Holiday Post Card

This is not a Holiday post card Printed on a glossy 3.5×5 inch paper But an ice rink resplendent with pair ice skaters drawing circles around one another spinning in and out of each other’s embrace with Swiss watch precision on the cutting edge of Lickety-split ice skates.   Or perhaps it is an indulgent…

A Poem: Emotions

Emotions You can pick the last few pieces, on sale at the neighborhood goodwill store, Next to the tie-die shirts and clogs; that nobody has any use for anymore. I ran my fingers over the frayed material as if to bid one last good-bye, You could see they were worn out. Life has a way…

On choosing a lover

If I could chose a lover it would be Poetry; a lonely heart’s companion. Words would descend upon me like vultures on a juicy carcass. Tearing my soul like an old King’s ravenous concubine.   Who needs the rehearsed symphony of meter? We would be giddy on music & rhythm, playing on words. Flirting, laughing,…

Ted Kooser’s words

Ted Kooser is one of my favorite contemporary poets. His poems are profound ruminations on life while the subjects of discussion are usually mundane objects like a painting, book, tattoo etc. While his words spread like butter on a warm toast and feel equally natural. Here is one of his many wonderful poems reading which makes you…

Prose Poem: “I don’t like poetry”

Whoever says, “I don’t like poetry” is a liar. Poetry exists everywhere. It’s in sunrise, nightfall, rain and thunder as much as it is in a mundane book, bed, mantelpiece or window. It’s in a new born babe’s first cry as it is in a flurry of birds shearing through the skies like jets on…

Hope

If you have seen your own house burn to ashes, and your life’s work undone in a matter of hours then you have probably entered the darkest, deepest recesses of your heart. Doves and Peacocks don’t live in these dark corners. Skies are perennially dark. Nights are so cold you think you will not survive…

Prose Poem: Lazy Sunday

I love this room with its king-size bed, decked with blue-green cushions that call my name in colored tones of embroidered silk. This room with its tall windows, and the sun stealing in through gaps between wooden lattices, casting ribbons of bright yellow on my hardwood floor. It’s hard to tear out of its delicious…

Year’s end

Red Doors are closing in on parched leaves, studding the sidewalks. We have crossed out yet another season on our kitty calendar and dressed the meager backyard in ghoulish rags. The procession of witches and ghouls too shall pass and not much else will happen. Some birds will be washed down with wine and “thank…

Grandma’s face…

Faces are like complex metaphors to life, Happy like a child’s first solo bicycle ride, Or grim like Patty the parrot buried in the backyard, Treacherous like frozen ice on your doorstep, or innocent like a ticklish cackle. Faces are like dreams altering reality, and reality altering dreams. Playing my life in reverse I see a fanfare…

Prose Poetry: Under my Skin

Prose poetry at a glance: A prose poem is any piece of verse written using the normal typography of prose, while maintaining elements of poetry, like rhythm, imagery, metaphors etc. Here is my contribution. Under my skin: She has a tendency to get under my skin. I try to shroud myself under the cloak of…

7 reasons why poets suck; are you one of them?

Are you a fledgling poet and an extremely “good” one at that but wondering why you are unable to keep the circle of friends you once enjoyed? Do well-meaning friends always have an excuse to avoid your lunch invitation? Are more and more members of your family enacting the Cheshire cat on the dinner table…

OOPS!: The Laws of Creation

I love Found Poetry. The concept of Found poetry is similar to borrowing your grandma’s old tatters and stitching them into a glorious summer gown. Here is my contribution to the world of found poetry. I wrote this poem a long time ago when I was in school learning Object Oriented Programming. I should add I was not very good…

Room in a blur

You can count the perfect patterns of her expression in the creased symmetry of her blue-green curtains. Measure the dimensions of shadows or flashes of smile that rise and fall on the contours of her face. You can trace the magic inside the creases of her bed. Even capture her colored energy in the pale…

The hard truth of poetry?

