The muddled moon
Lounging languorously
On feathery flecks of suds
Sweetened like candy floss
Imbued with intense wanderlust
The moon sets forth on a slow meander
Jaunting about lush wheat fields
White and yellow sweet clover
Quite soon stumbles on
Abiding hiatuses of rest
In the loch to hand
Numinosity
Earthy and wheaten
A delicious irony!
It’s simple
Yet it only gets deeper
And deeper
This art
And I know
By slightly dipping my toe into it
Who tells me I can’t dance
By dancing
Who tells me I can’t paint
By painting
Who tells me I can’t express
By expressing
Who tells me I am poor
By flaunting and boasting
Who looks for appeasement
By showing disrespect
Who feels honoured
By belittling and ridiculing
I know
Who sings
And says you can sing too
And appreciates
Who dances
And says you can dance too
And cheers
Who shares little moments
Because you’re worth it
Who reminds you of your wealth
Who pushes you to improve
And prefers to remain understated
And flawed
And says you can do it too
The givers
I know
If you have something of your own
To share with the world
Or just keep it up to you
Apart from
Mockery, puffery or cant
To me, your worth is
Just how you feel around me
Behind your facade
Because flawed and imperfect
Could be a million times
More sacred
More divine
I know
The right and the perfect
Rarely have standards
I know
What lies behind
The deception
If my inanition comes to your sight
When it seems that our hearts have come unstuck,
Always remember,
The cherry blossoms still twirl around
In the wide blue yonder,
Attired in their soft pink downy robes,
In my perfumey days
In my dawn and my dusk;
Tipped into an unremitting whirlpool
Of varicoloured emotions
In my underwater garden
Teeming with soft sheen of goldfish
My chest is brimming with roses
Wet and aromatic;
I knew you had the edge over me
But I wasn’t even trying to win
My win was contingent on the soft curls of your lips
On the innocent song of your heart;
Those slings and arrows and the catapult
I hadn’t hoarded those stones as yet,
For that one day…
I have tasted those acrid fruits
The seeds are always more of the same;
My empty hands join only in prayer
I tried to match your stride for stride;
It was your unseemly, waspish and curt reply
That broke my stride
The reason why I slink past you
Quietly…
The peeve you wasted on me
A face like thunder
Yet, a heart as soft as silk
The carver, the guiding star, my saving grace
Still throned
Changing the rules
The post is written in response to ‘Wordle #203‘ hosted by newepicauther. A bunch of words that cast the magic!
CurtNod
Inanition- lack of vigor; lethargy.
Cherry Blossom
Waste
Underwater
Thunder
Rules
Whirlpools
Chest
Carve
One
” God, morph me into an artist!” He cried, tears welling up in his eyes.
“Neither blossom, not fragrance. Not a lamp. Not even light. My soul is housed way beyond them all. “
Knelt on the floor, his hands joined in prayer. He quivered with apprehension and grief.
” Make my humble being, this malleable earthy attire your embodiment, adorned with all the humanness, flaws and turn me into a nothing.”
A handful of pearls dropped from his eyes, every so often.
And behold the marvel!
He was immersed in the sea of pearls. A powerful numinous glow encircled him.
It happened when massive artillery barrage was unleashed at the town and the whole town went up in flames. Thick clouds of smoke crept inside the room where he said his prayers. All the pearls blackened and begrimed with smoke.
Since then the scratching of his bones went slightly louder, when his blood gushed out on the paper stained it scarlet red.
🐚
The post is written in response to “Flash fiction for purposeful practitioners”.
Photo saved from A writers community.
I would like to give a hearty welcome to all flash fiction aficionados. Welcome to the new Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner Home Site. Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner is a weekly writing challenge designed for both the flash fiction newbie and the more experienced writer. It is the desire of this […]
Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner: 2020: Week #34 — A Writer’s Community
Where are these blessings coming from?
Like vague caress of the doting father
Like water paintings melting into letters
Of a script not learned yet
Maybe a longing to have
A richly textured painting, long past
A subtly nuanced life
A cardiograph
Continually oscillating
From light to dark to light
Along the straight line;
From a dirt road to the highway
Where night meets day
The sun thaws colours
And paintings are lain bare
Where weeds and climbers grow rampantly
Written in response to — Weekly Prompt “Night meets Day” hosted by Eugenia.
Spin a tale
Warble and wail
Extempore rhyme
Ethical crime
Traumatized listeners travail
P.S.: My experiment with poetry, sweet!
To believe that everyone’s complete..
Let everyone hold opinion
Allow each to bloom in their own truth
But lord, move away those who ever
Come forth to connect from these places
Make way for only those
who meet at the place of quiet and peace
Wash away those disguising contempt as smile
Shadows of malice lurking in their silence
Who wield their intent as a spear dipped in poison
Vectors of disease
That’s theirs.
Let in only those who are evolved enough
To bring me their calm acceptance,
And appreciation for all who I am
So that there is room for us to connect
Without that, the ‘presence’ is only a toxic load
Unload me, Lord.
Let there be laughter.
Let songs emerge.
Let there be family.
Hoof with mirth.
Painting saved from Pinterest
A jinx
A grim fate
A cloud of monsoon gone for a burton.
Frazzled limbs of mountain ash
Heave an icy sigh
Along the parched wilderness
Mingling with a faint gurgle
Of feeble creeks and gorge.
Hyacinth dissuade hyenas
From hiding. Chameleons
Lickety-split scuttle up the twigs.
Sore afraid
Unsightly monstrosity
Shadows decapitated
A wheeling eagle bends his pate
Coldly explores every avenue
You tried to ruin me,
But I was lying supine
Underneath my smoky grey eiderdown
On the floor inlaid with
lambent embers, cinders
and dust
My humble post, a belated response to Tuesday writing prompt challenge hosted by Go Dog Go. I thoroughly enjoyed participating.
A tiny whit of time
caught in a time warp
without wings nosedived into deep waters
withdrawn into mother earth’s amniotic sac
a feckless mama’s boy
a dour misanthrope
destiny’s child
bedevilled by occurrences
suffered a fate!
but there, in the mother’s womb
there is enough water for the feeble fragments
to be swaddled in fairy mother’s embrace
every night the moonlight simmers gently
variegating it into prismatic multihued lights;
by and by the scrap of time emerges
from the time warp
to stretch its legs,
tiptoes out of the water
and sails close to the wind
that tiny whit of time
