Perfumed Verse

Micro Poetry on Twitter

2012-01-26T10:20:00.000-08:00

tie a string
to the feet of dove
and taste the freedom
as you fly
with it

in my mind's eye
it was a straight path
with rosy destination
but still got lost
in labyrinth of this life

bit by bit
i removed pieces of glass
under my shoes
wore newer courage
and followed u

she traveled 8 hrs, then
waited in queue for another 4 hours,
2have glimpse of Spiritual Powers
that was within her
all the time

a bright idea is born in my head
but unfortunately have to mold it,
gift wrap it and
present it in the way
most suitable for u

Story in 140 characters

2012-01-17T22:55:00.000-08:00

Wrote this story in 140 characters

Memorized all love songs, lyrics touching her soul, TILL she met him offline. Then she stopped singing forever

Meeting

2012-01-17T22:46:00.000-08:00

I met a friend after many years,
He wanted to know many things,
Winters spent,
Rainy days,
Moments of summers cherished,
I stood uncomfortable,
Balancing myself on his random thoughts

Get well soon

2012-01-14T02:23:00.000-08:00

The sun rays filters through your room,,
Pick up the grains of love,
Its just a phase of trying times
But I know you will soon be well.

Story in 140 characters

2012-01-14T02:11:00.000-08:00

“There is no escape” she ran as fast as she could and quickly entered a hair salon to change her hair-style

She waited every evening for 6pm when children came to play and her loneliness rested for a while

Mumbai Winters- Random Thoughts

2012-01-11T22:45:00.000-08:00

The woolen shawl, that lay crumpled between the stack of clothes for many months, finally emerges and wraps itself around me spreading warmth, the coldness of Mumbai sulks.....

The New Year Limericks

2012-01-07T03:39:00.000-08:00

Now the New Year’sarrived, women swear

That they will stopliving in constant fear

Bad men will be hushed

Their friend request tobe flushed

Only those be welcomedwho really care

Happy to share with PurpleTreeHouse

Happy New Year 2012

2012-01-01T10:16:00.000-08:00

Many years have passed watching, New Years turn old in just 365 days, we pick up pieces of tattered experiences searching for lost memories, something lost, something gained, right, wrong, like jigsaw puzzle we join the pieces, fixing them, hoping that next Year will not be same but a wee bit better than the year before....we dream on....

Tattooed Hands

2011-12-21T09:45:00.000-08:00

Tattooed hands with

Red and dark thoughts

Your soft memories overflow.

Thank you 'The Purple Tree'

Savage Encounter

2011-12-20T07:51:00.000-08:00

His golden harp, she didn’t hide

Nordelayed his breakfast time

Likean ogre he roared, loud and foul

Atan err as thin as needle’s eye,

Softlyshe tip-toed to a towel shelf

Pluckedone and placed into his wet hands,

Toolazy to walk few steps for chore

Found pleasure to whip his wife.

Ah!That Indian man!

Image Courtesy: blogspot.com

A Painful Trip to Rajasthan

2011-12-16T04:15:00.000-08:00

Itwas the first day of my ten-days-long Rajasthan trip with organized-Kesari-tours.My friend ‘V’ and I reached the hotel at Bikaner around 5pm. The first twohours were spent familiarizing with seventeen group members and selecting thebest rooms in the hotel. After the initial formalities we gathered at the hotellobby. Children got busy with indoor games while adults formed smaller groupsand chit-chatted amongst themselves.

We were too excited to just sit in the loungeand let the day go by. Since sight-seeing was scheduled for the next day, wewanted to go out and see something, maybe shop a little. We went to thereception desk and enquired about shopping areas that would be open at that time.There was no transport available so we decided to go for a short walk.

7pmand it was pitch dark outside. Only a ghost would be brave to walk in suchdarkness. We took a torch and walked outside the gates. A small light wasshimmering at a distance. We walked towards the lighted area and discoveredthat there was a handicraft shop. What a relief! We entered the store, happy to have found somecivilization. There were glittering mirror work on cushion covers and on bedsheets displayed on stands, the small puppets of different expressions hungdown the shelves, the stuffed animals formed their colonies, the shiny banglessparkled under light, there was exhibit of all kinds of hand-crafted articles. Eventhough we had no intention of buying anything, we could still look and feastour eyes. We chatted with the shop keeper who talked about the culture, foodand the tradition of the place. He informed us about the majestic house whichwas few meters away. We decided to explore it.

Withonly our torch light to show the path, we walked down the muddy path. Suddenlymy foot got caught in an animal trap and I fell on my knees with my one leg danglingdown between the iron rods that were laid across the path between the irongates. I couldn’t get up. My friend bend down next to me and helped me removemy leg from the parallel iron rods but each time I tried to stand up, my feetkept slipping into the gap between the smooth rods. I fell several times. SlowlyI stood up and moved towards the dirt road. There was very little pain in myankle but I am not the type to complain. I dragged my foot and walked towardsthe hotel.

Iignored the pain and went to have dinner in the dining hall with the rest ofthe group. Gradually the pain increased, I decided to rub an ointment and wrapmy foot with a warm cloth before going to sleep. Cruel pain distracted me. Onthe next bed, my friend lay fast asleep, probably in her own dream world, mustbe already exploring the desserts of Rajasthan, enjoying the camel rides forfree and stuffing herself with the extra servings of Undhiya and otherdelicacies. Here I was, tossing and turning, wriggled in pain, didn’t sleep awink all night.

“GoodMorning” said my friend and I groaned. I uncovered my injured foot. It feltlike a frozen wood. It was swollen andblue. I moved my foot to the cold floor and tried to walk up to the bathroom, Noco-operation from my stubborn foot, it refused me mobility. I could not walk.With one foot, I hopped back and forth. The world seemed to end for me. ‘Comeon, nothing is wrong, you can walk” I said several times, trying to hypnotizemy subconscious mind but pain won. I could forget about sight-seeing the city.

Myfriend stared at me helplessly, with her hands on her waist, she said, “Does ithurt?”

“No,I am fine”, I lied, cussing under my breath. The pain was written all over myface. I am always amused when people ask strange questions.

Ididn’t want to spoil my friend’s holiday, I asked her to go ahead with the restof the group, I just need to rest and wait for pain to subside.

Thebreakfast and lunch arrived in my room; I took the pain killers and slept allday long. My hotel room seemed like a hospital bed. In the evening, when thetroupe returned I was still dozing. Soon my room was flooded with visitors, allstrangers whom I had yet to befriend. They had learnt about my pain through myfriend and came to keep me company and talked about what I had missed. Thegroup spoke excitedly about the rat temple that they had visited during theday. I could imagine their confusion when they spoke about hundred of rats thathad scurried around their feet and their interest in spotting white mice whichis believed to bring good luck. Even the lucky people had craving to see thewhite mice, there is no end to greed.

Myfriend had picked up post cards from every place that she had visited duringthe day and she patiently briefed me visually on what I had missed. She broughtback the post cards of red-stone-walled Vikram Vilas taken from the front viewfrom Ganga Niwas side, showing the beautiful architecture of the building withartistic windows, balconies and stairways. There were also view cards ofBikaner Fort showing the pictures of front view, back view, courtyard, GajMandir Jharokhas, Chandra Mahal, Anoop Mahal throne, golden swing, etc.

Fora brief moment I forgot my pain.

Butit returned after the group went back to have dinner and I couldn’t join them.My friend came back after dinner and we had dessert on bed. I took more painkillers and went back to sleep.

Onthird day, I could limp and walk few steps. There was no wheel chair but thegroup was very kind to me. They wanted me to come with them, even if it meantjust sitting in the bus and enjoying the view. They helped me stagger up to thebus and all day long we toured the city with me seated by the window.

Mytrip to Bikaner was a flop, a complete flop, or was it? I met some amazingpeople who never allowed my spirit to dip lower to the point of depression andself-pity. I never complained about my discomfort so they never knew theintensity of my pain. During the rest of the trip to Jaisalmer and Jodhpur, Iwalked with the help of a stick and enjoyed the camel rides, met Bisnoi people,visited local crafts men, played folk music with the tribes and even shopped atthe Jodhpur markets.

Onmy return, the x-rays showed ligaments tear and the pain lasted for more than amonth. A memorable trip indeed!

Tweet, but me no friend, you hear that....

2011-11-06T11:15:00.000-08:00

Tweet! Tweet!
“Follow me
For you I tweet
Might rock and roll with you
My outstretched hands,
If you see it thus
Do hi-fi and touch me too”

Tweet! Tweet!
But Nah!
Listen my friend
If never have we met
This greetings is not for you
Tweets are good
For strange pretty birds
Who play the music
Like a flute

Tweet! Tweet!
Oh yeah!
Friendly I was
Once to a distant country man
With a twisted tongue
He tweeted bravely
Knowing it was impossible to meet
Offline

Tweet! Tweet!
Can't be a serious tweeter
Who just tweets
A phrase or two
With a lacy words
“I love you”
Oh! We say so many a times

But this bloke was a weird, old man
Who hung on every tweet I made

Tweet! Tweet!
He surprised me once
Stood outside my door and smiles
“Hey, I am your friend from tweet, tweet world,
To meet you I have travelled thousand miles

Tweet! Tweet!
Closely I looked at him
This shaky older man,
With baldy head and broken teeth
He stretched his frail, shaky hands
And squeezed the life off me

Tweet! Tweet!
Go away!
I can’t be talking to you
You ain't that same tweet-friend
A clever man, I know
His wit swirls me like
Bizarre-world
and transports me to fantasy

Tweet! Tweet!
It's me,
I tell no lies,
You follow me like
I follow you
You be surprised. Why?
It's me, your friend
Your tweeting pal
May I step into your house?”

