The oldest religion

 You can have it all!

Drink perfume &

smell like milk

Dance your witch dance

everybody screams

at the greats always.

Don’t dance

to the music of mere men.

Drink deep.

kiss a few kraken

join the oldest religion

Not in Florence

nor in the machine

But love.

The soothing magic of it all

Makes you finally belong

So Poets and Storyteller's United had a very interesting prompt - next week, we’ll invite you to take inspiration from the title of songs in Florence and the Machine’s new album, Everybody Scream. Examples: “Sympathy Magic”, “Perfume and Milk”, “Buckle”, “Kraken”, “And Love”. I decide why not have it all and incorporated almost all the titles in one go :P

Sparse Poetica

 

(My tribute to Ars Poetica by Archibald Macleish which made me sit up and notice a poem) 

A poem is a globed fruit 

palpable yet mute 

Can borrow a few words 

How cute! 

Honest yet not straightforward 

need not be attached to any rhyme scheme

Just needed to externalise the inner scream 

of a once ignored teenager 

Just open the floodgates 

A spontaneous overflow of my repressed emotions

An abstract art of mythical proportions

 makes the melancholy of a monotone 

sound rich like a broadway baritone. 

A poem need not be

A masterpiece , a marvel 

An idea so novel 

that there are odes written to it. 

It can simply be 

A moment in time crystallised with words 

A gasp of the gut 

So well put 

that you thought someone put their hand down your throat

and pulled it out 

like a rabbit from 

a hat 

or a hole 

A poem is a sieve 

which separates the chaff from the grain 

A pensieve 

and a penmanship on pain. 

( In response to What's going on? Blog's Poetry is prompt) 

Resolution

 Reclaim

Rekindle

Rebirth 

A beautiful prompt for the new year 2023 by Poet's and storyteller's  united 

Resolution

Rising from water

I rinse my soul

Of uncleanly remnants

Belonging to a rabid past.

 

I emerge calmer than

the wind which breathed

Life to my nose

Regaling gales which knocked

my wind before

will just leave my soul sour

I pledge to do that no more.

 

Fresh start

From ashes apart

Will bear fruit

Only if you stop being everyone’s favorite fool

Be ugly, Be astute.

 

 

 

 

Destiny's Child

 

For the Sunday muse 

 

 

The lines of your palm

Are laced with napalm

You will keep searching for calm

Yet your hands will keep you warm

From a world full of harm.

 

Your path you walk is only yours

Your umbrella cannot protect you

From the puddles underneath

You will weather the wet &

Become a bonafide vet.

 

You will survive,

You are destiny’s child

The roads you walk will

Always be the ones not taken

Not out of sheer rebelery

But an innate sense of revelry

So child!

Don’t rely on fate,

Your destiny is in your hands.

is what I would want my palm reader to say xD 

Writing a wrong

For the PU prompt ‘ to write about a time when we realized we were wrong about something, and what we did after the realization hit us.’

I thought I was making the right choice

At that time

You ticked all the boxes 

on paper 

Soon 

I was boxed into a corner 

Crushed by your corny love 

Heck I wasn’t even horny no more.

I decided to sleepwalk through life

If I opened my eyes truly

We both knew 

This would be already over 

You lovingly blindfolded me 

I loathingly cuckolded you. 

I woke up one day 

And decided to live the truth 

Consequences be damned 

I still remember your cries

As I sunk into my sofa 

We were away by so far

Yes

I never deserved this 

Kind of love 

But you said 

I’m incapable of love

Called me a robot 

The only time you spoke your mind 

Was when I was leaving you behind. 

I bleed too.

I’m thriving now

Hope you are too 

Standing tall

 

At the cusp of my downfall

I stand tall

Loyalty only has gotten me so far

to this toxic devious stick

performing its gleeful shtick

I laugh at my own demise

Isn’t this the whole premise?

I got my life force sucked out of me

One evil kiss at a time

Sugar diabetes lung incapacity what not

My vestiges still flutter

Just pour on the butter

Let me roll in the gluttonous gutter.

 

More-ish

Less is more?

Snores & s’mores! 

