Poetry words in motion

POETRY - WORDS IN MOTION

REENA SAXENA from 27 May 2016 to 7 April 2017

1 - 28

Solitude

Rhythm of my existence disturbed by rise and fall of your floating thought patterns is stable when I’m alone.

28 inspired by Weekly Writing Prompt at Secretkeeper Weekly Writing Prompt #83 (5) Words: | THINK | RISE | RHYTHM | FLOAT| FALL | Image: jllrealreviews.com

2 - ERASURE POEMS

ERASURE POEM

Erasure poems are created by erasing words from an article, till you are left with just enough words for a poem. Here is a take on that.

Original article https://hbr.org/2016/04/run-meetings-that-are-fair-to-introverts-women-and-remote-workers? referral=00563&cm_mmc=email-_-newsletter-_-daily_alert-_alert_date&utm_source=newsletter_daily_alert&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=alert_date “Smart people think on their feet.

Extroverts buzzing away introverts are quiet.

Conference calls can notoriously circulate unproductive insights.

The unconscious bias has obvious flaws. talk to think think to talk undermine new insights.

The men in the room Manterrupting, Mansplaining Bropropriating.

Women disengaged and out of sight.

Multiple studies undermine ideas hilariously.

Collective thinking spoofed and mocked.

The conscious bias is the strategy — realizing full potential of the few who easily make their voices heard.

Coverpic credit : ragingplanetfire.blogspot.in

Being Homeless

I have tried my hand at Erasure Poems before, which work on a similar concept, so this was fun.

Our aim was To abandon our girlfriends you could sell those suckers for five bucks apiece in New England.

They’re crazy. we’d look for KFC buckets for donation we were flat broke, Homeless. hawks on fenceposts, grizzly bears.

THE LORD IS COMING SOON we’d play an Improve Your Vocabulary tape, learn words like eclectic and satyr.

(Original story: Alaska by Tom Franklin (an excerpt) © by Tom Franklin. From the collection Poachers.

Our aim was this: Alaska.

To abandon Mobile at dawn without telling anybody, not even our girlfriends or our boss at the plant. Bruce knew a bail jumper who got a deckhand job on a crab boat off the Alaskan coast where

she made five hundred dollars a day. Bruce was divorced for the third time and I’d never been married, so we planned to sell our cars and Bruce’s house trailer and buy an olive drab Ford fourwheel-drive pickup with a camper, fill it full of those sharp green pinecones hard as hand grenades.

Bruce’d heard you could sell those suckers for five bucks apiece in New England.

They’re crazy up there, he said.

Driving through Georgia and Tennessee, we’d look for tent revivals where they had faith healing. If we found a good one we’d stop and visit a service. Bruce would fake heart disease and I’d be an alcoholic—to make it convincing, he said, I’d have to belch and stumble and splash on rum like aftershave. He would grimace, moan, and clutch his left arm, until we had the whole congregation praying for us. When the ushers passed the KFC buckets for donation, we’d shrug and say we were flat broke, just poor travelers. Homeless.

Bruce had stolen his second ex-wife’s Polaroid camera, which we’d keep handy for making pictures—hawks on fenceposts, grizzly bears, church marquees that said THE LORD IS COMING SOON, then right under that BINGO 8:00 EVERY TUESDAY. We’d have a stack of books-on-tape from the public library, too: John Grisham, Stephen King, and even self-help. In the Badlands of South Dakota, when we pulled off the road to sleep in the back of the truck with our feet sticking out, we’d play an Improve Your Vocabulary tape, learn words like eclectic and satyr .)

Inspired by Whiteout Wednesdays #1 https://blackcatalleyblog.wordpress.com/2017/02/01/whiteout-wednesdays1/

The guinea-pig

exotic smouldering passions crowd on a romantic tropical night, become a delightful duet. the story begins the depths of an agitated state discovered a state of euphoria, excitement. the secret of becoming one of a mind experimented eventually hit…….

This is a piece derived by erasing words from a story given on Whiteout Wednesdays. Try it out.

It’s fun…. https://blackcatalleyblog.wordpress.com/2017/02/15/whiteout-wednesdays-3/ Coverpic: animals.mom.me

Original piece Coffee was always an exotic drink and so it remains today. Smouldering passions crowd television commercials over cup after cup of rich, dark coffee, sipped wistfully on a dusty desert train journey, or savoured aboard a yacht on a romantic tropical night, until a solo cup becomes a delightful duet.

Today, the aroma and taste of a cup of coffee are enjoyed the world over, though the story of coffee begins in East Africa.

Legend has it that in the depths of the Abyssinia, today’s Ethiopia, sometime around the middle of the ninth century, there lived a sober goatherd called Khaldi. one day his normally lethargic goats pranced home in an agitated state. Curious at their antics, he followed them and discovered that they had been nibbling the red berries of an evergreen tree.

Khaldi decided to try some himself and was soon in a state of euphoria. In his excitement, he dashed off to broadcast his find and soon came upon an elderly Moslem mullah, who was depressed by his tendency to nod off during prayers.

Khaldi let him into the secret of the red berries and coffee took its first step towards becoming one of mankind’s favourite pick-me-ups.

Being of a more academic frame of mind than the goatherd, the mullah experimented with the berries and eventually hit on the idea of boiling them, turning the raw fruit of the coffee tree into a fragrant and delicious beverage.

Mystery

Whatever brought Strangers in your bed, Lovers of my beloved, pyramided on the window-sill, against the disappearing wall. the cages do not hold, man and animal around the melting throne

Is it the king in the suitcase beside your bed?

When we meet again, and you are tired of this dream.

Turn You will have something to say to him.

Written for Whiteout Wednesday #04 https://blackcatalleyblog.wordpress.com/ Coverpic: cafecom.com Original piece You in White I will always bring you poems, and the fruit of orchards Strangers in your bed, excluded listening will hear their passion and weep Lovers of my beloved, watch how her lips like clothes wear her body like Fruit on songs The sky is the fire of cedar and gold.

In smokey cages peacocks fret.

The cages do not hold the burning man – in each peacocks drown around the melting throne.

The king lies beside you his crown the suitcase beside your bed We meet again you in white, I smelling of orchards This dream, the sad-eyed man he stayed all the night – You have something to say to him.

Celebrity Lives

Tales with smoke or salt love them raw a dash of chili pepper accompanied by pickle’s bite and brine.

Throughout the long centuries Men come into conflict Women have also often been at the centre of the industry, culminating in the lives of those involved celebrated in the arts, literature, craft, music and folklore of life blending together politics, science, history, religious and commercial life.

Enjoy the action at WOW – White Out Wednesday #5 https://blackcatalleyblog.wordpress.com/2017/03/01/whiteout-wednesdays-5/ Coverpic: appamondo.com

Original piece Herring Tales How the Silver Darlings Shaped Human Taste and History by Donald S. Murray About Herring Tales Scots like to smoke or salt them. The Dutch love them raw. Swedes look on with relish as they open bulging, foul-smelling cans to find them curdling within. Jamaicans prefer them with a dash of chilli pepper. Germans and the English enjoy their taste best when accompanied by pickle’s bite and brine.

Throughout the long centuries men have fished around their coastlines and beyond, the herring has done much to shape both human taste and history. Men have co-operated and come into conflict over its shoals, setting out in boats to catch them, straying, too, from their home ports to bring full nets to shore. Women have also often been at the centre of the industry, gutting and salting the catch when the annual harvest had taken place, knitting, too, the garments fishermen wore to protect them from the ocean’s chill.

