Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership

Best Indian Poems

Below are the all-time best Indian poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of Indian poems written by PoetrySoup members

View ALL Indian Poems

Search for Indian poems, articles about Indian poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Indian poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

Definition & Discussion of Indian Poems
Read Indian Poems

See also: Best Famous Poems

Details | Indian Poem | |

Indian Ink

“Indian Accent”

Hear the whispers inside

Chanting from long ago
Echoes come and go
Losing time in a soft eternal glow

A beautiful and delicate autumn mountain scene
Dry blue eyes enchanting melodies!
Voices falling from the sky
Rising hymns release ancient demons that cling to the soul

The darkness dwells under gentle moonlight
Ancestors of the Spirit World,
Exposing Indian hands that weave native smoke into the air
Their spirits taunting burrows from the muddy Earth
Moccasin makers rise from underneath
Guardians of dream catchers
Smooth thread from the outer edge, bowing heads.
Luminous gems of ivory,
Chasing a florid kiss.

Through the winds of enchanted drums, voices cry out for rain.
The hollow chimes mesmerize  
An ancient rage begins to flare
Stale madness, 
The spears of the perfumed buffalo skin pierced my senses
Removing the veils that cover my eyes
The hands that cover my ears
Washing the scalp that bleeds on my face
They collect tears from memories of the past.

KINDRED IN EVERY WAY!

Raven silk braids, feathers fall from my hair.
Dancing in a horrid hallucination of Peyote,
Waking up from the “American Dream.”
Holding out my arms, I am free, I can fly.

I AM A BIRD!

By; PD

Details | Indian Poem | |

Winter


With his icy fingers he stole my smokey breath,
laid a sheet of slippery freezing cold by my feet
and then whispered in my ear right to the drum
that echoed in my brain with excruciating pain.

She, his wife was of a complete different temperament
quietly without fuss she crafted blanched cotton flakes,
each a masterpiece, unique as if she retained every design 
she had ever imagined so each time she could create anew.

He however with his bravado with his swelled chest
would pepper speeding glass-like pellets into the air.
Sting our faces without regret. Salt our wounds.
Mercilessly bite into our flesh with his frosted fangs.

Daintily she'd sprinkle the sky with the magic of her cheer
feather the atmosphere in a delicate splatter of alabaster.
Layer by layer she laid soft sheets of snow to the delight
of everyone alike creating a playground of endless mirth.

His breath reeked of dreams frozen, nipped in the bud.
Already he had high jacked his sisters, the Autumn twins
sent them packing, hurried, gathering their rustic garments.
He had no love of his siblings except his baby sister, Spring.

His wife loving and caring would temper his yearly onslaught.
She knew of his pain, deep, abandoned by his father Summer.
At times she'd blow slightly warmer air to provide respite for
us mere humans and allow the sun to warm our weary bones.

They  would sit together and it was her would bring out
the albums of family photos view pictures of his mother.
Her smile like music would soothe his stone cold heart.
He loved, when she'd visit in the guise of an Indian Summer.

With his icy fingers he stole my smokey breath.
I felt her presence there to temper his harsh avail.

Winter had arrived but when they walked as one 
this magnificent couple dressed in their royal winter whites,
without a second thought you  would bow in front of their regal 
stance, a sight to behold, one that encompassed the entire land.


04~01~2015
Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton
Contest Name: Seasons




Details | Indian Poem | |

Ancient Stones

Charcoal black tip of arrowhead,
among these ancient, stones - stained red

Heartbeats feel rhythms of ghostly drums..
Winds carry haunting, chanting hums

I feel your blood, flow here with mine,
outlasting, even decaying time

I've been told the stories, told by you,
I know we're just spirits, passing through

When thunder, shakes awake the night,
I vision warriors by firelight

Their voices echo, around mountain's soul,
while moon and stars watch us below

Respect the sky, and mother earth,
borrow the beauty, from time of birth

Then give in death peacefully
yourself, to rest eternally

Among these ancient, stones - stained red,
my mirror reflects traces, of those long...........
    remembered.......

