Thursday, August 27, 2015

O is for ... Opportunity

I am born daily,
out of the dust of stars.
With each sunrise,
I bring promises of light.
A dimpled smile and playing peekaboo,
I am your opportunity.


Jenny Matlock

Friday, August 21, 2015

N is for ... Night

The  vibrant   brilliance  
surrenders  to  the  shadows  of  light,
 Purple   dreams  
 come  gliding  under  the moonlight,
Blankets of  darkness 
interspersed  with   twinkling  glimmers of  hope,
The  distance  skies
 radiant   with  stains of  respite.



Jenny Matlock

Saturday, August 15, 2015

Hungry Moths

Their fluttering wings
rest
and
flickering imaginations
repose
against the
window.
A flight accomplished.
Exhausted and spent,
now,
supperless stomachs
of winged guests growl.
Double quarter pounder
with cheese,
and brisk iced blend
of
orange pekoe,
sweetened to perfection,
tempts them.
Inside the plush
AC powered restaurant,
incisors gnaw
at the meal,
oblivious
to the fixated eyes
marvelling from
across the window panes
before
the empty pockets,
blur the vision.
The moths must return,
with an unsated hunger,
and try their luck
on garbage cans
which will yield, regardless.
Another flight begins,
with hopes in heart
and dreams in head.



Linking with Friday Fictioneers

Peeping past

The sidewalks littered
With innocent footsteps
Outrunning each other
To find the best hiding place.
The IT counting till hundred
Occasionally peeping across
And seeing the silhouettes
Sliding behind the cobwebbed niches.
The pretence of
Making the search
Calling out,
Winning, loosing,
Playing and replaying
The childhood laughing
And celebrating
The festival of life,
Thoroughly.
The spectres of
Good old days
Peeping now and then
Only to find
The ruckus of tiddlers
Silenced
By shadows of youth
Wandering through this labyrinth
Confounded,
Blinded by dimes and dollars.
Fractured bodies
Supplanted by
Fractured souls.
Life left behind
In
Unfrequented dusty alleys.

Image by Bill Brandt, 1934


Thursday, August 13, 2015

M is for ... Music

Her every breath,
Melody.
Her every heartbeat,
Playing the rhythm
Of drums.
Every embrace,
Reverberating
With warmth,
Echoing mellifluously.
Each vibe, each note,
Euphonous.
Her lilting strides,
In tandem with the beats.
Like a birdsong,
The bittersweet lyrics
Whispered in the eternity.
The journey between the notes,
Commanding
A standing ovation.
I would love to play
This songlike life
On a repeat mode
In my playlist.

Jenny Matlock

Wednesday, August 12, 2015

Sparrows must sing

The sparrows must sing
Busting symphony of love,
must revive the woods.

Linking with Ronovan Writes: Weekly Haiku Challenge #57

Recess by Beas

Our hands brushed,
Accidentally, of course,
By the banks of Beas,
Plastering
The walls of our castle
With soggy silver sparkles.
My clumsy patches
Smoothened
With your finesse.
Day-by-day,
Our tiny hands
Moulding our dreams,
Aiming
Higher, loftier, stronger,
Occasionally ornate, too.
And then the chase
To the classroom
Where we would
Sit alongside
And learn
The impressive
Array of facts.
We would return,
Each day,
Only to find
Our caresses, corroded
And
Our footprints, ironed
By the eventide.
But that didn't deter us.
Ever.
Sometimes,
I wonder if you remember
Those recesses by Beas,
Or is it just me.

This week's photo prompt is provided by Sonya with the blog, Only 100 Words. 

Tuesday, August 11, 2015

Musings from farms

Farmhands moved away,
Lured by the glitz of cities,
hopes of better work.
Mother earth left deserted,
Coffee and jobs both erased.

Wild weeds aplenty,
Travails lost to empty nests.
The bosom, untilled,
Several genus trampled.
Empty percolators stare.

Reminiscent farmlands abound.



Monday, August 10, 2015

Uncaffeinated collaborations

Our regular
Long distance call
Rings
With a tone of urgency.
Dad and I collaborate,
Telephonically,
Working out solutions
To some technical glitches
That faze him.
He, narrates the specs
I, jury-rig the solutions
For a 11-year old desktop
That still sits proudly
On my study, back home.
He sounds alert,
Like a sentinel on his duty,
With mom’s best iced coffee
Working through
The complex mesh of
His veins and arteries,
While
The woolly-headed me,
Occasionally drifts off.
Concerned, he asks me
If I need to sleep.
A nonchalant
“Oh, All I need is coffee”
Is what I tell him,
But he chooses to listen instead
To the unsaid
“But somewhere in between
Office and cooking
And laundry,
I forgot to
Purchase the staples.
Again”.
A pause,
Longer than expected,
And it dawns on me,
Muzzy as I am,
That the parent in him
Will worry at
The prospects
Of my sustenance and subsistence.
Luckily, I have the solution
By now.
A dampened
“Good work”
And we chaffer a little
Before saying goodbyes
And goodnights.
A few hours,
And we will be talking again,
Greeting each other
Refreshed good mornings
And embracing
With our words.
Sometimes,

Home has a caller tune.


Saturday, August 8, 2015

Tempus Fugit

A handful of sand,
slipping away, uncontrolled
echoes reminders.
Squandered, endured or enjoyed,
vestiges stay forever.


The prompt quotation is Tempus Fugit

Linking with Light and Shade Challenge


Curtains of night

The curtains of night,
Embellished with silver lace.
Dappled seaborne clouds,
Against silhouttes of cedars,
Golden glory ripping them.



Linking with Friday Fictioneers

Thursday, August 6, 2015

Wednesday, August 5, 2015

Unleashed

Born to conquer the wilds,
Their free spirits
Tamed by human needs.
Locked in doghouses,
Kennelled and inhibited,
The nascent canines
Adapting and adjusting
To our ways and wills.
One day we unlatched
The outbuildings
Relieving the whimpering gangs
Of invisible pain.


Hope and luck - haiku

Gentle sway of spring.
Winged hope flutters, nests awhile.
And luck cascades down.


Linking with Ronovan Writes - Haiku Challenge #56

Tuesday, August 4, 2015

The Blue Moon

They were breathless by the time they reached the hilltop. A humid 31st night of July was definitely not an ideal time to run and hike. But it was "the Blue Moon" night. The legend held that the couples who watched the Blue moon's light bath the tombstones with love were blessed with a "happy everafter" for seven lifetimes. Barely in kindergarten, they did not know how long a lifetime was. What excited them was the prospect of a very long time together. So, they waited while the moon left the tombstones awash with the promise of an endless love. Sempiternal love resting in background, he sealed his date with a little peck on her cheek and whispers of 31st January, 2018 in her ears. She giggled her yes. Hand in hand, they retraced their steps on grassy mound while the Blue moon smiled at them.

This week's photo prompt is provided by Louise with “The Storyteller's Abode.”