Following a journey from the western edge of Norway to the east of England, from Shetland and the Outer Hebrides to the fishing ports of the Baltic coast of Germany and the Netherlands, culminating in a visit to Iceland’s Herring Era Museum, Donald S. Murray has stitched together tales of the fish that was of central importance to the lives of our ancestors, noting how both it – and those involved in their capture – were celebrated in the art, literature, craft, music and folklore of life in northern Europe.

Blending together politics, science, history, religious and commercial life, Donald contemplates, too, the possibility of restoring the silver darlings of legend to these shores.

(Un)Seasoned Love

If all the world And truth Be thy love …

But Time Becometh Dumb Of cares to come Fade, Wayward Winter, Fancy’s Spring, Sorrow’s Fall Soon wither, soon forgotten In folly ripe, in reason rotten.

All these in me No means can move But could my mind move To live with thee, and be thy Love.

Created by deleting words from a given poem on WOW #WhiteOut Wednesday https://blackcatalleyblog.wordpress.com/

Original piece: Her Reply by Sir Walter Raleigh If all the world and love were young, And truth in every shepherd’s tongue, These pretty pleasures might me move To live with thee and be thy Love.

But Time drives flocks from field to fold; When rivers rage and rocks grow cold; And Philomel becometh dumb; The rest complains of cares to come.

The flowers do fade, and wanton fields To wayward Winter reckoning yields: A honey tongue, a heart of gall, Is fancy’s spring, but sorrow’s fall.

Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies, Soon break, soon wither–soon forgotten, In folly ripe, in reason rotten.

Thy belt of straw and ivy-buds, Thy coral clasps and amber studs,– All these in me no means can move To come to thee and be thy Love.

But could youth last, and love still breed, Had joys no date, nor age no need, Then these delights my mind might move To live with thee and be thy Love.

Seven Haikus

The White Out Wednesday Challenge is one I rarely want to miss, despite time constraints. This one was not particularly easy. http://www.livingthecountrylife.com/gardening/romance-bloom-plants-ties-love-or-heartache/ I have extracted seven haikus from the given piece. The order of words have changed at some places to create effect.

Romance in bloom by the blossoms of love-in-a-mist mists are romantic.

a certain plumpness fashionable in antiquity, No love entangle.

Poetically stuck throughout the centuries Devil in the bush.

Lovage romantic shrouded in mystery is perennial.

Impressive heights the fragrance at a distance love, at one time.

Some romantic names particularly stunning read like a hint.

Love in a puff was to win this wayward vine inside a strong heart.

Source of inspiration https://blackcatalleyblog.wordpress.com/2017/03/14/whiteout-wednesdays-7/ Coverpic: keywordsuggest.org

The Loss of Virginity

Extracted piece This bald year, this cold day in the wind.

Noon hurts her eyes.

The torn awkwardness. the mind goes round. there’s a center but never any certainty.

Malleable moment. breathing in a spring.

Experience. the Maiden’s Death.

This is different from what I usually write. But I wanted to change the dark nature of the original piece, and infuse some freshness in it.

Thanks for the White Out Wednesday #8 Challenge

https://blackcatalleyblog.wordpress.com/2017/03/22/whiteout-wednesdays-8/ Cover pic: stuff.co.nz Original piece February Elegy by Mary Jo Bang © Mary Jo Bang This bald year, frozen now in February.

This cold day winging over the ugly Imperfect horizon line, So often a teeth line of ten buildings.

A red flag flapping In the wind. An orange curtain is noon.

It all hurts her eyes. This curtain is so bright.

Here is what is noticeably true: sight.

The face that looks back from the side Of the butter knife.

A torn-bread awkwardness.

The mind makes its daily pilgrimage Through riff-raff moments. Then, Back into the caprice case to dream In a circle, a pony goes round.

The circle’s association: There’s a center To almost everything but never Any certainty. Nothing is More malleable than a moment. We were Only yesterday breathing in a sea.

Some summer sun Asked us over and over we went. The sand was hot.

We were only yesterday tender hearted Waiting. To be something.

A spring. And then someone says, Sit down, We have a heart for you to forget. A mind to suffer With. So, experience. So, the circus tent.

You, over there, you be the girl In red sequins on the front of a card selling love.

You, over there, you, in black satin.

You be the Maiden’s Mister Death.

Erasure Poetry – I am

This game of playing around with words, and recasting or recreating a piece into something else, has never ceased to fascinate me. The new piece has a bit of me in it, though not a single word has been added. I manage to give it a little of my spirit.

I am missing White Out Wednesdays on blackcatalley.com, today. And I happened to come across a piece, which I just couldn’t resist playing with.

The original piece appears at Ron Brezsney’s Freewill Astrology This is what I have done with it.

We are all born geniuses “Be yourself,” the rebel creator “Be yourself,” the dissident bodhisattva “Be yourself,” the spiritual freedom fighter I’m not pandering to your egotism The people wrestling and negotiating with their own shadows, making pre-emptive strikes on their personal share of the world’s evil, fighting the good fight to keep from spewing their darkness on those around them.

You are constitutionally incapable of adapting to the crippled mass hallucination that is mistakenly called “reality” “I am an insane hurricane.”

You are too amazingly, blazingly insane for that.

You’re too brilliantly cracked for that.

You’re too ingeniously whacked.

You’re too ineffably god-smacked.

You came into this world as a radiant bundle of exuberant riddles.

You slipped into this dimension as a shimmering burst of spiral hallelujahs.

You blasted into this realm as a lush explosion of ecstatic gratitude.

It’s about time you admitted that you are a miraculous work of art.

Thank you for finally confessing the truth “I am a lucky, plucky, good-sucking genius.”

Those of you who wish to take a shot at it, can try. This is just an invitation, not a regular weekly challenge post. If you accept the invite, please leave a link to your recreated blog post in the Comments section below.

Coverpic credit: lightascension.com The original two pieces

The Meditation

Although we are all born geniuses, the grind of day-to-day living tends to de-genius us. That’s the bad news. The good news is that you have the power to re-genius yourself.

I’m going to give you a ritual called “Re-Genius Yourself,” which you can use to jump-start the process. Below is an excerpt.

You came into this world as a radiant bundle of exuberant riddles. You slipped into this dimension as a shimmering burst of spiral hallelujahs. You blasted into this realm as a lush explosion of ecstatic gratitude. And it is your birthright to fulfill those promises.

I’m not pandering to your egotism by telling you these things. When I say, “Be yourself,” I don’t mean you should be the self that wants to win every game and use up every resource and stand alone at the end of time on top of a Mt. Everest-sized pile of pretty garbage.

When I say, “Be yourself,” I mean the self that says “Thank you!” to the wild irises and the windy rain and the people who grow your food.

When I say, “Be yourself,” I mean the rebel creator who’s longing to make the whole universe your home and sanctuary.

When I say, “Be yourself,” I mean the dissident bodhisattva who’s joyfully struggling to germinate the seeds of divine love that are packed inside every moment.

When I say, “Be yourself,” I mean the spiritual freedom fighter who’s scrambling and finagling and conspiring to relieve your fellow messiahs from their suffering and shower them with rowdy blessings.

The Ritual

The Greek philosopher Plato long ago recognized that in addition to eating, drinking, sleeping, breathing, and loving, every creature has an instinctual need to periodically leap up into the air for no other reason than because it feels so good.

Please face south, leap up in the air, and say these words: “From the south, I purify, electrify, beautify, and fructify this sacred space.” + When I was a kid I used to love to go out in the middle of a meadow and whirl around in spirals until I got so dizzy I fell down. As I lay on the ground, the earth and sky and sun kept reeling madly, and I was no longer just a pinpoint of awareness lodged inside my body, but rather I was an ecstatically undulating swirl in the kaleidoscopic web of life. I invite you to feel that way right now.