©Donna Jones
11-8-2013

proud to be one quarter Cherokee.....native american Indian

Details | Indian Poem | |

Indian Girl

--Virginia Slim--

Different eyes, the same world 
Ancient skin, dirty Indian Girl 
Smokey, eyes, exotic raven hair 
---Now listen to  the colors, of transformation, 
On the day she was born, the wind blew in, 
A blessing ---her soul, fallen from the heavens
A  gorgeous puff of smoke, Miss Virginia Slim

Able to walk the world with an open mind, she twirls
Pocahontas, one of her many names. 
She carves, and climbs on trees, this little Indian Girl, 
Her feathers ride with the wind, against her red titian skin
Daughter of Chief Powhatan, a powerful tribal, red man 
Peace and love with the Indians of her Virginia Lands,

Many myths, many stories, maybe a mad woman, 
A new Christian, living sad poverty, a silent hero, 
Twisted tales, from savage green to ivory white religion
In her eyes, life never was about greed and skin
Her new look, attained an altitude precision
Pocahontas, tricked and captured, 
Set to sail another tribe, lands were taken over, 
Boat sailed out of Virginia Lands

Tribes acclaimed her to be wild and ambitious
"The naughty one," searching for admission
Native American child, before princess, 
Her beautiful soul, a short auspicious beginning
Leaving her world, beautiful and fearless
Forgetting her roots-- From Mother Willow's Vision 
Pocahontas, the Indian Legend from, The Virginia Lands

by;PD

Details | Indian Poem | |

SPILLS OF IMAGINATION



early dawn cracks the  wispy air
open , wandering around viscous spaces
like fairy shadows caressing the edge
of sleep… and the days stretch longer,
 
taller than maple trees delicately rustling
the garnet of late Indian summer when
birds, orbits and urchins listen to 
a single searching sun… when all else
 
is sprawled quiet, there comes this
certain fired imagination straying  on
mouths of  gentleness  far beyond
nuptials of effervescent realms…
 
someone said morning becomes Electra,
that learning how to hear a pear or
grain unravel the very skin from
which it was born is allowing time to
 
unfurl its leaves far beyond unknowing a
heart’s need to be:  the juice spills streams
waking new faces of time, bending the width
of life's rhyme through endless mystery...
 
a thousand times before and after, daybreak
and night twine... that in tints of all hues,
passing through fables of any season
 
is poetry's way of coming back to itself.


Justin Bordner's How Poetry Began Contest
by nette onclaud

Details | Indian Poem | |

Gone Forever

Here I sit amongst the long grasses and the reed,
in a solitary place, where my breath is freed,
on an Indian Summer's evening on the lake bed,
autumn has come, yet the warmth has not fled.

Blazing orange skies, are mirrored to reflect,
I cannot imagine a scene being any more perfect,
as I looked up, an unfallen leaf caught my gaze,
spotlighted in the sun's last golden rays.

I noticed this crimson leaf as it began to wave,
the end of a short life that I could not save,
then swept away suddenly by the wind's rake,
and ripples formed as it landed on the still lake.

The leaf was carried away and my eyes followed,
then drowned by the water's surface and swallowed,
windy fingertips tugged it from the branch to sever,
existing once, like today, and then was gone forever.








Note - This was my original idea for the poem "The leaf",
but it was revised for a contest. I just wanted to post both 
versions of the poem.



Details | Indian Poem | |

Pink Skies

POPPIES  &  MUSHROOMS 

I want a beautiful sky.
One to inhale with my big brown eyes.
Fly like a kite, 
under the midday light.
Join me in this lollipop flight.
Till we say goodnight.

Lets sit on the floor Indian style.
Passing around the same smile.
Taking each other by the wing.
As we take a puff and sing,
a song about: Poppies and Mushrooms,
Lets hold hands and enjoy the fumes.

I rub my naked body with poison ivy.
A poisonous Vera with Aloe so deep and spicy.
I enjoy the penetration under my earthly skin.
With the goodness of a sneeze that feels like sin.
With Poppies and Mushrooms,
my hair I groom.
An inviolate flight on acid.
Skinny dipping in the calmness placid. 

I wanna touch that elephant in the sky.
Before the illusion vanishes before my eyes.
Pink clouds and fluffy marshmallows.
Purple kittens and rainbow shadows.

