Prompt Four- The stanza

I am a human being
so I err or I err
so I am a human being
Simplicity makes no sense
yet complexity pleases to all.

I love because I can’t live alone
Selfish as you may call
or I like loving people around me
Simplicity makes no sense
yet complexity pleases to all.

I let the moment pass
and time slip from my hands
when the time is so much relative
and I can get back when I want
Simplicity makes no sense
yet complexity pleases to all.

I think I am aware
when the same things startle me
after years
honking my perception
breaking the walls of ego
What did I miss
Maybe I knew, as
Simplicity makes no sense
yet complexity pleases to all.

Copyright © Snigdha

6. Feeling something

Work was hard
Everyday seemed harder than the day before
She didn’t mind
It kept her thoughts from thinking about the things she ran away from

Her fingers were bruised from hitting the typewriter
But she liked the constant gnawing pain
It reminded her to breathe, to feel, to feel
Like watering a plant after it is dead, her life seemed pointless

But she couldn’t give up
That was too easy and what would her grandma say
“There’s work to be done – stop dreaming, child”
Except she was no longer a child
And in her head she no longer dreamed
She just screams silently for help for help
She knows will never come

Hour Six

Nostalgia

Cruising Grand Avenue
“Don’t Stop Believing”
blared through crackling speakers

We were the cool kids

Before the pressure of society
on adolescence
was posted for all to see
and shame was a private thing
felt in bedrooms
kept under covers

In middle age
where we struggle to keep up
with trends and technology

We watch the cool kids

and rejoice in the good ol’ days
and our part in them
when stomping grounds and football fields
were altars and youth our god

forgiveness or its substitute

tell me who you’ve forgiven

and who not

and why one got it

and the other didn’t.

 

or who hasn’t forgiven you

and whether or not

you can forgive they’re

not forgiving you.

 

how many times have you

molted, shed a skin

and transformed yourself

into someone new?

 

so much energy is put into

making homes pretty

or pleasing the boss,

the co-workers and of course,

the customers.

 

I love the wild creatures

that don’t have to play games

to get liked.

 

so we’re going to make mistakes

 

don’t you think a part of kindness

is telling the truth, risking the hurt

and making pearls out of the sand

grains that get up each others’ butts?

 

 

 

Poem 6

Creating a story
In my head
Expecting things
From situations
From people
From myself

inside
My head
What I should be getting
from life
and this other being
has landed in my fantasy

They are getting it
All wrong

They are not supposed
To be like this and that

That was not supposed to happen.

Why don’t they understand my needs?

How unsatisfactory they are!
How unsatisfactory is life!

Oh suffer!
What explainations!

Why not just
Have any expectations to start with?

Every

 

Everywhere I go,
It haunts me everywhere I go!
No one ever seems to know,
Never leaving me happy,
or energetic.
With never anything to show,
every time I turn a corner.
It is there like a darkness,
lingering over me;
Watching me as I sleep,
Laughing at me as I weep.
It haunts me…
Everywhere I go!

Hour Six Haiku

Stickers in my feet
Sweat beading up and rolling
Soul soaring, heart sings.

Timing keeps me honest (poem #6)

What a shock. I was feeling pretty cute
Until I tried on last year’s bathing suit
So painful. Where can I go hide?
“I’m feeling sick,” I said. (I lied.)

Prompt 6

Its hard being vulnerable

No one wants to give the world too much

unless its pretend

only then

would you have nothing to lose

 

I loved him and that love never seemed to go away

it was just scarred

a hard love

thick and unforgiving

but it was still there

coarse and rough

yet it still remained

 

Our daughter’s naivity reflects in her eyes

her gaze searches for more

what all can she gather in those

eyes of wonder and surprise

searching for love

and I wonder if the one day will come

when all that she wants

is to see her father for that first time

 

 

 

A Pastoral Scene

A Pastoral Scene

Though I know not their names
nor the colour of their wings,
I hear their songs
brighten up every morn —
trills and echoes
amid the trees.

The vegetable terace,
beloved of slugs and snails,
flush with runner beans and onions,
raspberries and blackcurrants
garlic in the greenhouse
blackberries behind the shed.

Cows in the field,
black and white choir of tenor voice,
glaring at the Usk Way walkers

traipsing up the track
as they listen to my poems
and keep an eye

on my father
trimming the hedge
from their side.