He-said-she-said, whose side are you on?

***
(...)

Enticing gossip.
Garnish on the lunch.

{who's not here?
thank heavens, not us!}

              Spaghetti
    sentences

              twirled
              at the end of a fork
   
              manageable morsels
              dripping tomato

    sauce.

Leviathan cravings growl     words slice
knifing into plaster silhouettes 
                                                cut    shred

    this, you can't eat
    sitting up straight

{are we all with us?}
                                             Let's huddle.


Cold air whistles soundless between teeth,
wine glasses in the grip of oily fingertips,
the dark red tint eyes in dim corner light.



***

Who doesn't like a bit of good gossip? But much like lying, if you do a lot of it, you gonna have to do a lot of needless remembering.. of who you told what to and what you not to say in front of whom. It must be human to love making things complicated.

The silence that can be felt

 ***


The Quiet of Trees

The trees listen, unmoved and all
present

as orioles and sunbirds
court and duel

songs and jungle
rooster crows
a spurring morning
alarm

crickets choir
in the undergrowth

a mother boar scours the grounds
with her young ones
for worm

or ripe fruit lost

to the grips of monkeys
play-chasing above
on shaky branches.

The trees listen, unmoved and all
present

a monsoon storm is coming:
bloated grey clouds
bringing drums and crackers.

Whipping sea winds
rip through the forest --
stir, shake and push,
snapping weak wood.

                         Let fall

warm drops of rain,
and pour forth rivers!

The birds
      are hushed now.

The trees listen, sway in the storm and all
present.

The obssession with using other people as mirrors of self

****
Shared on dVerse Pub's Open Link Night #64.

I might not be able to visit very many today. And it might take me a while to return visits this week.

The purpose of crossing roads

***

Crossing Roads

Men, women, school children stand on the curb, occupied, connected universally in 2G/3G/4G networks.

eyes side-glancing                                  On
                                                             the red
                                                                 /\
                                                              m   an

        
         contradicting a world in constant motion
         that cannot afford to stop&wait, and give
way.


How many minutes of our lives are spent waiting for the go-sign
that finally lets us GO under the begrudging stares of drivers
who failed to make it and who must now STOP for us.
                             Practice that smug, practice hiding delight.

Or better
         just ignore them all and keep
         your eyes on your glass.



A wh

                        Wa

                                             Wild BOAR

has taken to following
traffic rules

briskly makes a bee-line
                           for the park, diagonal
                                                          across
                                                                 the yellow-box junction

                                          taking a shortcut
                             like humans
with no time to waste


                                   to reach the grove
                                   of jambu trees,
                                   to dine on sweet fruit
                                   ripe and fallen.

***

Posted for dVerse Poetics. Karin Gustafson (ManicDDaily) is hosting. The theme today is the unexpected.

Template-based living

 ***

Blanks

The habit of filling-in ______
leaves ______.

The ease of lifting ready-made

              para _____________
________________________
________________________
________________________
________________________
__________________ graphs,

replacing details, double-checked
based on paper-based identity;

filling in [][][][][] [][][][][][]
(dd/mm/yyyy) sincerely, sworn
true with original signature.

It's when someone asks you
to tell it in your own words,

                            your story,
all of it,
not just filling in the ______,

that the weight of hesitation,
and doubt pauses your pen.


***


Posted to Open Link Night Week 62 at dVerse Poets Pub.

If this is your last stop, visit another five more. Cheers!

Reasons for tears are often more than of joy or sorrow

***
 

The First Good Cry

Never again to feel the sharp bite of rattan on the skin of legs;
never again to trigger a roar of rage, a fiery wind howling guilt
and awful shame as pencil cases get thrown out the window
or watch books flung against walls for failures underlined

in red.

In the embrace of my mother and my father's sister, I cried
freely, free
for once; no one told me to hush,
no one told me to stop crying,
for once, it was alright to cry
audibly, shamelessly.

"Mercy, all will be alright." was all
his sister could say. "Poor thing."

