After grey mists what….

 After  grey mists what…. 

In the startling beauty of seas wonders,

Pebbles   and  white  surf seeping inn and out

No longer  the  dead sea  but  sea shaping 

Your poetic throb tapping inner rhythm,

Grey drizzling mists, not mood spoiling, 

But taking you to sea’s  dizzy heights.

Grafting overnight and day’s shifts,

 Many a rolling over lobsters and dories

‘Grey mists unmindful, grey lurking,

Rolling over surface over and over again,

Sea joints, sharks and whales in their mirth,

A world of their own!

Wondering at the wonderful will of man

wandering over sea’s turmoil and sounds,

business  in  “grey  drizzling mists”,

fishing and trade going to dizzy heights

what if grey or white surf or mist

 it is happening, happening, in its own way.

After Guardian’s Poem of the week: Sleeping Out by Jane Routh

 After  Guardian’s Poem of the week: Sleeping Out by Jane Routh

 I did not believe in my instinct

nor the TV channel’s forecast,

came out for my own camping

 to view stars  and firmament;

Nature  and instinct fail us 

We  follow  these not knowing

They are empowering us more;

A duvet only cover on me

Me dreaming  of poems 

flow out of my imagination

running like a river, river dream

on the open ground, though chill.

Stepping on my body  my improvised

Kitten mewing, perhaps escapism;

From the nearby home 

Day and night are the same

for inmates, me  dreaming

and composing my own way

what if it snows, when your 

pen and mood are invitatory

for a  different world;

Rat

 

• Rat

 

Silent hide amidst plastics

and food particles,  your bits and bites

and parcels of valuables,

you are reigning king for the day;

 

 until a repulsive smell or chance look,

 sound of utensils, tumbling

  from corner to corner,

 catch the note of wary eyes

 

 of  the mistress  of the house

chasing, holding her breath,

rat equally agile in slipping

and climbing atop the cupboard,

 

by the time you search

for a stick long or small

 a mystery shrouds in and around

whereabouts of the nuisance;

 

preventive rat nets or barbed wire

your immediate search for  the

avoidance of these  pets, your comfort

or necessity for your home.

 

 

 

 

 

Rat

 Rat

Silent hide amidst plastics

and food particles,  your bits and bites

and parcels of valuables,

you are reigning king for the day;

 

 until a repulsive smell or chance look,

 sound of utensils, tumbling

  from corner to corner,

 catch the note of wary eyes

 

 of  the mistress  of the house

chasing, holding her breath,

rat equally agile in slipping

and climbing atop the cupboard,

 

by the time you search

for a stick long or small

 a mystery shrouds in and around

whereabouts of the nuisance;

 

preventive rat nets or barbed wire

your immediate search for  the

avoidance of these  pets, your comfort

or necessity for your home.

After Guardian’s Brumby's Run by Banjo Paterson

 

After  Guardian’s  Brumby's Run by Banjo Paterson

 

 

         They are  a special lot,

         reared by their kind special  master,

         run  high, jumping far  beyond rules,

         straight and high reaching mounds

         and  fields, races of course no need

         to mention, hoofs resounding

        a rhythm unique to the listener

        all times, irrespective of  his tension.

 

       The green and lawn

       Soft  and lushful ,

       Unmindful of sickle  and  sieve,

        accommodative  and supple

        never mind the  pain

       of hoofs and plods

       for that is the  nature

        of Nature’ s  vast and wide.

 

         Ride is pleasure and fun,

         Run is pain and ruin,

        The  stock love to return

         Owner proud to retain.

 

After Guardian's owl

 

After Guardian’s owl

 

After all gunshot and bloodshed

bitter and sway, struck by hunger

and agony of separation from home

cold creeping for days yet body

withstood the bitter chill pouring

from outside; only undaunted will

stands like a steady rock in   your sway;

 

restive in war field, curled like paper

rolls swaying and swept by powerful force,

lack of sleep driving his spirits,

a cry from wilderness, ominous

yet with some redeeming positive

faith nullifying his apprehension;

owl or resounding echo from above,

 

  he is yet to know; a voice or vision

 appears in cheering mood, he is safe

amidst turmoil and many a dying

into cankerous death  and doom;

stench  and stink cutting their energy

while he smells of rose  and bloom

when buds  into romance  and redemption.

 

 

 

 

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.

 

 

 

 

A poem after “Towards the End of the Feast” ( guardian

 

 

    

 

  

   

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 A poem after  “Towards the End of the Feast” ( guardian

 

   That one star, his nativity, his advent

   with  bright light  to redeem humanity,

    cakes  and candles and puddings

   full on plates, a feast for visitors

    best way to show aunt’s house

  replete with content and happiness.

 

 Cups full of  full of creams enhanced

By endearing smile, with a lesson

Of endurance in times of dire necessity,

 Grandma touches children, grandchildren

 Extended palm of  blessings  and grace

Nothing can gainsay her move of  patience.

 

More  and more in letting things

in munificence and multiple offering

to needy and caring,  all the floors

and corners of hall with designs

spoiling scattered bits of edibles.

This one day of pride  and Blessing

 

Echoes of lullaby for  newborn

A celebration of  Nativity not

In one place, but hospitals and wards

Booming with cries of innocence.

Come Christmas bells, peeling

Out ignorance  and chaos.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A day in the moving train

 

Sitting in the cosy, comfortable seat of the train,

Silent observation takes me back to years and past;,

I recall a  lady , jovial and   all the time in endearing talk,

with a peculiar hat,  she talks endless , a good company

for all  in the compartment; wintry chill does not seem

to impact, yet a confounding puzzle in her demeanor;

 

a man entering on the list of talk

 looks drunk, his dress  a mix of want

yet, mingling with the go getter,

 philosopher  and friend  on the upper hand

with a move and motive to keep people

all the time engaged; prays for better times

 

when all sundry and mean will get vanished;

a newcomer is she with a smile, endearing all

 hello on her lips, with a  look outside window,

trees  and lampposts  and cattle graze all

passing by in a quick move and taking

to  a  strange world all when train passes on,

you  and me are only stay with intropection;