Weekly Challenge Slop 2018

Weekly Challenge

remember now
How I
Burnt my hair with cigarettes
Writhing with pain
At the ashes on my eyelashes
penance or lost first love.

Lying till dawn wide awake
On shag carpet  love's byre
First swan song
That one I couldn't keep
A secret.

He had crooned,
I will be two steps behind you
Always.
After dinner Def Leopard
In gravelly voice
Full of thrilling promises.

Dancing together
In his mezzanine room
I was silent jelly
Shaking woebegone

I knew I would lose
Him soon.

So I let him go.
I couldn't bear to
Hear him let me go.

I couldn't bear to know
He preferred someone else.
First
Breakup
Comically went quite well.

He gracefully shed tears.
It was more than
I could bear

Someone who so longed
For the fairy tale to be real
A semi shoeless Cinderella,
And the other one of
The pair
Never fitted too well.

(c) Amrita Valan 2018

Memorium of Friends

Though they came
In droves
They never stayed
And the remainder?
Always the piddling remainder
Troubling tormenting
Foam on the steaming cup
Of coffee
Quickly dispersed.

These golden flames
Of great friendships
Flicker to cast dark
Dramatic shadows
Of the Other.

Tempting you
To forgo ugliness
Revelling in the newfound
Joy of perfect company.

Till a loose string
Dangling irritatingly
In a beckoning manner
Draws you to pull
All unravels
The picture on the
Veil displayed
Fractures fades
In an instant
You see a face
Behind the veil.

That foreigner
Was never
Your friend.

Who knows why
Such people file past
Our grim and dreary
Existence?
I like to think
They bring a surge of joy
A current of hope
A strand of exhilaration
Before they break
The tie.

Life is such an
Unstoppable force.
What's broken
Can be mended.
What's thrown away
Can be remembered.

What's shunned
Can haunt dreams.

What's forgotten
Can become again
A primal surge
The urge for life
Reincarnated.

Friends are our
Other faces.

Reminder
Of great moments
In the making.
In forever.
In dreams.

Have I lost them?
No matter
I had good times.
Great times
Will be had again

In your memory
My friend.

(c) Amrita Valan 2018

Lonely Witness

Can't get the family of four Indians,  who drowned in the US out of my head. What a sad end of talented kids and a wonderful family.
Priyanka Indranil Saved by the grace of God....It was same week you guys had the accident.

There was a bridge
Over a stagnant river
Purple bruised with wilting
Flowers at its banks
Where its wet feet
Touched earthy shores

The beautiful hut laden
With hay
In a country village
Fat away,
Heavy conical roof
And quaint mud walls
Wearing pretty peepholes
For windows
The door had chalked markings
Auspicious symbols
Warding off evil

It wafted over
The four breezes,
From the corners if the earth
Ominous forebodings, evil
Silence settled on the hearth
Of this lonesome home.

The windows gaped like
Hungry hopeless eyes
The door waited
Like an usher
At an empty theatre.
But the loved ones
Would never return.

The setting was a stage
Nature play acting
Something was off
In this quiet Eden.

Meanwhile, far away,
The river had become somnolent
But only last weak it had reared
Medusa heads of raging fury
Swallowed whole a
Family of four.

They had stopped their car
by its banks
To avoid heavy rain.
Toppling over its edge
Unable to quantify
Or calculate
The hairline breadth
Between danger
Of oblivion
And oblivious safety.

The giddy fall
From dizzying heights
Of terror
The river sizzling
With greedy gusto
To swallow whole
An entire family.
Four souls
Taken

The mournful hut
Had stood witness
Faithfully,
In treacherous fateful
Silence.

I saw this
In my head
Sad sojourn
The last journey
Of the Dead.

(c) Amrita Valan 2018

Ampersand poetry

& more than lazing round
& More than carving out
A wedge or two of free time
From dull drudgery of housework
& montony of chopping scads of veggies
& Servings up scalding hot beverages
& Pottering in lava lined kitchen
& Stirring endless insipid lemonades..

