Long poem by
Ian Howard | Details | . You can read it on PoetrySoup.com' st_url='http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/phobias_440195' st_title='Phobia's'>
A Bluto is not that Disney dog
It was when a mewling
that I would scream
Should they wet my body
And then apply cream
Ablutophobia – fear of bathing, washing, or cleaning
Achluo the demon that lurks
In darkened corners
The long toothed life suckers realm
I am scared as the sun dims
It seems to bare my soul
Achluophobia – fear of darkness
Acro what did they do
They called me acrobat
This will not do
I get giddy standing on a matchbox
Please get a net to see me through
Acrophobia – fear of heights
Agora just shut that door
I am staying here forever more
Bring me food put it on the floor
The letter box is just for you
Don’t, Don’t, try to get through
Agoraphobia, Fear of open spaces or of being in public places. Fear of leaving a safe place
Agrap stole my feelings
He caught me unaware
I am now afraid of sex
don’t ask me anymore
It frightens me that’s for sure
Agraphobia – fear of sexual abuse
Agrizoo an angry gorilla I knew
Wild as hell was kept in a cell
As all his kind, even a timid Hind
They scare the crap out of me
Please let them run free
Agrizoophobia – fear of wild animals
A gyro is just what I need
I will fit it to my trusty stead
He will fly straight across that band
A tarmac nasty throughout the land
I cannot face the walk you see
Agyrophobia –fear of crossing the road
Aichmohe got in a hell of a fight
They killed him with a pointed knife
It will come for me just you see
I cannot even mend his cloth
Won’t touch a needle at any cost
Aichmophobia – fear of sharp or pointed objects (such as a needle or knife)
Ailuro he lived next door
The bastard sits on the fence
To me he snarls not a purr
A Persian he is supposed to be
Frightens the *****out of me
Ailurophobia – fear of cats
Algo, Away, I am pain free
This morphine is the best
First day of pain free rest
Been told that it will return
Got some gas, peace I yearn
Algophobia - fear of pain
Andro I’d rather be (android)
I am metal and plastic you see
Electric person not man or woman
That would be so sad
If just a man I would go mad
Androphobia – fear of men
Antho the pologist got the plan
He put concrete throughout the land.
Not one shrub or flower seen
Not one blade of grass green
A flower would make me scream
Anthophobia – fear of flowers
Anthropo was a lonely man
Wouldn’t mix with others so
He lived in a cave, well just a hole
You would see his eyes peeping out
A shaking frame if people were about
Anthropophobia – fear of people or the company of people, a form of social phobia.
Aqua marine or even the wet stuff
Is enough to drive me mad
I stay in when there is rain
Just wait for the sun to shine again
A damp tissue that’s quite enough
Aquaphobia – fear of water. Distinct from Hydrophobia, a scientific property that makes chemicals averse to interaction with water, as well as an archaic name for rabies
Arach no, and know the score
Those creepy creatures on the wall
Send shivers up and down my spine
Six legs and venom to drive you mad
I am running already it is sad.
Arachnophobia – fear of spiders
Astra my name you would think of the stars
My gaze goes up but not that far
To the first cloud there in the sky
If it’s the shape of an anvil I will fly
Fear grips me and I don’t know why
Astraphobia – fear of thunder and lightning
Atychi that was about the size of me
The others would just make fun
I was no good to anyone
A failure of the first degree
Nothing my goal, was all I could see
Atychiphobia – fear of failure
Auto matic I will seek people out
To touch to play as long as they are near
Don’t leave me in this place alone
A singularity is my biggest fear
I will hold anyone you see I care
Autophobia – fear of being alone or isolated
Automat o no it’s not true how could you
An advert that’s telling just lies
Don’t all the others realize
What you say is not true, put it right
It will drive me crazy I’ll keep out of sight
Automatonophobia – fear of anything that falsely represents a sentient being
Aviat o if you think I am going in that
No I am not a scared ***** cat
If we were meant to go fly
Wings we would have from him on high
Fold your machine and put it just so.
Aviophobia, Aviatophobia – fear of flying
Chaeto he was a Greek of old
Bald as a badger so the story is told
But why you say is there no cure
For him to grow some lovely hair
For him it would give such a scare
Chaetophobia – fear of hair
Chemo therapy keep away from me
Chemicals scare me I know they are free
But to have them coursing through my veins
No matter how good they are, and that jar
The fear of everything for what they are
Chemophobia – fear of chemicals
Chirop to or not too so I am told
They stick in your hair best to be bald
Now I find that my nails are made of hair
Chirop is what I fear not chiropodist is that clear!!
Just shave my head and cut my nails dear
Chiroptophobia – fear of bats
Chromo shines bright in my eyes
The fear of all colours I realise
Now I am safe from a troubled day
Into my dark room, I have found my way
Knock when that sun has met its demise
Chromophobia - fear of bright colors
Long poem by
Eileen Manassian | Details |
You wonder why, my love
These memories flitter in the hallways of my mind
Knocking on the door
of every room
Where I’ve hung
Do not Disturb Signs
For I don’t want to remember you
My Paradise Lost and yet….
Oh, you wonder why, my love
I still rise to open the door
Why I fling them open wide
When each memory comes calling
Why I let them come inside
And sit here at my table
While I play the gracious host
As I listen to each memory repeat
The love story I love most...
