20 Lines A Day

A Community of Writers and Photographers


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other voices

Sometimes I
admire the
moon for it
cannot match
the sun’s glory
so it finds
it’s own patch
of sky to
brighten.

Sometimes I
admire the
nightingale
for it is drowned
out in the shrilly
shouts of other
fowls so it
finds its own
silence to
liven.

Sometimes I
strive for the
sun yet I
can’t reach it,
so I aim for
the twinkling
stars instead.

Somewhere
over the rainbow
the colour black
is weeping,
but then she
realizes the
mysterious beauty
of the night.


Winter’s Nocturnes – A Sestina

He sits down.

Melodies unfurl with a twitch, a light trill,
And the man leans back, savouring every note
Cloaked in black, and stained with tears,
Winter’s gifts a forgotten sight. Under the stars,
He bows his head, straightens his back, and the haunting
Begins. He slams on the piano keys, sorrow a dark cloud.

He remembers lying down, watching the clouds,
He remembers the chirping birds’ magnificent trill,
He remembers her – her bright green eyes haunting
His own. Her hand, knotted
With his. He remembers lying down, watching the stars
As each twinkled, then faded, merely a tiny tear.

Yet her soulless body besieged his mind, tattered and torn.
Each passing bar, a doubtful cloud.
He sees not the stars.
He hears not the trill.
But only senses the funeral of the notes.
Like death angels chanting, dancing, haunting.

He plays to hunt
Her spirit, to guide her to fill the tear
In his heart. Each note
Forms her silhouette, dimly glowing against the black clouds,
Against the wintry mist. She smiles at each familiar trill,
Her eyes are gold, like the stars.

The music makes the fair moon and stars
Weep, for its haunting
Siren beseeches attention. Hark! Music flows like a rill,
As his fingers dance over the piano. Too abruptly, it stops. The air tears.
He hovers on the piano, like a cloud,
Contemplating. contemplating. contemplating. Too soon the notes

stop

for your reference:
Word 1: trill
Word 2: note
Word 3: tear
Word 4: star
Word 5: haunt
Word 6: cloud


2 Comments

A Broken Umbrella

We’ll dance a waltz in the rain.
Let
the twirling raindrops breeze past us
And the lovely patters sing.

We’ll grow our roses in the rain.
Let
the soothing winds fondle our creation
And blooming petals rise.

We’ll spin our umbrellas in the rain.
Let
the vibrant colours splash the blue
And the silent promise ring –

Our love flows like the rain
A shower of wealth
Sparkles of effervescence

And the cold, cloying tang of pain.


Fishermen’s Song

Gnarling fury,
Menacing wrath!

From Poseidon’s clutches
Deliver thy torn sail!

Warping whirlpool,
Growling gale!

Hear thy cry,
Wailing screams
Echoing – ing.

Winter’s splash
Strikes cold.

We
Await
The
Coming
Of
The
Peace

like it? I appreciate demand constructive criticism! >:)


2 Comments

A Meal.

Shaking hands prepared this meal,
Shaking hands finish this meal.

Mother and Daughter
Eat in hushed silence
Mother and Daughter
A suspense, turbulent.

Too quickly,
Daughter finishes her meal.
Too quickly,
Daughter leaves to another world

Too slowly,
Mother is left behind

A table littered with rice grains.
A clang of a spoon clattering on the floor.
Mother groans
Painfully picking it up.

With an empty chair,
Forever reserved

www.sorrowsinaserenade.wordpress.com


Fish.

Eyes turn to stare
At the new fish on the street

Dirty brown, ragged, dusty, filthy.
A pure-bred,
A perfect addition to their collection
In the tank.

Joining the ranks of four others,
A school, lined up in neat row.
Body after body after body after body after body
Resting on their tails – fish have no legs.

More eyes stare.

Their mouths open and close – but no one hears.
Fish make no noise.

Their eyes plead as yet another cent drops, more, more, they cry! – but
Fish have no choice.

Their scales flinch as a stray coin hits them – but no one cares.
Fish have no voice.

The water engulfs them,
Hundred pairs of huge eyes are magnified
Inspecting the fish.

A fish bubbles – his final one -
The reverie breaks, the other fish scatter,
And the people walk away to their lunches in fancy restaurants
Fish and chips, nicely buttered.


2 Comments

Alley – A Sestina

apologies for not updating for very long! Lots of projects and schoolwork, but the busiest period hasn’t even arrived yet! Really very sorry for my lack of discipline >< anyway hope you like this! A sestina, on how we all too often lose our way through the treacherous territory of gold and diamonds. Hope you like it, and appreciate the comments!

In the alley, I meet the Spirit
The maiden of the Fair
Night, shrouded in mist.
Claiming lives
From clutches of play
To join her in the fog

I cease to wonder what lies beyond the Fog
Do not dream, says the Spirit
No amount of prayer
Will save you. Life is not fair!
You must fight for your Life -
But wait! I spot something amiss

I walk side by side with her, mystified
Seeing people, chained in fog
Devoid of Life
Serving the spirit with their own
Never seeing daylight that’s so fair
Never seeing the fun and joy of play.

No prayer
Can help those lost in mist
Entrapped in their own fair
world of gold and diamonds and mirrors that fog
Up, haunted by the cold Spirit,
They live, but do not live

Oh, they think their Life
Is meaningful, is wonderful – but pray
tell, what wonder comes of enslavement to the Spirit?
An eternal confinement awaits, tricked by gold’s mystery
And logic denied by a fog
of details and questions, but no answers. They remember not of going to a Fair

Nor experiencing sunset so fair
No – they remember not of their past joy, but of their lives’
Golden shine. They see not the Fog
They speak no prayer
for escape. They see no mystery.
For there is the Spirit.

I emerge from the horrors of the alley, from the Spirit of the Fair Night’s play.
I have not lost my way, my life is guided by the child’s shadow, not hidden by mist
Or fog, but in the light, kindling my fiery spirit.

 

(image credits http://fatherdaughtertalk.blogspot.sg/)

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