Haiku - an attempt

Night’s murky curtain falls
The wind wails, whispers dread songs …
Wrap dreams in cotton wool


Brown leaves burning
Red hibiscus sees prancing flames -
Will this fury abate?


Parijata blossoms
Fearful of the sun’s fiery stare
Fall, kiss the waiting earth


Juicy watermelon
Inviting red. Slake thirst –
No, not a mirage!


A glum plum
Plastic fruit tray dull red –
Shall we ignore it?

'The Angry Wind'

Perhaps appropriately, today's prompt is to write an angry poem. That is, a poem about someone or something that gets angry. Could be a person, animal, or even them there angry clouds. As usual, I'm excited to see which unexpected directions y'all take with this prompt.

‘The angry wind’

The wind whipped the lone tree,
slashed it in places,
shook it like a rag doll,
dashed the nascent fruit
to the earth,
snapped branches
tore the leaves,
swept them away,
in gusty rage.

Its fury spent,
it howled –
low, eerie.
It moaned,
it moaned.
The piteous moans
seemed to say
to the tired tree,
‘You birthed my anger,
caused it to blow
all over you,
by standing
in my way.’

The tree spoke,
‘My piteous form
reminds you
of your anger.
Makes your angrier.
You have done your job.
I will do mine -
Stay rooted.’

'Brown'

For today's prompt, I want you to pick a color, make that the title of your poem, and write a poem that is inspired by that color.

‘Different experiences of brown’

I think of you
when I think of brown in its different forms.
No, not really!
But that’s okay.
Let me fabricate this story anyway.

When I see
pensive brown eyes suddenly sparkle and dance,
forgetful of silenced dreams,
coloured glass bangles on a sun-burnt arm
of an old woman wink and flash,
a kindly elder firmly clasp the thin brown hand
of a child nursing a scratch,
an old man, his skin the colour of baked earth,
sport a fawn T-shirt and walk a jaunty step,
I think of you.

When I see
the muddy brown churnings of a river in spate,
the dull brown of the earth thirsting for rain
the taupe gray of trees stripped of leaves
the dusty brown of the hills in a sun daze,
the dirty brown palm fronds and coconut shells
dashed to the shore by the contemptuous sea,
I think of you.

When
the heady aroma of roasted coffee beans
fills the room and fills me with coffee desire,
the tender sweetness of toasty chestnuts
reminds me of winters in a different land,
someone begs for a hint of cinnamon
in a cup of inviting hot chocolate,
a child licks the golden brown honey
off of a warm brown buttery toast,
a friend craves for caramelized walnuts
and pears cooked in sweetened red wine,
I think of you.

When
terra-cotta horses, elephants and birds proudly stand
beside bronze and brass statuettes of deities
on a mahogany display cabinet,
and uniquely cajole your attention,
I think of you.

I think of you
when I think of brown in its different forms.
No, not really!
But that’s okay.
Let me fabricate this story anyway.

'All I want is for you to know'

For today's prompt, I want you to write a poem with the following title: "All I want is (blank)," where you fill in the blank with a word or phrase of your choosing. Some example titles, then, could be: "All I want is to eat fried chicken"; "All I want is world peace"; "All I want is for everyone to tell me I'm beautiful"; or "All I want is a handful of quarters."

‘All I want is for you to know’

All I want is for you to know
that I will never cease to grow.

When the sun gathers its light
and gently falls the night,
and days add on to days,
and months swell to years,
should you pause to look,
you might see me
in a more generous light.

All I want is for you to know
that I will never cease to grow.

'She walks in haughty'

For today's prompt, I want you to take the title of a poem you especially like (by another poet) and change it. Then, with this new altered title, I want you to write a poem. An example would be to take William Carlos Williams' "The Red Wheelbarrow" and change it to "The Red Volkswagon." Or take Frank O'Hara's "Why I Am Not a Painter" and change it to "Why I Am Not a Penguin." You get the idea, right? (Note: Your altered poem does NOT have to follow the same style as the original poet, though you can try if you wish.)

(Byron’s ‘She Walks in Beauty’)

She walks in haughty.
An ego gone potty!
Oh dear, oh dear,
do you her fear?

She spits rapid fire.
You stoke her ire!

Her need for praise dire.
Should she a flatterer hire?

Her life in a nasty mire.
Should she her god wire?

For her songs, no buyer
Not one in this choir!

When we of her really tire,
push her into a quagmire?

Rotten thing to do sire!
Won’t dissolve her ire.

Instead, give her a lyre.
Save her from ego’s fire!

Will her pride retire?
Easier to deflate a tire?

She walks in haughty.
An ego gone potty!
Oh dear, oh dear,
do you her fear?

"When ... "

Today is Tuesday, which means two prompts.

First prompt: Write a love poem.

Second prompt: Write an anti-love poem.

Simple as that.

When

Your silence ceases to jar
Is like a melody heard in dreams
Or a new raga sung differently each day
And I am detached.
Won’t you then look for me?

When

I create a poem or an embroidered motif
Not in anxious search of your ‘regard’
But only driven by the need to create
And I am still.
Won’t you then look for me?

When

I see an old man hobble to the temple tree
Gather creamy white blossoms for his puja.
A child pours his offerings into his palm
And I am touched.
Won’t you then look for me?

When

I see an old woman with arthritic fingers
Knit a sweater with coarse wool. Baggy.
Her grandchild wears it and says, ‘Trendy!’
And I am glad.
Won’t you then look for me?

When

I see Ashoka trees from my window
Upright, clothed in leafy clinging skirts.
My spirit soars with their upward thrust
And I am thrilled.
Won’t you then look for me?

When

Vacantly, I look at the dark dark sky
Merge with the dark dark sea
The waves hurtle, lose force, bathe my feet
And I am unstirred.
Won’t you then look for me?

When

I renounce even this need
That you look for me
Turn away from the drumbeats of your silence
Give a deaf ear to the din of my own words
Who will you find
if you come look for me?

"Mottled Brown"

"Mottled Brown"

For today's prompt, I want you to write a poem about an object (or objects). Though you don't have to confine yourself to straight up description, I do want you to focus on object and/or make it a central piece of your poem. One of the more famous poems of contemporary literature does this wonderfully in William Carlos Williams' "The Red Wheelbarrow."

“Mottled Brown”

Ages ago, hungry fingers
search lustily for a story book
in a forgotten cupboard.

They find,
No, easier to say -

I find
a mottled brown hardcover copy
of Maugham’s The Razor’s Edge.
My fingertips still carry the memory
of the binding’s grainy texture.
On the first page, my father’s signature,
Like a bird in bold flight.
My heart still bears the impress
of Larry’s healing touch,
his endearing freshness….

I turn
the yellowing pages
(their sickly pallor is okay by me)
that beg for a gentle touch
lest at the edges they crumble

I lose
the book
my lovable companion
with an unappealing look.

I wait
and wait
to re-find the book
I sense
its pages might crack now
at an indiscreet touch

If by some glad chance
I find it,
with its aging spine
and sad pages,
I’ll hold it to my heart
and then …
within it I’ll place
an embroidered bookmark
with cherries red and luscious
surging with sap
full and audacious.

Why this, you may ask
To intuit the answer,
feel it, is your task.

“The sharp edge of a razor
is difficult to pass over…”
Look into your heart.
All is inscribed there
my winsome rover.