& More than the triumphant savage peace
Of throwing out the confounded and confounding kids with the
Hubby,
To chase that doggone ball to darnation.

Much more than holding a cold canned soda
And devouring  Carl Sagan and Gauss

Is this birthing joy
Of  throwing together words
Patching up soul spots
Threading fancy loopholes
Of doubt and wonder

& Darning me some lines
Some Doppler poetry
Redshifting towards
New beginnings
Or to the utter lack of endings.

& Compressing my blues
In an up close and personal
With my amnesiac soul.

& Much more than anything else
I am happy to dream
Meshing past present and future
In my quantum slice of spacetime.

& Poetry but a legacy
Of primordial meanderings
Pleasurable reincarnation
Lazarus resurrection
A Nazarene's Rising
Whose birth is a special
Relative mystery.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Wee bit disappointed
Wanted to use more &. s.

Glowpowrimo 30

prompt for #day30 for #glopowrimo, 

Examine the breadth of poetry you have written and find those crutches. acknowledge them, articulate their significance in your life and writing, and craft a poem using this word bank that captures the universal or meta concepts of your reasoning for writing, giving each a purpose beyond repetition.”

Exploiting all my personal weaknesses.

Big words, foreign words, Fringe science, exotic colours, hysteria the works

Rich tapestries of emotion

Woven into lavish cashmeres

Opulent Afghans 

Embroidered affectation

They're too rich

Too ornate

Yet I revel in

The medley of colours

Soft cerulean blues

Remind me of the sky over 

Dal lake

Ivory green 

Reminiscent of meadows

Of Bengal in afternoon sun

Vermilion red of wide eyed bride

Serpentine gray rivers of pensive meditation

My carpet of dreaming melancholy

Draped on Deadwood floor.

Give me another time

Another distant clime

Spacetime warped reality

Where honeycomb visions

Of mosaic dreams

Lay to rest

ghosts and apparitions.

Give birth to fecund notions.

Lolling about in green hued light

Of emerald glass

Silver sky overhead

Slate greys of deliquescent lake

Reflections of magic memories

In Calypso glades.

And le homme bleu

The ornery ghoul

From Mulholland drive

Creeps under my door tonight

Shall I be captured

Trapped in time's tinsel box

Shall magical trust in courage

My soul unlock?

All these various threads

My magic carpet weaves

Je fais rever
des rêves tels que ceux-ci.
(c) Amrita Valan 2018

Glowpowrimo 30 First one

Glowpowrimo 30 :The first one that was suggested by Amit.
Shall also attempt the one Lucas  and Orooj  suggested after this one...

(4) Write a humorous poem that has serious depth.

My first love was early on
I was thirteen
Boys were Slugs.
Dirt bags.
An incomprehensible species
Who made love to cricket balls
With bats and endlessly jabbered
About scores and innings.

So when I glimpsed an
eighteen year old footballer
In black leather jacket
And happily enough, rimless glasses
I just couldn't take my eyes away.

He validated my interest.
By possessing a deep voice
And crisp clear enunciation.
That he was not just good-looking
Made me preen at my own
Perspicacity.

Oddly enough, his elegant mother
Had been my daddy's
First Love too.
Unceremoniously rejected
For an athletic type.
But. 
That's another story.

They had become good friends since.
Hence tea and breakfast at their place.

Now even funnier still,
The exact moment  I gave away my heart
Was when he looked deep into my eyes
Rimless glasses magnifying the
Intensity of  romance...
And said with utter conviction,
"Eat your omelette."

Sigh....This boy, man child kept me happily occupied in spare hours
Of my teenage life.

Though he never suspected it.
I was steadily dating him till sixteen.
In strictest secrecy, in fact,
Even without his knowledge.

In dreams fantasies and midnight confidences to a few good friends
We lived vicariously.
It was a fair exchange.

At sixteen, I heard he had got divorced.

But his dauntless brave heart was not
Stymied.
He was pursuing another.
He brought her over
For my brother and me
To appraise,
Give the once over.

That didn't work out too.

And then the next...

That's when he decided
I was old enough to be
His confidante..