Liquid bamboo, and poppies too.
Cocoa mushrooms, to get rid of the flu.
Poppies and Mushrooms, in a jungle beat.
Down my legs, like a dog in heat.
Poppies and mushrooms, and a giant balloon.
Pop one for me, and act like a baboon.
Walk with me across this gingerbread bridge.
Lets eat all the cake in the fridge.

Graffiti and skittles, 
While I sing "Hey Diddle Diddle."
Lets follow the unicorn, with green feet.
Poppies and Mushrooms ever so sweet.
Here Kitty Kitty, feel my heart beat.
Hear me meow and tweet tweet tweet.
Kool-Aid and Hawaiian punch for lunch. 
How about some orange Captain Crunch.

Poppies and Mushrooms, from the sky I fell.
Footsteps down the yellow belly tripping trail.
Skip to my Lou, it's time to swallow another pink pill.
And sing me this song, where all these illusions are real. 

by;p.d.

Details | Indian Poem | |

At Summer's End

When Autumn veils my season's smile and lingers in the air a while . . . though Indian days be gold spun, my summering will come undone. Night's shadows fall more quickly now; birds sooner too forsake their bough. No tarrying for old friend Sun when summering becomes undone. Oh, warmth of Summer, leave me not. Through Winter's frost I grow distraught. The melancholy has begun; my summering will come undone. As Autumn veils my season's smile, my summering will come undone. This was used for Summer's End Contest

Details | Indian Poem | |

LIFE

I asked to my father
Baba, What is life ?
He politely said to me, " Life is Duty . "

I asked to my mother
Maa, What is life ?
She said to me with smile, " Life is Responsibility . "

I asked to my teacher
Sir, What is life ?
He said to me with love, " Life is Education . "

I asked to my spiritual master
Gurujee, What is life ?
He said to me with confidence, " Life is Devotion . "

Today my son who reads in class nine
Asked me
Babai, What is life ?
I have said to him, " Dear, You are my life . "

SANDIP GOSWAMI, INDIA


( Father means BABA, BABAI and Mother means MAA in Bengali language .  Gurujjee means spiritual master in Indian society ) 

Details | Indian Poem | |

The Breed

Sometimes within the walls of today
We simply search for another way

To make this day all it should be
I must learn to live eternally

A blessing given or one took
I live my life inside a book

Each new day is another page 
I sit in the circle and burn my sage

Asking Grandfather to help me see
Exactly what a true man should be

With the blood of an Indian and of a white
Life is most certainly a spiritual fight

Half of me hates how the other half-lives
The white man took all the Indian gives

Then the white man decided to take some more
Slaughtered the Indians from shore to shore 

Brought an end to a beautiful way of life
“We will kill the man and rape the wife”

They called us heathens but don’t you know
Was the white man that had a heathen’s soul

Half and half, the blood of a breed
Poisoned by a white mans seed

It’s my Indian half I love the most
My white half is turning into a ghost 

Through my veins flows the blood of a brave
Though I lived my life as my white halves slave

Jesus Christ, nailed to the cross for me
Now my Indian half enjoys living free

Though freedom is a frame of mind
In the circle of life it’s truth I find

With each new poem I’m able to see
A little bit deeper up inside of me

Which enables my soul to truly live
Making my heart strong enough to give

All the faith that is found in a seed
I reckon half and half, is good breed

----------------------------------------------
Posted in respects to James Fraser

Details | Indian Poem | |

Tiger in a Cage

Tiger in a Cage (a stab at men)

Like a caged tiger.
You do not know what is in my den?
There is no worse feeling than the way I pace back and forth repeatedly.
A headless collar is all you see.
The closer I get, the more you seem to pretend. 
To you these stripes look more like dots.
As you, continue to hold my lines and strands in your hand.
You stroke my stripes as if they were a loft of dental floss.

An ORANGE all squishy and rot.
Rough and tough!
You cannot peel what you cannot feel.
You do not know me at all?
You trust me.
You lace me.
You cannot describe the buds.
You cannot feel my fingertips.
A taste of nothing out of your lips.

Indian BLACK streaks in my skin.
How did you manage to even get in?
We mount this unspeakable stability.
A man-eater swallowing her growl.
This hunger is piercing throughout my veins.
Hiding the powerful black star sapphire in my eyes.
Every move I plan ricochets. 
A tiger, a tiger in her cage.