Tweet! Tweet!
No sir, er…
Please sir, No
Sorry, you can’t be walking
Into my home
My tweeting world is
A make-believe world
With real world
Don’t coincide.

Tweet! Tweet!
It's really
Just a social club
No real friends
I make online

Move on, go
Back to your own
Virtual zone

Can't chat with you,
Offline

Happy to share with other poets for this Funny Bunny Fridays at Purple Tree house.

It's a Spooky Day!

2011-10-31T13:17:00.000-07:00

Boo!
Hope you have a scary day
Biting your nails till they bleed with pain
Or maybe you hide behind a dark thorny blanket
Too scared to face the bright red pumpkin
Sit there still while I go for treats and tricks
And collect the candies from every lane
Dressed in scar face with horn of a devil
And play some games on Halloween day

When night will come, will sit by fireside
All demons and ghoulish friends will come
Their whitish, blackish frilly dresses
Casting their shadows with crooked mane
Their teeth might fall out, but their laughter will be loud
The vampires will play a tuneless game
Once again there will be rain of candies
More tricks and treats for this spooky day!

Watch out
Move over
Boo!

more Halloween celebrations at The Gooseberry Garden

When Your Friend Turns Foe

2011-10-07T09:37:00.000-07:00

Dumbstruck!

I have nothing to say to you

No, my tone is still the same

You heard the silence in my words

But you couldn’t see my pain that night?

No, there was no love from your side

It was just take and take

A fool

This was what I was

For having believed in you again and again

But now I am done

Trust

An ornament of my love

Is now tucked away under my bed

Betrayal

That you sprayed on me

I have combed it out from my hair

Friend

Your love that shone so bright

Blinded me

Or was it oversight?

You used me, no let me correct that again

I allowed you to mold me thus

Even though I knew it naught fine

Wronged

I was for not seeing through

Deceit

Now I scrape it off my fractured mind

Did you laugh behind my back?

I am sure I heard the chuckle of your breath

But now

I am exhausted

Let us forever end this game

You stole my love and now you gloat

Keep him

Maybe it was meant to be

I will watch the journey

While you set me free

Stitch up my sorrows

And happiness togather

Although little I can do

To change the weather

Need to sail away from you

I need to rest in my own brand new shoe

Curled up

I will put clouds over my head

Shut away the pain and not stay

Depressed

Pains much too much

Feeling low

When a dearest friend turns foe

Religious Parade

2011-10-06T10:31:00.000-07:00

One long sentence of more than three hundred words (a trial)

I looked at my watch, it was 6pm, it was time to go downstairs to watch the parade, a Ganpati festival procession snaking down my street like it does every year, always the same group of about three hundred people, dressed in colorful traditional clothes, reflecting brilliances that blinds the eye, a big group divided into smaller group, with dancers, drummers, singers, musicians, clearly recognized from their dress, mannerism, gestures and their walk, with drummers leading the procession, beating the drums heavily, with sound so loud that it could be heard up to the tail of the procession, loud sounds that could easily break the ear-drums of the young girls who were dancing behind the drummer group, all dressed in white kurta, white pyjama and bright yellow duppatta,, they danced gracefully, swinging their typical Maharastrian musical instrument lazims, stretching their body higher up, swirling the lazims over their head, then swinging it down towards their bended knees, their feet moving in unison with rhythm synchronized to the beat of the drums, moving so gracefully that not once were they distracted by the groups of senior singers, that followed them behind, singing a totally different tune of hymns in praise of God, nor were they distracted by the moving traffic, on their left that snaked alongside , so mesmerized were they in their own dance, tapping their feet in prefect rhythm, that they didn’t seem to notice the crowd that surrounded them on either side of the road, all of them craning their neck to have a glimpse of them, some perched on the small wall, some squatting on the foot path, even the little children watched excitedly, happily climbing on the car bonnet to get the better view, higher up some peeped out from their windows, holding on to flimsy curtain exposing just their eyes, everywhere people flashed their cameras, blink by blink, trying to capture the moment of this beautiful procession and I stood enthralled by the side of the road, watching them pass as they walked on to fetch Elephant God to their home..

Soap Bubbles

2011-09-28T11:59:00.000-07:00

Image credit: http://charlottesfancy.com/

Bubbles in the air

Your bloated thoughts

Haunt me in my dreams

Boom! Plop! Swish!

They burst

When pricked by reality

See more entries on this picture theme slam week 11 at Bluebell Books

Limiricks

2011-09-24T00:32:00.000-07:00

There was once an ugly girl from Bandoop

Who loved to socialize on Facebook

She made strangers her friends

And learnt the latest trends

With red goggles and high-heels, she now dons a new-brand look

*************************************************************************************

Old men play all kinds of games

Flirt and chat with idle dames

After some hard drink

You see them wink

Bashed up, they limp back home with a sprain

****************************************************************************************

A limerick is a kind of a witty, humorous, or nonsense poem, especially one in five-line anapestic or amphibrachic meter with a strict rhyme scheme (aabba), which is sometimes obscene with humorous intent. They are fun five line nonsense rhymes where the first, second and fifth line rhyme and the third and fourth line rhyme.

The purple tree house is holding limericks this week.

Baby Chronicles -1

2011-08-30T04:07:00.001-07:00

Adam and Eve in Paradise

2011-08-24T12:41:00.000-07:00

Image Source

With her eyes closed Eve lay

Draped around her innocent heart
The magic of garden soothing her soul
Happy and in a Nirvana poise
She heard the swishing of the winds
The buzzing and whizzing of the bees

She heard the soft footsteps of Adam
As he walked and quietly laid by her side
The smooth skin of apple touched her skin
As Adam playfully rolled over her shin

“Taste it! Feel its sweetness” he said
Knowing in his heart to be a forbidden fruit
“No” said she and crumbled up her nose
Then turned her body to other side

But Adam, obstinate, disobedient lad
Forced his wishes, till she relent
Condemning all humankind pact
Unmindful that the world would end

And so the story, as is told
It was Adam that seduced Eve to crime
Or else they would still be living in paradise.

Other poets who also wrote on this prompt on "Adam and Eve' can be found at 'The Gooseberry Garden'

Unbearable Noise

2011-08-23T04:49:00.000-07:00

Lok Pal bill

Right or wrong
India in rage
Anna fasts
Flash back
Each one was the victim
To avoid delays,
To get the work done on time
It was important to pay a bribe
Nothing was odd, not a sin
Everyone tumbled
It was the way of life
If you didn’t
You were lagged behind
Window to window
You scraped your feet
With little green money
You could slide with ease
Cut long queues
At government offices
Glide through pyramid of files

Or else, you sat
Digging your nose
Bound by string
On all sides
No justice unfurled
Long years wait
Child become man
Dementia set in

Revolution
Will things change?
Can the legal system be tamed?

We wait and watch
As Anna loses weight
Lok Pal bill gathers dust
While crowd agitates
Children join too
Unaware
They learn new word
Corruption
Restless is the nation
Media offers guides
To be or not to be
Anna’s compliance

Sound is a beautiful illusion
If made of rhythm and words
But if it turns into chaos of discussions
It just another unbearable noise

Rakhee Day

2011-08-13T00:35:00.000-07:00

Haiku but kaikoo?
On a special Rakhee day
It's just about love

Mumbai Bomb Blast

2011-07-15T11:59:00.000-07:00

A Six Word Story

Javeeri Bazaar. Diamonds scattered. He bleeds

I am a slave

2011-07-05T02:20:00.000-07:00

I want to do many things, but the body has its own agenda, if it decides to imprison me under its moods, I feel too weak to protest, I stretch a bit, then motionless, wait for it to break its spell.

Oh dear. I am a slave
slave to my body
who choses what I should do

The day I decide, that I shall not follow the rules, I gather up my wits and force myself, with few steps to freedom, I fall half way down, lie on the cross-road, too weak to arise.

Oh dear. I am a slave

slave to my body
who choses what I should do

Time moves on, one more day wasted, too weak to watch even a sunset.
I wait, I wait.

Total Eclipse

2011-06-15T14:41:00.000-07:00

The moon chips off its gentle side
Showing off one of its darkest shade
Pregnant with clouds, the red sky
Blankets the moon, I crane to see
The red cookie behind its tail
Can’t see it naught.

Eclipse on my side of the world
Are only the faint memories of you

Now I think I am a fool

2011-05-24T13:04:00.000-07:00

Oh no
I shouldn’t have sung a song today
Not in front of you
Now I think I am a fool

I try to wrap myself
With the skin of you
Warming up each moments
To live the life like you
Now I think I am fool
I cannot walk like you
I cannot talk like you
I cannot circle my arms
Around my lover like you do

Oh no
I cannot do
I shouldn’t have sung a song today
Not in front of you
Now I think I am a fool

I think I saw you laughing
Sharing a joke or two
I think I saw you smirk
When I stole a glance at you
Now I think I am a fool
I know you will pout again
Like you always do
I know you will strum my emotion
But cannot give up on you

Oh no
I shouldn’t have sung a song today
Not in front of you
Now I think I am a fool

The sea

2011-05-08T00:42:00.000-07:00

The child within us
lives with us forever and
it rejoices every moment,
be it storm
or a calm sea,
it continues to explore
the vastness of the waves.