Spin yourself around until you topple over. And while lying on the ground, face west and say these words: “From the west, I sanctify, unify, clarify, and intensify this sacred space.”

+ The people I trust the most are those who are always tenderly wrestling and negotiating with their own shadows, making preemptive strikes on their personal share of the world’s evil, fighting the good fight to keep from spewing their darkness on those around them. I aspire to be like that, which is why I regularly kick my own ass. Will you try that right now wherever you are?

Jump off the ground and snap your heels up against your butt. Then face north and say these words: “From the north, I immunize, psychoanalyze, satirize, and exorcise this sacred space.” + In one sense each of us is an intriguing, intricately unique individual, justifiably proud of and in love with our own personal story. In another sense, we are all one body, descended from the same primordial mother and made of identical stuff — the calcium in all of our bones and the iron in all of our blood originally forged in a red giant star that died billions of years ago.

Rotating slowly in a clockwise direction, look down at your belly as you imagine that at this moment, everyone in the world is breathing along with you. Then face east and say this: “From the east, I lubricate, pollinate, consecrate, and emancipate this sacred space.”

Now it’s time to confess the truth about who you really are.

Gaze upward and stretch your arms out high. Say the following: “I am a genius.”

And say this: “I am a lucky, plucky genius.”

And say this: “I am a lucky, plucky, good-sucking genius.”

Thank you for finally confessing the truth. It’s about time you admitted that you are a miraculous work of art.

You came into this world as a radiant bundle of exuberant riddles. You slipped into this dimension as a shimmering burst of spiral hallelujahs. You blasted into this realm as a lush explosion of ecstatic gratitude. And it is your birthright to fulfill those promises.

I’m not pandering to your egotism by telling you these things. When I say, “Be yourself,” I don’t mean you should be the self that wants to win every game and use up every resource and stand alone at the end of time on top of a Mt. Everest-sized pile of pretty garbage.

When I say, “Be yourself,” I mean the self that says “Thank you!” to the wild irises and the windy rain and the people who grow your food.

When I say, “Be yourself,” I mean the rebel creator who’s longing to make the whole universe your home and sanctuary.

When I say, “Be yourself,” I mean the dissident bodhisattva who’s joyfully struggling to germinate the seeds of divine love that are packed inside every moment.

When I say, “Be yourself,” I mean the spiritual freedom fighter who’s scrambling and finagling and conspiring to relieve your fellow messiahs from their suffering and shower them with rowdy blessings.

Now let’s move on to the next stage of your confession.

Squat. While patting and massaging the ground or floor in front of you, say this: “I am insane.”

And say this: “I am an insane hurricane.”

And say this: “I am a highly trained, entertainingly insane hurricane.”

Thank you for finally confessing the truth, which is that you are constitutionally incapable of adapting nicely to the sour and crippled mass hallucination that is mistakenly called “reality.”

You are too amazingly, blazingly insane for that.

You are too crazy smart to lust after the stupidest secrets of the game of life. You’re too seriously delirious to wander sobbing through the sterile, perfumed labyrinth looking in vain for the most ultra-perfect mirror. Thank the Goddess that you are a fiercely tender throb of sublimely berserk abracadabra.

You will never get crammed in a neat little niche in the middle of the road at the end of a nightmare.

You refuse to allow your soul’s bones to get ground down into dust and used to fertilize the killing fields that proudly dot the ice cream empire of monumentally demeaning luxuries.

You’re too brilliantly cracked for that.

You’re too ingeniously whacked.

You’re too ineffably godsmacked.

Now stand up and make a series of small jumps, rotating a quarter turn in a clockwise direction with each jump. And as you do, say this: “I am a lucky, plucky, good-sucking genius and a highly trained, entertainingly insane hurricane.”

3 - HAIBUN

Change

I waited for change, for what appears to be a lifetime now. Change happened, but not always for the better, and I was not driving it. I was sick of being a recipient, and waiting for Divine Grace to bless my life. The hope to find understanding, acceptance and love was gradually fading away.

I have been a pretty strong person, not convoluting my will to suit somebody else’s purpose. There was only one path that I could see ahead – of obliterating the need for change. To just Be, was the need of the soul. This was a very active ‘being’, not to be confused with passivity and inaction.

Mirror images no longer waiting, my self smiling at me.

The Forest Society

Was it black magic, hypnosis, witchcraft or treecraft? The magical evening had cast its spell on me, in the forest. I could not just see and smell the trees, but hear them. I was drunk on their beauty and wisdom. I had often wondered why my grandmother told me not to pluck flowers, after sundown.

I suddenly knew the answer, as I heard the trees sharing experiences. It was their time to socialize.

The willow was trying to trace its offspring, the trees grown from its seeds flung far and wide, and watered by the rain. It had a lot of advice to offer, as it bent and swayed with the wind, in its effort to reach out. The beech stood erect, and looked down with contempt on the shorter trees. It appeared to be the bully of the forest. Grandpa Oak stood rooted to the ground, waiting for someone to pass through, so that he could share his ancient wisdom. There appeared to be no takers, and he looked lonely and disappointed.

I wondered, if animals and trees had a mutual language of understanding. And why had humans failed in connecting with their counterparts?

I trust and love you You are a part of life As much as I am.

Inspired by Haibun Minday on dVerse – Poets Pub Haibun Monday – Taking a Forest Bath – Say What????

Pic credit: kanzensakura

Unsupervised

Life is a cruel joke played upon us by the maker. We are sent unprepared and unarmed. There is no briefing or debriefing, before or after the mission. You come, you stay, you conquer. Or you come, you cry, you lose. The gate at the end looks the same from here. Do we know what is beyond the horizon?

Is it different for you and me, the pauper and the billionaire, the saint and the sinner? Or do we all end up at the same place – unlearned, unhinged, unsung – to start the journey all over again?

Unsupervised roller coaster of life rails, roads to take off to fly beyond the forest Or stay back to survive?

Haibun Inspired by Wednesday Visual Writing Prompt -26 Wednesdays Visual Writing Prompt

The Mother-In-Law

Her chagrin gave me immense satisfaction. Here was the mighty, authoritative matriarch, now struggling to have her way around people. She had always held others to her exacting standards, without a thought on their personal views. She had ruled with an iron hand, with full support from the husband and sons.

The mother-in-law was now confined to bed, looked after by a nurse. She still complained, while others smiled and moved on. She looked back in time, and found nothing to connect. Power was just intoxication, others’ anger and tears just emotions. There was strategy and manipulation, but it was now outdated and outdone. What would get her joy?

Life comes full circle burning bridges is unwise one might need help‌‌.

Power is ephemeral understanding will give joy.

Haibun inspired by ronovanwrites-weekly-haiku-poetry-prompt-challenge-143 ronovanwrites.wordpress.com/2017/04/03/ronovanwrites-weekly-haiku-poetry-prompt-challenge143-chagrinjoy/

Too late?

I sadly reflected on the years gone by. I had found my Self, but it was too late to change the world.

At the fag end of an earthly existence, the opportunities of transforming one’s own life, start appearing remote.

In retrospect, I had always taken up for the underdog. I had always rebelled against authoritarianism. So, a value system was certainly in place. The missing link was channelization of the values, to transform things. The failure was in finding the right medium of expression, or getting on the right platforms.

The world goes through cycles of awareness and action. Maybe I entered at the wrong time. Am I doomed to spending the last years in regret?

Find the right slot Find that lost bit of yourself and invest in it.

It is never too late to change a small part of the world.

Haibun inspired by B’s Poetry Challenge. Take it up at https://artandlife11.wordpress.com/2017/04/05/bs-poetry-challenge-10/

4 - HAIKU

Life, Love and Wisdom

This is in response to the IBMC#04 Challenge by Prakash Hegde.