Mother wept; I'm not sure if she was sorry for me
or for hardships she saw lying ahead. Surely,
she wouldn't miss him after the many times
she had thought to leave, only to stay out of duty
to a daughter and a husband -- a man with a rage
always at his throat, a rage that grew

into a cancer that ate him at the neck;

the mercy... I cried, I think,
out of relief.


****


Posted for DVerse Poetics - First Times. Hosted by Fred Rutherford. :)

Note: Gonna be away

Shall be leaving for Madrid, Spain for a work-related conference this coming weekend and so, will probably be busy preparing for the trip this week.  Probably won't be on the blogs till mid September.

Gonna be a sponge while I'm over there. Soak up the culture and art. Maybe when I get back, I'd be fresh filled with ideas.

Be well, friends.

Info Overload

 ***

Ads of every kind

in every view,
by every which way
turn

scenes interrupted
partially obscured by

pictures of gardens
on rooftops,
swimming pools
by seaside

piceous glassy gadgets
delicious to touch

carriages designed for
speed and comfort

stretched faces
with stretched smiles

to sell, or
am I the one
being sold?

a rusty frame
erect
beside a busy
highway
taking a chunk
of sky --

is that also an ad of some kind?

***

The quiet of rainforests

 ***

Stillness


A rustle of leaves --
a wild boar feeding,

crack of twigs --
macaques foraging.

Low hums over
murky ponds --
dragonflies, damselflies
land on lily pads;

a bee, a wasp
at different speeds
of urgency, consider
a lotus flower.

A splash, a bubble --
a monitor lizard
takes a dive,
a turtle emerges.


***

Waking

***

All that noise


Sunday morning, awaking before the heat,

before the first six o'clock bus rolls by,

before the whistle of boiling kettles,
and clatter of pot covers in neighboring kitchens,

lie in the silence

                that rests still across the land;

rest in the quiet

of trees remembering the swamp
and the song of crickets in the reeds
                          accompanying a new river.

Listen:
           how almost all together

the reverberating vibrations
of our collective machinery

                knOCk BanG
           ruMble
                       hum
                                    ROar
   
the sum of our tremors
                     penetrating bones and stones

break a sunrise.


***

Nature takes all

***

Urban Mangrove

Spicy orange ants
fiesta, scatter
on the coarse sandy

shoreline;

low tides
edge the mangrove

allow human intruders
to retrieve belongings
tossed at sea.

A spider hunting,

sand flies, mini roaches
in a mass of discolored rags
and discarded nets

scamper, scatter
burrow deeper.

It's theirs now, these oily
colors, these slime covered
straws
and plastic wrappings,

these entanglements
of fraying nylon rope,

this one sneaker,

this worn truck tire.

Adopted,
adapted
urban habitats,

human reflects.

Volunteers clearing the mudflats of rubbish.

Discarded clothes at the edge of mangrove.

More pics at: Gathering Dust Locally

Poem posted for dVerse Meeting at the Bar -- Impressionistic Writing, with Claudia.

Linked up Recalling A Shade to dVerse Pub's Meeting at the Bar.

Today, we are looking back through what we have posted to DVerse and picking one for an encore. I can't decide which is the "best", so I just posted the first one that I linked to dVerse. I do think it represents the way I like to write my poems; and it's also one of the earliest poems I posted on this blog.

Plasticine -- Practice Clay

***

Plasticine Days

Moldable rainbow bands:

cherry red and summer green,
lifesaver orange and earthy brown,
lemon yellow, pool blue,
decolored white and concrete grey.

            Imagination without ritual;
            inspiration inborn.

            Courage overruled reasons --
            not-to, must-not, should-not.

     Kneaded.
     Squeezed.
     Flattened.

     Rolled out
     on the table.

A train.
A loaf of bread.
A snake.

A plasticine doll posing
a walk
       on knobby feet,
a slow slouch
       caused the figure to bow.

***

Posted at dVerse Pub: Open Link Night (Anniversary Week).

When I started blogging again, I came across many poetry blogs and communities with their weekly get-togethers and link-ups, but by far dVerse is the best run poetry blogging community site -- there's always something interesting happening on it, a great article to read, forms to try, prompts to play with - something for everyone at anytime. Such an awesome community.