“Ink runs from the corners of my mouth” Eating Poetry by Mark Strand The market for poetry is probably smaller than the number of poets in the world. Yet more and more people gladly join the ranks every year, spending their precious time penning a musical verse. To some there is no greater pleasure than…

Soul of the World

Tea leaves settled at the bottom of a crystal glass portending uncertain future with certainty. To believe or not to believe was never the question. For is it not against the grain of faith to question? Symbols of pilgrimage strewn like dried bougainvillea in my garden. An oracle worth of signs on every junction. Some that we missed,…

An ode to my sister

Two circles traced in the sand by a wistful finger, Half burned candle forever stuck inside grandma’s candle holder, A pair of reading glasses resting on your dog-eared copy of Wuthering Heights, A balmy conversation shared over a hearty meal of vegetable kofta and rice, Something’s are just meant to go together; like a thread…

Antelope Run

Given below is a poem I wrote to break the writer’s block. I forced myself to write for 5 minutes and then spent 7 minutes updating it. Ready, Set, go An eclectic collection of wild synergism touted on blackened walls for cigar smoking gallery-goers. Giant heads of antelope Gods that were once awake to mortal…

Lamposts

My mind swims with thoughts of sweet escape; as days fuse into seasons and seasons glow like lampposts of life. Each year these lampposts get closer, glowing with an eerie halo of winter mist. Spring and summer have waltzed out and fall creeps behind the curtain with tired feet. I have stopped reading the world…

Point Dume

Point Dume You would have to know the hills well enough to spot this dirt path that meanders for miles across the hills, like a dog aimlessly chasing sea gulls in mid flight. Even the cool breeze is drunk on sea salt, and wears the guise of a flower girl today who runs with her…

Praise

Inside the sitting room of my memory play the retired ghosts of past years. School’s out. The summer heat shimmers so bright, even coolers and fans cannot bring down the day’s fever. In the garden a chameleon changes colors faster than a thirteen year old changes her mind. The trees weary of the heat droop…

Life is…

empty when full and full when empty. Like the chaotic symphony of the colorless cocoon (no larger than a thimble) unwinding into a mile long silken yarn. Waiting to be woven & inked with jacquard pots of red & gold into a scarf that bears artistic witness to snowy wastelands of icicled mulberry trees. Underneath…

How to create a Master piece

I wanted to paint life in its rich palette of pastels; corn yellow, caterpillar green, pomegranate red, a blessed hue of honeycomb gold, aster blue and random dabs of rainbow. Determined to create a masterpiece of sorts. I drew up a country hut with a chimney blowing smoke, a cockatoo cooing good morning, cattle grazing and birds…

Falling in love

Maybe one day I shall become a poet, and write a book. Each page will be enjambed with my tongue. I shall publish it on recycled paper and leave plenty of space in the margin for your notes. When you chose to relax with a glass of wine, open my book & like a dolphin…

On Chosing a Profession

I suppose I could be A lawyer, Car salesman, Politician, Then again I could just be a poet, Lying glibly like a water through a spout. Opening the morning newspaper, Predetorially eyeing for bushels of words, greedily borrowing from obituaries, scandals and star sightings. Rolling alphabets into a poignant poem like a ball of barbed…

Weekly Photo Challenge: In Between

‘In Between’ … Is the difference between the ‘living’ and the truly ‘alive’, It’s the boundless expanse of human emotions stretching between the two ears, It’s the time spent sowing a seed to the reaping of corn coyly veiled in silken hair, It’s the seconds passed between a glance to the sudden recollection of days…

A Shadow

Ever since birth this dark billowy figure follows me. Shape shifting; thick and stout, or narrow and long, depending upon where the sun rests on the celestial compass. Reticent yet resolute; watching my every move. Like the spy that never gives up even after the war is waged or like the shepherd who never stops…

Void

Your pearly skin shimmered under the dim lights of your parlor when I last saw you. The world heavy with the weight of your beauty and the foggy twilight stretching lazily over the city. Your laughter shaking out a rabble of butterflies folded like a prayer on their colorful blossoms. Your long hair braided like…

Frozen

Mouth full of air waiting to blow a candle. Lips curled up into an “o” as if to whistle a soft tune. Foot on the gas pedal waiting to ignite the Chevy truck into motion. Boeing 747 hovering inches above the ground ready to land. A Pianist about to hit the piano keys for his…

Limerick a day keeps the Doctor away

Limerick a day keeps the Doctor away, how about four? i. Clickety clock Someone’s at the door; knock, knock Who’s there? Lovely Ms Montclair He opened the door, suited booted and missing a sock ii. There once was an old Man Descendant of a royal clan Poor as a pauper Wise as a priest Lived…

Happiness

Just before the celestial change of guard the sun and moon fleetingly share a bed in the clandestine skies, I walk alone on the beach. A pair of dolphins burst out from the sea doing cart wheels like two happy six year old’s and swim parallel to the shore their big clown smiles drawn permanently…

Stay a while with me

When I am dead my dearest, Stay a while with me, Dress me up as a bride, Break open a champagne, Throw a Big farewell party, For I lived a long and fine life. When I am dead my dearest, Stay a while with me, I will watch over you from the moon, Where all…

Spring

Spring For years have I have been jailed, Inside these walls of decorum & propriety, Like an obedient wife, Caught in the duality of desires & duties Until the transgressing thoughts flew through, The keyhole of these iron gates, Breaking the darkness with their brilliant colors of the rainbow, I jumped on the backs of…

A Sumptuous Breakfast

I fry the setting sun in a saucepan, Constantly waddling the edges, So it won’t burn, Then let it slip gracefully onto my plate, And fork the gooey center, Until it bursts; The Brilliant sun melting into the blue Horizon, Forever gone. Until Tomorrow.