Only in your world, I am my own prey.
My wildness is rarely found above my skin.
Every day I wear this heavy coat, my stripes continue to sink in.
It is a solitary confinement when you are around.
You cannot see the black diamonds under this unbearable frown.

Dingy claws, tapping……
Natures dew bestows a toneless mixture of orange and black tattoo.
These stripes, belittle my self-esteem.
The moon flashes overlapped our taboo.
Never will you see a tigers gleam.

Spirituality waiting to rise above the trees.
It is my choice, to stand behind these unbreakable twigs.
Fertilizing like pollen under a blanket of bees.
Still the effects of your eclipse, bounce off my wall.
I am telling you!
You don't know me at all?
The roads these loads continue to grow.
Far ahead, I am the gravel under your toes.
Crouching like a Tiger hiding the way a dragon breathes.

You don't know how I feel!
I am a tiger in a cage please set me free!

by;pd

"Breed to Breathe" by Napalam Death 
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pKP9aaFkEEQ 

Details | Indian Poem | |

Indian summer

Indian summer. . . 
a gathering of leaves dance 
quietly to death


For "Silence is Golden" haiku contest by Rick Parise

Details | Indian Poem | |

Pleasures of Moving on Moon

Pleasures of Moving on Moon


You have always charmed us by your beauty, O Moon,
Sometimes fascinating Heer and Ranjha*, and sometimes,
Mesmerizing Romeo and Juliet.

Sometimes you have spread your charms, on the monuments of Love, 
Alluring the beauty of Taj*, in the full moon light of Purnamasi*
O, Moon how many faces of Love and Beauty you have,
When you stroll silently on a snow covered maintain,
The beauty and your grandeur becomes envy for the heaven.

For Poets and Writers you have immense stories and inspirations,
For Lovers you are more precious than gold and diamond,
For singers you are like the soul of their songs,
For Boatman’s, you are their sole companion of their silence and turbulence.

While watching you so intensely from earth,
I felt, as if I was wondering on the silver surface of you O, Moon,
Moving and feeling, no gush of wind,
No moisture of Rains and dryness of Sun,
No falling of leaves, in the season of Autumn,
No bending of rivers, flowing from mountains to oceans
No murmuring of birds while mating and chatting,
No change of seasons to engage my mind and heart,
Still I was fascinating to move on the silver surface of you, O Moon.

Walking on your surface was a strange experience for me O, dear Moon,
As I was trying to feel the unique pleasures of earth, 
While moving on your silvr surface, O Moon.

Ravindra
Kanpur India 22nd November 2010
Soon I will post this as My Photo Poem with the Photograph of Moon on my Blog and on face
book, which I took on 22nd Nov. 2010

•	Heer and Rangha. The Indian Lovers like Romeo and Juliet 
•	Purnamasi.      The Day as per Indian calendar, when we can see the full Moon.
•	Taj.                  Refers to the world famous Taj Mehal monument of Agra, India.

Details | Indian Poem | |

Himalayan trip-trap-2

Himalayan  Trip-Trap

They poured in,  before the deluge
To surpass the natives in numbers
folks in their  cribs -through-hearse  stages, 
trusting like kids,  a burnished sky,  blue-white, 
a cocktail of the wrong and right,
and the mountains, inwardly  grumbling ,
darkly forbidding…

Snaking it  up  to the high  spots  of primeval Gods,
thro roads,  loosely wrapping the giant, like gray ribbons,
sleeping in structures disputed by the rivers
on  questions of  right of way ,
they milled about, haggled  and  honeymooned, 
peed and  pilgrimaged, at  Badri and Kedar, 
belonging to the likes of Sankaras,  long before
touts and tours  stirred their sequestered worlds .