Monsters In Your Pocket

 ***

Gotta Catch 'Em All

            too much to do
            and too little time
            for the... who
            and the... what

easy to forget when we are constantly high on
millisecond moment/to/moment minute-rushes

              "gotta to catch them all"
               the young ones say

as they collect monsters
caught off the beaten path
keep them in plastic habitats
until the time comes
to fight other monsters

different monsters
different skills, pick well
while you ponder the worth
of old favorites over new
and untried potentials

                guess you can't have everything

integration comes after much practice
memory evolves to resemble
an excel worksheet --

columns of stats:

personalities and tendencies
trickled down, a pooling
of combinations basically

               scissors. paper. stone.

every new face met on the road,
an opportunity to duel
with monsters you can't refuse

it's all about elemental effectiveness,
counters divided into various degrees
-- variety makes it interesting

             if you faint, you lose.

***

You have to play it to understand why kids are so crazy about that pocket monster collecting culture known as Pokemon. Then again, you've probably already played this game.

Depicting a monster

 ***

Two-headed Awful Horror

Jealousy & Envy- who could quell
the furnace fire that burns in the gut
of this monstrous two-headed beast?

Caught in the glow of their eyes,
hypnotic horror inducing thoughts
magnify every failure to thrive;

arms with poisonous bite strive
to drag willing listeners into its jaws
filled with rows of three sided teeth.

For every one it eats, another arm grows
like a deadly vine, drag another one down.
This beast loves self loathe and misery;

its sinuous veins pump baseless fears
mixed with fury and malice; the beat
pulsating "why not me? why him? why her?"

In the furnace of its boundless dimensions,
it seeks to burn all consumed,
releasing hatred and ill wills;

noxious fumes of rotten affection
form negative halos, through which
all sun rays corrupt but ultraviolet.

****
This awful thing can destroy all the relationships with the people we hold most dear. Be watchful.

The littlest things

***
 

Sloppy

I do not remember

this button

on this shirt

being this white,

the stitching

being this tight;

it's not the same

as the rest

on this shirt:

all the others hang 

loose, comfortable

where they are hooked;

but this one,

number two

from the bottom,

this one is different:

the stitches are too clean,

too tight,

         over-sewn --

this one is new.

***

Posted for dVerse Poetics: Button, Button. 

After-dinner chit-chats can sometimes be the cause of indigestion.

 ***

One-way conversations for two (or more)

Throat tightens, gut acid stirs;

whose hands strangle the arteries

throbbing cold in my head?

Competitive conversationist disorder --

what you would call who gets to get

the next word in edge-wise;

self-scoring points for making sense,

subtle offensives feinting defense.

Each little cheese wedge,

each sip of dull wine,

serves only to widen the crack.

Knowing glances exchange,

suppressed, replaced

with polite smiles.

***

The extreme of letting things be

(snapshot)

A stack of hair brushes

covered in a blanket of dust

tar

he would not permit to clean,

less they mar her prints

on those handles, or free

the last strands of her hair

tangled in the broken fingers,

black and youthful forever.

***

Red squiggles, red squiggles everywhere.

***
 

Gamecommunodramatica

Genre arguments rival in-game quests of princess dilemmas;
no one tires of slaying dragons on this open topic landscape.

The Hardcore flames the Elite as the Casual throws popcorn;
regular lurkers register innuendeous nicks to log-on.

Bug exploiters circumvent vanilla game rules,
modders recreate worlds, restoring desired balance.

1337 overpowered PKers test the limits of moderation,
otherworldly faces grimace as job classes are nerfed.

Pseudo-intellectuals battle the hyperanalogicious,
clarification of facts leads to arguments on definitions;

aggressive IAPs in freemiums, hidden DLCs on discs
-- signs of greed or necessary self-sustainability?

All it takes is a pirate to trololololol by to steal the show.

***

The poor word processor is screaming red squiggles. The prompt at dVerse pub (hosted by Anna this week) sounds so fun, I had to try. I had to go with something I am exremely familiar with, so I went with gamer community forum drama (Gamecommunodramatica). It pretty common for drama to happen when passionate arguments over game terms and rules, along with a lot of one-upmanship are going on. Before you know it, everyone is off-topic and throwing all sorts of analogies about to show what they mean. I chose to term "hyperanalogicious".