God waits for his turn

2011-05-05T04:18:00.000-07:00

Early morning
The golden rays filters through the window panes,
Bringing the end to cold wintery nights

She stretches out her hand
To reach for her smart phone
With droopy eyes, hard to focus,
She reads the message that was posted last night.
Smiles back at each message one by one,
Then logs on to share her verse
Tweet, tweet she goes on twitter

Walking towards face-book, renews her status update
Glides through yahoo to check her email
Surfing on chat-page with family and friends
Googles on news to confirm what she just heard.

Morning prayers postponed by many hours,
God waits for his turn and wonders
“Why he gave such intelligence to a man?”

The old farmer is better,
He admires the wild rose by the beach
Plough his land with fresh seeds
And seeks his blessing every hour, all week

Wrote for Thursday Poets Rally

Hesitations

2011-05-03T12:41:00.000-07:00

I can’t lead a private life
The wind on this street knows me
It breathes down my neck round the clock
Tip-taps my shoulder and squeals

If I wore the veil today
And disappeared for a while
Swished with worry, would ask around
From every hay, plant and tree

If I moved to distant land
Folded my life around me
Built high wall to conceal myself
The wind would still unfurl me

Its lonely life for known man
His freedom killed and bleeds
Can’t walk with birds like a free man
Or even enjoy some breeze.

Osama

2011-05-02T13:47:00.000-07:00

Osama
World rejoice your end
Obama
Skinned you out
Drowned your ego under sea
Your sins floats like scum

*************************
Form - Shadorma:

line one has three syllable
line two has five syllables
line three has three syllables
line four has three syllables
line five has seven syllables
line six has five syllables

How to be a successful poet - NaPoWriMo - day 22

2011-04-22T12:29:00.000-07:00

How to be a successful poet?

Write a poem, a topical one
of latest trends and hypes
add one small spaghetti line, and
dress it up with rhyme

Recite in front of popular friend
who in media world is known
ask him to fluff with extra praise
to popularize your phrase and tone

Around the world your poem goes
recited at every poetry slam
There! You are now a famous man
a poet, who is earning quite well!

Betrayal - NaPoWriMo day 20

2011-04-20T11:21:00.000-07:00

I still wait
Sun has walked away
Illusion
Haunts again
Your shadows play wicked games
Memories decay

*********************
Form - Shadorma:

line one has three syllable
line two has five syllables
line three has three syllables
line four has three syllables
line five has seven syllables
line six has five syllables

Rice Dishes ~ NaPoWriMo Day 11

2011-04-11T05:34:00.000-07:00

Rice Dishes

Everyday he served fried rice
That long grains with spice
We ate under candle light
If he cooked it right
Fragrance was delight
We smacked lips
Bliss!

A new revolution CaPoWriMo- day 7

2011-04-07T11:10:00.000-07:00

In fragments they come
from all walks of life,
all tattooed with same message
"If he die, so shall we"

They have waited for too long,
forty two years they say,
life no more a stream of happiness
just stench of corruption

Common man weeps,
not enough room to stretch,
in long queue he waits for justice
that may never come

Elites dine fancy meals
with shady deals dipped in creams
In warm scorching sun,
common man waits for milk and bread

Life is tough;
Anna Hazare understands that,
he will skip meal
for unfolding a clean lokpal bill

Holding the frail support
of stronger hand,
millions more will begin to
stand once again

Nobody wants to be crushed no more,
its time to straighten their back
with proud chin and sparkling dream
learn to walk ahead

Dressed with newer hope
step into a better world

(c) Pushpee

Pain ~ NaPoWriMo - Day 5

2011-04-05T08:31:00.000-07:00

Pain
My life long friend
Always deceives me
Wrings my bones

Hungry for attention
Squeezes the life off me

Thoughts pause
I shift my attention
And beg it to leave

Searing pain
Cuts through my nerves
Blocking even my dream

I walk to my bed
Lie rested
To pain, I talk
Some serious talks
To compromise

Merciless pain
Exits
I am free again

Just for a moment
I know
It will return
It’s a bond
That was promised to me

Ah!

Pain
My life long friend
Never leaves me

Cousin Sisters CaPoWriMo2- day 4

2011-04-04T13:09:00.000-07:00

The fun of meeting your cousin after a long time is such a treat

“Eight months”, you said. Well it seemed just yesterday, you and I had shared this place, you had liked the ambience then, and you like it even today, your taste is not changed, I am glad. So what will you have? Will you try something new? “Pani Puri, Dahi Puri” you say again. Oh no! Let’s try something new, let’s go to some place anew. There is restaurant opened in my street. They serve cinnamon Spanish buns in that store, you will like it, believe me, it’s a crispy delicacy, or maybe we go to Italian den and try some pastas and Ravioli with exotic sauces and fancy drinks. “Pani Puri, Dahi Puri” you repeat. I relent you win; okay we shall chat over Pani puri dahi puri if that’s what you want it to be.

The fun of meeting your cousin after a long time is such a treat

We talk of things, this and that, you take me to your treasure land, we walk together through your favorite lanes, I see the images of your work place, “See, I have something new,” you say “an idea to keep bored thoughts at bay” I listen as you related some scenes, some laughter, some tears on every feat. Next it’s my turn to relate about me. With undivided attention you follow me, as I take you up and down my virtual world, where nights and days my verses stand. We chitchat long without a clock to see, so many stories over Pani Puri.

The fun of meeting your cousin after a long time is such a treat

The clock tick tocks, we don’t realize, we have gobbled up twenty Pani Puris. Not just that but more food arrives. Tava fried rice, Samosas, Pav Bhajji. The tummy grumbles but cannot give up, fresh drinks more and “hey, listen, Gulab Jamun for me” The waiter walks around us hundred times, each time asking ‘Madam, you want some more?” We chitchat, we eat, we chitchat we eat, not remembering the taste nor quantity, so deep in talks, unmindful of gawks, mesmerized in each other’s company.

The fun of meeting your cousin after a long time is such a treat

Cousins, like sister, are God given friends; they are the pillars of joy, nourishing our souls, add value to our lives as their worth unfolds. Friends in our life may come and go, but cousins are sisters that blend with us as we grow old.

Precious Gold Bangles - Capowrimo2 - day 3

2011-04-03T12:35:00.000-07:00

As a part of CaPoWriMo - 2 I write

Precious Gold Bangles

Seventy gold bangles
Glittering in the dark
Fool’s interest robbed their spark
Now sold worthless

(form -Abhanga: 4 lines with syllable count 6-6-6-4 in addition rhyming scheme a-b-b-c)

Cricket fever - CaPoWriMo2 - day 2

2011-04-02T02:04:00.000-07:00

As a part of CaPoWriMo - 2 I write

Cricket Fever

Games begin
World cup waits
Screaming, shouting, rejoicing
Cricketers march with their thumbs up
Palpitating

Abuser

2011-04-01T10:17:00.000-07:00

Day one of capowrimo 2

Abuser

Blemished the young mind forever, you
Chopped off the gentle bud off its sweet fragrance
Crushing its soft petals
Before it unfolded its emotions to bloom
Curse be with you!

Abuser
Instilled the fear in innocent child, you
Were the cause of distrust and hate in to her lone life
Every man with passion
Haunted her memories and filled her with shame
Curse be with you!

Abuser
Stuffed with grudge at its core, you
Cannot escape her wrath that is bitter and cold
You shall bleed tears
Lust, once upon a time kindled, shall find no peace
Curse be with you

Abuser
She has learnt about your kind
She will protect her child
Curse be with you.

I can't write for you

2011-03-26T10:50:00.000-07:00

I would love to write
In the style
You prefer, and
I know I will achieve
That said glory, but
I am afraid
I will lose my originality
When I stitch
Those pieces of verse, that
Suit your fantasy

Full Moon Night

2011-03-23T02:53:00.000-07:00

"Oh! Have you seen the moon today?" Whole world talked about it. It was the hot topic in the media world……And many people were able to capture it too……

But not me.

I was stoned to silence, no images captured, camera betrayed. Just memory remained of big, white, round plate pinned upon dark belly of sky on a full moon night

The Making of my painting in oils..Omar Khayam

2011-03-14T13:32:00.000-07:00

Slowly they come to life,
As oils shape their smooth profile
Unfolding features with expressions
On every colored slide
Incomplete yes, they are this day,
Cannot even see their eyes
If flaws you want to change,
you can help me see it, right?
From your angle,
I shall mark with brush,
Re-touching under new light
Together,
We shall see them breathing,
Singing poetry,
Ah! so bright!

Cannot play the subtle music as yet
Nor fill up summer cup of wine
The color strokes play to
Just touch the clothes
The day has just begun
Its divine!

Come, sit under the shade
Of the Banyan tree
Play music just for now,
Feel gentle breeze
Of love and tenderness,
sip from cup some wine.