And the super giant suddenly  fancied a good shower,
with unusually heavy cloudbursts  , landslides 
And down flowed 
decades of filth with silt settling to ceiling heights.
The crowds, local and visiting, clung on to life like limpets 
watching  their kin,  their life’s bearings, settings and links, 
uprooted, tossed and broken,
hurtling down,

Escapees from being buried in debris, 
now cornered in hell,  bereaved and battered,
famished  and  plundered, living and dying from moment to moment
on nothing, save air laced with fumes of rotting death
at the tipping points  of sanity ,  pondering
their turn of fates;
development  vis-a-vis  disasters ; 
disasters vis-à-vis puny mitigation measures
tragedies-in-the-making  vis-a-vis  remedies forsaken;
freak  instances  vis-à-vis  climate changes.
They remain  stranded  , for days on end,
despite the IAF, army men and their copters
( not the other services or their detractors)
risking their lives on a huge rescuing effort.
The natives, rescued or not, stranded for life, though.


@24 jun 2013.    By  :S.Jagathsimhan Nair

* This is about the thousands of tourists and locals remaining stranded in the Himalayan heights for about a week now, with dwellings, roads and bridges washed away/ blocked by heavy rains , landslides and floods.

Sankara  refers to Adi Sankara, the saint of the 8th Cy AD.

Badri and Kedar mean Badrinath and Kedarnath, two important places of  pilgrimage in the Himalayan heights.

IAF : Indian Air Force

For Deb’s 'Referential' contest , referring to the loss  engendered by the Himalayan geography which finds expression, different, though, in the metaphors of Kash's poem, 'My emotional geography', with  ref to expressions  like valley of pain, ocean of sorrow, tearful rivers,foggy mountains etc.

For Giorgio Veneto's Impress me

Details | Indian Poem | |

A Love Letter to My Friends of India

When I think of India, I think of dark eyed beauties, their foreheads painted with decorative red dots, and I see them moving deliciously in beautiful bright costumes as bangles dangle from their slender wrists. When I think of India, I think of a culture steeped in history and tradition: folkloric music, myths, and dance, and the influence of the Hindu religion. I visualize the rich and poor alike bathing themselves in a river called Ganges. I see an olden time when mighty elephants, colorfully decorated, carried men atop their backs on elegant elephant seats, and I recall pictures in my geography studies of the white sacred cows freely roaming the narrow streets of Delhi. I recall a novel I read: Rudyard Kipling’s engrossing tale of a jungle boy and also other novels depicting a clash of cultures as the British imposed their rules on Indian society. I think of current movies showing the seedy side of India such as one named Slumdog Millionaire and a movie to contrast it, the romantic Bollywood delight named JabTak Hai Jaan. Furthermore, I recall the grace and good nature of the Indian people depicted in a film called The Best Ever Exotic Marigold Hotel. When I think of India, I think of the Taj Mahal, Kama Sutra, and curry, and also I recall horrible stories of Bride burnings now banned and by contrast, the good works of Mother Teresa, who labored there among the poor, and I think of the man who is probably the most recognized by Americans as a good and strong example of leadership: Mahatma Ghandi. All these things are the sum of what I have learned about India in my lifetime. But what do I really know of India? What I have learned recently relates to poets I have come to know at this website and who have shown me through their poetry and their communication with me, a more personal side of the Indian people that I never used to know. Through the poetry of Ravindra I have learned the love of an Indian for his heritage and how he emulates his father‘s work through beautiful translations. From poets like BL and Jag, I’ve learned more about the deep and philosophical nature of the Indian poet! Through great friendships with people like Kashinath, Yesha and Yasmin, and Guatami I have come to learn about the actual personalities of dear Indian people whose life experiences, struggles and desires are not so different from my own, and also I am able to enjoy their eloquent words as they describe their own emotions, passions, and love of nature through their poetry. Perhaps their culture adds a flavoring to their words and phrases that is a bit different from my own, but in the end, we are all alike beneath the skin. Whether from India or any other country, we are, all of us, becoming a part of a global community in which our differing backgrounds can be accepted and even better - celebrated! Thank you I say to all my poet friends whose words enrich my life, but in particular, today I thank my friends from India, for helping me to really see how beautiful you are and to understand your country better through knowing YOU.

Details | Indian Poem | |

Indian Summer

Memories of autumn linger still
The pale sun loiters on the hill;
A prodigal year now grown old
Is gathering all her days of gold.
Flocks of birds now eager to go
We share the dream with footsteps slow;
We meet beneath the apple tree
Join hands in silent company.
We will not part love, oh not yet
Too soon the weary sun will set.