The following are commonly encountered gamer terms:

*vanilla game rules -- 'vanilla' in game terms refer to the game as it is shipped in original form, without expansions or add-ons, or player modifications.

*1337 -- is number code for "Elite", which means "of the top skilled".

*PK -- player kill;  PKers are gamers on multiplayer games who make the choice to play offensively against other players. They may also be referred to as griefers.

*nerf -- weaken 

*freemium -- a game that is free to download but one which you need to pay from within the game to make reasonable progress.

*IAP -- in app purchases, purchases made from within an application. This term is probably one that came up recently as mobile gaming gained popularity. Alternatively: in-game purchases.
*DLC -- downloadable content. Additional content such as character equipment or game levels may be downloaded after a game is bought but they are sometimes already included in the disc or in the install, just not accessible until you pay for them.

*trololololol -- imagine an internet troll laughing out loud as he runs through the room.

I have found a new appreciation for those who create words that are easy to understand even when first encountered.

Posted this for dVerse Poetics: Logophilia I

New blog - "Dipping feathers in paint"

I hesitate to call it an art blog but I guess that's what it is. This got started when I got ArtRage app for my iPad and finding that it's fun to just play with it. I don't know where this is going, but I do know I am enjoying it. Maybe later I will try other forms of visual arts as I find them. (It may include things I create in sandbox type games.)

So here's the link to my amateurish art pieces:

Dipping Feathers In Paint

Ever wonder what the world would be like if everyone agrees with you?

 ***

n(E)tural selection

0ne-button ban
hammered --exiled

0ut of our lives
0ut of our site

dwindle this population
until countable
on 0ne hand

celebrate un1ty -- 0ne idea
without conflict

peace at last
di/adversity crushed

a shifted disposition
will regret the gen0cide

***

There's one outside my window this morning

***

Orioles
 

Orioles see the sun

before it rises

just as they see lines

of the earth as she spins,

a sense of a new day:

each new day, new.

Orioles see the sun

before it sees

landscapes in the dark,

ruled by alarm clocks,

clutching clouds;

Orioles see and sing.

***Posted to Open Link Night Week 49 at the dVerse Pub.

How can one stand being around smiley faces all day?

***

Redefining disclaimers

:)

a disclaimer,

redefining

the mood

behind every brag;

every piece of news
broken up and shared

demands approval,

comparisons --

     the proper response is
     "me too".

A contrived existence --

(who hides)
 a light under a bowl.

:D

a disclaimer,

queue the laughter

to come after
insults not intended.

A fragmented existence

of lists and circles

redefining privacy:

alone in an overcrowded city

constantly surrounded with friends --

split right down the middle.

***

The 'drawing' is mine, done on ArtRage app on the ipad. The app was on sale -- a few dollars for a entire set of artist tools. So, why not? So nice to have all the brushes and colors and not have to fret about where to store them after messing around!

I thought, what if I try to draw what I wrote. It was fun at least.

Notes while out playing

Sorry for the lack of activity here. I have to admit that lately I've been playing video games rather than writing. That is my other obsession. But no, not Diablo III -- I love the previous two but this new one and it's always-online requirement? Don't like that.

Not to be completely idle, I'm just thinking of what I should try next. Maybe I'll do a NaPoWriMo of my own in July or something. Or something shorter. Like a week every month where I write everyday or something. Maybe I'll really try to do haiku at a stretch. Or do more snapshots. Or maybe focus on the uncommon rather than usual everyday scenes/things. Such fun.

Not usually something that happens in this digital age...

***

Me and the old tv

   me and the old tv waited up for you

   the movie i wanted to watch tonight

with you, had long ended

   i must have fallen asleep

somewhere in the middle

   i have awaken to a world flickering

in b/lack/white and wh(y)/black

make-what-you-wills

buzzing, creating

a picture of us

   in [us] brownian motion

of static [us]

   thoughts and feelings

masked in a long continuous h[ar]sssssssssssssssh...

   i got up from my chair,

   switched the TV off,

   noting how quickly the silence takes over the night

.

