20 Lines A Day

A Community of Writers and Photographers

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The Music

The ceiling stares back at me

Sprawled on the cold hard floor,


In the darkness I watch the lights

From passing cars, creep across the room.


I’m lost in another world, far away

The music picks me up, lifts me and carries me away

Dances play in the movies of my mind.


I listen wholly, with all of me

Shutting out the rest of the world

Just to be with the music

Let it sink into every pore.

I want it to take hold.


It’s like a drug, alters my emotions

Takes me high, brings me low.

Makes me move, dance and shake

Induces tears I’m unable to stop.


I lay pressed against the floor

To feel the vibrations

Make it even more real,

As I relax, I feel each muscle give way

Release into the music,

It calms me and sets me free

I won’t be still for long

The music always moves me

And then I’m who I was always meant to be.


The Elusive Poem

A poem lives above the clouds, beneath the sea,
and sends its tender voice on shimmered wings to me.
I do not hear because my world runs crazy-fast,
and its deliciousness has gone away, has passed.

I need to tune my ear to my dear muse’s voice,
stop all my busyness, and rather make the choice
to pay attention. She won’t carry anything
that doesn’t shine like gold or absolutely sing.

When I am still I hear her whisper in the dark.
Shh, poet, listen for the gifts I hold for you.
Come with me on my journey. I await. Embark
upon my ship and we’ll explore far lands anew.

First Bon Voyage, a stolen glance, my quiet stance.
So long I’ve waited. Now I partner in this dance.  


Bequested love

Dance with me
and set
fine step with
and cornets

Let me introduce you
to court my lady
my lady
dressed in
fashioned finery

stockings white
whirl to music
this night

whitened skin
beauty fair
reddened cheeks
and auburn hair

my lady I shall
forsake my life
for yours
I shall betake
to ends of earth
declare my love
forgo the whores

grant me
company with
your honesty
for I do not
look upon you

utmost charm
you spellbind
elegant eyes
that haunt me
I pray you are

hold you hand
in mine
dance lightly
look into my eyes
can I convince
this is no guise

beauty and grace
modestly majestic
no finer lady
dressed in lace

smile for me my lady
lower eyelids
let me raise your hand
look not upon me

crowded jewels
upon your dress
impassioned is
my love

let me confess
to you my love
I’ve sworn
this night of nights
I am reborn

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Silent trumpet sounds


The oblivious and innocent

Into vacuous voids,

ethereal eclipses –

Angelic wings dance blithely

Dripping tiny baubles of hope

Melting in mid-air

Dreams, splayed like kindling

Beneath a roaring fire

Where sparks ignite the dirt

With stars too heavy to fly toward the moon

Suffocating lest fingertips burn

Leaving ashy-white memories

Subtly heralding promises of pleasure.

Etched on mental panes

Snowflake images of perfection

transforming teardrops

with the heat from one

quiet sigh.


Writing Rondeau

The dark red blood glistens in the night

The dark red blood glistens in the night

Narrating the story of British Raj’s might

How a kind boy was killed at first glance

where now his lover is forced to dance

Who will, against this injustice, fight?


This deed of the Raj can never be right

the story behind which I now write

That kid was of no proper civil stance

Now his dark red blood glistens in the night.


What was about him, that the Raj fright

Was it his, against the oppression, fight?

He was not even given a last glance

Drowned in the black river at first chance

Now his lover dances at the same site

Where his dark red blood glistens in the night.

The story, I am narrating, through this poem- is loosely based on a Hindi prose- “एहिं थैया झुलनी हैरानी हो रामा…” by Shivprasad Mishra “Rudra”.

Poetic style- Rondeau

A french form of poetry consisting of 3 stanzas, 13 original lines and 2 refrains of the I line of the poem.


1. 8-10 syllables per line.

2. Structure with rhyme scheme-



















Welcome to the Dance

Welcome to the dance.

It is not for everyone.

You have to be strong.


You show your writing,

if you dare, persuade your Muse

to show herself too.


Open up a vein –

prepare to bleed on the page

giving Birth or Death.


There will be no truce,

not for you nor for your work.

Nor will blood congeal


Till veins are empty,

mind and body drained away

energy all spent.


This is not your choice

but rather the path chosen

for you to enact.


So join if you dare.

There will be no going back.

Welcome to the Dance.







For the Adjective/Adverb Challenge

The Library

Rooms filled with history, non-fiction, prose
invite her. As she reads the books, she grows
in ways I never could imagine. France
inside her bedroom beckons her to dance
the pirouette, musette, and Bach’s bourée.
She wonders what to wear for her soirée,
but steps out for the evening in her dream,
so exquisite in black with lace of cream.
But wait. Perhaps she turns the page to Spain
and flashes a flamenco. See her mane
a-twirling? Palma snaps, her gown of flame,
the mariachis….all call out her name.


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