The starting Haiku by Prakash Haiku 01 expressions of face happy sad angry frown shy face is the index Taking it forward ‌. by Reena The mind conquers the heart interferes and Soul is the index.

Ignored forever the body says I exist beyond your controls.

You cannot see now the glass has been blackened on visible sides.

Let the mist clear

for life to shine through the transparent wall.

Curiosity takes you everywhere the adventure calls.

Fall all over them coz’ Life, Love, and Wisdom lie there in the cracks.

https://itsphblog.wordpress.com/ibmc/ibmc-04-hunt-a-haiku-challenge/ Coverpic: slantmagazine.com

An Experiment

I had been wanting to try this for sometime — using the same prompt to write in various forms.

Warning: This is a rather long post with eight forms/meters of poetry attempted.

HAIKU Your touch sparked a thought A twist created unrest, disturbed mental health.

TANKA Your touch created electric sparks in my head twisting me shapeless to see your frail health leading life to eternal rest.

SHADORMA

You touched me And I winced in pain You twisted My frail hands sparking off ill health and laid love to rest.

VILLANELLE Do not kill love with all your might I am frail, and in poor health Do not touch to hurt, and end life.

Your indifference to my pain Sparks beastly instincts in me Do not kill love with all your might.

I gave myself out of love when I agreed to be your wife.

Do not touch to hurt and end life.

I see a broken, desperate man, If you trust, I can still be your strength Do not kill love with all your might.

Try and ignite that spark again which made us fall in love at first sight.

Do not touch to hurt and end life.

Or I will lay to rest all doubts you nurture about my inner strength.

Do not touch to hurt and end life.

Do not kill love with all your might.

NONET The electric sparks of the wire that touched me shocked my health, and faith in your love.

Hell hath no fury like women scorned I am mad, I can kill.

Your face twisted in anger never let me rest,

your contorted expressions lacerated my love.

CINQUAIN Touch me till you spark off shady pursuits with twisted intent in mental health then, rest.

28 A twist of fate Sparks off a crisis You touch my hand and lay to rest all doubts and fears.

Silent assurance of strength restores my mental health.

FREE VERSE The knife stabbed in my back has laid to rest all notions about that spark of humanity in you.

Misplaced trust and a twist of fate spelt the end for me, but failed to touch any chord in you.

May you achieve health, wealth and fame and live in interesting times!

May your dead conscience awaken when your faith betrays you!

Inspired by Weekly Writing Prompt -78 at Secretkeeper Prompt Words (5) Words: | SPARK | TOUCH | TWIST | HEALTH | REST | Coverpic: malibuvista.com

Sleepless Nights

Unspoken secrets haunt him on sleepless nights to burn his psyche.

Inspired by RonovanWrites #Weekly Haiku Poetry Prompt Challenge – 138 https://ronovanwrites.wordpress.com/2017/02/27/ronovanwrites-weekly-haiku-poetry-promptchallenge-138-secretburn/ Coverpic: gizmodo.com

Shah Jahan

Peeping through a hole At the monument he built The King had his day.

Inspired by RonovanWrites #Weekly #Haiku #Poetry Prompt #Challenge #139 King&Day https://ronovanwrites.wordpress.com/2017/03/06/ronovanwrites-weekly-haiku-poetry-promptchallenge-139-kingday/

5 - MICROPOETRY

Fear

Life Force

Shadows

The Phoenix?

Written for Writer’s Quote Challenge

Pink and purple, Black and Blue

Lines on my skin – Pink, purple, Black and Blue.

Doorways to a broken soul Windows that could not hold the Beastly You. Written for Only 100 words – Three Line Tales- Week 41

The AntiGod

Is the AntiGod fully secure?

Or a God awaits his arrival to devour him?

It is the antithesis that proves the thesis….

Written for All New Writers’ Quote Challenge ALL NEW WRITER’S QUOTE CHALLENGE

The Power Within

Shed the mental fig leaf now, to conquer the world See ….. the golden glow around emanates from you.

Awaken, recognize and spread – It is the power Within You.

Written for TLT Week 43 of https://only100words.xyz/.

Courage

Sing to the evening. bathed in precious molten gold, While the shadows lurk above.

Written for Ronovan Writes #Weekly Haiku Challenge #125

Choice

Spoilt for choice, do I really want it?

My poison is only blue, why all these colors?

The giver wants to flaunt it.

Written for TLT Challenge Week 44 Three Line Tales, Week Forty-Four

Tinted Glasses

Twenty-four hours And challenges galore.

It threatens to burst out I can’t take this anymore.

Life has never been easy Just made me go crazy

I’ll borrow tinted glasses tomorrow To make things look rosy.

Written for Writers’ Quote Challenge ALL NEW WRITER’S QUOTE CHALLENGE

Infinity

Quote: Difficult roads often lead to beautiful destinations – Response Infinity was conceptualized By the challenge of change.

To prevent asphyxiation of thought In a limited range.

Written for the The Writer’s Quote Challenge https://wordpress.com/read/feeds/35274684/posts/1261368880

Bonding over coffee

What brings cheer Just a cup of warm coffee relationships thaw.

Only if we could talk or bond without addiction!

Written for Colleen’s Weekly #Tanka #Poetry Prompt Challenge #13 Colleen’s Weekly #Tanka #Poetry Prompt Challenge #13 – Warm & Cheer

The Last Time

When did I last see life renewing itself?

Was it the last breath or a new mental vision that inspires desire?

Written for Colleen’sWeekly Tanka Poetry Prompt Challenge -14 Colleen’s Weekly #Tanka #Poetry Prompt Challenge #14 – LAST & NEW

Transience of Beauty

it appeals, but how it keeps changing with time to match every mood.

The concept of beauty is transient, yet timeless.

Written for Colleen’s Weekly #Tanka Poetry Prompt Challenge -15 Colleen’s Weekly #Tanka #Poetry Prompt Challenge #15 – CHANGE & BEAUTY

Positivity

Positivity sold like a commodity raising self-pity I doubt my own thoughts Am I positive enough?

Written for Weekly Tanka Prompt Challenge – Week 26 https://wordpress.com/read/feeds/42118842/posts/1283936722

Multiple crossings

Reinvent the wheel, restart the engine, discover, invent, invest or start a new innings?

Crossroads herald change I welcome new beginnings.

Written for Patricia’s Place – In other words, beginnings In Other Words, beginnings…

Pic: diginomica.com

Mirrors

We wring our hands in despair and boil inside with rage as the realization strikes, how we have created you in our own image.

Inspired by SAll New Writers’ Quote Challenge ALL NEW WRITER’S QUOTE CHALLENGE

Winter

Warm yellow specks Offer hope in blue winters Alas, it’s too late for buds buried in the snow to bloom again and re-live.

Inspired by Colleen’s Weekly #Tanka #Poetry Challenge #16 – BLOOM & LATE Colleen’s Weekly #Tanka #Poetry Challenge #16 – BLOOM & LATE

A Moth’s Kiss

Only the moth knows the love that inspires it to go kiss a flame.

Inspired by Ronovan Writes #Weekly #Haiku #Poetry Prompt #Challenge #142 Flame&Kiss https://ronovanwrites.wordpress.com/2017/01/16/ronovanwrites-weekly-haiku-poetry-promptchallenge-132-flamekiss/

Stormy depth

Oceans lose color as intense pain emerges from stormy depths.

The grey water and clouds darken the horizon.

