Life's A Poem: 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24

Here's lot 4 of the "a poem a day challenge". Have taken the creative liberty to attempt different shades.
Let me know what you think...

April 19

A burn poem. I actually wrote a poem titled “burn” earlier in this month’s challenge, so I’m going to have to think a little on this to avoid repeating what I’ve already written. However, burn can represent many things–from getting burned by a bad deal (or a friend) to feeling the burn when working out to physically burning from fires.

The Burnt Breakfast

On the stove, the pan was put,

The Fire kindling, jolly good.

In went a dollop of butter lo,

Not caramel, so the flame was low.

Aside she stood, beating two eggs,

With some milk in it, and pepper-salt to taste.

Beaten to a fluff, the batter went in,

Swish it let out, promising a crust not so thin!

The Fire still low, was burning bright,

The omelette cooked and hissed, to her delight.

She turned to the other flame instead,

On it rested two slices of bread.

And a fan of multitasking she,

Forgot the two flames in a glee,

Whilst she ran to switch the radio on,

The low flames kept burning on.

And while she tuned her station in,

She flipped through the morning paper too.

All this while she a picture quaint,

And the toast blackened, the omelette seared.

And when the smell of burnt food wafted across the room,

She ran to the stove, to watch them charred, and saw them to their doom!

April 20

Write a beyond poem. The poem could be beyond human comprehension. It could be from the great beyond. It could be from beyond–another city, country, planet, solar system, dimension, etc. Don’t be afraid to go above and beyond with it.

His Master’s Love- Beyond Common Belief

Will wag its tail, to see you home

Will follow you, despite the chide

All for one acknowledgement, for love.

He will wait for you to pet his coat

And will pounce on him who dares you so

He unconditionally loves you, and is always,

Believed to love you just for food

But He writhes at this misgiving, yes

Tis not food O! Master, tis never food

You feed my canine soul with love, And I

Reciprocate it, in double measure.

For your gentle fondness of my yelp,

My run to you when you ope that gate,

My mischief and every play-fetch date,

Your words to me, that you think I don’t get,

O Master, I do, every bit.

And that is what keeps me going,

All your words, and all your biddings,

Are for me, my reason to be,

And  that, my Master, is what I truly treasure.

April 21

Write a senryu. A senryu is like a haiku with less restrictions and different subject matter. It’s a 3-line poem with a traditional 5/7/5 syllable (or sound) pattern, and the poem typically deals with the human condition. But that’s about all. No cutting words, seasonal words, or focus on nature. In fact, many people who claim to write haiku are already writing senryu.

it rings and he checks

her number just wrecks

his sanity

 

April 22

A complex poem. Complex is a complex word that can refer to mental state, apartments, difficulty of a situation, and so many other complex situations.

And the world thinks I am a complex number

A+Bi is as simple as I can be

You say there are two sides to me

One real and the other imaginary

I help you solve some mysteries though

Of science, math, engineering and lo

You call me complex, when I uncomplicate

And help you understand the intricate!

April 23

Today is a Two-for-Tuesday prompt. In fact, this is one I include with every challenge. Here are your options:

·         Write a love poem.

·         Write an anti-love poem.

Anti Love (of laziness)

Arise, Awake, the Sun’s shining bright

With all its might, it pleads, be a sprite

For the world, and for your sake too

Don’t give in to lethargy, oh no, that is not what you are meant to do!

So stand up, and run, and listen and talk,

Ride you o! the waves, till you flock  

With like-minded souls, who know not laziness

With open hearts, who aim to spread happiness

April 24

An auto poem. Auto could mean automobile, automatic, automaton, or any number of possibilities.

Life in Auto Pilot

The music plays, and Nature whirrs,

What does your soul stir?

What stories, dreams and aims concoct,

Some ideas that your head and heart begot.

Few words uttered, those deeds done,

Some have a recourse, yet some undone.

It is not a bad thing, though,

To throw your worries, out of your window,

And watch yourself sail through it,

That’s Life, in auto pilot

 

Life's A Poem-18, 17, 16, 15, 14, 13

April 13

A comparison poem. The poem could compare one person with another, or it could compare one thing against itself. Or it could take a comparable direction.

Fear versus Hope

One cripples, other tickles,

Your Life, and Dreams.

One hushes, the other pushes,

Your Voice, and You.

One bickers, while other flickers,

Your View, and Stance.

April 14

A sonnet. For those who are not familiar with the sonnet, it’s a 14-line poem that rhymes.

If you were me

If you were me, then you would see,

It is not easy, to display that glee.

To hold forth, on what the world shuns,

To trudge on, to stick to ones guns.