Bright colors of love
I cannot see
under this grip of wine
Play music for me,
Loud and clear
To awaken my dizzy mind

Soon the light shall fall over me
let me greet the morning sun
fill my cup and play the music
The day has once again begun

Japanese Tsunami

2011-03-13T11:31:00.000-07:00

Image source

This is one of those days
When nobody is on ground
A poem gets unsaid,
The verse molds it not
The sun shines hard;
There are no whispers of shade
World moves around
But all cry of pain

Into the crowd I walk,
Looking for known face
Weighed by struggles,
All shudder behind a veil
A pink face I search
But only I can see
A bitter wounds of hurt,
Dark moments to breathe

This was the town,
Once fragrance was the key
Fumes from the kitchen
Had flavors of Sushi
Happy were the emotions
Of every child on the street
Every chat was advanced,
On the net they would tweet

Then one day

Nature stretched to yawn,
The world heard it scream
Frightened, it nudged the earth,
The waters came from sea
The fury was bound
With whorls of tsunami
Imprisoned the whole town,
All victims and families

The horizon is transfixed
With the shades of deepest grey
Gloom rules the alleys
Colors have gone to sleep

Once more
They will crawl
Then walk up on their feet
Dust off shadows of pain
And built a new city
Painted inside out
With coats of fresh dreams

Its just pain

2011-03-06T23:42:00.000-08:00

Haven’t seen sunshine

for thousand days,

nor seen the flower bloom

on a twine,

I know not

what late night birds hum

nor drank

a cup of wine.

You know not

about my deepest pain,

await I daily for his smile,

the day he could walk

on his own two feet

will be the day

I could breathe for a while.

What was I thinking????

I was inspired me to write these lines after reading this http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/india/SC-rejects-petition-for-mercy-killing-of-Aruna-Shanbaug/articleshow/7644557.cms

How painful it is for people who have to take care of the terminally ill persons, specially if they are loved ones. One person suffer but he is not alone, his own family suffers with him.

I am reminded of my friend who left her steady income of a secured career to take care of her terminally ill parents. It has been ten years now and she has forgotten to live for herself. No social life, no contact with the world, before she is free from taking care of her parents , she will need somebody else to look after her, cause I fear that she will be deep into depression.........by then

Sounds of Music in the air

2011-02-28T13:08:00.000-08:00

At the Ekkant retreat above Warasgoan Lake in Lavasa

On a quiet Monday morning
Before the break of dawn
I sit all alone
Surrounded by the voices of the universe

Serenity speaks to me
Behind the lonely hills
Telling me the stories of distant winds
Its power to blow over the green hills
Roughly touching the waters below
Carrying messages
Of calmness and gratitude

Birds sing, unmindful of the rhythm
Chirping away the tunes
Of an unknown song
Nature understands,
Strums the music from its pockets
Of illusion and fills the air.

Mind wanders away
With random thoughts
But the silence distracts it naught
As I close my eyes
I find myself again
In complete harmony with nature
Drinking in the solitude of calmness
That surrounds me

I can hear
just the bleating of my heart,
In and out
The breath walks
From my soul to the sky
and back again
Humming softly
Connecting me
To the power of divinity

I think I exist no more.

PS: blogged on Lavasa trip HERE

Celebration

2011-02-09T23:25:00.000-08:00

Now I hear the distant drums
The dance has just begun;
The guests arrive one by one,
With patience all will be done.

There will be laughter rolling in
As celebrations dress during day,
At night when the stars twinkle
They will help my guests to find their way

Water melon

2011-02-07T02:34:00.000-08:00

Its summer again.

Chewing on the crunchy, soft pieces of water melon, the water squeezes out from the pulp at every bite flooding the inners of my mouth, a cool, sweet bath for my inner palate and teeth and finally biting on crunchy black seeds savoring the nutty taste..ah the bliss!!

Jaipur Quest

2011-01-22T00:30:00.001-08:00

Is there stampede of the verse, have the word'ly quest quietly merged, Hey poets, writers and word'ly men, how goes it at Jaipur lit-fest?

Jaipur litfest

2011-01-19T10:55:00.000-08:00

Tourist flock to Jaipurfest, lit-writers find it such a jest, knows not hippie there is tune in a verse, treks up and down, searching for a friend

Vacations

2011-01-18T08:43:00.000-08:00

The vacations are there to relieve us from stress
Row down the stream to smoothen out distress
Iron out your worries, its a beautiful world
enjoy the present and write some more verse

He Learnt to Make Paper Bags

2011-01-15T00:58:00.000-08:00

He stares listlessly.

Slowly he wipes off the drool with his hand
His body and mind on different wave-length
Blank looks piercing through vacant air
Focused, unfocused, and then focused again
Dips his fingers into glue bowl stand
Carefully attaches the loose paper ends
Steps back, wiping his brow with a rag
Smiles, as he admires colored paper bags

One more job done, skillfully learnt
What next?

Twenty years later, he is an older man
Living in society where nobody cares
No job for him, they trust him not
Ignore his talents and lets him rot
Mother dead, father dead
Sisters, brothers, won’t share their bread
Confused he sits, plays with the glue
Makes paper-bags, then breaks and shreds

He is depressed!

Had somebody cared for him instead
Helped him see the better world
Cloaked in dignity, he too could survive
With little cash if earned with pride
Weakened physique, but could live in jest
Opportunity is what he wanted, my friend
Confidence gained, straight walk would he have
Shake hands too, with white-collared man

Alas! Reality bites!

We continue to live into this cruel world
Where one has to prove he has a clever hand
Life is a struggle, it is difficult to merge
In crowded space, there is no room to stand
Polished world seeks only perfect man
Slow and steady, behind they lag
Trained though with proper skills and airs
It is difficult to convince the world to care

Ah! Ouch!

Differently able is crippled and disabled
‘Common’ man’s curse for a ‘Special’ man

Kite Flying Festival

2011-01-13T11:19:00.000-08:00

Image source: Google

oh! oh!
Lotsa kites are flying on google page,
North India might celebrate in style,
Mumbai high-rise considers it a dangerous sport,
Unless in jest, you fly kites

Goodbye 2010

2010-12-30T21:52:00.000-08:00

On this final chapter of 2010, there is no end, the unfinished story flips over to the next year, tweaked a little, with more new characters, murdering the unfulfilled desires and dreams, creating enough space for protogonist to edit her phrases to weave a new world

Sunset

2010-12-27T23:58:00.000-08:00

The sun walks away

Quietly behind the hills

Shedding off its pink trail

On the belly of the sky

Reflection on waters bid shy goodbye

As the night falls.

Once again it will back at twilight,

Newer dreams will float on fragile minds,

Some will bloom colorfully when realized

While others will sink and never materialize.

Life goes on like it always has,

With every sunset,

There is a newer sunrise.

Pretty Sparrow

2010-12-27T01:50:00.000-08:00

A tiny plump sparrow sits closer to my feet

Fearless, shrugs her feathers, enjoying the crisp cold breeze

Unmindful of my moods that swings from hot to cold

She chirps away my blues, with her stories not yet told.

2010-12-23T12:25:00.000-08:00

Dashing through traffic jam

On crazy Mumbai roads
With one sharp-edged mood
Santa sees the tempers glow
He tries to keep his cool
Don't want to spoil his day
But too much on Mumbai roads
Is testing his red-hooded brains

Auto-rickshaws here and there
Breaking all traffic rules
Gives him continuous jitters
As they rattle down the roads
He holds on to his goody bags
And hums softly some prayers
Hoping he will survive
Without a broken bone

Mingled roads
Jumbled roads
Oh it’s such a pain
Its no fun
Travelling is better
If he went by local train

Yeah!

Living in bliss

2010-11-15T10:40:00.000-08:00

Photograph was taken by Jack Huber in a vacant campground in the Ouachita Mountains in Western Arkansas

and I was inspired to write

At peace, under the bosom of leaves and trees,
so very still, you live in bliss,
until a hunter robs you of your freedom
and shreds you up for a delicious meal.

Copyright © 2010 by Pushpa Moorjani

This is my 6th win in this ongoing contest which will end on Thanks Giving Day. We write a single quatrain inspired by the photo. A quatrain is a four-line poem and may or may not rhyme.

Winning entries are posted at http://www.jackhuber.com/quatraincity.htm.

I won this contest as a runner-up'
The winner was Diane T who wrote a quatrain inspired by this picture
she wrote: Gentle Denizens

The verdant forest waits in hush,
its ceiling a cathedral of dappled shade,
and in the peaceful quiet
the gentle denizens graze in grace.
Copyright © 2010 by Diane Tegarden

The girl with the dragon tattoo

2010-11-12T09:32:00.000-08:00

The girl with the dragon tattoo
Yes! I see her often online
Chirping away on her face-book status
Telling me what’s on her mind

Every outrageous chat she makes
While speaking out her dormant lines
There is hurricane of spiteful abuses
Clouding her freedom and her rights

Clever thoughts, untold secrets
She swirls them into the path of crime
Cynics chop her words to pieces
And subject her to cruel trials

Should she seal her choral lips
And silently watch the world pass by
Or should she make a marked difference
By changing rhythm, rhyme and the chime

The girl with the dragon tattoo
Yes, she was the one I saw online
The world helplessly watched her disappear
As she faded away sans light

There is no moment for truth
Fanatics broke her sturdy pride

Image source

My entry for Big Tent Poetry Circus where we had to choose a title of one book, and use it as a line for our poem from the list of Best Sellers, and I chose THE GIRL WITH THE DRAGON TATTOO, by Stieg Larsson

Broken Man

2010-11-08T12:45:00.000-08:00

Yes! You were always right
That’s what I wanted you to believe
Although I knew the truth
But were afraid to hurt you so
Saying yes was easy

What did it cost me?
My ego still intact, my spirit unflawed
The power of love was strong
Happiness would lose its charm
Had I proved you wrong

Turning pages of memories,
Under a soft light, in my mind
Refreshes those days of wrinkled frown
When I had let you win
And you were sure, you had wronged.