The crickets cease to sing their song
The gold and russet wilt away;
The crimson trees stayed too long
And all the sky is wet and grey.
We know at night the frost will fall
And scar the asters on the hill;
The golden rod and sumac all
Will feel the hand of winter's chill.

But love, it is not the time to part
I need to hold you near my heart;
Yesterday was such a golden smile
Today we might love awhile;
Till autumn dies and love forget
And we must leave, but dear not yet.


Details | Indian Poem | |

Gold Fever

Gold Fever 

History will not record the bloated weight
Of this pious and bigoted race 
Or count the fat and flaccid wealth
Of religions idolatry

Those pages have been scrubbed clean
By prosperous forgivingness 
And the cruelty of established political dominion
Will not tally the bodies of the oppressed

To them, faith and belief are merely a weapon
A system of abusive control 
And a means of power continuation
A dictatorial right to rule the population

History will not record the inheritance of opinion
But lay blind at the doors of massacre
The Aztec, The Aborigine, The North American Indian, The African Negro, 
Pray in silence to The Church

Centuries written in blood and torture
For a message of verbiage and usage
Extracted and leeched from the poor and uneducated
Created the western dream

The long night of the witch hunt is not over
The Inquisition has saved us
With fake blood and wooden crosses
This elite of moral perspective shall save us all

We have paid the price in conscience
Superiority managed by white skinned indifference
Holy mother church has welcomed all
All into its iron embrace of slack jawed wonder

And what more despicable rule can there be
Than to dictate ones own spiritual journey
Spouted by the rote of political expediency
And the promise of heaven

Ingrained now this so called Christian ethic
And so much of the truth left distorted
Forgotten now are the ancient mystical secrets
Which united mankind to understanding

Idol of gold and crucifixion
Of cathedral and stained glass objectification
Gilt and holy water of sumptuous ritual
Of silken pope and luxurious self righteous invention

An aberration of human faith and belief
An unrepentant destroyer of “ Loves ” dream 
The curse of The Christ as you continue to translate
The Word

And where the paupers fist crunches the dirt
Where dried and parched lips pray for rain
Where the desperate cry for a reason echoes
Where blood flows in feted anger
Where children scream in fear
Where hunger and despair debase and demean 
Where there is no light
And in the dark only pain

If you wish to care for the souls of mankind
Preacher
It is there with them
There
Is where you should be

Details | Indian Poem | |

To Kashinath and Cyndi


Not pauses blowing hot, not the red kind,
Our seasons bear eternally a kiss,
Like fabric draped on time, never amiss
That from years' luster sweet kinship, I find,
Sweet dew to quell a thirsting quite enshrined
With gentle sways to learn, to care , I tease.
And breath expresses my warmth, to say this,
To be refreshed and always hold love signed.

So come, dear ones, we’ll trail on endless strands
That melt into this bay of aqua-blue,
Beyond the rising blooms, near palm trees’ nest
Where Indian Soul wheels above the sands,
And Ontario Nymph glides faithful, so true
For only then shall I feel wholly blessed.
                           
                   ~

For the Dedication Contest

Details | Indian Poem | |

A Wild Awakening

Springtime rain brings fresh array 
of flowers east to west.
The Rockies’ red and purple tufts
of mountain pride are best. 
And mats of foliage named moss pink face south to get the sun
while buttercups put forth large blooms
so not to be outdone.

Then comes the rain to bleak terrain 
where gloriously unfolds
alongside barren roads - in patches -
desert marigolds.
Mojave yucca, blue lupines, 
and sego lily whites
with Indian prairie fire flowers 
paint the deserts bright.

And common flowers of the fields 
in every place abound.
Sweet Joe-Pye weed; Black-eyed Susan 
push up from the ground.
The California poppy makes 
a  patchwork orange and blue
while dandelions most unloved
will countless seedlings spew.

In southern marshes blossom too 
the water hyacinths,
making of the waterways 
pesky labyrinths.
In northern streams grow pussy willows
naked with no petals,
and somewhere on a touch-me-not 
a bumblebee now settles.