If you were me, then you would find,

It comes not easy, to be good to the unkind.

To smile in sorrow, not scream in pain,

To be more patient, nothing’s in vain.

And you will see, beneath that face,

Hides a soul that seeks solace.

And eyes that best can con you, yes,

To believe all is good, when the soul’s in distress.

And a smile, that cheats you to agree,

Here’s a jester, a gabber, who is so carefree.

April 15

An infested poem. There are many different infestations–from physical infestations to infestations of the heart and soul.

The Breaking Free of a Fear-Infested Soul

Chained to it, he crawled in pain,

Chained he was, did courage feign.

His words did often him betray,

He let them hold their sway,

For all that while, but now he knew,

That Fear infested souls do too,

Need to break the chain of pain.

And so he thought, so did practise,

With every day, with more chastise,

He dared the Fear away.

Then back it sprung, from depths so rare,

They yanked him back, and did him scare.

Then one fine day, he did resolve,

To let not that Dark Beast evolve.

With every might, he fought his plight,

And to his utter delight,

That fiend began to bite the dust,

And he began to gain in Trust.

With every passing day, it fled,

An inch first, and then a cinch it led,

To his victory over that ungainly beast,

That fled and was now begone,

To leave him woe-free, those chains undone.

April 16

Two-for-Tuesday prompt. Here are your options:

·         Write a possible poem.

·         Write an impossible poem.

An impossible Poem

Through day, and night,

Through joy and plight.

On anything plain, and topics mundane,

And on those complex.

Both deep and meaningless, in the same breath,

Gibber, gabber, talk, and blabber,

Connect, jest, stoke and ponder,

That song this, and topic yonder.

It knows not to remain still for long,

So it labours nonstop, oh yes, it does, that Tongue.

April 17

An express poem. This might be about an express train or express delivery. It might have something to do with expression painting.

Eyes, Smile, tears, and Cheers

Words, Silence, Praise, and jeers

anger, Love, Strengths, and fears

They are yours to put forth, for now, and years

April 18

Take the phrase “I Am (blank),” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. Possible titles might include: “I Am Superman,” “I Am Wonder Woman,” “I Am Out of Nickels,” “I Am Running Low on Patience,” and so on.

I Am a Dreamer

Watch your words, and watch your steps

Hold that spite!

Shove that nay out of sight.

I thrive on you, your words and actions.

I feast on promises, on tomorrow, on Hope.

A strong Faith, can, a mountain move,

A potent Will, will all barriers remove

Life's A Poem: 12,11,10,9,8,7

Here is lot two of the A Poem a Day Contest; to jog your memories: http://vasundharabahuguna.blogspot.in/2013/04/lifes-poem-654321.html

April 7 2013

A sevenling poem: 7-line poem that features two tercets and a one-liner in the final (third) stanza. The first two stanzas should have an element of three in them that can either play off each directly, work as juxtaposition, or have no connection whatsoever. The final line should work as either a punchline, weird twist, or punctuation mark.

What’s the day today? They echoed in tune,

The Sun, Moon, Stars, Skies, and Earth in one line,

Tis Third of June.

But ‘twas still May, to their dismay,

And some stars in Heaven still in Fray,

A few days more, till they held their Sway,

 

Yes! It works!! (This is the way.)

 

April 8 2013

An instructional poem. Your instructional poem could list instructions. Or it could capture an instructional moment.

You Choose

Despair for Hope, Darkness for Light- believe, smile

Bad for Good, Rude for Kind- understand, listen

Unfair for Fair, Sad for Happy- follow, try

Cowardice for Courage, Greed for Contentment- fan, satiate   

Lie for Truth, Plight for Might- holdfast, resolve

Flight for Fight, Slight for Right- lead, reason

Live for these, and you will find, there is Life beyond your daily grind

Every day, brings in its fold, a bit of rain, and Sun, and shine

April 9 2013

Today is a Two-for-Tuesday prompt. Write one of the following (or both):

·         Write a hunter poem.

·         Write a hunted poem.

The Hunter and the Hunted

In all of us, though what we say,

Lies a hunter and a waiting prey;

While that seeker surveys, aims and conquers,

The victim fears every step and ponders:

What will prevail, for one so frail,

Always doubting , always pale;

The hunter trounces that thought,

Hunted finding itself in a spot,

Looks inwards and with memories fraught,

Goes in hiding, where it best ought.

April 10 2013

A suffering poem. A person or animal in the poem could be suffering. The poem itself could be suffering.

