Her little voice across the phone last night:
“I saw your picture in the paper. Nice!”
(My writers’ group, one afternoon of white
snow, candy canes, hot chocolate, gave a slice
of literature with readings, workshops, sales
of our own books before the Christmas rush.)
And then my granddaughter asked, voice in trails
of hope, “Can I come over?” In a hush
of happiness how I agreed. “I’ll bring
my books and I could have my lesson.” Yes!
She plays piano. I, the richest king,
anticipated her arrival, press
of long brown hair against my chest. And soon
I saw her lime-green coat. She ran to me,
“Hi, Memah.” O, that sweetened perk. The moon
last night shone brighter than the stars. To be
with her is treasure. How this charmer brings
me joy with laughs and smiles tucked in so tight
that every polished moment like this clings
with stubborn happiness and makes dark light.
finally back after a long uncomfortable absence, I hate not posting regularly :(
hollow eyes -
window to
hollow soul.
rainbows of youth
faded, dull grey hues
plague cloudy skies.
winged dreams fall
battered, bashed, shattered, torn.
muted screams heard –
from the aching
gnawing inside.
they cling onto shreds of
life
Well, I hope you are not angry for reading this poem(yes it is a poem) which is full of meaningless phrases and words.
But I loved writing it and I hope you are also going to love it.
Blitz is a 50-line poem, completely made up of small phrases. Rules-
1. Line 1 should be one short phrase or image.
2. Line 2 should be one short phrase or image, using the same first word as the first words of Line 1.
3. Line 3 should include the phrase, using the last word of Line 2.
4. Line 4 should include the phrase, using the last word of Line 2.
5. Line 5 should include the phrase, using the last word of Line 4.
6. Line 6 should include the phrase, using the last word of Line 4.
7. Line 7 should include the phrase, using the last word of Line 6.
8. Line 8 should include the phrase, using the last word of Line 6.
9. Keep on repeating the routine till Line 48.
10. Line 49 is the last word(only) of Line 48.
11. Line 50 is the last word(only) of Line 47.
If you have any questions, do ask them. And try it- I know it is a little time consuming and a little confusing as well, but it is quite entertaining when we write it.
Fire looked at the captain of her guard and laughed, because she wasn’t Cansrel – she wasn’t anyone but herself. She had no one’s path to follow; her path was her own to choose. And then she stopped laughing, because she was terrified of the path she suddenly knew herself to be choosing. I can’t do this, she thought. I’m too dangerous. I’ll only make things worse.
No, she said back to herself. Already I’m forgetting, I’m not Cansrel; at every step on this path I create myself. And maybe I’ll always find my own power horrifying, and maybe I can’t ever be what I’d most like to be.
But I can stay here, and I can make myself into what I should be.
I came across an interesting method of forming poems, Book Spine Poetry, from The Tripping Pencil (who credits a site called Brain Pickings for the idea). You take a few books from your collection and arrange the titles to form a poem.
I modified mine slightly to allow one extraneous word at the beginning of each line. You are encouraged to snap a photo of your stack of books comprising the poem if you choose, though I decided to forgo a photo.
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
कुछ खोकर आज कुछ पाने की इच्छा है मेरी,
पर क्या, ये समझ नहीं है मुझे अभी,
कुछ तो चाहत है, कुछ तो अरमान है,
कुछ तो में भी पाना चाहता हूँ,
बस जानने की ही तो बात है,
पहले जान लूँ, फिर देखूं कि,
उसे पा भी सकूँ या नहीं,
जानते जानते शायद समझ जाऊं कि,
पाने की चाहत भी है या नहीं।
Today I wrote this small poem in Hindi. Well, I know many of you won’t be able to understand it. So- here is the somewhat English translation of the poem,
I have a desire after losing something today,
But what, that is what I am yet to know,
There is that desire for something that I want to achieve,
There is something I really want to achieve,
The only thing left to do is to know what it is,
I need to know, so that I can analyze,
Whether I will be able to achieve it or not,
May be analyzing that would help me realize
Whether I really want to achieve that something or not.