Blossoming in woodlands now 
are flowers in the shade,
but most prefer the sunlight of  
an open forest glade.
The wild columbine dressed blue 
and handsome in the breeze,
fragrant like the violet, 
gives nectar to the bees

All across the country 
there awaken everywhere,
each in their appointed region, 
wild flowers fair.
Daisies, clover, daffodils 
and lovely Queen Anne’s lace.
They briefly stay, but we can see 
more fully nature’s grace!

(now for PD's Contest on Best Flower Poem)
For Constance La France's mini-contest: Wild Flowers

Details | Indian Poem | |

Onset of Summer

when the coolness of spring 
begins to fade,
in the wake of rising heat
in early April in north Indian plains,
and the golden wheat crops
shimmer in glade,
flowers of different hues
begin to lose their bright sharp sheen.  

the dry, pale yellow and brown
dead leaves of most trees,
shed themselves off one by one
exposing the bare branches,
ahoy!! soon thereafter
the nature’s miracle can be witnessed,
if one looks at the bare dry branches
a bit more closely.

suddenly they seem to be covered 
with growing tender green leaf-shoots ‘n buds,
and slowly begin to swing
in the gentle breeze like coy maidens,
taking cover behind each other
they nervously glance around to check,
they have not been seen naked
in their act of changing their attire
by any stranger.

when the flower-laden branches
of mango and other fruit trees
gently dance in the air,
to sweet notes of the cuckoo’s song
attracting butterflies ‘n insects to their flowers,
and what a surprise to see not so long after
the sudden evolution of flowers into small unripe green fruits,
which promise to become sweet ‘n juicy
in the growing heat of the engulfing summer.

the morning cool and gentle breeze
rapidly starts to convert itself into, 
a hot, biting, dry, strong westerly wind
as the sun simmers agonizingly close ‘n longer,
everyone gets nature’s signal
to search for shade and cool greens for solace,
before the heat saps up
whatever energy is left in the living beings.



An old poem, now submitted for contest:This poem really S***s
Catherine Tunke on 27.5.2014 commented:
'Is this a poem or a Weather Report? Seas are slight on a low swell. No risk of a tsunami? No point no rhyme and not semblence of poetry.'

Details | Indian Poem | |

SUMMER'S END

summer.
in your shyness 
this year.
you barely peeked out your door.
the days where so cool at times.

my thermostat,
 insisted,
i switched it to heat.

my air conditioner 
was in therapy.
mostly ignored
it had lost its self esteem.

still i was always faithful.
hand in hand 
we took walks together,
 my friend.
walks i cherished.

as you ready to migrate 
perhaps to florida
you know you will be missed.
if nothing else
for the long days you put in 
and how you never complained.

autumn you know is already here.
it is great
to spend time 
with you both.

she is magnificent this year.
forever youthful
in her quilted shawl of startling mixtures.

crayon shades of auburn, sunny oranges
special new yellows, reds and purples.

let's celebrate with bonfires,
huge marshmallows,
single spiked.
shish kebobs on branches lent.

the children will be crazed 
playing in piles of  pillowed leaves.

oh my oh my. the parties autumn will throw
what would childhood be
without summer,
autumn,
and your siblings?

come those indian days 
don't forget summer 
don't forget you'll visit.

oh the stories and laughs we'll share.
how seduced we are every year.

with summer at an end
with autumn just at hand
then summer again
and back to autumn
as if we were on a carousel.

September 8 2014
Summer's End Contest
Kelly

Details | Indian Poem | |

Forbidden love

 
She is a dark skin girl 
who sings in the church choir 
He would see her passing every day 
and she sets his heat on fire 

He fell in love with her 
But they never talk before 
He would waits to see her 
every day from his front door 

He is an Indian boy 
Works in his father company 
He is an only child 
from a very wealthy family 

She is just a poor girl 
Living down by the train line 
She's a down to earth girl 
always so polite and kind 

One day he sees her walking home 
so he went over to say hello 
but then sees his father car 
So he stop talking and leaves to go 

But his father sees him 
And at home started to yell and shout 
He said "if you to talk to that girl again 
You leave the house and get out 

Why are you talking to her 
To that poor girl who lives in the trace 
If any body see you talking to her 
you will bring me shame and disgrace 

we're arranging marriage to a rich family 
With a nice educated girl in san Fernando 
We already made the arrangements 
and this Sunday we have to go 