Inspired by colleens Weekly Tanka Poetry Challenge-17 storm color Colleen’s Weekly #Tanka #Poetry Challenge #17 – “Storm & Color”

Colleen’s Weekly #Tanka Challenge

Wonderful lines…

KYR OS MAGIC A

Today, I thought I’d join in with Colleen’s Weekly #Tanka poetry prompt . I’ve never written a Tanka before. I have had some experience of writing haiku so hopefully, it shouldn’t be too difficult.

After all, it’s just a case of adding two extra lines at the end of a haiku format, so instead of 5,7,5 we have 5,7,5,7,7…. in the first section you put forward the image in the reader’s mind that you want to convey and the final two lines should express the poet’s ideas about that image.

Colleen’s prompt words are: Bloom and Late So here goes… Be gentle on me it is my first Tanka!!

Ahem, I’m not quite sure where that last line came from…. LOL!!!

Do pop over to Colleen’s blog and join in the challenge too…

Colleen Chesebro’s #Tanka challenge Bye for now,

View original post

Disempowered

Smidgens of truth and edited highlights conceal manipulation.

Fake magnetic fields attract and disempower the nation.

Inspired by Patricia’s Place – In other words, smidgen In Other Words, smidgen…

Charisma

Your charm and visage touched chords in several hearts to make them believe the charisma training was

the real you, not a mask.

Inspired by Colleen’s Weekly #Tanka #Poetry Challenge #18 – “Charm & Touch” Colleen’s Weekly #Tanka #Poetry Challenge #18 – “Charm & Touch”

Say No to Crackers

Your body quivered with the sound of crackers I saw the fear in your eyes and I hated noisy celebrations forever.

Inspired by Patricia’s Place – In other words, quiver https://patriciasplace.me/

Obsessive Compulsive Disorder

The broken vase separated from its lovely flowers its soul sliced by a knife.

The rug speaks of a woman’s honor traded for a shopaholic life.

Inspired by Saturday Mix- Bastet https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/01/28/saturday-mix-bastet/ Image Credit: 123rf.com

Behind Your Success

Crafting your success manipulating it to make you a top star.

I had to rise above my own needs and ambitions.

Inspired by Colleen’s Weekly Tanka Poetry Challenge-19 Colleen’s Weekly #Tanka #Poetry Challenge #19 – “Craft & Rise”

The Wind

I blow to challenge tree trunks supporting branches which sway to please me.

Inspired by Ronovan’s Weekly Haiku Poetry Challenge #134 https://ronovanwrites.wordpress.com/2017/01/30/ronovanwrites-weekly-haiku-poetry-promptchallenge-134-blowplease/

Forgotten

I wish I could freeze memories like berries and then, wait for spring.

Will they thaw again, or dry like your forgotten love?

Inspired by Weekly Tanka Prompt Challenge -30 Weekly Tanka Prompt Challenge – Week 30 – Spring & Berries

Valentine’s Week

L ingering luxury of imagination O thers cannot think nor fathom V alentine hits calendars with full force

E xcept that the expected does not happen.

Acrostic poem written for Saturday Mix- Lorraine https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/02/04/saturday-mix-lorraine-04-02-17/

Word Power

The five words in the prompt were used up in the first tanka, but since it had set up a thought process, I just continued into three more tankas. It makes more sense, if read in one piece rather than splitting it up.

Words do power thoughts and become an instrument to show love or hate.

Whether I speak or write, I manage to reach the world.

So all pervasive and encompassing is it, to bring the whole world within my reach to impress or alienate from me.

I had it in me but how would it have reached you touched your existence, without a medium

and my articulation?

Was it me or you, just the circumstances which united us? a thought that touched another. beyond time and space.

Inspired by Weekly Writing Prompt-75 at the SecretKeeper Words: | POWER | SHOW | THOUGHT | LOVE | WRITE | Weekly Writing Prompt #75

My daughter

Just stay where you are the quest for love and light inspires flight.

You are my darling daughter whom I will lose to life.

Inspired by RonovanWrites #Weekly #Haiku #Poetry Prompt #Challenge #135 Love&Light https://ronovanwrites.wordpress.com/2017/02/06/ronovanwrites-weekly-haiku-poetry-promptchallenge-135-lovelight/ Coverpic: weknowyourdreams.com

Communication

The face that you show determines my response to love you or to loathe you.

The angel or the devil emerge in response to it.

Inspired by Colleen’s Weekly #Tanka #Poetry Challenge #20 Colleen’s Weekly #Tanka #Poetry Challenge #20 – “Angel & Devil” Pic: mattmireles.com

Global Warming

What an irony that global warming happens with stripping of ozone.

Nature had meant humans to Warm up first to each other.

Protective layers stripped off to expose hatred and slime. we betrayed our own selves and all causes divine.

A shared interest of survival might draw us close again.

Signals from above await acknowledgement and action.

Inspired by Weekly Tanka Prompt Challenge #Week 31 Weekly Tanka Prompt Challenge – Week 31 – Global Warming & Nature

Vanity

My pride is conquest, yours just being vain is Love, and vain is Beauty.

Unmindful of the mutual transience, both strive to take it to Eternity.

Alas! Permanence lies in retaining individuality.

Inspired by In Other Words, Vain at Patricia’s Place In Other Words, vain‌

Flame

The music grew louder, as the evening progressed. But, my gaze was transfixed on the flame in the fireplace. I saw the various gyrating shapes, both dark and glowing. Were they dancing, or trying to jump out? Were they celebrating life, or embracing death?

It all depended on what elements were they made of? Fire, smoke, timber and the bricks that made the fireplace all had a distinct identity. Yet, it was fascinating to see them present a single, united picture.

You see me today Celebrate me tomorrow I am your spirit.

Options are open Make, till it finally breaks Live,till you meet death.

Haibun (with two haikus) inspired by Thursday Photo Prompt #writephoto contest

Thursday photo prompt – Flame #writephoto

The Torch of Truth

Memory fades and Eyesight challenges me The torch of truth burns.

Inspired by RonovanWrites #Weekly #Haiku #Poetry Prompt #Challenge #136 Eye&Fade

Worship?

Why do we worship every icon out there?

Are they really your angels or anti-gods?

Lucifer was once there too.

Inspired by Colleen’s Weekly Tanka Challenge Angel Frost – A #Tanka

In transition

A bridge above me life in transition mode from this end to that the home kept me grounded An incredible journey!

Inspired by #Weekly Tanka Challenge #32 Weekly Tanka Prompt Challenge – Week 32 – Bridges & Home

The Fog

I failed to see you looking away, beyond us in the far horizons.

I accepted change, sadly as the fog cleared too late.

Inspired by Colleen’s Weekly Tanka Poetry Challenge #21 Words – Fog & Change Colleen’s Weekly #Tanka #Poetry Challenge #21 – “Fog & Change” Cover pic: notey.com

The Chasm

Your purple prose and my dark stories cannot meet,

reality stands in between.

The great mental divide overpowers attraction.

Inspired by Thursday Photo Prompt – Tryst #writephoto Thursday photo prompt – Tryst #writephoto

Unique

Statuesque mountains rainbow’s exquisite beauty colors of the sky, all lend my contorted shape an unique beauty.

Inspired by Prompt #2005 Visual Prompt of the Week – The Promise http://www.thewritingreader.com/blog/2017/02/19/prompt-2005-visual-prompt-of-the-week-thepromise/ Coverpic: Rob de graff on Flickr

The End of an Era

On a fine day I opened the exit door for trust and friendship.

A knife thrust in my back spelt the end of an era.

Inspired by Colleen’s Weekly #Tanka #Poetry Challenge # 22 – “Door & Friend”

#TankaTuesday #5lines

Colleen’s Weekly #Tanka #Poetry Challenge # 22 – “Door & Friend” Coverpic: orthopundit.com

Controlled Imagination

What is Wonderland, simulated reality?

