a letter (to myself)

so you have dropped 

your shield 

of plastic of red and blue

& timid fists 

running away from the loud-mouths

in the playground

it was more pathetic in school

when no one wanted to play 

with you during recess time

you

speaking with a different tongue

growing up in a different part of the country

to them, you were a strange, foreign sounding girl

who hid in the library & empty classrooms-

a wild flower, with easily-trampled upon

petals

that time is done

i tell you now, that time will pass

like tides

people & events change all the time, 

what you didn't know was that

every insult & hurtful words

toughened your skin and gritted your teeth

as you grew up 

as an adult 

as a mother of your village

your voicebox became stronger 

everyday

you pick positive thoughts & vase them

on your table

you fly your flags & keep your boundaries

some days, you wish you are holding that

small shield - plastic of red and blue -

as if it was an amulet, armor or a sword

but then you remind yourself,

you've have made a shield over time-

its called self-love

self-care

self-respect

it's a river, all flowing 

within you

Posted for dVerse Poets pub - Handling Peer Pressure, hosted by Sanaa Rizvi.  The idea came to me when we gifted my grandson a plastic Captain America shield.   He was very happy to get it like it was a powerful real shield.   For myself, I am now able to handle any peer pressure.  It comes with time & a lot of experiences.  Thanks for your visits and comments.  

Just a note that dVerse will be going on a 2 week summer break and that we will be back on July 11.   

History Lessons

This land has a history

Of pretenders who crown themselves

rulers

Of tax people who believe

that gold currency is thicker than blood

Of ruthless charlatans

who proclaim -

follow my words and ask no questions 

This land has a history

Of idealist students & artists who said

honesty is the best policy

Of street protesters who

were arrested, silenced and killed

Of mothers whose children

were banished to reform schools

and returned with Samson-cut hair

A birth name is forgotten

A native tongue is lost

A folk song is never played

An umbilical cord to earth has been

forever severed

Who does this land belong to?

There is bounty for all 

Forests, seeds, fruits, flowers, lakes

But the puppetiers and despots

have changed the script

and rewritten history to suit the fate lines

on their palms

I write to you

young people of this land:

hear the sadness of matriarch elephants

listen to the loneliness of ancient trees

take heed of the whale song from the sea

all that glitters is not gold

Heed my warning:  

Those who do not learn from history

are doomed to repeat it*

*Quote from George Santayana

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Meeting the Bar with guest host, Anna Montgomery.  Fall seven times, stand up eight where we explore aphorisms, myth, and fables by writing our own gnomic poetry. I have used maxims and aphorism in my poem.   

An invite to a party

 

Each guest will bring

A poetry book to read

To a garden party

Brimming with roses & tomatoes

Smell of peonies, spice of citrus

We will listen to each guest

Read the words

Of dead poets

Of living poets

Their own poems in draft format

It does not matter

This is not a euology

But a banquet of imagery & paradox 

Amidst tea cups and wine glasses

A valley grows with pear & apple trees

A cloud storm erupts with sunflower seeds

A lake shimmers with bluest of blues

We voice each spoken word with vibrancy

of buzzing bees

We will each have our turn 

with word salad, 

soup of alliterations,

and generous helpings of hyperbole

then, we will enjoy the dessert of 

exquisite haiku from Basho and Issa

Then each guest will select a book

from my bookshelves

or exchange poetry books with each other

To bring to their home

What a fun merry-go-round of books it will be!

The books will outlast us

eventually

At 6pm, the party will end

No goodbyes will be said

Only see you at the next one

On the way out, each guest

will receive  

thank you note with

my unfinished poem:

Twilight glows vivid violet & red-orange

“A certain butterfly is already on the wing.”

Quote:

• “A certain butterfly is already on the wing.” Vladimir Nabokov

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Words of Departure, Hosted by Laura Bloomsbury.  Join us when the virtual pub doors open at 3pm EST.   Thank you.

under the painting of strawberry pink moon, you

 

write me 

bass drum robust lyrics

heart pounding swaying beat

moving limbs to salsa  

then a slow saxophone mood

scooping blues & easy guitar riffs

spooning us to drowsiness, a spell  

we add running-out-of-time kisses,

shiver of throbbing sun

in this cozy windowless room 

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- Quadrille, hosted by Sanaa Rizvi.   This is a 44 word post with the chosen word, SPELL.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  Thanks for your comments.