I should have told you the bitter truth
Guided you on a beaten path
Your health would not betray me thus
Longer I would have you by my side
Alas! I rock with a broken leg

Cross posted at November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 8, for today's prompt, on 'Write an agreement poem'.

Wake up Baby

2010-11-03T02:40:00.000-07:00

I touched his soft wet cheeks

Prompting him to wake up
It was time for his next feed
Just a little, he opened his eyes
Like a bored cub in a Nirvana pose
Dimpled chubby arms, stretching
High above his baldy head
His body stiffened, but for a moment
Then relaxed
He had not finished his sleep as yet.

This is my entry for the prompt at 2010 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 2

City of dreams

2010-11-02T03:34:00.000-07:00

This was my entry for contest #15 at Ryze forum called Wordmeister, writers and poets unite. where we post a quatrain on picture of a city

Image (c) Jack Huber

High rise goals pierce the frozen sky

To my city of dreams, I behold

With a heart of gold, strong and stiff
Off shores, I melt my fears of the unknown.

Winner was Diane Stephenson on her quatrain called ‘Faith’

The pinnacle of faith rises high,
Points to a cloudless sky
Where dreams are formed
And lives transformed.
© 2010 by Diane Stephenson

Runner-up: Diane Tegarden on her quatrain ‘Spires’

Spires reaching to the sky
Teaching us of man’s desire
To become more than himself
Remembrances of lives gone by.
© 2010 by Diane Tegarden

Limericks-Geelani-Roy

2010-10-26T02:39:00.000-07:00

They shared the Nobel Prize, which was no fake
They had earned it good for what they spake
They walked across the LOC
To discuss more problems of birds and bees
Now Roy and Geelani swim in milky shake

Inspired to write this limerick after reading the news on TOI

Geelani, Arundhati to be booked under sedition charge

He is Complicated

2010-10-22T11:49:00.000-07:00

He will tell you sterner tales
to hide his softer side
then with most expensive gift,
he will surprise
to compromise his rougher
Tones
He is complicated

One moment he is singing
Then suddenly, a bad curse
He is weighing your every word
With a suspicious shaky verse
until you are bitterly
Stoned
He is complicated

You have spend all day grooming
To celebrate a memorable day
Playfully he praises you
with succulent and tangy words
Then suddenly, cornered into a tighter
Zone
He is complicated

To be or not to be
What you see do not believe
He is complicated

Inspired by Raamesh's poem : She is complicated

Bored Autumn

2010-10-18T09:49:00.000-07:00

This was my entry for contest #14 at Ryze forum called Wordmeister, writers and poets unite. where we post a quatrain on picture of a city

Bored, the Autumn undressed the lone tree
In a concrete jungle of high rise steel
For vibrant birds, it looked within the leaves, but
Barren was the city, chirping silenced on those streets
Copyright © 2010 by Pushpee

However the winner entry was by Deborah Walker
Displaced

In the dingy gray of the big city’s bustle
Stands a country boy, stripped and displaced,
Arbitrary among the structured,
Reflective of the dreams he’s chased.
Copyright © 2010 by Deborah Walker

And the runner-up was Diane Stephenson
Sombre city

Sombre city skies, swirling, sigh;
Men, monstrous monuments making--
Cruel concrete cages--call, complain, cry,
Fevered, fearful, facing failure, freedom faking.
Copyright © 2010 by Diane Stephenson

Lucky again –The fifth time…

2010-10-11T10:57:00.000-07:00

Won the poetry contest again! Yay!!!

Twice monthly, a photo is posted on the Facebook forum, "Wordmeisters, Poets and Writers Unite!" Members then compose a quatrain, or 4-line poem, inspired by the photograph. Quatrains are judged on creativity, poignancy, format (if applicable) and content. A most interesting take on the photo will also score well.

In the contest no #13 this picture was posted

This photograph was taken in beautiful downtown Lincoln, Nebraska by Jack Huber.

And my winning entry was

The Bridge

Together, you and I had walked on that bridge,
Crossing over the lakes and beaten paths beneath;
The dancing stars in the scorching noon we found,
Under the belly of sky, many such eternal joys.

Runner-up was by Ayub Bangroo

Bridge the Gap

Moving steadily on life`s highway
to bridge the gap so vast,
some have crossed and some away,
an endless run, there to last.

Winning entry can also be found at http://www.jackhuber.com/quatraincity.htm

Creative Mind (Form-Double Etheree)

2010-09-25T11:30:00.000-07:00

Day
Like this
When I try
To create pun
Verse Special for me
But fail because my mind
Is occupied by stray thoughts
That block my mind against real things
Random happenings of day events
Cloud my judgment by crippling me all day

I walk for fresh air up to the window
Draw curtains a bit to look outdoors
Staring still at blooming flowers
Tensions melt and leave my side
Free at last from stiff nerves
Fresh moods cloud the frowns
Happiness reigns
Once more I
Feel some
Joy

The poetic form, "etheree," uses syllable count rather than meter and is unrhymed. It is named for its creator, a poet named Etheree Taylor Armstrong.

The basic etheree form has ten lines, the first consisting of exactly one syllable, the second line of two syllables, and so on until the last line's ten syllables. An etheree can also be reversed, starting with ten syllables and ending with one.

A "double etheree" combines the two, so is twenty lines, starting with one syllable, counting up to ten. Line eleven also has ten syllables and each line thereafter reduces by one until line twenty's single syllable.

One Dark Stormy Night (Fiction)

2010-09-19T10:20:00.000-07:00

It was dark and stormy night. Tejal and Salina emerged from the cinema hall after the late night show.

“Let’s wait till the rain stops”, said Salina.

Tejal looked at her watch, “Its 10:30pm, it is getting late. Hubby will be home by 11pm, listen, I have an umbrella, we both can share. If we wait longer it might get too late. We shouldn't have come for this late night show.” She said.

“Oh! Never mind; it was fun na?” said Salina as she squeezed closer to her friend under the umbrella.

The strong wind blew against their faces and it was getting difficult to hold the umbrella. They walked slowly on the side of the road. Both of them clung tightly to umbrella but were drenched from waist downwards. Luckily there were many more people returning home after a late night show.

“Only one more lane and we will reach home.” said Salina as they entered the lonely lane.

“Yeah! Not a good idea to go out on these rainy nights, the street lights have gone off too, it’s so dark. I am afraid, you know…” said Tejal

“Hahaaha! You are just being a coward.” Said Salina

Suddenly a huge, black car whizzed past them splashing the muddy water from the puddle wetting them head to toe.

“Hello, You idiot! What the hell!!” both of them shouted together.

The car screeched to a halt, reversed and stood next to them. A dark, fat man dressed in dark green cloak emerged from car.

“Get into the car.” he whispered, puffing the bad breath into their faces.

“Eeeww! Cough! Cough! Who are you? We don’t know you, why should we get into your car? Said Salina

“I said don’t argue with me, understand? Just get into the car or I shall slice you into small bitty bits.” he said extracting a shiny knife from his butt pocket.

“Take Salina with you, she is a single woman and has nobody waiting for her at home. I cannot go with you; my hubby will be home any minute now. Salina, go my dear, go with him, Who cares whether you reach home early or late? Try to understand, go” said Tejal

“Nopes! I am not going without you.” Protested Salina

“I said get into the car, both of you, or I shall kill you both” he said talking through his clenched teeth.

“But you have only one knife, and let me see if it is sharp enough to chop two women” said Salina trying to grab his hand.

“Being funny, huh?” he said, and poked her with the pointed tip just below her navel.

“Ouch! It hurts! Okay, you win. Come on Tejal, let’s go with him, maybe it's a short ride.”

As soon as they stepped into the car, there was a click of doors locking and the car picked up speed.

“He looks like our Sallu Baba na, look at his muscles.” whispered Tejal

“Yeah, maybe his cloak will tear and fly off his body if he shows some anger, like in the movie” laughed Salina.

"Uff! Oh!, his cloak is so loose, let me see if he is wearing a khadi shirt within"

"Shush, Shush!!" giggled Salina

Tejal fidgeted with the handles, turned them clockwise to lower the window pane.

“Al la loo ya! Aieya! Look Salina! Look, we are in the mid-air” screamed Tejal

“We are in the car, we are not in the airplane, silly”

“Arrey! Look! I am not joking. See that? There is water below, we are flying over the sea’”

“Hello, bhai saab, Sallu, can we call you Sallu? By the way, where are you taking us?”

“Shut up and sit quietly and let me concentrate on my driving” said the man

“But you are not driving, you are flying”

“Grrrrh! I said let me concentrate, my boss is expecting you.”

“Boss? You have a boss? Who is he?”

“You ask too many questions, why don’t you just relax and you will know it soon.” He said as he steered towards a small hill in the middle of water.

“Is this an island? Your boss lives here?” said Tejal as the car came to a halt in front of a huge castle.

“Get off the car” he roared.

Carefully they got off the car, it was still raining heavily and they were wet and cold. They walked towards the castle and knock on the huge iron door.

A bald old man in dhoti and cap, with a shawl draped over his shoulders opened the door.

“Wah! Wah! You brought two pretty young women for me today? Shahbaz putther, Welcome! Welcome” said the old man inviting them to walk in.

“Why are we brought here?” said Salina, stepping forward and resting her palms on her hips.

“Well! I am hungry, I asked him to get me one woman who will cook for me, but he has brought two women, that’s good! That’s very, very good!”

“But we will not cook for you” said Salina.

“You can just order food from Mc Donalds or from KFC. We normally order food from take-a-away outlet when we are tired and hungry and too lazy to cook” said Tejal.

