The immediate environment is constant drama at each sway of leaves slithering, stalking in the dark corners, sending out the signals as though your happiness and bliss is a slave to the buzz. It hollers “Buzz is bliss!”. Why harken back the familiar texture of thick dun soup even when it’s sitting by you that makes your stomach turn? The puerile dramas and oafish show bullishly endeavours to clip off the peace. The constant buzz makes an impassioned plea –“include me”. Inclusion is always where we are. ” Sometimes it’s difficult to raise your vibration and be included when you lack cohesion. I laugh quietly and bust out my stems towards the Sun divorced from the immediate thick soup. Year after year adept at rising, we write copiously.
As they say, this goat had silenced the lion with a mere glance.
Even though the story seems slightly far-fetched, goats without common sense are few and far between. I have seen them sitting on the fence, bleating a lot of sense. And they don’t take the piss out of their teachers.
This goat on the trot climbed up the pile of gravels. Now it’s safe. Last year a truck took the innards out of a goat and the sight was not for the squeamish.
When I asked the goat what is it doing there, it said
” If they fly into a rage and throw tantrums and stamp their feet when you are simply stating what you don’t allow, there is something terribly terribly wrong and I am trying to figure out how deep goes the shit…”
The merchant was a wag who not only dealt in commodities they cultivated in their farms but also kept them warm and cheerful.
It was the kind of nice that the seller didn’t want to keep, that the merchant fondly purchased off him.
A fellow voyager asked him why he purchased it when he could take a pick from other sellers. He cast a glance at the seller who, now, had taken his glove off to tidy his place. On meeting the gaze the seller smiled at him and waved him goodbye. Merchant’s face crinkled into a smile and he waved back to the seller.
He replied that the seller is his pal who has a penchant for collecting nice merchandises and its the kind of nice he didn’t want to keep.
Such a fatuous reply!
” People can only meet you as deeply as they have met themselves.” said John and sprinted off to take a slash…
I stole a furtive glance at Tommy. I’ll wager his woofing would hardly score in the WordPress popularity stakes as John’s quote would undoubtedly do. I surely didn’t want to draw his attention anyway.
Last time the gatekeeper in a blue dress threw him out of the gate while trying to get rid of the riff-raff. Poor baby!
But Tommy lept by me on the sofa, wagging his tail and started licking my cheeks. John was right, I surmised. I placed my hand over his glistening ebony back and put him under my arrest.
Maybe he was whispering that your appetite for proving anything has never been my training or I may have heard it wrong but I truly hope one day he will begin to contemplate the need to assert himself. The flawed one can be used as Stepney by then.
Fandango’s One Word Challenge (FOWC), arrest.
My eyes alighted on scalawags and street urchins slithering, sussing out the worst in the Gods of people, of mine, their sweets and then fawning the worst. What happens when light yields to gloom? I lived in a kitschy squalid alley. But there is a hope that light splutters into life. Tearing the night asunder the city of the Sun sprawled across the horizons. The sky slathered with buttery gobbets of clouds burgeoning into the garden of hope. The tide turned and the day embarks on a newer voyage. A new awareness asserted itself – light is never at odds with the dark. Nights are not nefarious. They dispense the largesse, the bounties of shelter and rest as these essentials are procured by making a clean break with the vision and leaving it all in the hands of nature. To be one with the frailties steers us towards strength. Surrender and it will take care of itself.
Silence, a celebration and a song
Yields an undefeated day that I long
Leisurely humming about an old tune
Hoick up my skirt to dance with loons
The sea of calm and serenity
Today’s benison and magnanimity
Thrumming like a pellucid stream
A gentle nudge of my cherished dream
Goes to Photo Challenge #340 hosted by Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie
Photo courtesy: Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie
You are Biden,
With your love bulging at the seams
Nurturing, healing the breaches
My heart is Trump
Never concedes defeat!
Joanna flicked a gaze at John, his mind befogged by some unsolicited fondness.
” Eliminating unavailable stuff will make your life functional.”
” Unavailable love, unavailable respect, unavailable knowledge, ideas, unavailable support, unavailable parents…anything not available in time of need. “
” I don’t bother much about this concept of unavailability. Sachin says don’t stop chasing your dreams because dreams do come true. If I had my dream in front of me, I would have kissed him right away.” with that she kissed John without delay.
” Dreams are always available.” John gasped licking his lips. Joanna shook her ass.
We have heard that they masturbate together.
Now if you are rolling on the floor doubled up with laughter you may consider getting up. Gotta get first picks so please excuse me.
I decided to try my hands at this rotten story and I thoroughly enjoyed penning it down. I hope you relish these palatable literary tidbits. Happy reading!
Her eyes were evil. As the ominous shadow of her stygian heart, dark as an artless night of December, something I loved to hate, tiptoed inside my untainted, unpolluted ambience, I shuddered with the apprehension. A sense of foreboding washed over me and a stifled squeal left my lips as my grip over camera tightened. Having peed my pants, I tried to judge it like a dream…a nightmare of the hoi polloi…
I think that I shall never see,
A poem lovely as a tree,
A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed
Against the earth’s sweet flowing breasts
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray
A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair
Upon whose bosom snow has lain
Who intimately lives with rain
Poems are made by fools like me
But only God can make a tree.
~ Joyce Kilmer
Seven dawns of mallow sprigs
burgeoning opaline white
and pink wushu,
Milkwort and chittling
in the broth of roseate tears,
Flirting placidly with
Ocre seeds venture to
nine sprouts of incantation,
Listen to the teal foliage
and twice the butter blooms.
I have written this poem in response to ‘Saturday Mix – Mad About Metaphor, 7 November 2020‘ hosted by Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie and ‘Meeting the bar : Synesthesia‘ hosted by dVerse. I dared to be a little bit experimental here and replaced words in these phrases : in floods of tears, & flirting with danger. I offer my gratitude to you for your valuable insights, ideas and information.