After Guardian’s from Astrophil and Stella by Philip Sidney

 

 

 After Guardian’s  from Astrophil and Stella by Philip Sidney

 

Her speech, her light talk

taking me into world of dreams,

 a melody and mix of language

free flow with interjections,

mincing verbs  and swallowing

 tenses, new idiom and breathe;

but her look of something special ,

her invitatory glance of looks

and  smiles endear with fine

augury of future prospects,

all go in a dictionary

of unique coinage;

 

yet, the basic rudimentary

kernel of   structure of language

grammar lacking in her content,

but I  give a nod for her language

her mode her rendering is a gift;

what if not grammar, there is

always a glamour.

 

 

New feeling old flat ( after Guardian)

 

 

New feeling old flat ( after Guardian)

 

Old flat, old dwelling, memory

kindles my past, wherein each moment

a poem  of enthusiastic aura, image

after image shines through select

coinage leading to a ladder of upfront

storage, a miraculous design.

But now for a change, stained walls,

cleavage cracking skill of mason

who labored for hours and days

his sweat running, carrying home

only pittance and pitiable face to his wife.

 

 Come back, inner feeling elated;

 those nights spent with carvings

and imaginations delving into papers

each foot step, delicate of a two year

toddler and  innocent smile, now

in each corner , not candelabra

but cobwebs  clusters of dust

pollution, waiting for a brush

to broom aside.  Clean and shiny hall

 once again, beckons me into its past.

 

 

 

 

 

 

After Guardian’s Poem of the week: Under the Light, yet under by Emily Dickinson

 

 

 After  Guardian’s  Poem of the week: Under the Light, yet under by Emily Dickinson

 

Under  the light, under  rumination

and  calm through journey amidst stress,

under  green and tall growth of wood

where birds sing and serenade, all under

 

the surveillance of Supreme  and One only,

clover and beans and banana for feast,

 day passes  and night shifts into focus

of another day of prosperity, and puzzle

 

of where is end  and where does all chaos go;

measuring distance is not always the matter

how fast and  how agile  and smart the wonder

in the workshop of brain all the while to go;

 

Between introspection and stumble

 Riddle  and clear qualm  dominating

Dead  and life  always go beyond

Our calculations and   master minds.

 

Traffic on road:

 

 

Traffic on road:

 

Speeding vehicles, two wheelers

and bikes some with horns rule-bound,

mostly siren less, as if capturing some fort,

taking some to remote village of rickshaws

 

pulled by hard workers, carrying some

heart hardened by money and calculation

with scant respect for human  fellow feelings

and bargaining not knowing  labor of legs ;

 

cars  and share  autos plying slow

giving and waiting for passengers,

mutual give and take in policy and practice.

 Elsewhere mechanical life  plundering peace .

 

In the middle of narrow road, zig zag

and meandering, bent downward cow,

unmindful of anger and gesture hurled

still eating a piece of paper,  who knows

 

some unpublished poem or published

now torn into pieces, by housewives,

why cattle and cow should know your

creativity when belly pinches hard;

 

life’s fulcrum on the move, move,

city’s risk and rig morale, a challenge

to face despite motors and mindless

on the heels when you still wait.

 

 

 

 

 

After Guardian’s Sibelius by John Greening

  After  Guardian’s   Sibelius by John Greening

A beginning, a new beginning

 with the advent  of  January,

circling above my roof, my head

wan with care, a crane, brooding

in its world hitting new and novel;

a reminder to my family, what year it was;

perhaps a nullification of all that is evil

a mystery terrific  veering round me ;

Behind me a strange with look of prediction

may be  ghost or embodiment of Time,

Running on its own,  beyond  our daring ventures

Time still is clairvoyant, you cannot chain it ;

 

For a sufferer, balanced, past and present

Tapping on equal terms at all tides

Silence  stands knocking impartial

Only message endure till the best of times!

After Guardian’s Sibelius by John Greening

 

After Guardian’s Sibelius by John Greening

MY terroir, my companion

 

 

MY terroir, my  companion

 

 

My terroir, my companion, your well observant eyes,

wagging tail, running atter me, when man fails,

you seem to be more  dependable and loyal,

with cutely curled brown ears,  each day passes

with your friendly wag, sip of milk from plates;

the best  comrade for man in  times of distress

and desolate mood beyond articulation.

In desolate  winter, shrinking like foliage

In corner, snooze till a pat comes to you;

Whether by a stone or a  mound, your wary

Looks when cautious , a curiosity and check;

All the  passersby  mutually nodding and go,

A philosopher hiding behind the skin.