Normal:
Being the same hue, in a mass of blue.
Paranormal:
Resplendent in pink, as sleek as a mink.
Normal:
Crowd please-r, creative miser.
Paranormal:
Hopeless eccentric, a clever trick.
Normal:
Toes the line, pays the fine.
Paranormal:
Breaks the rules, calls them fools.
Normal:
Lost in the crowd's swell, identity hard to tell.
Paranormal:
A stickler for sticking out, paranoia never in doubt.
Normal:
All that is easy, everything else is termed sleazy.
Parnormal:
Life is in those little moments, for the rest is torment.
This is poem number 3 for Robert Lee Brewer's November PAD Chapbook Challenge 2011. The prompt is a "Normal/Abnormal" poem.
This is my signature poetic form. (should get it copyrighted!) This is my statement against the labels this world finds so easy to throw at you and me. Normal is something, I never want to be.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Singularity
"Journeys end in lovers' meeting,
every wise man's son doth know."
- William Shakespeare
They started to arrive years two or three ago,postbox-ed,
and inbox-ed, first in a trickle, and then in showers steady,
some in casings of embellished hard paper, some in Google bits;
bearers of news, that the next one, had taken the plunge.
Marital communiques signaled progression and joyous union, once,
of kith and kin, a day of forgotten vices, and innocent fun.
Oft now, these days of late, what but a stark reminder,
of moments too fleeting to hold, and a tyrannical ticking clock.
Endless nights unspent in an un-embrace with oneself,
Uncertainty festers best on a cold, rainy monsoon night,
in a room with no soul but one,and a singular wish to have someone;
a fervent prayer, to walk past quo of status, to that one.
However, the gregarious solar being, marches back to the horizon,
promiscuities of the night before with his dark, buxom damsels, leading to
endless ejaculations that caused the said festering, and the resultant
emotion, or lack thereof; he brings along his friend, hope.
This is poem number 2 for Robert Lee Brewer's November PAD Chapbook Challenge 2011. The prompt is "Poem inspired by an Epigraph/Quotation".
every wise man's son doth know."
- William Shakespeare
They started to arrive years two or three ago,postbox-ed,
and inbox-ed, first in a trickle, and then in showers steady,
some in casings of embellished hard paper, some in Google bits;
bearers of news, that the next one, had taken the plunge.
Marital communiques signaled progression and joyous union, once,
of kith and kin, a day of forgotten vices, and innocent fun.
Oft now, these days of late, what but a stark reminder,
of moments too fleeting to hold, and a tyrannical ticking clock.
Endless nights unspent in an un-embrace with oneself,
Uncertainty festers best on a cold, rainy monsoon night,
in a room with no soul but one,and a singular wish to have someone;
a fervent prayer, to walk past quo of status, to that one.
However, the gregarious solar being, marches back to the horizon,
promiscuities of the night before with his dark, buxom damsels, leading to
endless ejaculations that caused the said festering, and the resultant
emotion, or lack thereof; he brings along his friend, hope.
This is poem number 2 for Robert Lee Brewer's November PAD Chapbook Challenge 2011. The prompt is "Poem inspired by an Epigraph/Quotation".
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
When the time is just right.
I know his name and the streets he will walk on;
the city he will be born in, and the one he'll call home;
the mother he will adore, the father he will look up to.
the sister he will love, the friend he'll count on.
I can see him dance to his silent tune in the monsoon rain,
See him hold a heavy secret, that would soon exact its price.
I can see him savour a stolen kiss, cherish a forbidden love.
See him cry when all he ever knew, vanished in a moment.
He'll embrace an alien world, and make it his home.
He'll find validation in the eyes of the one who knows.
He'll carry wounds too deep to heal, too raw to hide.
Yet hope will stay afloat, in those eyes, in that smile.
I can see him run, oh, I can see him run,
Hell, I even know the song that plays as he runs,
I know where he's going and why he's in a rush,
And best of all, I know how it all ends.
He awaits the pressing of each key, of each letter,
that would fill his sinew with blood, of the literary type.
The words that would form, and together tell his story,
when my fingers finally think the time is just right.
November PAD, ahoy! This is poem number 1 for Robert Lee Brewer's November PAD Chapbook Challenge 2011. The prompt is "Procrastination Poem".
There's a month's time to explore the meters and the rhyming schemes. To start with, I just typed, as the words flowed.
the city he will be born in, and the one he'll call home;
the mother he will adore, the father he will look up to.
the sister he will love, the friend he'll count on.
I can see him dance to his silent tune in the monsoon rain,
See him hold a heavy secret, that would soon exact its price.
I can see him savour a stolen kiss, cherish a forbidden love.
See him cry when all he ever knew, vanished in a moment.
He'll embrace an alien world, and make it his home.
He'll find validation in the eyes of the one who knows.
He'll carry wounds too deep to heal, too raw to hide.
Yet hope will stay afloat, in those eyes, in that smile.
I can see him run, oh, I can see him run,
Hell, I even know the song that plays as he runs,
I know where he's going and why he's in a rush,
And best of all, I know how it all ends.
He awaits the pressing of each key, of each letter,
that would fill his sinew with blood, of the literary type.
The words that would form, and together tell his story,
when my fingers finally think the time is just right.
November PAD, ahoy! This is poem number 1 for Robert Lee Brewer's November PAD Chapbook Challenge 2011. The prompt is "Procrastination Poem".
There's a month's time to explore the meters and the rhyming schemes. To start with, I just typed, as the words flowed.