Childhood lost in controlled imagination and artificial dreams.

Inspired by Weekly Tanka Prompt Challenge – Week 33 – Children & Wonderland”

Weekly Tanka Prompt Challenge – Week 33 – Children & Wonderland Coverpic source: dailymail.co.uk

Narcissism

She lives in a house with magic mirrors simulated reality woven with dreams unprecedented warmth engulfs her in the gigantic bubble of love and life.

She refuses to acknowledge pricks of reality.

Inspired by In Other Words, Gigantic at Patricia’s Place In Other Words, gigantic‌ Coverpic: narcissismcured.com

Flash Creativity

This is a weekly challenge I look forward to, and enjoy doing.

FLASH FICTION

POETWEET (139 characters)

SHADORMA SUMMATION

Inspired by Saturday Mix- Lorraine 04.03.17 https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/03/04/saturday-mix-lorraine-04-03-17/ Coverpic: twitter.com

Deceived

Did you realize, that the tables turned on you?

I took all your blarney, and dumped you.

I picked new benchmarks, and moved along my path You were deceived by my eyes, where your real face shone through.

Inspired by Patricia’s Place, In other Words In Other Words, blarney‌

Restoration

Darkness enveloped the world, and hope was dying, unfamiliar shapes tore through the grey skies and restored trust in life.

Inspired by #Writephoto — horizon at Sue Vincent Thursday photo prompt – Horizon #writephoto

Angels

The media is abuzz with stories about dogs saving abandoned babies, in different countries as far as Kenya, Brazil, Thailand and India. There are instances of fake stories, too. But the spirit of these four-legged angels is 100% genuine. The so-called ferocious, feared stray dogs respect life. http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/city/kolkata/Stray-dogs-save-abandoned-newborngirl/articleshow/55279436.cms Here is a nonet dedicated to the venerable souls — Abandoned with cold-blooded apathy, on the striped road crossing the girl who had turned blue in the cold revealed a core of steel with her cries, attracting attention of dogs with a soul.

They cried for help till

able hands reached out to rescue her.

Hail the Angels!

Inspired by Weekly Writing Prompt -80 at Secretkeeper Weekly Writing Prompt #80

Take Charge

Shouting with pain will not move or affect a twisted conscience.

Get up, take charge, march ahead, It is your life, own it!

Inspired by ronovanwrites-weekly-haiku-poetry-prompt-challenge-140 ronovanwrites.wordpress.com/2017/03/13/ronovanwrites-weekly-haiku-poetry-prompt-challenge140-twistshout/

The grey veil

The grey veil

creates a haze on clarity of vision.

The sun will soon shine through

Hope springs eternal.

Shadorma for Saturday Mix – March 25 https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/03/25/saturday-mix-march-25-2017bastet/

A Smart Business Model

Sycophants are altruistic people, they manage to stoke egos and float people in bubbles of vanity.

They give others a reason to live which some so sorely missed, and inflate their emptiness into a liveable space reflecting narcissist beauty.

They propagate smart business models‌.

(44 words)

Diamante and Concrete Poems

This piece is inspired by Mick Talbot’s creations at https://mickhispoetry.wordpress.com/.

Dedicated to the love of our life, Chappy Saxena.

DIAMANTE POETRY – LOVE FOR A LIFETIME What did I see in you that night?

When cruelty locked you in hungry, thirsty, scared and alone on the terrace, on a hot, balmy night You jumped off the terrace on seeing us with full faith and trust in our love and broke your ribs in the fall.

It was while nursing you

that I found love enough to last An entire lifetime.

CONCRETE POETRY – BLUE CROSS SOCIETY They have a loving heart But do not have a voice.

Yet, they hold their own and teach faith and love which the humans have lost in pursuit of wealth not knowing what is good for their mental health The healers are all around, if we learn to respect their right to space n life, without fear or stealth.

Angels come as service dogs To help frail humanity thrive And you help them survive Hats off to you, Blue Cross!

6 - POETRY

Com Pen Di Um – Anthology of Poems

Snapshots from the book :

Web-links for purchasing the book :

https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Ddigital-text&fieldkeywords=com+pen+di+um https://www.createspace.com/6263540 Feedback is welcome at reena.saxena@reinventions.in.

The next book tentatively titled “The Image Coach� is in process. Wish me luck!

Life As It Happens

Another anthology of poems goes online today. Available on Amazon : http://www.amazon.in/gp/product/9385783904/ref=as_li_qf_sp_asin_il_tl? ie=UTF8&camp=3626&creative=24790&creativeASIN=9385783904&linkCode=as2&tag=momenmag 21 Excerpts from my poems : “Victory is a cup that empties fast Success is a well thought out plan.

One has to know what fails and falls Before making the clarion call.”

“What if the click had not happened?

Would it have travelled through the woods, Or expected me to walk?

How many songs are lilting there,

To meet my vocal chords?�

Dronacharya By Reena Saxena

Dronacharya – a poem by Reena Saxena featured in the third edition of The Machinery. Illustrated

by Arushi Gupta.

Source: Dronacharya By Reena Saxena

Across Space and Time

My first attempt at Haibun – a prose poem coupled with a haiku.

Trillions of miles away from you, I wonder how the minds connect. En-route, the vibrations penetrate wind, water, mountains and trees.

We ride on the same wavelength for a fraction of an hour. And then disconnect, to lead our lives in unconnected environments.

Conference rooms, video-calls and virtual teams. F2F expands to encompass M2M. Thought by thought, spirit to spirit.

Do you remember that we once met aeons ago touched again on internet?

Shackles

Just take the first step The chains are made of dark smoke.

The embers died ages ago while you slept feet heavy with inertia and eyes blinded by illusion that you are cared for.

Revolution and rotation around its own axis are simultaneous.

What kept you tied down while the earth moved?

Touch the boundaries where gravity ends.

Non-linear is the path of life Go, find your own sun.

(The first two lines are the quote. The remaining is an extension into the realms of poetry) Written for #The Writer’s Quote Challenge https://strangegoingsonintheshed.wordpress.com/2016/11/27/shackles-the-writers-quotechallenge/

Stairs to ……?

When was the last time

a human walked on it?

The untrimmed grass And the desolate look desperate to kiss a visitor’s feet, as she moved up towards an unknown end.

The stairs intimidated.

Written for the Poetry Challenge #3 POETRY CHALLENGE#3 – Steps – Pantoum Poetry

Manipulating Time

The uninterrupted flow of the river of thoughts, unguarded and uncontrolled, lands me again in unfamiliar terrains, to create and weave strange webs in the mind.

Is this fantasy?

A life lived aeons ago? repeated to connect past with present and rehash, recycle to recreate the future.

The time machine rolls on.

Why not move with planned and conscious steps?

Links to yesterday

will dissolve away, and create a fresh pattern of living.

The mind rules the world.

Written for Weekly Writing Challenge #66 Weekly Writing Challenge #66

Deserted

If the clouds float away The pond will go dry And here is the windmill Romancing the sky.

The pond will go dry Rains turning into a dream.

Romancing the sky Deserting the stream.

Rains turning into a dream Leaving prosperity behind Deserting the stream Using power of the wind.

Written for Daily Picture Prompt 3

Daily Picture Prompt 3

Posterity

Another attempt at Haibun (Prose Poetry coupled with a haiku)

Did you say I am getting hyper about nothing? Have you ever seen the map of India? I see my country going up in smoke, and where is the top? Who is conspiring to hive it off?

