Poem 5- Board Games

Back to my free form pseudo poetry for now. This describes an event that happened a few days ago, when I was on the train to London from Edinburgh.

 

I am usually not a fan of children while travelling

They are perfectly cute when at home

But while on the road

They scream and shout and whine and cry

Worst of all though

Are the cellphones and the Ipads and the computer games

Beeping with Candy Crush and Temple Run and god knows what the next fad is

To be honest, it is not just the kids

But it is the kids I pity

The kids who miss out on so much

The joy of the outdoors, of board games and books

 

With a mix of pity and irritation

I sat across a family of four

A four hour journey from Edinburgh to London

Armed with Advil and a lot of grit

Waiting for those contraptions to come out

And the beeping and bickering to start

Yet, to my surprise,

The only clinks I heard were those of Connect 4 tokens

And the pop up wooden chessboard

Was the closest thing to a contraption

And instead of burying his head in phone texts

The boy wrote his sister a letter

 

I won’t lie

They screamed and fought all the same

But these children gave me something more

 

For in them, I saw my own childhood

Poem 4- Homecoming

I finally got access to the prompts and decided to try something different. By writing free form, I think I have been cheating a little since it does sound more like prose than poetry. My rhyme did not come out as well and with the additions and deletions it ended up being quite abrupt, but I enjoyed the challenge. Final version attached ­čÖé

 

She walked through the rain on the narrow street

Reliving her childhood memories

5 ruppee crisps from the corner shop

The footpath where they played hopscotch

She took a left into a bylane

Past new, unrecognizable window panes

Had war devastated her memories

In the same way it had done their lives?

 

But then she saw the whitewashed door

With rust stains, the same as before

And she knew she had come home

Except this time she was alone

 

Poem 3- “Basic” Needs

Written on the road as I clearly struggled for inspiration.

 

I have been traveling a lot lately

To ancient Roman baths, birthplaces of poets and colleges that look more like monuments

Hiking up the Scottish highlands

And enviously admiring the crown jewels

Rushing through towns, lanes, bylanes

The typical tourist

Fascinated by everything

But afraid that I’ll miss my bus

to the next destination on my checklist

And in this mad rush

Through new sights and sounds and smells

The only thing I crave is

A hot cup of Starbucks

Skim latte, 12oz, no sugar

A basic desire

Overlooked in the heat of the moment

 

Yet remembered remorsefully after

As I struggle to write coherent verse

Revolution

I think I got too ambitious with this one in the time frame, to the point of it reading pretty badly. Note to self- political commentary in a short time frame is a bad idea. But rules are rules, so here goes! Sincere apologies if any of this comes across as ignorant or offensive.

I think of Aristotle as I pass through the Cotswolds

High up somewhere in these rolling hills

Oliver Cromwell fought the royalists to establish the English Commonwealth

More recently, a little further down

A bunch of “travellers” raided the local corn farms

Establishing trailers and declaring it their property

Two events separated in time and stature

Yet also similar

Both revolutions against establishment

Led by people firm in their beliefs

But I think of how they end[ed]

And my mind goes back to Aristotle

Politics, revolution, democracy or mobocracy?

Which one are they?

Who is right?

And who is wrong?

Alas

I guess it is not as black and white as the Tudor townhouses

Poem 1- Musings in Stratford

Just got back to internet connectivity, but I have been writing constantly for the last six hours. Here is the first one, penned down as I wandered in Anne Hathaway’s cottage in Stratford upon Avon. The words in brackets are things I accidentally missed out in my haste to write, but I did not want to cheat either.

 

The bus halts and I wake up to see

The last surviving Tudor cottages

Dark wood on white stone

With thatched roofs and no chimneys

In one of these, there stayed a young shepherdess

Beautiful no doubt, with a modest upbringing

In a thatched roof [topped] black and white house

With two rooms, a garden ad a brick lane path

Where her poet lover trekked up everyday

Undoubtedly, in anticipation of a warm kitchen with a candlelit supper and what naturally ensued thereafter

 

Standing in that kitchen, I see a grandfather clock

Frozen in time.

I rub my eyes

Did I wake up or am I in a rustic dream?

 

Then I walk into a garden and see a Pokemon Hunt sign

And I know I am far from the love of times past

 

Coming Full Circle

I grew up in New Delhi and am now studying Economics and Poltiical Science in the US. I used to write a lot in high school, and published three short stories and a novel by the time I was 17. After high school, I got into my dream college, and while it has been a great journey so far, I do regret not having the time to read and write. I have tried many times to start writing something, but have not had the time or the motivation to carry it through.

Poetry was always my first love. My first pieces were simple poems, and I subsequently moved to prose. So taking part in this challenge is like coming full circle and starting from scratch, and hopefully I should get enough momentum to carry through the challenge.

The context could not be better. I am in┬áLondon this summer for an academic exchange program and happen to be in┬áStratford upon Avon for a good part of the challenge. Unfortunately I love my sleep too much, so I will be participating in the half marathon. Cannot wait to write and read everyone else’s work!