I called him a bore 

                        Now he is no more.

A new hope

 

Collective bad dreams

Spit us out of our

Stupified sleeps.

 

Denuded desires,

Chasing the ghosts of

Gone glories.

 

Midnight oil burned,

Moody mindscapes

Caught frozen in

picturesque landscapes.

 

I didn’t know what to do,

But she stood with me

With a lamp in her hand

And somehow that was enough.

Written for the Sunday muse and PU's Sunday pantry. Based it out of the struggle my team is going through this season. 

Be the Bee

 

 

She was lil miss

Buzz the bumblebee

She wasn’t going to just

 let her honey

 be.

 

Fierce and protective

Her words truly stung

Only the sinister selective/

Callous collective.

 

Yet the rumors really hung

Floating around the honeycomb

“Queen Bee coming through”

 

However

 She was lil miss

Buzz the bumblebee

And she was going to

Let her haters Be.

 

Mellifluous mornings

Tend to drown out the

Superfluous mournings.

 

Keep being busy

As you can be

Always be you

For you are a bee

 

Forget the fools

You

Don’t need to fix them.

 

She is lil miss

Worker bee

The pollen is where

The honey will be

And the honey is where

Her heart will always be.

 

So take the hint,

My friend

Without the likes of her

The world will go extinct.

So take the hint

And let her buzz free

And her sting be.

 

 

 

 

Liquid Heart

 

 ##skylover wordlist - Alchemy , implacable , knight , aqua , mask , aloof , almond , nocturnal , landscape , sting.

 

 

These nocturnal mornings..

A product of virus induced,

Unstable raging routines

Sting me just a bit more when

It dawns upon me that,

 

My knight in shining whatever

Will find it just a bit more impossible

To track me down.

My face covered with equal measures

Aloofness & N97 masks.

 

My implacable heart demands

An alchemy of sorts

Or atleast a reverse osmosis

Of this aquatic almond

In the centre of my chest,

 

To leak the leanings of my liquid heart

Unto the larger landscape

And hope love finds me

Before it is a bit too late.

 

I thank Kerry for her monthly word list. That really inspired me and I ended up incorporating all the words to make one poem. 

Bottle Tree

Alas! 

I am just a glass bottle hanging from a tree, 

oscillating in an orbit of pain

to the tune of my circumstances.

My emotions are somewhere sealed

inside that airtight bottle,

I think they are transparent

But ofcourse!

They are actually invisible to the onlooker.

And he asks,

What are you a glass bottle doing

clinging on to a bare tree?

I'm better off with my fellow bottle mates.

But once our paths collide,

Won't we just crash and break 

and let loose that noxious subtance 

which man calls love and

I call pain?

Written for Sunday muse's picture prompt.

NO

Dedicated to the man because of whom anonymous comments are disabled for all. And who is now commenting on a fake id now.

You asked me out 

I said I will rather die from the gout

You then claimed I wasn't clear 

and wanted me to come near 

If i could just open my ears 

and only hear

how much "I love you my dear"

You can call me a hoe 

but No means No.

I blocked you there

and to be honest 

what I thought was everywhere.

and now you have the gall to come HERE

my blog my sacred sanctuary

and comment without your name!

Have you no shame?

This is not a game. 

You may low

and lamenting full of sorrow

but a NO is still a NO

I report you to your boss

and you spew more lies

I am not Rachel

 you are definitely NO Ross &

we definitely were never friends

So please don't try to make amends.

No will always be No

and No you cannot call me a hoe. 

or a bro.

Helen Killer

Inferno

By psiipilehto

Vigilance is the price paid for liberty we say &

Melt the midnight candle

Till the brain explodes

Worrying about dystopian futures

Becoming immediate realities

Wake up next morning

Already too haggard

for the hard day ahead .

Already on the edge

On espresso

Hit the Roads

Shame the shameless culprits

The Nazis ,

The pervy uncles &

Nervy mothers

Quote Dante , Kennedy & Dan Brown all at once:-

The darkest places in hell are reserved for those

who maintain their neutrality in times of moral crisis.

No one listens.

Like the Germans once didn’t

How late is too late?