***

I wrote a stream of consciousness piece (belated dVerse prompt) but that was quite horrifying. I came up with this instead.

Posted to dVerse Open Link Night #46. Hope to see you there, fellow wordsmiths. :)

Grass-cutters

 Grass-cutters

men taming the lawn

   grass-cutters

   spinning cable ties

   splitting blades

a mynah overlooks the work

insect legs                 

insect heads included

salad mix                   

almost time for lunch

***

Some or sometimes.

***

The tendency of stagnating

The mind conjures up

dry wit

that will never leave

the dried up

slime pit;

in trying to keep it light,

a moon cradles her face

hiding the cracks;

Bridges built

misaligned.

There are those

who find a way to cross

the gap;

too late to chase

the sun.

some stand still

in order

to consider,

at what point

to walk towards

a new dawn.

***

What it takes to take care of baby

(Snapshot)
 

From within,

from behind

unshackled front gates and fireproof front door,

a baby's cries break

the hourglass of dawn;

a woman stands facing the door

             she stands in pajamas

             bare foot on the welcome mat

       as if waiting

  for herself

                                staring at the cracks

                                on the concrete floor

to be

                     the smell of dew, a touch

                     of lingering night breeze

                     leaving before the sun 

                     takes to the skies fully

calm

                    the footsteps

                    of neighbors

                    as they prepare breakfast

                                          sounds like a cat fight

                                        or something

              or just the demands of a newborn baby

          to mother.

****

No, I have no idea what it takes to take care of a newborn, or how to raise children as they make demands even before they know words. Happy Mother's Day to mothers celebrating this weekend.

Taking my medicine

***

The trouble with reading poems

Poems and poets

scare me,

never know what they really mean --

                       the words

they pick

tend to be

                        exotic and sometimes unpronounceable

                        or

                        normal but still suspicious

common man

                            experiences distilled

  searching for hidden puzzles to solve

complications simplified or multiplied

                       complications               tongue-tied

                        a mosaic of visions flows thick as cold syrup

                        sweet bitter sweet

Reading poetry is like taking medicine,

it makes me sleepy

and gives me funny dreams.

***

I was recalling a funny reaction of someone when I suggested reading a poem. Would've thought I was asking her to swallow an odd shaped pill. Expanded on that with my own thoughts, and mixed it up. But yeah, sometimes it is like that, sometimes. ;)


**Shared on Open Link Monday, at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads. 

The Moon and I

****

Sunset Sky Watching

I saw the moon watch the sun go down.

   I and the moon

   watch the sun

   go

                            through the layers of deep orange
                            and crimson, winking

                                 as it takes leave;

                             sky blushes pink

                                             settling

                                  to royal purple, and

                        

  down

                          as the dark blue tide spreads across the dome above,

                                    as shadows lengthen until they are

                          no more and all,

                         these eyes stay fixed on the horizon

                         

  just the moon

  and I.

****

NaPoWriMo #30: The chaos of trying to put things in order

 

Unlearning fixing

Hard eyes perceive broken hinges and missing pieces;

a home-fix junkie

gripping a wrench and a blowtorch for a night light

raises a bonfire fit for burning books of shadow

and every innocent ever accused.

Every gulp of air sulfurous, tastes sour,

a swarm of hornets nests in the chest.

Monsoon winds blow hollow the last emblem,

an object thought to be gold but not even copper.

Not even.

Fixing what's not broken, breaks it.

Open your hands, soften your eyes.

Don't be, just breathe.

zzzzz

NaPoWriMo #29: Weeding

 

Weeds

Roots reaching deep, deeper;

sprout from seeds
dropped in by a bird

or rode in on the wind

they choke the green sprouts
you've worked so hard to cultivate

Weeds are green, greener

some bloom little flowers;
yellow, purple and white

dot the crisscross creepers
in the field

some produce fruit

sweet berry-like, or bright bitter
to bite

pulled them out, we'll
let them rot in compose heaps

Weeds growing wild, wilder,

a weed is only a weed

in a land of tamed crops.