This country has seen the Partition, and has been dealing with the repercussions ever since, both on the external and internal fronts. It remains embedded in our DNA. The emotions it aroused were never fully extinguished. They continue to simmer below the surface, and create a haze around logical thinking.

That is the smoke you see here. This emanates from minds and hearts, struggling to find a clear path. And vested interests play their role in generating more smoke. Clarity of vision will endanger their existence.

The future of kids Up in smoke, till you act now Posterity beckons.

Written for Smoke #writephoto by Sue Vincent Thursday photo prompt – Smoke #writephoto

Beyond the ropes

You strangle me every night And yet, I breathe to survive and love you a little more‌..

I will wake up some day to stop breathing And start living.

The world will miss you thereafter.

Written for Daily Picture Prompt 5 https://allaboutwriting.net/2016/12/09/daily-picture-prompt-5/

Penance

Staying upright standing for a cause being myself letting my expressions divulge disapproval was pure folly.

The world was flabbergasted.

They had not seen transparency and candor of this order.

Blinded by truth, and fearing Doomsday they screamed ‘Murder’.

The few who understood

chose silence It was the safest bet for a peaceful existence.

The corpse hung on the Square Still asks them for Penance.

Written for Daily Post – The Daily Prompt – Folly https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/folly/

7 - POEMS & POETRY

Unending Strife

Words: | SENSE | FIGHT | FREE | VOICE | CHOOSE | The untiring fight the battle for a free voice Does it make sense to you?

It is a chosen life embrace unending strife.

Written for Secretkeeper’s Weekly Writing Challenge #68 Weekly Writing Challenge #68

Coverpic source: godvillegame.com

The Busy Santa

Is he the real Santa?

I do not see the sleigh, and I do not see red.

Does this guy wear a mask, or that one?

How do I celebrate, when Belief is Dead?

I do not see the sleigh, and I do not see red.

I have grown up now, and write my own tales.

How do I celebrate, when Belief is Dead?

Old age repents, adults confuse and childhood wails.

I have grown up now, and write my own tales.

I hope to reshape the world in my own image.

Old age repents, adults confuse and childhood wails.

God is being reinvented, as the anti-gods come of age.

Written for Daily Picture Prompt 17 – Busy Santa – Pantoum Poetry https://ramblingsofawriter2016.com/

The Cage

Watch the bird in the cage sing with a dream in her shiny eyes.

The spell of the melody makes it a matter of time till she flies.

The keeper lets her go with awe too mesmerised by the talent he saw.

He heard a song, saw a plea In the eyes that asked for liberty.

He turned around and saw the trap In which he had so ensnared himself.

Today, the mirror cast a different light The shadows creating awareness of his plight.

Watch out, O World! here I fly I am thunder, you are the sky.

Cutting thru’ the depth and blue expanse I breathe and watch my soul dance.

Come again, my dear, to enthral me mock the cage, and open our hearts.

Do not fear, you can just be For both of us, life now starts.

Written for Weekly writing Challenge #69 Weekly Writing Challenge #69 | CAGE | SING | DREAM | WATCH | SPELL |

A Mission

One road to safe anonymity Other a stormy path, down under Will she take the road less travelled, blazing trails like the thunder?

Will she just exist, or choose to live Will she just breathe, or breathe fire?

She was born to recreate destiny All roadblocks drew her ire.

She walks alone, but straight She is different, but sedate.

Who says a rebel spews venom?

See the warmth she radiates.

The halo cuts through the dark

She fights battles for a lark.

She needs a cause to ignite her mind A worthwhile mission to embark.

Written for The Writing Reader – Visual Prompt #1953 – Decision Point http://www.thewritingreader.com/blog/2016/12/29/prompt-1953-visual-prompt-decision-point/

Simulation

Brushstrokes Created an idyllic world The one I always wanted Life does not suck.

Positive strokes Enhanced self esteem The reflection that I created looked back at me, awestruck.

Copy and paste On the painted art projections inspire many to look above the muck.

Have I lived, pretended, inspired?

Bag all the doubts

seal in and chuck.

Simulation of life creates insights on the rollercoaster of life and luck.

Written for Daily Picture Prompt 24 by Henrietta Watson https://wordpress.com/read/feeds/57964385/posts/1280359541

Fantasy

I have lived and loved here I know the pattern in every leaf the life that water hides

the fragrance of the soil the moss that grows besides.

I yearn to know who invites me for a ride?

My heart aches to explore new horizons the fantasy that carries me to a new world, far and wide.

Written for Daily Picture Prompt 27 by Henrietta Watson (All about Writing and More) https://wordpress.com/read/feeds/57964385/posts/1285088126

The Making of a Guru

Life’s not easy but there is no option.

I have to live to survive to the best of my innate ability the training received and the scope of action.

Life’s not easy but there is no option.

Come snow or rain I move on neck deep in

unfriendly environs.

To stop means to die belying expectation.

Life’s not easy But there is no option.

The freezing temperature ignites the energy within to move, to defy to chart a path ahead to leave a trail behind and display determination.

Life’s not easy But there is no option.

Is it a challenge or a skill acquired?

Will others learn from me And emulate in need so dire?

I set an example And pass on the baton.

Life’s not easy but there is no option.

Micro-aggression

“Do you really have a choice?

Jobs are scarce, markets stagnant With a rise in cost of living”.

The psychopath rejoiced To see competent shoulders Slightly drooping.

No response to messages goodwill withered away Logic unacceptable.

Silence conspiratorial and eloquent with disapproval.

“A dip in growth, costs are up”.

He flung a paper on the desk.

The whole week was spent in a failing effort to explain reasonably a twisted report.

He flaunted a list of rewards For people who, unquestioningly fell in line, and the fate of Competence with an independent mind.

Quick meetings were called To pass it down the line.

Pink slips handed out, but hands were red with stains of blood for a lifetime.

The Silence of War

The battle grew thick and tension palpable with mystery.

Cold war being a relic of the past muffled screams contemporary and a consummate act of mastery.

Silent shots aimed but not fired ammunition hoarded Untested, untried.

Who knows how, when, what will be required?

The Why was pretty clear The walls of corruption and conspiracy were impenetrable, playing safe in retrospect.

And more invincible than that was my courage and self-respect.

Inspired by #JusJoJan, prompt-impenetrable http://www.edwinasepisodes.com/jusjojan-january-16-impenetrable/ Pic: 123rf.com

Unconnected

Life is all about living in compartments that we create or inherit or buy in return for money, success and fame.

We choose barracks to hide and conceal needless fears and insecurities

that we carry for no logical reason.

One fine day we pack up and leave waking up to the realization of all that we missed by not connecting.

Inspired by The Writing Reader Prompt #1976 ww.thewritingreader.com/blog/2017/01/21/prompt-1976-first-line-of-the-week-james-jones/

Precious

The tears flowing out of your eyes in your final moments still haunt me. You understood my pain, my grief, and my fear. I was terrified of losing you, of facing lonely evenings besides your garlanded picture on the mantelpiece. You were fully aware how emotionally dependent I had grown on you.

You were also wise enough to see the shadow of death, and your inability to escape from its clutches.

The tears reflected your helplessness. I am sure, you did not want to leave me alone. You would have gladly stayed back, only if you could‌‌ I wonder what made your tears flowing out so precious, love!

Haibun Inspired by RonovanWrites #Weekly #Haiku #Poetry Prompt #Challenge #133 #Flow&Tear https://ronovanwrites.wordpress.com/2017/01/23/ronovanwrites-weekly-haiku-poetry-promptchallenge-133-flowtear/

The Muse

The art work of my life, my final destination I wielded the brush, the clear canvas beckoned But I needed a palette, and inspiration.

You were my muse, so what?

Beauty inspires, so did you.