The Razor Tongue and Unmoving Heart

Forced to bear it with silence, their piercing looks,
Unsure why;
So they talked to each other, to find reasons fair,
Always it was, though, on the sly;
“I’ll not wag”, she said to him, “And you try to not feel that pain”.
‘Twas a promise made, a deal sealed,
So the Tongue and Heart, their state concealed.
For years, they trudged on with that show,
Till the Tongue said to him, raising her left brow,
“We have suffered in silence all this while. Let us give up, not worth our while.”
The Tongue was sure, the Heart was scared,
From that moment, they began, they dared,
The Tongue, to lash at people fair, the Heart to seethe, its rhythm flared,
At every passer by, or him, who raised his voice (at them),
They did ensnare.
And thus, with every passing day, they learnt to live in dismay.
They knew their plight, with it could not part,To every other person though, they were the Razor Tongue and Unmoving Heart

April 11 2013

Take the phrase “In Case of (blank),” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write the poem. Possible titles could include “In Case of Emergency,” “In Case of Oversleeping,” “In Case of Snoring,” or something else.

In case of Boredom

Read that book, try to cook!

Click a picture, money’s not a stricture.
Ride your bike, or opt for a hike,
Paint a scene, play that game, go fishing.
Paste that stamp, walk the ramp,
Jog to the nook, swim down that brook,
Dance to your tune,
Sing those notes, play that beat,
Hit the garden to prune!
Walk the road, talk to them,
Hobbies from such pastimes stem

April 12 2013

A broke poem. The poem could be about a broken record, broken relationship, or someone who is just flat broke (no money).

The Wrist Watch

The Father asked, “What gift do I bring, from there, to you my child?”

The child, as coy as a child can be, smiles, and knows no joy.

But does not speak, only motions through her head, no toy will do,

Oh Father, choose to come back soon, no gift I want, but you.

The Father smiled, and hugged his child,

He knew her well, that she beguiles.

No words were said, but thoughts exchanged,

And the Father brought back with him, a beautiful wrist watch, silver framed.

She knew no joy, to the door she ran,

The Father saw her, and began,

To unwrap the gift he brought to his child.

Slowly, as each layer opened, with excitement feigned,

She watched spellbound, and yelled in joy,

It was a watch, and not a toy!

It shone on her tiny wrist, the watch,

She wore it through the day;

And through the night, till she went to bed,

So to, the next few days.

Then one morning she ran to bather, with her gift upon her wrist,

Two dips later, she recalled, and her tender heart near split.

 

What dreams may come?

Chronicling my Dreams- (still thinking)

I see weird dreams...almost every day. Did so as a child. They have come back to me, in great numbers of late. "So why don't I chronicle them", I thought. Not easy. I will keep it to a few lines and words where possible. Might elaborate ones that merit it. Always unsure whether to share them or not. (If you are reading this here, I did!)

Some of my previous ones have led me to action, while some I lose with Time. They do stay with me for a while, though.

Let me see, what dreams may come...

Day 1 (April 9-10)

Around 0500 hours (that is when I woke up)

Father, few more from family, in car...leading to an unkown house. Climbing up stairways. A lady cooking in her kitchen; resisting/staring initially, only to hug later. Rest of the family leaves by car. Scenes still (at the time of penning these down) vivid.

Day 2 (April 10-11) //in decreasing order of time of day//

0630 hours (that is when I woke up)

Leopards, stairways, and vaults. Way up a dark alley, more stairways, and blindling sunlight at the end of stairway. Scenes still (at the time of penning these down) vivid.

Around 0300 hours (that is when I woke up)

Dead from distant family (relation) leading me up a stairway. To another "supposed" dead...in family. Scenes still (at the time of penning these down) vivid.

Life's a Poem: 6,5,4,3,2,1

I chanced upon an interesting challenge on Twitter today, A Poem a Day. One word or phrase, open to your interpretation. (Guidelines for the interested.)

A poem to write. Interesting. More so, owing to that open nature.

I will post what I write, once every six days. Please let me know what you think, should you choose to. Here goes, for the past six: 6,5,4,3,2,1 (April 2013):

April 1

A new arrival

A story

Lo and behold, tis out of its fold

The untold story, the details flowery

Has everyone enthralled, no children bawled

All are listening, hearing and feeling

Their eyes are moist, and their lips in smiles fold

At times they detest the humour so cold

They cry out in Joy for the Hero’s winning blow

Their hearts flutter and dip, at the story’s tenor

They welcome this chance and in Fear they clamour

In Happiness they hold hands, ride imaginary horses with valour

With sketches etched bright in their hearts and their mind,

They revel in this moment, t’was a story telling of a kind

April 2

Two-for-Tuesday: write a bright poem; write a dark poem

(i choose bright)