“Hello! Can’t you see that this is an island and there are no restaurants here?”

“And what makes you think that we will cook for you?”

“Look ladies, you have no choice, either you cook for me or else I will chop you up and eat you raw.”

“You are not serious, are you? You can’t possibly eat a human, that too two pretty women, would you? They do something else to pretty women, we read in papers all the time and its never chopping them to eat. Nah! It's not appropriate, me thinks” said Salina

“Yes I do, when I am hungry I don’t care what I eat.”

Tejal started to shiver and held on to Salina’s hand

“Okay, we will cook for you” said Salina, “but first we need to wash ourselves, we are feeling very filthy, can we change our clothes before we cook for you?”

“Yeah, that’s like a good girl, there are fresh set of clothes in the bathroom, go wash and change while I defrost some fresh meat,”

Salina and Tejal held each other’s hands and slowly walked towards the bathroom, then turned to the other room, hastened their footsteps, walked towards the main door and started to run.

They ran faster, looked behind them and saw Shallu following them. They ran faster and faster, running on the soft grass, running towards the beach and were about to jump into the water when they both tripped and fell down on their knees.

“Ouch!”

“Mamma, what are you doing on the floor?”

“Ooooh! Phew! Just a bad dream, thank goodness!” said Tejal as she held her daughter closer to her and wept.

2010-09-16T07:14:00.000-07:00

Greener Tones

Heart knows not the limitless boundaries
It spreads carelessly over the greener tones;
Its fragrance, extending to the distant homes,
Searches coyly for lovers’ zones.

This photograph was taken in rural Nebraska near Lincoln by Jack Huber.

At the group called Wordmeisters, Poets and Writer-Unite on Ryze, they are having regular poetry contest every fortnight which will be on till thanks giving day 2010, whereby they put up a picture and we have to write a quatrain inspired by the picture.

A quatrain is a four-line poem and may or may not rhyme.

Mine was the runner-up entry, but the winner was A Picture Post Card

For your eyes, blue sky, green lawn
set for a colourful, breaking dawn;
water front, weather tower, cluster of cottages
all seem tied up as helpless hostages!

Copyright © 2010 by Manohar Bhatia

My winning entry can be found at http://www.jackhuber.com/quatraincity.htm

September is 'Be Kind to Writers and Poets' month

2010-09-13T03:17:00.000-07:00

You people are nice
and very kind, I must say
forgive me if I don't
come to read your post each day
but whenever I visit and
read this forum's page
I go back with the sweet words
of encouragement each day
lets not confuse kindness
with weakness this way
just an invisible smile
I am sending virtually across this day
See it!
Don't miss it!
Look!
It’s coming your way
Hope you remember me
in your prayers just for today
remember
I am your friend in every topsy-turvy way!!

Most of the forums at Ryze I enjoy to read, specially because they have a personal touch to it and the most favorite for me is at 'Wordmeister, Writer and Poets Unite' and they told me today that September is ‘Be kind to writers and poets month’ and September 12th being the National day of Encouragement, I wrote this to my friends on that forum

City Blues - (Form - Sestina)

2010-09-09T05:17:00.000-07:00

When she moved into my house she looked quite stupid
The way she walked, her head she always scratched
She would spend her time watching TV all day,
At night she would go club hopping in the big city
I had let her use my vacant cold attic
For which she paid me a handsome rent

Then one day she complained about the rent
Said it was much too high and stupid
To pay for a hole which was just an attic
She was disturbed by a cat who playfully scratched
On her window panes that overlooked the city
She had grabbed the cat and scared him one day

She argued with me and left in anger that day
Without paying out her six-month-overdue rent,
Went searching for accommodation in a new city
Unsuccessful, she checked into a hotel, how stupid!
Where mattresses were worn out, furniture all scratched
Soon she realized she was more comfortable in the attic

How does one compare a hotel room to an attic?
These thoughts niggled and troubled her mind all day
When suddenly she found a card and vigorously scratched
Hurrah! Figures that flashed were enough to pay the rent
But the lottery was fake and she felt so stupid
Once again she was homeless in the big strange city

It’s a lesson you learn when you live in a city
All flats have rooms that are smaller than an attic
Those who move out and migrate to new towns are stupid
When was it easy to find a good home in one day
That would be quite spacious and yet have lower rent
You may only find a house with walls fully scratched

Wasted much time, her budget was scratched
Life was getting difficult, she felt lost in the city
Returned back to my house and paid up the rent
Moved into the same ole vacant cold attic
I heard her make a promise to herself that day
Never would she complain about anything that was so stupid

I am happy with the rent, but her ego is scratched
She feels like a stupid soul lost in the city
Hiding in the attic on this warm summer day

This is my first attempt on F.O.R.M Sestina

Aero Car

2010-08-31T05:59:00.000-07:00

The Aero Car
The green hills welcomes the giant aero car
That swings like a cradle on a tight roped strings
“Ole! Ole!” whistles the sky, trees and the breeze
While the happy blue sea gurgles out its frothy squeals

There was a contest on writing quatrain verse by looking at the picture and this was my feeble attempt on the picture, although the winner was

Ayub Bangroo’s ‘We and Desires’

Desires keep us hanging around
no matter how deep the fall
sun, sky and soothing sound
let us not ignore the call.
Copyright © 2010 by Ayub Bangroo

Runner-up: Diane Tegarden's Getting from Here to There

Hanging above swift rapids
the daredevils whoop with joy
the poets envision dangerous delights
and the common man simply sees it as another crossing.
Copyright © 2010 by Diane Tegarden

Your Non-Sensical Talks

2010-08-29T10:42:00.000-07:00

The strict rules were made for you, not for me
Don’t bother showing me some sense in them, you see
Your sermons I flung them out of my window
They stank of old fashioned conservative ideas
Lets hope they don’t germinate like those that
Grew in Jack and Bean stalk tree
Imagine, if they did, the whole world would indulge
In senseless, useless talks
and you would be sorry for their misdeeds

This is written for Grandson of Godawful Poetry Fortnight

• Godawful Poetry Fortnight runs from the 19th to the 31st August.

• Our Patron Saint is William Wordsworth.

And he gets this signal honor for saying that poetry "is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings." Way too many aspiring poets have rallied behind that banner, too few going so far as recollecting those emotions in tranquility, let alone reading the rest of the preface to Lyrical Ballads (which can be found on Bartleby, for those interested).

Links at http://zigzackly.blogspot.com/2010/08/grandson-of-godawful-poetry-fortnight.html%20, the event host.

Queer August 2010

2010-08-28T13:49:00.000-07:00

Grandson of Godawful Poetry Forthnight

August is bit queer-est month this year
Three days somersaulting five times, oh dear!
Five Sundays, five Mondays, five Tuesdays rolling
In one month occurring, was never so clear
Never heard that in last 823 years

Grandson of Godawful Poetry Fortnight - Common Wealth Games

2010-08-25T23:10:00.000-07:00

Common Wealth Games

What good are these games if you don’t even dare
To make some money and with Janta to share?

What Joy to make fake certificates to stiffen some collars
With easy transfer of two billion dollars

What joy to travel in huge, fancy cars
Specially imported from London without any scars

What joy to clean the fair skinned bottom
With soft dainty paper during fifteen days short term

What joy to work without any legal contract
and see every expat on a seat that is cracked

Thank you for the beggars that you have sent to my town
At every signal in Mumbai, all are dressed in evening gown.

• Godawful Poetry Fortnight runs from the 19th to the 31st August.

• Our Patron Saint is William Wordsworth.
And he gets this signal honor for saying that poetry "is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings." Way too many aspiring poets have rallied behind that banner, too few going so far as recollecting those emotions in tranquility, let alone reading the rest of the preface to Lyrical Ballads (which can be found on Bartleby, for those interested).

Grandson of Godawful Poetry Fortnight ----Lucky lips

2010-08-25T03:58:00.000-07:00

Grandson of Godawful Poetry Fortnight ----Lucky lips

If it works for you, it should work for me
Can do anything, only if there is money
Money, money, money, I adore tips
Look I have painted red my lucky lips

Love only if you have not been hurt before
Dance only when somebody you find to adore
Live like a king, if you are female then slips
Look I have painted red my lucky lips

May you have lots of maids to work for you
May all your rich friends stand close by you
With thousands in your purse, everything clicks
Look I have painted red my lucky lips

Sun shines brightly only behind my panes
Rainbow sometimes peeps after heavy rains
When I am bored, on the net I tweets
Look I have painted red my lucky lips

• Godawful Poetry Fortnight runs from the 19th to the 31st August.

• Our Patron Saint is William Wordsworth.

And he gets this signal honour for saying that poetry "is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings." Way too many aspiring poets have rallied behind that banner, too few going so far as recollecting those emotions in tranquillity, let alone reading the rest of the preface to Lyrical Ballads (which can be found on Bartleby, for those interested).