Hello November PAD!
I might have a trying date with an Asian jin,
that wily one from the land of the rising sun,
That might justify the need to rest my verse.
Words and I, are however, thick as kith and kin,
It's impossible to deny myself all this fun.
There will be poeming, even if it's terse.
To stay away from you would be a literary sin,
Time to dive in, and start this breathless run.
November PAD, it's time for us, to converse.
This one's for Robert Lee Brewer's November PAD Challenge that starts tomorrow. This is my first November PAD. Stay with me through this month, reader! I can sure use the support and appreciation.
Here's to 30 days of poeming!
that wily one from the land of the rising sun,
That might justify the need to rest my verse.
Words and I, are however, thick as kith and kin,
It's impossible to deny myself all this fun.
There will be poeming, even if it's terse.
To stay away from you would be a literary sin,
Time to dive in, and start this breathless run.
November PAD, it's time for us, to converse.
This one's for Robert Lee Brewer's November PAD Challenge that starts tomorrow. This is my first November PAD. Stay with me through this month, reader! I can sure use the support and appreciation.
Here's to 30 days of poeming!
Sunday, October 23, 2011
A Picture Speaks A Thousand Words
I hope it was a calm, balmy night,
one drenched with that yellow light.
There's you two, close enough to bite;
to sore eyes like mine, what a sight!
Perched daintily atop one shiny metal beam,
your invisible eyes, reflect his gleam.
A scene so perfect, straight out of a dream,
oblivious to the world around, you two seem.
Arms resting on the beam, legs in a stationary dance,
a back bent towards him, eyes drinking him in with a glance.
Two shiny heads of darkest brown, yellow-gold halo, in a trance,
in the streets of of bang and bucks, an irreverent romance.
The green traffic signal in the background, says GO.
The palpable fire red passion, bounds does it know?
A signboard "WEAR HELMET", warns you of the foe;
And the all encompassing yellow, frames you, just so.
Felt like a not so gentle reminder, from up above,
that no matter what, men like me, can still love.
A picture can truly speak a thousand words, and sometimes, inspire a poem. This poem was born out of a facebook profile picture of my friend, Laishram Romal Michael Singh. And so, it is dedicated to him. The rhyme scheme here is AAAA-BBBB-CCCC-DDDD-EE.
one drenched with that yellow light.
There's you two, close enough to bite;
to sore eyes like mine, what a sight!
Perched daintily atop one shiny metal beam,
your invisible eyes, reflect his gleam.
A scene so perfect, straight out of a dream,
oblivious to the world around, you two seem.
Arms resting on the beam, legs in a stationary dance,
a back bent towards him, eyes drinking him in with a glance.
Two shiny heads of darkest brown, yellow-gold halo, in a trance,
in the streets of of bang and bucks, an irreverent romance.
The green traffic signal in the background, says GO.
The palpable fire red passion, bounds does it know?
A signboard "WEAR HELMET", warns you of the foe;
And the all encompassing yellow, frames you, just so.
Felt like a not so gentle reminder, from up above,
that no matter what, men like me, can still love.
A picture can truly speak a thousand words, and sometimes, inspire a poem. This poem was born out of a facebook profile picture of my friend, Laishram Romal Michael Singh. And so, it is dedicated to him. The rhyme scheme here is AAAA-BBBB-CCCC-DDDD-EE.
Friday, October 7, 2011
A letter.
Dear you-know-who-you are,
It's been a long time since I wrote to you,
scratch that out, for I never did write.
It seems so long now, doesn't it,
when I was in a forest, and you were hiring headcounts.
Midnight on a rickety old terrace,
and even later on the inky seashore;
sitting cross-legged, sharing stories,
boxes of Ferro-rocher;
long scooter rides;
veshti-clad Chennai Sangamam visits;
and chat conversations,
hundreds of lines long.
Why do I write now, when I was the one that went away?
When all that was, is not, and will never be?
It's just something that I've felt for very long,
but could never say, never could find the words.
Though I could never give you what you wanted,
I wish I had been man enough to tell you,
I wanted you, nonetheless.
It's been a long time since I wrote to you,
scratch that out, for I never did write.
It seems so long now, doesn't it,
when I was in a forest, and you were hiring headcounts.
Midnight on a rickety old terrace,
and even later on the inky seashore;
sitting cross-legged, sharing stories,
boxes of Ferro-rocher;
long scooter rides;
veshti-clad Chennai Sangamam visits;
and chat conversations,
hundreds of lines long.
Why do I write now, when I was the one that went away?
When all that was, is not, and will never be?
It's just something that I've felt for very long,
but could never say, never could find the words.
Though I could never give you what you wanted,
I wish I had been man enough to tell you,
I wanted you, nonetheless.
A smile that I never knew I had.
Funny that when we first met,
I didn't want you to see my crooked teeth.
That I stretched my thin lips tight,
in to what you hopefully thought was a smile.
That I now kiss you with my metal-wrapped teeth,
And laugh out loud at the slightest excuse,
That camera flashes lock on with a vengeance,
to confident teeth behind shiny trainers of steel.
A smile that I never knew I had,
Until you came along and proved me wrong.
I didn't want you to see my crooked teeth.
That I stretched my thin lips tight,
in to what you hopefully thought was a smile.
That I now kiss you with my metal-wrapped teeth,
And laugh out loud at the slightest excuse,
That camera flashes lock on with a vengeance,
to confident teeth behind shiny trainers of steel.
A smile that I never knew I had,
Until you came along and proved me wrong.
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