Picture Imperfect

(Picture courtesy: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/V-J_Day_in_Times_Square) If you look closer, you can see the shadows In these pictures, reveal the tell-tale clues, Of the darkness slowly lurking, into their then sunny lives, Years before they finally waived goodbye, At London’s Charing Cross Station. This picture shot on a sunnier day On the Hungerford bridge, Of the happy couple…

Short lives of Wives

The illusionist packs two tricks, Carefully placing the ‘i’ before ‘e’, except after ‘c’, Countless rhymes estranged from its poem, Encoding a simple meaning into warped confusion. Crafting a wide angle shot of a marble temple, Where the fates of the six wives of Henry VIII, Turned into ornate statues, Stand on guard outside the…

Waiting for the Verdict

“Waiting for the Verdict” was painted by Abraham Solomon in 1857 and instantly gained popularity in the Victorian era. A close look at the painting should explain why. The painting is a poignant portrayal of human pain and anguish where a common man awaits the verdict of his trial with his family. The future of…

Tomorrow

A wintry day in school, Learning by wrote, conformance is rule, Everyone seems to catch on in class, But I, who yet again forgets homework, detention alas! At lunch I play alone, A snow cannonball aimed for my head, Missed by a few inches, This whole school thing is way overblown, Mom is in hospital,…

Why is it…?

Why have we studied the cosmic skies for Ages? Yet we know so little? Why do we try to clone man and play God? Yet we have no cure for common cold? Why is that we worry about Extra Terrestrials? Yet we don’t know our next door neighbor? Why is that the universe is constantly…

I sold my little sister

I sold my little sister, When I was seven and she a wailing two She kept us up with cries all night, Her tangled hair and clumsy walk, Her yellow dress, and squeaky shoes. My mother made me watch over her, I rather go out and play, So one day at the neighbor’s farm, I…

The Witch

History is testimony to the atrocities that have been meted out unjustly to the poor and weak in society. Women have unfortunately gotten the worst of the deal. While it is important to look forward and be proud of the accomplishment women have achieved thus far, it is equally important to look back and pay heed…

Cinderella: A snobbish rant on a favorite fairytale

Believe me, I am not against the idea of fairy tales. There is nothing better than a heart warming fairy tale read over bed time with a glass of warm milk and chocolate cookies. However, as times change so should the depiction of popular characters in fairy tales and Children’s stories. Children have a strongly receptive…

The Witch

This poem is inspired by the series of Witch trials that took place in colonial Massachusetts between February 1692 and 1693, famously known as the Salem Witch trials. The Witch  There once lived a woman, alone on the mountain top, So infamous, that no child strayed past in play or in jest, lest she may…

Nature

It’s way past midnight, All decent men safe in their homes, The hour is rife for drunken brawls and fistfights, In the alleyways only trouble and evil roam. I walk the cobbled roads, tired but conceited, No goal in mind; lost and sleepless, My brazen knife in my breast pocket, still unsheathed, I wander the…

City of Angels

City of Angels Here lies my city built on dreams and hopes, Look at these massive highways and roads, Muscle of men against nature juxtaposed, Studded along the aquamarine coast; rich abodes. This is the city of angels, the city of stars, Glitz and glamour, high rise and malls, Connected by arteries of sweat and…

Ritual

Ritual 7 o’ clock, Good Morning! Get ready for the crazy day ahead but first, Coffee with extra sugar, “let’s start blogging”, Dash out to work, “hello”, some warm, some curt. 12o’ clock, good afternoon, Run to the gym for lunch, get much needed exercise My imagination runs dry, I need monsoon, By 2Pm I…

Home

Home It’s been twenty long years since I last was here, Today I return to warm embraces and tears, And this humble abode that I so revere. Draped across these four walls my childhood joys and fears, our innocent games, countless brawls, those plays, the music bands; oh we were such racketeers! Everything here reminds…