Rigid rules govern our life

2010-08-20T11:47:00.000-07:00

Rules tie me down with strict chains of discipline

“Can do this”
“Cannot do that”
“What will people say”
“Behave yourself”
Endless sermons from tight lipped men

There are thoughts in process brewing in my brain
Raw unfulfilled desires flushed down the drain
You judge me at every speech and even when I am quiet
Truth unguarded, pretense is your pride

Unless

I am born different, then you sympathize
You are ready to adjust
For you cannot decide
All your rules bend
There is freedom for me
I will sit on the floor
While you stretch over to teach
You forget all your rules
You will adjust and say
“Be yourself!”
“It’s all right”
All that because
I am a special child

I have freedom to sit wherever I please

at my strange posture you are never displeased

You give me freedom to play with toys of my choice

I don't hear you whimper, You have a sweet voice

You allow me the freedom to choose my own best friend

Unknown to you are the vague society trends

You enter my world and understand my unique kingdom
Wait a minute..I speak thus under my Frames of Freedom

Rains - (Form- Tanka)

2010-08-17T06:20:00.000-07:00

Cooped into dark room
Afraid to walk on wet streets
One more day I rest
Rains slide playfully outside
Weaving slippery green grounds

(c) pushpee

Learnt about this form ‘Tanka’ from my friend Jack Huber

Originating in ancient Japan, a tanka (ton’- kah;) consisted of a haiku sent by mail or messenger and a two-line reply added to it for the returned message. Now tankas are composed in their final, familiar five-line format.

You may recall that haiku does not rhyme and consists of 17 syllables in three lines in a 5–7–5 format (five syllables in line one, seven in line two, then five again). A tanka adds two unrhymed lines of seven syllables each, for a total of 31 syllables. It can be in the 5-7-5-7-7 or in the two-stanza 5-7-5 ... 7-7 format.

Since they are short, titles of tankas may be taken from the poem’s first line or a key line, or are simply numbered, though naming poems is completely up to the author without specific rules.

Yay!!! I won the poetry contest again - the third time

2010-08-16T09:07:00.000-07:00

On one of the forums at Ryze, they are having regular poetry contest every fortnight which will be on till thanksgiving day 2010, whereby they put up a picture and we have to write a quatrain inspired by the picture.

A quatrain is a four-line poem and may or may not rhyme.

The first poem that I had won earlier was Frozen to Stillness

The second poem was Come Back Soon

This is the third poem which made it to final list.

Below are the picture that they posted and my quatrain on it below the picture.

Hushed voices trapped behind colored frames
Crisscrossed, the thoughts rotate from side to side
Silence speaks under the pillars of courage
Whispering gently under its beams with joy

My winning entry can be found at http://www.jackhuber.com/quatraincity.htm

And the Runner-up: Anthea Burson
The Church of Adolescence

The sun shines through stained glass windows
At The Church of Adolescence
Exposing whispering children
Racing marbles down steel rails.
Copyright © 2010 by Anthea Burson

Street Smart (55-ers)

2010-08-15T10:58:00.000-07:00

She sat in the hot sun selling friendship bands. Hundreds of plastic alphabets spread before her. She knew that one could make words by stringing them together. I picked up letters to spell my name, she correctly calculated the total cost. While rich kids learnt their mathematics at school she learnt them all on streets.

Goodbye

2010-08-07T11:32:00.000-07:00

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 13; the thirteenth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

Final Goodbye

Just one pair of slippers, one set of robes
One picture of me with a smile adorned

A wee bit of cash, suffice for last rites
Await I in queue, at heavenly gates, outside

Time moves closer, the deeds must be right,
Finishing off my chores, keeping aches aside

Chains cannot break without a fight
Packing all your love, leaving hatred behind

Free from attachment, will hop to another world
Shall leave this strange world for another light

Final journey may end with a brisk good bye
Each moment now, a bonus day and night

Mourn not my death, it is but a waste
For I may never visit your obituary page

You may too wait behind, just don’t cut my line
There are no shortcuts, we all go when ripe.

But till we meet again in heaven or in hell
You may touch me a moment
Before a brief good bye

What’s on my mind:

Death is a reality, we should all be ready to go anytime. If we learn to live each day of our life as an extra bonus day, we learn to appreciate life. That is why it is important to keep our selves happy at all times because we live only once and every moment should be cherished.

Why do we feel so sad when the thought of going away from this world comes to our mind? Why are we afraid of death?

It is true that whenever we are in pain we want to end this pain. We want to be released from this pain journey, we lose our endurance and our tolerance. But when we see our near and dear ones, we change our minds. We don’t wish to go. We are terribly attached to this world. Attached not only to people but also to our things, to our materialistic possession even though we clearly know that we will take nothing with us, We don't need anything, but enough to last for one journey from this world to the next, only one pair of clothes to cover us and little money to bury us but still, we spend all our lives chasing the gold.

The main goal of our life is to find happiness and spread it. With happiness, we can add humor to our lives. That humor is the spirit that keeps us going. Those who don’t have sense of humor spend their life in self pity, becoming more and more miserable and in depression; all that one can think is the final goodbye….

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

What use is the poetry?

2010-08-04T12:04:00.000-07:00

Of what use is the poetry
if it doesn’t stir the soul

The disturbing thoughts,
peeled off layer by layer
Find newer meanings
at its core

Random thoughts - Nature

2010-08-03T02:14:00.000-07:00

If the Earth moved just to yawn a bit, utterly bored of human carelessness, we would get to see the nature's wrath.

Image source: google

Cannon

2010-08-02T04:56:00.000-07:00

This fortnight Jack Huber posted this picture on the forum for us to write a poem.The photo from the Quatrain City Contest this week was taken at a restored fort in the Domincan Replublic

I wrote a poem inspired by this picture

Exiled here and incredibly bored
Two canons stand silent, “Shoot!” I was told
There is no danger in sight, the sea calm and quiet
Sweet fragrance beckons, I feel swept towards home.

The winners of this round was: Khurshid Alam
Rescue Against Fire

In the vast blue umbrella, two holes of
fire poke threatening me to warm ‘gainst
the cold water. Luckily a shelter
I have at the other end of the hill.

and the Runner-up: Diane Tegarden
Silent Cannons

Calm seas and blue skies
leave no memory of the ravages of war,
but silent cannons wait patiently
attesting to man's readiness to defend against invasion.

An ode to my friends

2010-08-01T11:06:00.000-07:00

Colors of friendship vivid and alive
Sparkle and shine with hues so bright

Lucky is soul who is blessed with a friend
True and loyal who will cling till the end

Through trough and crest and hardship of life, no
Matter what holds, true friendship has a smile

To sail in love through a long tiring day
In silence we hear what they meant to say

Like jigsaw puzzle they fit into slot
With one piece missing, feel completely lost

If a friend I find of such hues and shades,
Will pull down a rainbow and carve out their name

(c) Pushpee

Come Back to Me (Form - Trilinea)

2010-07-31T09:31:00.000-07:00

Come back to me

Your Memories
turn around to haunt me again
Rose, I miss you!

Thanks to Jack Huber for his tip on Trilinea.

Similar to haiku, the trilinea is three unrhymed lines, leading me to believe that haiku was its basis. Its syllable count is slightly different at 4-8-4, for a total of sixteen. One large caveat: the word "rose" must be placed within the poem.

Other than that, I can find no other requirements, so theme and title are at the poet's discretion, though including "rose" may dictate the subject somewhat. I have seen the word used as a color, a flower, an action and even a name, as well as the plural form, so evidently one can be creative with this rule.

Social Network (Form - Puente)

2010-07-22T09:06:00.000-07:00

Ryze, Facebook, Twitter and other endless networks
Leave little time for my important monthly health checks
It’s when BP shoots high and eyes can’t focus on ground
The limbs seriously weak, my appetite is not sound
~I know I must sit down to relax~
Tired of walking for miles in search of butter and bread
I wish I could get a phone call from my closest friend
Who cooks delicious meals but nowadays doesn’t speak
I am practising to apologize without a flattery chat.

I am grateful to Jack Huber from whom I have learnt this form, called "Puente" means "bridge" in Spanish, and the so-named poetic form is built around one. This intriguing form was invented by poet James Rasmusson and described by ShadowPoetry.com.

Constructed in three stanzas, the first and third are separate thoughts, conditions or elements, but share an equal number of lines and the center "bridge" stanza. This middle stanza is but one line and is enclosed in tildes (~) to distinguish itself as both the last line of the first stanza and the first line of the last stanza.

The meter and rhyming are at the poet's discretion, free verse being perfectly acceptable. The title is has no guidelines; it need not match the bridge stanza like the example below.

Random Thoughts - Happiness

2010-07-17T21:42:00.000-07:00

The purpose in our life is to be happy.
Happiness comes with success.
Successful are those who reach their goals
But the problem is that our goals are confusing..
That invites unhappiness..
That happily walks into our life...
Destroying the very purpose of our life.

Pulpo Paul - The Super star

2010-07-13T04:18:00.000-07:00

Today early morning, Pulpo Paul walked through my door
Splash! Splash! The water dripped out from his eighty pores'
Green were the slimy creatures sliding behind him
Holding the eight flags that had made the world believe
That he was greater star much bigger than Tendulkar Sachin
Who often consulted a parrot before playing world cricket
Wiping his brow, Pulpo silently slid into my kitchen bucket
Started a primer of one month old football magic

For those who don't know what I am talking about.'Paul Pulpo' is the spanish word for 'Paul the octopus'.....

Paul the Oracle Octopus is clearly the biggest winner of the World Cup after recording a perfect prognostication record whether he knows it or not (he probably doesn't).

He performed eight picks, eight correct, eight tentacles and even predicted Spain as the winner of FIFA....and I was smitten by his prediction...know what I mean???

In India Cricket is the craze....hence the reference..parrot is the one to whom ppl go for horoscope sometimes....

this is the fun poem...which has the essense of color, animal, star and emotions...
Hope u enjoyed it..

Yay! I won the 'Poetry Contest' the second time.....

