Aero Car

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

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

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

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

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

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)

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

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.

(c) Jack Huber. This picture was taken in Kansas City

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)

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

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?

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

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

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

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)

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)

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

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

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.....

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.

Copyright © 2010 by Jack Huber

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....

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.