
The spirit never truly waned nor wavered
until she met her,
The mother who could have been hers.

For the Rach Writes' Second Campaigner Challenge

Prompt 1: 
Two people are sitting together under the remains of a concrete bridge. Their backs are against a rusted bridge support. One person’s leg is cut. The other person has wet hair. 

Four picture prompts.

Do one or more of the following:
  1. Write a pitch/logline for a book based on the prompts (less than 100 words)
  2. Write a short story/flash fiction piece of less than 200 words based on the prompts
  3. Write a poem with a twist using the prompts as inspiration (in less than 200 words)
  4. Write a story/poem in five sentences, each sentence based on one of the prompts
  5. Write a poem/flash fiction piece (in less than 200 words) about the water pear *without* using the words “pear”, “spoon”, or “droplet”.
For added difficulty/challenge:
  • Complete at least three of the above activities and tie them all together with a common theme (feel free to either state the theme in your post or leave us to guess what it might be)
  • Write in a genre that is not your own
  • Ask Challenge entrants to critique your writing.
November 22, 2011

I Dream About

Being able to say 
what you want to
without the "voice" at the back
reminding, 
someone is sure to get offended.


Putting those words on  paper 
before she says "lights out".
prose or verse doesn't matter 
as long as a part of me, thoughts
and emotions get reflected.


That scene that would make for 
images to come back to,
the vision needed to enable
those pictures speak a thousand words.


These tiny dreams are for everyday
to breathe and sustain.
the bigger ones remain elusive
food, water, clothes; 
the three basics for all.
throw in some shelter, 
a bit of education and some empathy,
sisterhood and peace
to make others dreams come true.





"This post is an entry at Blogjunta Dreams Contest to be judged by Jyoti Arora, author of Dream's Sake"


Added To Gooseberry Goes Poetic
October 31, 2011

Eventful Halloween

Halloween elsewhere
has witches and vampires 
coming out of their lair.

Our halloween 
had the metal kings* 
burn up the green city.
The racing cars* added their 
zoom to brighten up 
 a lazy sunday afternoon.

No tricks but treats,
not candy to taste
but for the eyes to feast

the snow in New York 
dampened not the protesters'*
heart or soul
The holiday this year  
marks the birth of
the seven billionth heir* 
to the chaos and order 
that goes by the name 
Planet Earth.


* India's  first F1 Grand Prix was held on Sunday in one city while Metallica rocked us in Bangalore.
Today the Wall Street protests continue in New York while the seven billionth Earthling is born elsewhere.

August 22, 2011

Wave The Flag

Ignite the fire, 
the blue of transparency
Let the streets burn 
in the fierceness of your passion
The mighty cower and hide
covering their tracks in vain
People's power where it truly belongs
not in the hungry corridors of parliament
 in you and me who put them there
Not for avarice and mindless ego trips 
 to make our lives a better fare.
Remind them time and again
 of the people, by the people, for the people
 is still the clarion call of Democracy








* This is my BLUE contribution to the fight against corruption - a people's movement that has erupted all across India, asking their elected representatives not to forget what they are here for.


For Jinksy In Tandem 6Gooseberry Goes Poetic

June 14, 2011

Despotic Dreams

My brother the big dictator
hates my being a drake.
Stands by insisting I wear lavender;
to be seen as a pansy
by all the hot ducks I fancy.


Added To Grandma's  Goulash and Poetry Potluck
June 06, 2011

White Wizard


White Wizard, 
He's going away,
White Wizard,
Can't you make him stay?
All this time you were around,
Silent and Eager, Quiet and Strong.
Took for granted all the moments
Now long gone just memories
Of our unfinished song.
There you were
When need made me cling..
Its a crime, a crying shame,
That fear made me let go
Of what was mine...

First there was Fate,
And then there were Rules,
Strangers both to 
One's that choose.
One sealed my lips,
The other crushed my soul,
Together tormenting, 
Never for a moment apart.

Desperate mind that never knew,
Hell it would be,
To live without you.
Wishful thinking of a foolish heart,
Things would change..
Tonight the stars will shine'
Tomorrow the sun will rise again....


(This was inspired by the song White Demon - The Killers)


Added To Poetry Potluck
April 23, 2011

Torturous Days

Life is never straight nor calm, tragic
when he turns on that so called charm
Not a funny bone in the body
and yet speak of comic timing.
 The party is on in full swing
wishing you have a shift to still be in.
The stunned silence isn't quite adulation
the life of this one?, funny thought.
Costume themed? definitely not.
 Bet, you purposely forget.
 Blue velveteen and floppy ears
stands out among jeans and T shirts
This to mock me, I know
Easter bunny stunt pulled out,
just means, "now is time"
to give you the marching lines...


Added To Saturday Centus





April 07, 2011

Friends - Love Them Or Leave them - Here To Stay


I came, I saw, They conquered 
Anxious
Ballistic
Charming
Diffident
I came, I saw, They conquered
Enriching
Fierce
Gullible
Honest
I came, I saw, They conquered
Inspiring
Jealous
Kempt
Lovable
I came, I saw, They conquered
Miserable
Nerdy
Opinionated
Popular
I came, I saw, They conquered
Querulous
Restless
Sacrificing
Temperamental
I came, I saw, They conquered
Unique
Versatile
Worldly
Xenophobic
I came, I saw, They conquered
Yesterday’s
Zenith
We met, We lingered, We parted, We reminisced.
March 28, 2011

Sinful Delights


Some impulsive days /
Reasons fly off the window /
Sweet fruit forbidden //




Thank you, Jingle, for the Perfect Poet Award :)  for Week 39 
 I accept… 
For next week I nominate Nimue.
March 26, 2011

A Parody


A 100 or less worded Micro fiction in poetry genre this time around, with a Prompt in bold (not included in the 100 words count) that has to be left intact in the Poem. Sing along with other rhymes at Jenny Matlock's meme...her blog off on my tangent.

I am above average in studies
And I don’t quite worry
Must I proclaim anyway

Nothing you say is making a headway
Often I  seek the outside
Training my thoughts on the roadside

Alas I am not always invisble

Caught by a question unanswerable
Holding my head down in so deplorable
I’m not a chicken
Classmates, don’t be concerned
Kneeling down and 100 long  lines  I can tolerate
Enjoy the show but do calculate
Next is you on the line Dear, Saddened Wilma!!! :P

 This is an  Acrostic Poem - starts with each succeeding letter of the prompt sentence.


Also Added To Umas Poem Book



 (( Wilma Roche (A Goan Catholic) was one of my best friends from 6th-10th grade in my all girls convent school (St.Anne's, Bombay)...
We lost touch after junior college i.e.11th and 12th grade here....
and she had this klutzy habit of breaking my glasses (shortsighted me) atleast once a year !! ))


Jenny Matlock
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