Untitled #1

That evening closed with the flocks of children tramping through the light drizzle in their yellow raincoats.
Their breath escaped with every word in clouds of steam,
As they spoke in hushed voices, discussing the secrets of the frogs croaking in the ground growing dark around them.
They each reached their homes, flowing towards the doors with windows that glowed like fireflies trapped in glass jars.
It was a quiet night, but that’s who did everyone just fine.

Peculating

Its an emotional embarrasment
To have pickled children
Drying beside jars if tomatoes
But you see
It has to be done
When you have peculated
Every damsel in the neighbourhood
The old gentleman with the tope
On a rainy day
He wears his raincoat inside out
To keep the frogs at bay.
His elbow steams with
Jasmine fragrance
His boots smell of food.
Its a mystery where he comes from.
The pickled children
Crying boo.

Same No More

Same No More

Arriving Tuesday, this world is same no more

Same no more

Science gone underground to serve the don

Humans will fly, instead of missiles

And meet each other in close embrace

Where sound and light will dance

With one speed

In the nine dimensional world

This world is same no more, same no more

For love flows its nature

As science stopped underground to serve the don.

 

Hour 13

@varenyas

Where There Is Light (Hour 9)

WHERE THERE IS LIGHT

The constant of time is staggering, bewildering, and heartbreaking.
So tonight, I will time to stop. I do not ask, I do not beg, I will it.
Just for a moment.
Let me sit in the stillness of a void I cannot explain.
Let me feel what I need to feel to move forward, to let go, to hold on,
without the rushing noise of the world nipping at my heels.

In my perpetual silence, please hear all the words I want to say, but can’t.
Not because words fail me, but because there are too many.
You were just a child when I let a Jezebel exile me.
I was torn between two choices, but wanted nothing more than to stay.
Foolishly, I let her win at her devious game.

In my absence, please know there’s no place I wish I could’ve been more.
You were my family, my brothers.
You still are – though you are all grown now and I am so far away.
So many years I missed, watching you grow up from the shadows.
Always proud and always cheering you on.
The what-if’s still haunt me, like orbs of darkness in the corners of my eye.
Perhaps one day, you’ll know the truth,
then perhaps I can forgive myself for not being who I thought I would be.

I have raged against heaven.
I have fought with God for answers and vindication –
I begged for years to return home, to return to you,
but his answer was “no”, and I do not know why.
My life has never been my own, obedience was paramount.
And one cannot fight God and win.

But for you, I tried.
I beat the gates with steel fists and stormed the streets with iron boots.
In my defeat, know that every blow, every strike,
every plea was felt and heard.
God did not answer lightly or cruelly.
The decision wasn’t completely his as he cannot rape man’s will.
Perhaps one day hope can rise from the ashes of what was stolen.

Eternity now sits around my neck,
like an infinity scarf, warming me from grief’s chill,
as I wait for the day I tread upon the head of a hissing snake
and destroy the nest of spiders beside it.
Yet within the light of eternity,
within the light of every rising and setting sun, I think of you.
And though my heart bears the weight of deferred hope, I smile.
Because you are a sun in a very dark world.
And where there is light, there will always be love and hope.

— Saskia Lynge / Hour 9

Hour Fourteen, List of ten words

Preservation

My children and I picked
the last of the tomatoes
one late September afternoon
shortly before my marriage
to their father fell apart.

The frogs sang their syncopated
melody in the silvered twilight
of the emptied garden as the evening
wound down to bath and bed.

Steam rose from the water boiling
on the stove, and I prepped the red
fruits to preserve them and feed us
sauces, chili, soups, and stews
through winter’s upcoming chill.

The mystery of preservation,
of feeding those most beloved to me
through harshness and despair
never failed to amaze and sustain me.

I plunged their red roundness into
first boiling water, then cold, peeling
away and discarding the unnecessary
skin to reveal the tender flesh beneath,
piling them in their juicy fullness into jars
to savor another day.

Hour 14: Showtime

I managed to squeeze 7 of the 10 words into my poem, which is set at a movie awards ceremony. The lines about the evening of a thousand stars, and the suitcase in another hall, are transplants from songs in the movie Evita, which hopefully is sufficient to imply that Kermit and Miss Piggy played Juan and Eva Peron. I want to tighten some rhymes that don't really rhyme at the moment — such as stars and sprinklers, but that'll just be a bit of playing round with alternatives

Showtime

It was a mystery
how Kermit won best leading frog
while Piggy went overlooked.

On this evening of a thousand stars
where suitcases are never left in another hall
the steam escaping her ears triggered the sprinklers.

“Froggy,” she demanded, “give me your raincoat,”
(peculating the award like butter wouldn't melt)
“Quick, Froggy, those children are escaping with your cup!”

Insomnia

the morning is tequila-sunrise orange

but the dusk takes on the day

straight no chaser spins

light liquid gold into starlight into

poems the dusk 



is a writer like me I 

take my mental illness

dry 



maybe a little bit of my childhood

for color 



I always say I love you too quickly shock

the starlight into repression drown

in liquor in depression in

purgatory until

the haze recedes 



and sobriety filters in slowly like

light through blinds that weren’t 

shut until four in the morning 

Hour 14 – Prompt 14 – A rainy adventure

I was looking forward to the weekend
after a hectic week, juggling work
and traffic due to torrential rains
The forecast predicted a breather

Nature enjoys throwing in a mystery
The day had been relatively clear
We ventured out in the evening, to play
in the park and visit a nearby mall

And then it poured – with umbrellas
flying off under the force of wind
The raincoats were tested by the storm
The children huddled together under shade of shops

We got down from the auto rickshaw and raced
the last few steps, when I slipped and fell
On instinct, I put the weight of my body
on my elbow. And ouch! that really hurt

A few frogs jumped in front of us, and we
stared in awe. Back home, we raided the jars
for a few biscuits. I boiled the tomatoes
and we drank the steaming pepper-garnished tomato soup

(c) Vijaya Gowrisankar

#2 paradise lost

and then it happened. by evening, they told us we were no longer

children. we could not chase frogs and follow their hop, wear pink

raincoats with matching boots and fake ear drops and the worst

was, from now on, our hearts would be kept in overnight jars to harden

in tomatoes and salt. only in acid and tang can preservation occur, they

insisted. for us, who skipped, why did we trade for a chewed up crayon,

was mystery, when we wanted to dream in pisces, speak with sage beasts, and

burn tongues in chocolate steam. life would be magic as an adult, they nodded,

just believe. so we learned the practice of peculating with striped suits and lost

our childhood, its friends and sugar cane. and never scraped an elbow again.