2010-07-12T03:33:00.000-07:00

On one of the forums at Ryze, they are having regular poetry contest every fortnight which will be on till thankgiving day 2010, whereby they put up a picture and we have to write a quatrain inspired by the picture.

A quatrain is a four-line poem and may or may not rhyme.

The poem that I had won earlier was Frozen to Stillness

This is the second poem which made it to final list. Below are the picture that they posted and my quatrain on it below the picture.

The photo was taken at the Sonnenberg Mansion and Gardens in Central New York State.

Come Back Soon

Since nineteen eleven, behind mosaic so bright
Await I, with bouquet of fruits and flowers by my side
Come back soon while the flame still burns hot
Love in abundance craves for its first speck of light

(c) Pushpee

My winning entry can be found at http://www.jackhuber.com/quatraincity.htm

Soooooo happy..heheee!!!

Best friends are E-Pals if we let them be that....

2010-07-10T23:42:00.000-07:00

Sometimes we get too close to our online friends that we don't want the magic to fade away.....

Online, we bare our soul, expressing our real feelings, taking for granted that we may never meet them personally.

We are ourselves with no pretence what-so-ever, not afraid of being rejected for our physical short comings.

Too short, too tall, ugly scars, scanty hair, too poor, low profile, too fat, stammering, limping, abusive family, bad habits, the list is endless and everybody has something missing, but all this is forgotten online because only words matter. Words are the only connection that we have and that is what builts up our relationships.

So, what if one day, our friend decides to meet us offline...??

The fear is profound...fear of losing our best friend. Fear of not finding any words to cement the friendship, of not going forwards beyond few words. It is true that if the friendship is deep and genuine, our friend may overlook our shortcoming but then one never knows....

I was inspired to write this poem, (and had posted it earlier on my blog some two years ago and now posting again after editiing it) It not necessary reflects my feelings alone...it can be written by anybody who has low self confidence.....and sometimes I am guilty too

I would love to meet you
But I am afraid
Of your rejection
Or your stares
Or your surprises
You might discover
When you see me
That
I do not qualify the
Image in your mind

It is not my fault
If you drew the picture of me
In your soul
Reading my thoughts
My opinions
My words
From your virtual sight

I never said
I am pretty
Rich
Influential
Nor did I ever
Discuss my age
You adored my rambling
My wit
My style
Imagining a God
With feminine delight

Darn! Why must I care
About your desires
Of seeing the skeleton of me
I truly cannot match
The fabric
Nor colours
Nor nirvana
Of your wayward mind

I want to be away from
Your binary wildest dreams
You sit at your own desk
And I will, at mine
We can still drink coffee
And chat online
We can carve out poetry
From my lines

But let me be me
My true bare soul
I cannot meet you,
This evening
Offline

Although, after reading this poem, what we feared will happen....
The friendship might fade away......Honesty is a bitter wine.

Pain is back again

2010-07-01T09:29:00.000-07:00

Pain comes again,
knocking on my toes,
Pulling my nerves
I pretend
I don't feel it,
I go about finishing off my chores,
pain waits
hiding behind my skin
till I relax to stretch my feet and
when it knows
I can ignore it no more,
squeals a wicked scream
moving closer to me,
wraps me with discomfort,
and I choke,
but keep a straight face,
too proud to admit
that I care.....

Pain pouts at losing
its one more game of oppression.

White Ants

2010-06-25T07:27:00.000-07:00

source

I didn’t know how I could write
about the plight of a woman
whose FD’s got eaten
by bunch of white ants

She hid them away from the family members
burying it deep inside her wooden cupboard
Not checking for years,
smiling secretly about the travels
she would take when the FDs matured

And when the time came,
she looked deep into her cupboard
and found the white dust
Of FDs with numbers chewed away.

Did the white ants know
the value of money written on the paper?
Did they know it fetched a price?

It powdered the serial numbers in row,
chewing away the dreams of that poor woman

Ah! Someone please arrest that bunch of white ant!!

*FD - Fixed deposits
Inpired to write this poem after I read THIS

Destiny

2010-06-22T09:00:00.000-07:00

A picture posted on the Writer's forum for me to be inspired and write a poem

The photo from the Quatrain City Contest this week was taken at Downtown Disney in Orlando, Florida by Jack Huber

My poem on this picture was

Was this the destiny or you chose to mold into stone?
Hearts that could not hold the moments of love
Crept under the sands of time, and now you stare
Hoping to re-ignite, so that once again you learn to care

Winning entry by Diane Stephenson
Phantasmagoria

In nightmarish dreams, with swollen tongue
I choke on words I cannot speak.
Demented faces swirl but can’t come close
once I awaken from this phantasmagoric world.

And runner-up: Khurshid Alam
Blessing Ceaselessly

Worship to the gods studded in the linoleum.
The sacred murals bless you: they stand guard
against all evils in life and light your ways;
the third eye awakens you to think beyond.

Dad, whom I never knew

2010-06-19T21:42:00.000-07:00

At three, you walk away from my life
Abandoned, I leaned on uncles and cousins
Never learning the father’s love

You were not there to see me grow and bloom
They say that dads help in times of gloom
I looked for you in my momma’s love

How I wish you had cared for your health, then
And lived the life with utmost care
I too would have learnt of father’s love
And known what it is to be a papa’s girl.

(c) Pushpee

I am not a Bhopali

2010-06-11T08:07:00.000-07:00

I am not a Bhopali
No, not just yet
At 25cents I cannot be that
Deformed body, fractured nose
Crumpled feature with an overdose
of chemical churned out with a flair
using unproven technology
what do you care?
you have nothing worthwhile
with me to share

Security Hazards

2010-05-25T00:36:00.000-07:00

Security was the important code

Neither knife nor bullet under her coat

“Nope” they said “We want no risk,
Just bones and skin, march brisk and frisk”

Said they would deliver at her place
Her dowry packed with ‘Hail Mary’ grace

Just chastity belt below her waist
She could follow the nude who ran in haste

She looked at old, young, pale skinned sight
All toddle in line, left, right, left, right

She couldn’t board the flight that night
Was much too bashful, that Indian bride

Gargogyle Notes

2010-05-24T07:33:00.000-07:00

Quatrain City Poetry Contest #5

The soothing music soared high up in the sky
Stirring the souls from ether zones
They parted the clouds to peep into the earth
From heaven, and tangoed to gargoyle notes.

Winning enteries:

Winner: Mari Laura Skjelvik
Moving Forward

Sweltering encompassed by stillness and daze,
directions of bewildered mind and soul,
healing as the wind sounding like freedom's trumpets,
moving forward, I pack my bag and leave town.

Runner-up: Diane Tegarden
Reveille

The city’s guardians' trumpets call
beleaguered inhabitants to guard her walls,
though bone weary of the war and strife
each must answer to protect home and family’s life.

Drabble

2010-05-13T01:37:00.000-07:00

100 words fiction is called drabble

It was rainy heavily, colder drops, a welcome respite from the heat of the past week. Huddled under the small over-crowded bus-stand, I was waiting for the rain to let up so I could walk back from work, then suddenly out of nowhere, she came walking towards me and then sat down on the ground in front of me, spreading her legs. “Help! I can’t bear anymore” she screamed. “Move back, move back” said an older woman. But Alas! It was too late! Loud shrills filled the air, curiosity discovered the rage. One more street child was born that day.

The first few lines are the prompts at :http://www.yourstruly-theatre.com/ctspage.htm and the creative ending was written by me…..

Poetry

2010-05-13T00:13:00.000-07:00

Poetry for me, is an expression of feelings
that reponds to the outer stimulii
Exploding the dam of thoughts
That comes out gurgling out of my dreams

Its an instant gratification of self
With words that wear lazy wings
And flutter all around my world
Bringing joy as they begin to sing

Word by word they emerge
On the ramp of verse, they wink
Dressed in jackets of metaphors
Surprise me with their tricks

Poetry for you is the food for thought
For me, a dessert with drinks
(c) Pushpee

Fibonacci poetry

2010-05-11T12:14:00.000-07:00

Loud
Noise
Around
Deafening!
Disturbs the silence
Limits concentration of mind
Kindly could you return my solitude back to me?

(c)Pushpee

The Fib, or Fibonacci poetry, is based upon a numerical sequence that begins with 0 and 1, and each subsequent number in the sequence is the sum of the previous two. Thus, the first few members of the list are 0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34, 55, 89 and so on. For example, to figure the next number in the sequence after 5, you would add 5 and the previous number, 3, to get 8. Then, 8 and 5 is the next number, 13.

Poets throughout history have utilized interesting sequences in their poetic forms, and for centuries they have used the Fibonacci sequence as a guide for haiku-like poems. The numeric values typically represent either the number of syllables or words and usually is limited to just the first six members of the sequence beginning with 1. Most Fibs, however, are just six lines and utilize syllable counts, in the succession 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8 . Like most syllable-based formats, there are no rhyme or meter requirements

source: http://www.jackhuber.com/

Party Invitation

2010-05-11T02:28:00.000-07:00

My niece is celebrating her tenth wedding anniversery in Goa and she wanted to invite everybody, I wrote for her the poem to go with her invitation:

Ten years of bliss, you shouldn't give a miss
dancing on Goa sands with some musical bands
hope our family and friends
with gather togather for tenth aniversery bells
and spend some time in harmony
to celebrate a lovely cermony
are you a game??
sent in your name
cause we are looking
before hotel booking
If you are able to come
It will be so much fun
I promise we will dance and play
and drink wine throughout the day