General

Reena is the host of Reena’s Exploration Challenge.  Reena says:

I’ve decided to write two diamante form poems.  They were inspired by the photo, the word prompts, and some very bad news I received today. I’m trying to cope by pouring it on the page.

Intimacy
intricate, meticulous
warming, nourishing, interweaving
hopeful, trusting, violated, mistrusting
draining, disappointing…

the lake of mirror

reflecting what’s up above

beauty of truth shone

~ * ~

Photo Credit:  Pinterest

है ग़ुरूर तेरा
तो मेरी भी अना
हम दोनों में सुलह कौन करे ।१।

क़त्ल करके मेरा
बन बैठे हो मुंसिफ
अब तुमसे ज़िरह कौन करे ।२।

आए हो तुम मिलने
जब मुझसे सपनो में
इस रात की सुबह कौन करे।३।

उठ चुकी है महफ़िल
सुन के आशार मेरे
तन्हाई में वाह वाह कौन करे।४।

तूने ठुकराया अमित
इस क़यामत के बाद
दुनिया की परवाह कौन करे।५।

In response to – Reena’s Exploration Challenge # 84

I hear the dead
cry out
in the colours
of the burning night

even my shadow
bows down
before them

these
are the stranger days
with ghost silhouettes
that I
can see

this killing ground
is the shade
of dying fire

and I am
alive
I wonder
why

I am alive
perhaps
to play
the witness

and what if I
were hung
to drain and dry
suspended
from my toes

what if the sound
of the wind
in my throat
was
the only proof

of a lie

troubled days
troubled thoughts
troubled visions

trouble
everywhere I go

there is no sound
that is not
the dead

whistling

the wind blows
without care

whistling

and the creaking
of each rope
is a separate song

the creaking
of each soul
is a sigh

I have to turn
away
lest these images invade me
in my sleeping

I think
I may have known…

Reena’s Exploration Challenge #83

Prompt – perceptive

Rising

emerging from the darkness

eggs sawed open from inside

curled buds unfurling

shoots shouldering through the soil

rising requires work

pages unfold; leaves

proclaim to know the secrets

kept by dormant roots

darkness imagines colors

mysteries made visible

striving to the light

rooted, rising

***

Merrill is pulling the pints at d’Verse Pub today, and entreats us to, “Arise, dVerse Poets! Join in the quadrille fun: Write a poem, of any style in 44 words, not including the title. Include the word or derivative of the word, ‘rise’.” I had already written the middle two stanzas as a tanka so kept going with lines alternating 7 syllables, 5 syllables, ending with four syllables for the Quadrille word count. It’s called haiquadrikinda. (Kidding; it’s called recycling and repurposing) 

at times
the disportment
of clouds

can be
difficult
to ignore

but the flock

this flock

has no need
to look up

we fly
on our gradual planes

and gradual
inclinations

the sky and its cloud
are too vast

we circle
our home

~

Peter Logan died alone at the age of eighty four. Their were no mourners at his death, no funeral, just placement in a cardboard box, followed by incineration in a furnace. His earthly body disposed of and forgotten. He was unmarried, an only child, no family, friends or acquaintances to pray for his soul. Perhaps prayer would have echoed in the cosmos and changed things.

Peter craved power, he craved control and he craved instant release for his sexual desires. He tried a few mundane jobs after university, but he felt ignored, unwanted, his potential not used. He became frustrated with his life and was seeking change. It was then that he met Father Bob.

Father Bob was always on the lookout…