Prompt #5 Online location

I was on rediffblogs, folks!
The one located on rediff site
Where I logged in one day
Evening or night, maybe twilight

There I first got hooked to a blog
Then to a blogger who wrote wild
From prayers for poems on a platter
He had even sex advice to offer

But this poet I encountered
Whisked me off to another counter
First to gmail chat where we sat
And discussed the sun, weather so hot

Slowly my mind’s pores opened
Rains seeped in drop by drop
Love ripened by age and banter
Drove me over the hill pushing me over

This is a saga of what could have been
Had I met the muse on a bike
Run away with time, tide and rains
While the world chased us around

But I guess unknown forces play
To sour what sweetness milks
Bleeding sap of trees go brown
Blue bird coloured yellow sings alone

There in that place where I haven’t been
In a long, long while, and ignore now
You must understand that was
A tomb where I lived and drowned

Brought to Fb by the poet laureate
I went on wild binges and whims
Mistaking every positive for fun
In guise of a lover who looked for some

But they didn’t, they didn’t folks
See how the blue bird bled snow
None saw her yellow feathers turn red
Or trap her fears consciously insane in her head





Prompt#4 Tug-of war

Warring love’s flow and minds clogged
Clippity clippety clop plopped
On chairs and couches we sit and intone
Hearts of rocks, eyes-dimmed clones

There is no hope for resurrection
No coming alive in the after-hours section
Having done for the future our bygones
On chairs and couches we sit and intone

Why this sudden jerk towards north
Why the pen instead shoots forth
What goes head over heels dropped
Clippity clippety clop plopped

Those who hate tonight
Will they love by morning light
Faces they spit on, or to wilt are prone
Hearts of rocks, eyes dimmed clones








Prompt#3 Snap!

Overhead shot

Line upon line of blue,yellow thoughts

Mushrooming poets under hot sun plot.


Prompt #2 Cohenning

Marathoners are running the race
And each ends last anyways
Like they would have if they
Ran against time without complain
Poetry is no minute thing
A clock ticks with options at hand
Write poems or knead dough for a bun
Write anyways
For this is sad fun

Poetry is lost in the sands
No competing for the sea or the shore
They are sea-shells drowned upside down
Found under sunlight by the way
Write poems like those, drink wine
Losing a race is fine when deadened

Just let my poems be burned
Roasted metal undone

Compete with none in the marathon
Never stop your cold trustful self
Keep the jug at the edge of the table carefully
And see it broken before dawn
A slip of hand or tongue

Just let my poems be burned
Roasted metal undone

Let me judge your poems one by one
As if it belongs to
A none







Wind-swept minds

Torch her to flare up poems

Boats float on soiled water