Not very happy with this. I have a terrible headache because it's so hot today. Global warming -- I'm feeling it if that is what it is.


Edited 01 Jun 2020

NaPoWriMo #28: How a morning gets ruined

 

A lesson through simple lost

i only felt it missing

after walking up those steps

       and the taxi has gone down the road

there goes my identity

card, bank card, membership

card

       they are all cards

replaceable

pieces of plastic

suddenly not in one's pocket

but at the mercy of someone

else's kindness

i hope someone will be kind

and return it if he finds it

in the mean time, phone calls

to make, police report to file

i lost a bit of me today

in that thing I carry around

everyday

what pain, such simple

and hard lesson that

take all of one's attention

for one entire morning

to recount the lost

and how it was lost

they are just cards

       but they are mine

i think i might have

a note or two

no importance to the world

                        but personal

who has them now

or does it lie in some street

ran over by cars multiple times

shredded

unnoticed?

Yes, I lost my wallet this morning. I was really upset earlier, but I'm feeling better. Everything is replaceable, though one of the objects is gonna cost me. I don't think I have notes in there except maybe someone's phone number. Lesson learned -- never carry all my cards ever again. And I think I need a wallet clip.

Interestingly, I was far more upset back when my modem had problems than this lost. Still, I hope neither never happens again!

NaPoWriMo #27: People talk too much

Snapshot: Talking heads
 

I am watching people talking --

in a crowd of people, no one is talking to each other

but they are talking; their mouths are moving, jaws

                    trembling rapidly, half dialogues heard, the other

                                                    half resides on the other side

                                                        of the phone or headpiece.

A young girl with pink 

skullcandy headphones 

clamped over her head, 

walking and singing,

Oh I swaar to u,

I be thar for ya...

                     and over there, a man is mumbling and ranting

something about having no money

                               and that it's all his useless son's fault,

and the government is watching him

                                       and you, yes you also,

 and how every time he (or you!) 

                    tries to have private chat, someone is listening in;

                                                                     everyone pulls away from him 

                                                                                as they continue talking.

This might be a rant, more-like.

NaPoWriMo #26: Daily thrillers

 

Spider vs Ants

I watched a platoon of ants dance

dangerously with a spider:

a game of merry-go-round,

pincer against pincer,

compound eyes against

compound eyes.

The spider rotates,

the ants touch his legs;

on every side he is attacked in turn

turn turn turn

unable to hold his ground,

spider leaps off

           leaving a single thread of web

the ants begin to wonder           wander

unable to comprehend the spider's

                             ( surprise )

   l

    a

     c

      i

       t

        r

         e

          v

escape;

they begin to scatter, leaving behind               one ant

whose feelers are caught on the sticky thread 

                                                         of the one spider,

                       spider

                      at large.

NaPoWriMo #25: Reflection

***

Snapshot

She's looking out
                             reflecting
the window   |   window the
reflecting

     me, who   |   who me

chewing on the wire of her headphone,

her eyes    |    eyes her
phone       |       phone

hovering
        mid sentence. 

Another busy week.

NaPoWriMo #24: Homebound

***

all aboard the bus

speaking tongues of Babylon

share a journey home

NaPoWriMo #23: Zen Masters

***

koi in clear water

contemplating river stones

rake sand, make ripples

***

NaPoWriMo #22: a personal piece

***

For his approval

I drew my father a picture of clouds.

                            "Clouds aren't drawn this way
                             let me show you how." he'd say.

I read my father a story I liked.

                            "You call that reading, what did I
                             buy you all those books for?"

I wrote my father a poem.

                           "That's a poem? where's the rhyme?
                            Read me Robert Frost anytime."

He knew it all, how clouds should be like --
faint lines, crossing the limitless blue sky,
sometimes grey, sometimes white.

He knew it, how stories should be read --
a little drama here, a little emotion there,
a happily-ever-after makes for a good end.

He knew it too, how poems should be --
rhymes in the right places, timed to the right beat
classic over contemporary, especially e.e..

I still see him hunching over my work sometimes,
his eyes scrutinizing over all the little detail
                               and I agonize -- can't imagine
what he'd say about these lines I just wrote.