Summer Meadow

the morning mist rolls away

budding blooms & sage leaves sway

summer blends the sky soft griege

painting everything so new:

field of violets, vulgar & vicacious

startled eyes of deers, clear as raindrop

meet our city's rust, filling the shadows

of our sadness & grief, time slows

our footprints fade amidst the wort 

our words mingle with wild flowers 

we discovered our peace & backs

in the silence of wayward tracks

we inhale the growing heat, blessed

that we have found a moment of rest

 

 by Carl Zimmerman, Deer in the Summer Meadow

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- Sun, Sand, Storms and Celebrations:  Summer Ekphrastic, hosted by Merril D. Smith.  Join us when the virtual pub doors open doors open at 3pm EST.

my garden bed is buzzing

 

may your summer morning be bright

as purple salvia, flashier than eggplant

dangling from vine, lush & lethargic

may your garden flowers bloom

with spike of ginger & tantrum of cumin

as bees hum a hot peppery buzz

<an alarm goes off>

i wake up 

and there is a down-

pour, 

my garden boots are 

muddy greasy

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- Meet the Bar with Dissonance, hosted by Bjorn Rudberg.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.

The Unravelling

"(There are) many stories which are not on paper, they are written in the bodies and minds of women."

By Amrita Pritam

Unweave these threads across my face

They are bondages that muffles my voice

My word has weight, my name has grace

What you see with nary a shadow or trace 

Of question, interest or life, is a mirage

Unweave these threads across my face

You'll hear my sad songs welling from vase

Broken a long time ago, a bleak montage

My word has weight, my name has grace

I recall them, underneath this shame of lace 

Over my thin shoulders cowed low

Unweave these threads across my face

That you will see me truly, in a place

Worthy & joyful.  I'll let the words steep, stir-

My word has weight, my name has grace

Out of my belly & bosom, into your palms

To hold my face, bare, sun-warmed  

Unweave these threads across my face

My words have weight, my name has grace

Source

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub, Poetics:  Women are people: invoking Amrita Pritam with guest host, Punam Sharma.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.

Snapshots of late May (early summer)

 

morning brings promises of peonies- 

sky mirrors an invitation-

tarry with the chores

and fold away the to-do-lists

i pause at half-planting the store-

bought vegetables in container pots-

i listen to birdsongs

& marvel the bees in the garden

the forget-me-nots dally

with blue iris & blossoming rose buds- 

the summer air is delicious

as freshly baked sourdough bread-

in a minute, wind blows white seed-

heads of a dying 

dandelion, puffy wispy clouds

beyond my grasp-

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Join us for OpenLinkNight when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  Thanks for your visits and comments.

Watchers, A Murder of Crows

in the dusty streets

no one minds you

strutting with snarl

with mean spitted eyes

with greedy shoulders

with oversized ego 

but we watch you

every day 

perched from our steel power lines

high above, joustling at a slightest breeze

we watch your goings in & out

in this city marked with hot brown & red roofs

the sun does not touch us

though the night feeds us with weeds

the sky does not hide our hunger

we are on guard, black & bleak

bitching with clumps

of violent energy, waiting in wings  

we wait for your road-kill rage

of one dead squirrel

or your junk food garbage

just

toss out your coke can & burnt 

last fries

we will swoop down

waves of hysteria in doom

see, there's one big crow 

strutting with snarl

with mean spitted eyes

with greedy shoulders

with oversized ego 

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - A Corvid Poetry, hosted by Ingrid. Thanks for your visits and comments.

spring morning appointment

 

let's meet under the maple tree

the sky is periwinkle blue

the garden is rain-sprinkled, new,

greening & lush, i will bring tea

& you will bring your silence, soft

as dawn, nesting of spry pines, washed

warm amber, soothing our knees

will we mellow & flow into  

radiant spring morning?  i hope so 

there are birdsongs & rowdy bees

& wild dandelions to blow

& red daisies to string & stow

& blooming pink lilacs to see

& wind to chase.  this is no ploy

our pockets will be full of joy!

let's meet under the maple tree

greening & lush, i will bring tea

warm amber, soothing our knees

there are birdsongs & rowdy bees

& blooming pink lilacs to see

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub, Constanza Form,  hosted by Bjorn Rudberg.  Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm.  Thanks for the visit and comments.