But was reality safe,

as I painted eyes dripping Love?

Nonet Inspired by Weekly Writing Challenge-73 Words: | LIFE | WORK | REAL | SAFE | CLEAR Weekly Writing Challenge #73

Love in Circles

The quote is fairly simple.

However, this inspired something else, and I take the liberty to mention it here.

I received love to know what it is and transmitted it after absorption, internalization and personalization on multi-directional linear and curved paths.

You were heartbroken since love did not return on a linear path.

But all that you received was the same love moving around in circles

to reach you again.

Time lags on complex trajectories and transformed people make it incomprehensible.

But love is Karma whatever goes around will come around.

Inspired by All New Writers’ Quote Challenge -13 ALL NEW WRITER’S QUOTE CHALLENGE

The Stray

The stones pelted at him from the window pierced his soul as he recalled the guard’s role that he had played for the inhumans in that room.

Dogs live by ethics, humans follow no rules.

They bite the hand that feeds And kill the heart that bleeds.

Dogs devote their lives But to whom?

Inspired by Weekly Writing Challenge- 74 of secretkeeper.net Weekly Writing Challenge #74 Words: | ROLE | RULE | STONE | PIERCE | ROOM |

Politics

Politics drives a series of quotes to malign hair-splitting analyses of initiatives in your reign to pull you down. followed by invitations to align.

Power corrupts equally and absolutely so you shake hands with a desire to rule the Earth.

and again blame another for all that ails home and hearth.

Inspired by Weekly Writing Prompt- 76 Weekly Writing Prompt #76 Cover pic: liberation.typepad.com

Freedom and Feardom

I think, therefore, I am free.

Thoughts are not expression. You cannot curtail it.

Thoughts are not a body. You cannot imprison it.

Thoughts are not conduct. You cannot discipline it.

Thoughts are not wealth. You cannot snatch it.

Thoughts are not a house. You cannot evict it.

I work, therefore, I am free.

The world is a riddle. You can solve it.

The world is an idea. You can conceptualize it.

The world is a process. You can execute it.

The world is geography. You can travel across it.

The world is history. You can excavate it.

I visualize, but am I free ?

Intangible as energy, weightless beyond gravity, A sage dreamt – “Where the mind is without fear…..”

But missed the body that is fuelled by tangibility.

It was a plea to God Who ironically created the anti-gods.

Fear is hunger. You can create it.

Fear is poverty. You can impose it.

Fear is insecurity. You can spread it.

Fear is society. You can influence it.

Fear is pain. You can inflict it.

Freedom is release from an agliophobic mind.

I fear pain, therefore, I am not free.

(Originally published in UnBound, an online magazine by Pen Paper Coffee and SipnRead in Aug’15) Inspired by the dverse Challenge on Expressionism.

Meet the Bar with Expressionism Coverpic: oilpaintingsonline.com

Underbelly

U nder the tough exterior lies a lot of pain.

N eanderthals deserted by civilization D enied dignity, leading to E ndemic violence R aw emotions rise in the strife for survival.

B ridges to progress burnt by E ndless years of rebellion.

L ift them out of it, L ove them for their grit, Y ears move to centuries, unabated.

Acrostic poem inspired by Thursday Photo Prompt Bridge #Writephoto Thursday Photo Prompt – Bridge #writephoto

For whom?

Driving through life Immersed in her thoughts Her questions had remained unanswered For whom does hope dawn and for whom the bell rings?

What was her place in their scheme of things?

A wall flower, A reproductive machine With love to shower?

To paint their lives With cheer and light And watch her own canvas Remain a dreary black and white?

Inspired by Writing Prompt #197 “Special Collage and A World Apart 5″

https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/02/26/writing-prompt-197-special-collage/

Cynical Thought

I am a cynic Leave me alone I am absolutely fine.

Experience is taking the shocks and knocks.

I know the threshold where positivity falls.

I have traversed the long and spiral road From Hope to Expectation to Stonewalls.

I couldn’t care less about crossing the lines

The other side of which is not my slot.

Why wage a battle for unwanted trophies?

I have witnessed the atrophying of thought.

The short-sightedness of victory The numb intoxication of marching on, Not knowing the travails that follow The challenging terrains that lie ahead.

Gathering an army for a cause is futile If the strategy is undefined, and resources stressed.

Power and leadership are myths If the soldier’s problems are not addressed.

Victory is a cup that empties fast Success is a well thought out plan.

One has to know what fails and falls Before making the clarion call.

I am a cynic Leave me alone I am absolutely fine.

(Originally published in the anthology “Life As It Happens”)

Linked to Writing Wednesday – Alone by Angie Trafford https://angietrafford.wordpress.com/2017/03/01/writing-wednesday-1-march-2017/

Solitaire #Writephoto

The water cleansed, grime and dirt from the Past, but tiny pebbles hurt my feet bare.

Stepping out to meet the Present was a respite much-needed, but the rough terrain did not much care.

I looked for warmth to envelop my existence But found no companion to love and share.

I walked alone on thorny paths and reached the Future, only ‘coz I did dare.

Time challenges one to smoothen edges and polish a stony life to a solitaire.

Inspired by #writephoto at Sue Vincent Thursday photo prompt – Spring #writephoto

Cherished Illusion

The white lies I spoke, dear Were only a ruse To arouse your ire.

Your aloofness often made me wonder if you really cared about me.

I still dig your memories unaware of the fact

if I was loved in return.

I have preserved carefully an image of you which is not real, but spurs on life.

Inspired by Weekly Writing Prompt at Secretkeeper (5) Words: | DIG | EQUAL | DEAR | WHITE | RUSE | Weekly Writing Prompt #79 Painting by Drew Young,

Soul

The works of art that speak to you have a soul.

The words that reverberate for aeons have a soul.

The acts that touch you or hurt you drive your soul.

The creator’s part that is given to the creation is a slice of his soul.

Your body is a tool

that enables enactment of a divine role.

What perplexes me is the creeping of negativity in minds and bodies.

Is it camouflage, a desensititizing cover or just absence of soul?

Inspired by Writing Wednesday https://angietrafford.wordpress.com/2017/03/08/writing-wednesday-8-march-2017/

Words

Words are tools of expression, but oh, so limited.

They need to be learned and cannot break the barriers of language dialect, accent and culture.

My body speaks

just what I think, no more, no less.

I can speak to animals and humans alike.

I love, I care, I look, I stare.

Yet, I need words to frame my own thoughts and label feelings, to ignore the tremors but say, I do not fear, to be depressed, but smile and spread cheer.

Words are the barriers between me and myself Words are a mask Words are diplomacy Words were created as tools of manipulation not expression.

Inspired by JSW Writing Challenge https://athling2001.wordpress.com/2017/03/13/jsw-writing-challenge-3-13-2017/

Discovery

Springing out of my wretched existence was all I needed to live.

The negativity sprung out before I did then, repressed thoughts and imposed ideals

The mirror image mocked authenticity, as the borrowed garbs lay bare.

Was it too late To discover my Self?

(44 words) For Quadrille #28 at dVerse – Poets Pub https://dversepoets.com/ Image: jadecommunications.com

Is that me?

I rise like the Phoenix only to die again several times.

Images rule but mirrors are obsolete.

My form melts To create several new shapes until I do not recognize myself.

Vision is a relic of the past fluidity, the new concrete.

I saw influence

giving way to manipulation and diplomacy to multiple-speak.

If sensitivity is dead Why did I learn etiquette?

The subtlety of my existence acquires new dimensions in absence of boundaries to confine growth.

I move beyond myself, to see where the auras meet.

I nspired by the prompt at #writephoto by Sue Vincent Thursday photo prompt – Deep #writephoto