A song of Faith

Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow…for ages together known to Man

This is what works, and still does; this is what keeps one strong

The hallmark of a character prudent, the sign of a Life brave

Oh Faith, oft beaten, and marauded, yet holding fort as a stave

Your Journey it defines, the road you tread,

And the impressions you carve

April 3

A tentative poem (tentative: cautious, hesitant, unsure)

speak up

There, they danced upon the tip of the child’s tongue

In his eyes, his manner and his countenance;

He hopped and hoped, and ran to his Father

Unsure, reserved, should he say it, or rather,

Go unnoticed before his other siblings,

And continue to bear the brunt of their wrong doings;

In circles he ran, unsure of his stance

The Father looked at his son, askance

In circles he ran, flailing his tiny arms

That mouth he opened but for a tad bit,

His Father said, “Ho son, what the matter is?”

He uttered a wild tune and flashed his smile,

His Father knew his son chose to beguile

And they still dance upon the tip of his tongue,

Those words unsaid, that deed undone

April 4

Hold that Hope

With every nay it wilts a cinch

With every aye, it leaps sky high

It oscillates from high to low, with every smile, frown or tilt of brow;

Potent, weak, and mad it is,

Flickers one moment, then nearly ceases to exist;

Hold it high, and hold it strong

It will keep you going for long

It will throw in temporary bouts of doubt

That is when you will hear yourself shout

Fret not, and don’t let it go

Don’t throw it, out of that window yet

For a little good may come of it- a little bit like placing your bet

April 5

Plus

The Sun, and Shine

The Rain, and Wine

People, Effort, Experiences, with Life, entwine;

Critics, Followers, Friends, and Foes

Leave impressions, Time still flows;

Pick what you want, leave what you don’t

Memories may haunt you, or leave you, know you don’t,

Your choices, words, actions, won’t;

But you have The Sun, and you have your Shine

There also is Rain and Wine;

With them around, and some more to it, Life’s a Journey,

Why whine?

April 6

Post

Oft he looked out, far and wide

Through his lens, through the enemy’s snide side

He ne’er gave way, his courage did not sway

Till the last man standing, did not cross the fated gateway

It is all about Stories

Stories. That is what it all boils down to.

You may or may not share yours...you may or may not listen to that of others. You may write yours, sing it; compose or hide yours. Yet, Life is all about stories.

Oft, you will have heard people around you say, "so, what is your story". Well, there always is a story; and there is a script. And you may choose/desire to pick it up, listen to it...believe, or neglect it. 

No, there is a thin line of difference between looking for a story and prying into someone's Life. It is an art...and it is subtle.

I try to look for stories...and I see they find ways to reveal themselves unto me...or to the seeker. This thirst for stories (to listen and tell...to understand) takes me to several places...and to varied art forms. Dramatics/Theatre being one such.

So I went to a play today...and it was quite an experience. 

Why?

Because of the story it told-the way the players enacted each character etched so well by the author/playwright/director. Also, due to the sheer emotion that floated through the auditorium. 

Every word delivered, was packed with punch...every move, an artful one. Every scene practised to perfection. There's something about drama.

What also caught my eye was the way the audience *trrring*  receives *crack-of-a-chip* such forms *SMS* of art- a dance drama, *yes we will eat at home-puts down the phone* a play-skit-narrative-a ballad- --- the ones that require patience... you get the drift?

Does it vary with a city? Possible, I'd say. It has more to do with sensitivities, I believe. Nay, it does not mean art is only for a "select" audience. To me, it is about you respecting what you choose. How willing are you to pay attention...to listen...to connect with something or someone (players, here).

Should you choose to, you will receive a lot many stories. You will see a part of you reflected in some of them...while in several others, you will find answers (or near) to your questions....or you may begin to appreciate the other, a tad more. Such is the power of a story, well told, well received. 

A word on resonance: What ever remains of the book definition, the frequencies have to match and the result is resonance. Similarly, the artist who performs, does so on a plane. His/her audience attempts (often) to get to the same plane. In fact, vice versa! An artist who is wanting in connection with his/her audience, experiences half the joy of performing. When both are on the same plane, they connect...and how!

One preempts the words, and thoughts of the other. This happens in conversations too...or lectures (school/college/workshops) where you are so " in -synch" with the coach, that you preempt the flow of the topic and your coach , your questions/thoughts.

Back to stories and people (it is them who it is all about)...to connect and truly so, is a Joy in itself. Difficult to put into words. Perchance, best described in my favourite lines (oft quoted in this Blog) " where there is no love, where listeners are dumb, there never can be a song" ~a broken song,  r.n. tagore