the possibility

I cupped my hands and gently plouted in the pellucid creek It swamped my empty hands With water and damp leaves I coveted to hold with the possibility of life in its moist kiss and the cues in the narratives of gazumped pelagic swimmers. Written in response to dVerse prompt: Possibility

daily battles

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

bird’s-eye view

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

under arrest

” People can only meet you as deeply as they have met themselves.” said John and sprinted off to take a slash… “Woof!” 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

transition

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

evil eye

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.

spriggy spells

Seven dawns of mallow sprigs burgeoning opaline white and pink wushu, Milkwort and chittling in the broth of roseate tears, Flirting placidly with blue furrica, 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

on the far side of reality

The splashing of pink rain boots announced her impending arrival. Squelching through the blizzard she pelted off to the lift and flung her hand to scrabble for the buttons. 1..2..3.. down. Time was running fast. Come on. Glassy pearls of sweat glistened onto her forehead. Finally, the lift stopped. Phew! Dripping with sweat she looked

everlasting

Brumal tales woven through the fringe of her eyelashes, her eyes were curled in soft crinkles. Her gaze drifted outside the thatched cottage. ” How do you know the drover?” he asked sternly. Suddenly her luscious eyes grew paler. Her glassy face mirrored the flames of burning embers ahead of her. ” I saw him.”

Scary

She worked all-day in the dairy And walked with the grace like a fairy After a few pegs I was counting legs When she whirled back, her face was all hairy! Goes to ‘Laughing along with a Limerick‘ prompt – ‘Scary’ hosted by estherchiltonblog