Marked personal, so I've disabled the comments for this one. Thanks for reading, I really appreciate all of you who come by.  Hope you enjoyed this playful piece. My father, and I realize I am sometimes the same way, often means well but stands a bit strongly on how he thinks certain things "should be".

NaPoWriMo #21: my own ode to grass

 ***

Grass

You who lay out lawns
that endure picnics on a warm day,
cool to touch under the sun,
soft green blades that cushion bums,
and collapse under weight
of naked backs;

                    you who bend
         even to a breeze,
                    you have a plan.

Heads of spiky inflorescence spring up overnight;

the next day, soccer practice --
pairs of socks
                             will take your seeds

               away!

Barbs and hooks cling fast to fur or clothes,
let the giants come
                            and bear your seeds

                away!

Let them discover how fast and tightly you cling.
Let their fingers pick and tear you off, fling
                                          your seeds to the wind!

                Away!

Into the cracks of tarmac / concrete / brick,
any / where the dust escapes the wind / dew settles:

dig deep,
establish
tufts,
green stuff,

               invade!

***

I'll save the short ones for the work days -- short forms are fun and light, although challenging are doable.

NaPoWriMo #20: there's always something to rebuild in the city

***

original blueprint

modular reproductions

track irregular

scaffolds climb

orange helmets

regular

***

I'm so tired, the very effort of thinking for a right word to use is rather maddening.

NaPoWriMo #19: Reasons for insomnia

 ***

Under the covers

doubts gossip

ghost theories

trails haze

rubbing eyes

twelve again

sleep hunting

shades stalk

warm breath

chilled air
slipping away

More fun with minimizing. Haiku was definitely more fun to do.

NaPoWriMo #18: Another Office Haiku (and one more pleasant)

Office Haiku #2

 ***

circling in red

crossing out calendar dates

days to vacation

***

Of sunset

***

watch the sunset paint

clouds in shades of lavender

in frames drawn at dusk

***

NaPoWriMo #17: Office Haiku

***

break-time art & craft
a jam jar of paper stars
brightens cubicle

***

I think this is the first haiku I've ever attempted to write. I wanted to write a few more, but they didn't quite work out.

Unrelated note, Blogger seems to be showing up some errors tonight. I am dreading the "new look" that's supposed to be coming this month.

NaPoWriMo #16: What results from a baked brain...

***

Heat

broken clouds hover in scattered formation
casting shadows drift across the cityscape

pedestrians flow in schools of fixed direction
a rainbow of cars beaming metallic sheen

every eye squinting from the white heat
baking brains, bricks and concrete

***

I thought I'll try writing short poems this week.

NaPoWriMo #15: Preserving photographs

***

Printed Photos just don't last

A whole stack of photos to dispose of --

memories on glossy or matte paper
depending on which I felt
would have preserved it longer;

there's no doubt these scenes are fading.

Thank God for scanners to save them
before they all fade away;

                              I remember
                                        the gardens were greener
                                        the skies were bluer, and
                                        us, bright in our loud slogan T's
                                        and promises,
                                        and you can still see it in our eyes
                                        -- we had an idea
                                        where we wanted to go before

the statues and people have become shadows,
the buildings have turned white without detail;
trees have transformed into towering brushes
hinting stains of yellow,

every leaf is lime;

and of what scent these gardens that blossomed,
even the flowers of spring have turned funeral:
sepia, damp, musty, surrounded
by coffin wood fences;

only the cemetery pictures
remain unchanged -- fields
of white headstones,
names and dates etched in black.

I thought they were beautiful
but I was young, and

they are beautiful

but they look different
to me now.

Streets of night markets have dimmed.
Sunday markets suffer as their fruits
on display go pale;
a woman was staring at an apple in her hand,

                      red or green,

she couldn't decide. 

**
It's kinda scary what happens to old pictures -- the way they fade and how horrible the colors become with age. I have been scanning old photos today in attempt to save them. I guess I should've done it sooner.

Thank goodness, these days we use digital cameras. The pictures won't fade. And they can be uploaded to the internet with great ease where they can be out in e-space for all eternity.