Wednesday, January 29, 2014

Done And Undone: The Dummy's Guide To Write A Poem

Step 1: take a paper and pen,
Step 2: choose a quiet place, and then,
Step 3: calm yourself as much as you can,
Step 4: focus on your topic, man!
Step 5: jot down the things you think,
Step 6: this isn't the time to shrink!
Step 7: you may or may not have a rhyme scheme,
Step 8: please stick to the theme!
Step 9: give it time to sink in, have a warm feeling,
Step 10: check whether it might need some healing.
Step 11: there you go, you've got a poem,
Step 12: and now an amateur poet, you've become.
Step 13: frustrated with the nonsense? You may do this then,
Step 14: crumple up the page,throw the pen!

The Last Day

The Earth shook and shivered,
The lands trembled and quivered,
Earthquakes were common these days,
Just as the old prophecy says,
And whispers spread-the Earth dies,
Dies right in front of our eyes.
Grumbling, muttering clouds roll in the sky,
Even the Sun seems to be saying goodbye,
Shades of dark melancholy, enveloping everything,
And as the prophets had always been thinking,
And truly so-the Earth dies,
Dies right in front of our eyes.
Silence and dread of the nearing end prevail,
Every being sickly and pale,
And death, death only is in sight,
As the Earth fights its final fight.
And whispers spread- the Earth dies,
Dies right in front of our eyes.

Thursday, January 16, 2014

I Can't Write

I can't write, I can't write!
Hear, hear my pitiful plight!
When sleep should've claimed me,
When I should've been lulled by the sea,
When all is quiet in blissful sleep,
I, silly, old I, weep.
Pen in hand, I only try,
Scribbling impatiently, as I cry,
But the words have left me, sadly,
And each page is tortured, badly,
By naught but scribbles and cuts,
Consequences of when my mind shuts,
And I try, and fail horribly,
And, and so I plea,
Hear, hear my pitiful plight!
I can't write, I can't write!

Monday, January 13, 2014

A Battle Lost

In a cold place, and with colder heart,
In jumbled lanes, and jumbled lives,
In white, pristine white,
Too dark, too dark, oh, too dark,
With hearts too heavy, too grieved,
With guns too ready, a battle perceived.
A battle, not of kings and queens,
Nor of a display of power, of strength,
Nor one fought for religious ambition, 
Only a battle, Only a battle
Only a battle of life and death,
Of pain and sorrow,
Of grief and despair,
Only a battle, lost today.
The lingering, white world,
Only a battlefield,
Why worry, today,
We've lost, anyway.  

( Entry to Prompt of the Week )

Tuesday, January 7, 2014

The Ghost Next Door


She flew about, mocking me,
She, with all her beauty,
Up the stairs with a frightful stamp of feet,
Silent as death, if I were to greet.
In the dark of the abandoned house,
She turned from lion to mouse,
She roared and wept,
She shrieked, then slept,
She scared the idle, she troubled the peaceful,
Either too empty, or too full.
She called herself the Black Angel, if angel she could be,
I reckon a ghost in guise, was she,
The demonic beauty, that ruled the place,
Death like pale, if ever asked to describe her face,
So she alone, the black angel, yes,
Laughs and weeps at her finesse,
As she flies about, mocking me,
She, with all her beauty.

( entry to the prompt of the week competition on poets of Google+ )