At my confessional,
He professes  eternal undying love
For her.

And said,
Piping icing on the cake,
"If only you had been my girlfriend,
You would have realized what deeply
Devotion I am capable of.."

I melted into his puppy dog eyes
But my mind was aware
Of the irony...
And Flexed mental fists
At him.

The next news flash
My brother delivered
Was his second divorce.
From some would be rock chick.

"...A charming humbug..."
My brother summed up
The love of my life
With an indulgent grin.
Glib Translation:Men
Will be Men.

But Kudos to Big brother
For finally breaking us up.
In my solitary mind of course.

I pondered.. and realized
Charming humbug was just apt.
But I needed wanted
Had prayed for a hero.

Just then, our then house guest,
The charming humbug,
popped a sleek head out of
The guest bathroom.

In perfectly modulated plummy voice
He shattered my soft dreams
For good.

"...Darling would you fetch me the black collared tee with orange piping?...
It's in my overnighter."
He crooned.

Since then
I have shamelessly followed
The trail of broken hearts
He left in his wake
But steadfastly shooed him
Away from my dreams.

I couldn't afford
A wardrobe malfunction.

(c) Amrita Valan 2018

Glopowrimo 29

(3) Write a poem on the theme "saudade". Saudade is a vague and constant desire for something that does not and probably cannot exist, for something other than the present. It is not an active discontent or poignant sadness but an indolent dreaming wistfulness. It differs from nostalgia in that one can feel saudade for something that might never have happened.

I found that the Portuguese actually celebrate Saudade day on 30 January.

My kind of people.

Shy sweet diffident

Caring and pure

Sensitive ever aware

She was loved yet, 

Somewhat closer to the door

Than the inner chambers

Of our blessed family circle.

Why?

Fatherless at thirteen,

flawless beauty

A tad too well educated

For her designated duty

A middle class Bengali

Bride to be

As soon as her widowed  mother

Could find a suitable boy.

We don't have debutante balls

At least not back then

When we only aped the west

In baking cakes and puddings.

More's the pity, law of nature dictates

A pretty face is coveted, suitors abounded, her beauty was just budding.

Things didn't end so prettily for her.

She hadn't been brought up to bend

Her instrument was deemed too fine

Strung up taut

Like her violin or sitar.

So humble in self assessment

So proud in dignity and family heritage.

The boy's mother declined.

The suitor honour bound  pressed his suit,

A tad lukewarm. 

She shivered in disgust

Her fine antennae shuddered in mistrust.

Not until your mother accepts

She checked out of his life.

She left.

 To meet her 

One true love

Her Father.

The only man

Who kept the faith.

She was my beautiful aunt.

She was and is

My visceral saudade.

I keep seeing her shadow

Cross me by

In corners of 

Ancient heartbreak.

Like light borne

On luminiferous ether..

And my oh my

How I smile 

Like I could die

Teeth gnashing the skulls

Of agony

Whiplashing my cheeks

For being a thoughtless

Child.

Remembering the memories

Our childish parodies

Of serious Tagore songs

How we would choke back giggles

Tears running down our eyes

You don't know the gift you had

Till it's gone.

She is Alone.

Knowing her, she is 

Stuck at the threshold of

Heaven's door 

Waiting for a sign.

I hope my grandfather

Holds her in his arms

Clasps the gem

He treasured.

Sweet dreams 

Pretty lady

Though on hard floor 

You made your bed

Pillaged your own beauty

With pills your pain allayed.

Three days your rotting corpse

Closed doors and windows

Alone surveyed

Aunty too hard...

That last lonely bed.

Come back as 

Loving daughter

Or a vivacious niece

Though in this life

You're cold instead.

My eyes that were

Too hard and dry

You gifted them tears by and by

You shattered my

World of cold intellect

My pride in utter self containment

You proved to me the lie

My austere refusal to cry.

 Missing you 

Memories old and blue

And memories new 

That would never be made

Wondering what may have been

If an aunty adored could have 

Found in me, a friend?

...

But no, 

Your gift was to die.

Your gift was goodbye.

(c) Amrita Valan 2018