Well he didn’t sleep all night 
He love this poor girl so dearly 
And if he don’t do something now 
He knows how is his futures going to be 

so he lie in bed all night awake 
waiting for the break of dawn 
then he packs his cloths in bag 
and as the sub came up he was gone 

Next morning he knocks on her door 
her face lights up with a smile 
He said if it’s ok with you 
I really need to talk to you for awhile 

I have always been in love with you 
But was to shy to come out and say 
but that you know "if you love me to 
I will leave my father house today 

His father disown his son that day 
because their love was forbidden 
But they married that that same week 
and now have two beautiful children 

Parents needs to understand 
You can’t control your children mind 
When they are grown and seek love 
Their own happiness they will find 

God created a world for us 
With such beautiful nature 
Life would be so boring? 
If we all were the same color 

We live in a world today 
Every race thinks they are superior 
But no matter what religion you are 
There is only one Almighty savior

Details | Indian Poem | |

Things People Wear From A to Z

A is for Aprons, like Moms used to wear.
B is for Barrettes that adorn young girls’ hair.

C is for Coats, many colors and styles.
D is for Diamonds, best friends that brings smiles.

E is for Elbow pads skateboarders use.
F is for Flippers folks might wear on a cruise.

G is for Gowns, to wear out . . . or to bed!
H is for Helmets - Hard Hats for one’s Head.

I is for Indian saris so bright.
J is for Jewelry that dazzles at night.

K is for Kilts used by Scotts, do you know?
L is for Lingerie, a woman’ peep show!

M is for Masks to look scary or funny.
N is for Necklaces from your sweet honey.

O is for Overalls, comfy for big men.
P is for Pajamas, so easy to fit in.

Q is for a Quilted skirts and jackets too.
R is for Rags - what our worn clothes turn into!

S is for Shorts, for a day warm and glad.
T is for Ties that we all give to Dad.

U is for Underwear. I can see France!
V is for Vest. It enhances your pants.

W is for Wig, great when hair has been shorn.
X is for Xmas clothes too rarely worn.

Y is for Yamaka - only for Jews.
Z is for Zippered, the clothes over buttoned ones that I would choose!

Oh, the things we’ve been wearing since Adam and Eve
first started it off by just wearing their leaves!

For the ABC Contest of CYNDI MACMILLAN

Written by Andrea Dietrich, a big fan of poetry and PoetrySoup.

Details | Indian Poem | |

SPIRIT RIDER

Alone figure stands, 
On sunsets rock.
Summers hot breezes brush,
Against bare skins flesh.
Stalking the ageless path.
Behold histories Indian brave, 
Man, and horse intertwined.
Symbiotic beings joined,
They are one.
The spirit rider gallops, 
Across freedoms trail.
Cautiously, allying arrow unto bow,
Aiming swiftly his shot to kill.
Guardian’s raging bull charges,
Forward.
Protectors sacrifice, blood mingles,
Amongst dust clouds aftermath, 
His majesty lies slain.
Dark brown eyes close, 
Glimpsing blue sky for the,
Last time.
Heavens prairies, welcome destiny's,
Honorable foe,
The hunter kneels beside the giant's,
Stilled heart,
Giving thanks, singing chants rise,
Ascending heights greener, 
Pastures unto a higher plain.
It echoes in valleys deep,
Touching the lands of his,
 Fore fathers.
Tonight beneath flames tribal fires,
Rhythms beating drums, gives praise,
Many shall celebrate, feasting,
 In memories tribute,

  BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

Details | Indian Poem | |

NATIVE WHISPER OF THE WINDS



Legends of tribes roam across the plains Bold spirits guarding their own mighty land They dance and offer songs asking for rain To nourish grains when omens rise on, Encircling a bonfire with shaman’s praise. The whisper of the winds gives them strength An Indian terrain, they protect Oh, hear drumbeats pound a mighty roar As chieftain gathers the arrow’s quest For the call of blood, for freedom’s dreams. Legends passed from generations Grandpas holding peace pipes, tales unfold When full moon speaks of native wisdom To recount strides in brave moccasins
Marking prints from whisper of the winds.
Native American People Contest by nette onclaud