The twilight hits

The morale a

 bit too swift …

What if this struggle isn’t unique?

Just the disgruntlement of every

 Angry young person

Ever.

Maybe its all the coffee and student debt

A wilful distraction in lieue of personal poo poo

Get pacified by dinner.

I was just hungry

For what? I still don’t know..

Tomorrow will be a better day

At least another day.

Then the midnight hits.

For PU's Midweek Motif Vigilance

Modern Kindness

What is it to be kind ,

In this mocking (modern) 

Day and age?

To smile at a stranger 

Give them the heeby jeebies 😬

Be a loyal friend 

Who money can’t amend

To trust in humanity 

And better side of this 

Cunning(human) populace?

To just be decent 

With no strings attached .

To be good 

To more than just your blood.

And to do all this

Even when no one is really watching.

(I think I can’t come up with a better picture for this poem. Two of the kindest souls 😚)

Okay my kindness quota for the year is over 😂

Blue Moon

There is something about

Star crossed lovers

Rowing silently

Through the turbulent tides of Eternal love

the glowing full moon

their faux compass

You want them to beat the odds

Cross the sea

To the valley beyond and

Have that happily ever after.

So that one day

When the blue moon smiles

And the stars align

I could cross it with someone too.

The Girl who cried wolf

The Girl who cried wolf

Splendid Sir

Do you know the girl who cried wolf?

Of course you do

Do you believe her torrid tales of

The Big Bad wolves

Who feast on her soul every day?

Probably you do.

We do know that one bad animal

doesn’t define a species

Do you?

#Notallwolves

We get it sir

Can we get on with it?

Your fragile ego

Calls her a Nazi

And disses her into a ditch

Of silent suffering

Like the good old days

When girls were good

Like little red riding hood

You forgot the moral of the story didn’t you?

An ode to the good night

The night gave me his shirt

And solace and comfort

I could stare at his face

All night long

And expose my secrets how

He gifted me solace

From mundane encumbrances

For most part exacerbated by

That cantankerous bitch known as day.

Her piercing eyes

Questioning everything

Intent on making me sweat

You cannot excise the truth mom

Just ask nicely maybe?

Why do you like him more you ask

I can walk his streets

Dark it maybe

Safe to brandish out my scattered self  

And lick the ice cream off my hand

Streets sparse with kindred spirits

Silent whispers

Ready to let me in

On their simmering secrets

Once the sunlight sets in

The clocks get reset

The same souls turn back into harsh humans &

Atone for yesterday’s falter

With my back broken

I limp through the day

And surrender to my dear father

He puts on his twinkling smile

Reserved only for these special nights

And snuggles his daughter

The travails of the day seem far away

If only for these few hours.

"in the street of the sky night walks scattering poems" took this Toad's prompt to heart and the results are for yours to see. 

Me the living

Me – the living

Writing for myself

Of rivers and sunset

Don’t have to worry about my skill set

Or how the lines don’t mesh

with what people expect.

No likes , no comments , no shares

No feedback to feed my ego back

No more second hand living

It might actually be thrilling

To discover why I really write

All over again

Writing for an audience since tenth grade

Reader is my default

Writing not.

Somewhere along the way

Eyeballs glazed my edge

Was always a cat on the fence

Now filled with trepidation to jump in any direction

I offer platitudes and bromides

In shiny gleaming proses

Posing as something else

Content should always trump form

But then reality always bites on the backside

I can close my eyes and write a poem now

No challenge anymore

I need to push myself outside these boundaries

Do something different

Or something simple

Don’t care about the fancy words I use

Or the number of lines which might bore or please you

I NEED to write for myself and for that

This is the First Step.

Silver Linings

Silver Linings

One good day , One Bad day

Arthritic steps

slowly crunching on  

Best time for silver linings

Is when you are blindfolded

Trace them through your heart

Holding its shattered pieces in place

The hand which holds your hair

When you are unloading your stomach out

And which holds your hand

When you are unloading your heart out.

The voice which might be on a virtual screen

Million miles away

An emoji in the end

 which wipes that tear away.

One good day , One bad day

A spring in my step

Steadily marching on.