You wonder why, my darling
I sit in rapt attention
Dabbing at a tear
While I smile
A sweet smile of remembrance
As one by one
They kiss my cheek in greeting
They all sit around me
Each one vying for my attention
These sweet memory guests
Are there to make sure
The visions are ever fresh
And so one runs his fingers through my hair
I close my eyes
Giving in to his ministration
But he couples it with kisses on my nape
To keep me awake
For he remembers the times
When your fingers playing with my hair
Would entice my eyelids to close
So the kisses he keeps coming
For what is to come...
The other memory holds my hand
Making love to my fingers with his own
Intertwining and releasing
Whispering in my ear
In husky whispers of love
And I melt
At the resonance of his voice
The memory of enticement
I gaze down to look into the eyes
Of the memory guest sitting at my feet
I see there the devotion
Of someone at a shrine
As he looks up into my eyes
His hands on either side of me
His palms caressing my legs
Kissing as he goes along….
They are preparing me
For the memory that has been waiting at the door
He watches intently
My favorite memory
There just inside the room of my mind
Of my wildest fantasies
He has been here before
He has been here often
What nights those were
When he would ravish me
Till I could hardly breathe
Fatigued and spent
In the aftermath of his
Now he stands
And though I try to rise
To close the door
I’m held back by the others
Whispering all around me
"Let him in
Let him come in."
A smile plays on his lips
As he sees me weaken
His devouring eyes take in my form
I feel the heat of his gaze
As his eyes feast on me
In my revelry of love
And at his signal
The other memories quietly leave
I look at him shyly
As he draws the filmy dream curtains tight
Blocking out the light of reality
Blocking out everything but his entity
He walks over to me
Stopping to light scented candles
Stopping to make me feel
His close proximity
He is near
He looks down at me
Claiming me before even one touch
"I’ve come my passion flower
I’ve come again to make you bloom
Like that first time
That first time
You opened up to me."
And then he is here kneeling at my feet
His breath hot on my breast
His hands gently probing
His mouth tasting
His tongue teasing
"You are altogether beautiful"
And I can only sigh
As the memory of that first bloom
Comes alive in my mind
And he takes me again
Like that first time
When I discovered
What it means
To find release
Quivering on the edge of
Suspended in time
As I give in
And let the streams flow
Like the tears that fall
Glistening on my rosy cheeks
And as I lay spent in the silence
Of my own dark and dreary room
Savoring the fragrance of my memory
My memory of you
My first sensual dawn
My first taste of the heady mix
Of pleasure and pain
I know I must rise
To close the door of my mind again
This time I will lock it
This time, I will throw away the key
But the memory of that first bloom
Will find a way
To visit me again….
Oh, my love
For I cannot forget you
And that very first time
You made me...
Long poem by
Olive Eloisa Guillermo | Details |
Neither a dream nor a trick, I beguiled--
I reach the sky enameled with golden smile.
To hurdle bumps and curves, I continue to pedal
this steadfast being yearn to step on a pedestal,
I found at the center of a fertile square mile.
Train piercing thorns didn't blind eyes to behold,
a sunrise stored to each and every intricate fold.
Some jasmine fragrance afloat-- satiates my smell
lost hope resurrect to impregnate a lifetime tale
as fragile attached hearts trying to enfold,
The autumn trumpet hues a runner-up palette
to your summer vibrant colors ballet,
eyes wander feast on your swells of panache.
My fingers drown to trace river edges bends, posh--
enthralled, above moon bowed shedding candle sprays.
Open secret scents, you effused stirred plague of souls,
the tempted sirens in one sang a victor goal.
The listening wind hush and blows the beats
swaying leaves to dance in left to right fleet.
Catalyzed by the sun rising daily at morn call,
I am inspired to traverse every norms' womb.
By your petals slow zoom, I find myself in chorus bloom.
Rooms of my mind open to hundred ocean thoughts
which soon aims to recite it's symphonic notes,
I... compelled to nectar strings of burst abloom.
Goodness! War and peace didn't wilt our affair
eversince Zion answered every whispered prayer.
My experiences with you are pearls, dearest flower,
consent me then to carry and share them 'til forever,
as here on garden earth, I meet you as my soul pair.
4:44 am; November 25, 2014
No cross. No trial. Not even a dark storm will stop me
to climb the highest mountain if there-- a sublime beauty
awaits for me.From tattered highways to plain narrow roads,
I will stroll alike-- a fearless lion roaring regal
With sunbeams glowing ember above my head, I behold
an Aphrodite dwelling beneath a labyrinth fold.
Perfumed fragrance rides the swaying breeze-- luring my hunger
to taste some love. I, like the Aurora, rise in wonder.
Oh! This sojourner's sight is arrested to your splendor.
In a blue skied ambiance, will you care to surrender?
The autumn leaves are like free-falling birds from maple-trees
pretty,but a runner-up to summery hues you play.
Big brown eyes meander feast on your petals of panache--
my fingers slowly prom to outline your edges. I, charmed,
as even the mystique moon curves, casting some dim light sprays. . .
Hours passed yonder am held captive by the spell from you Belle.
so enthused, the reflections, I have zoom as I dispel
castle dreams that draws a happily ever after tales.
The apex now I reached - a diva I am as I sing
rhapsodizing sweet the Nirvana I happened to see.
I thank God that the world wars didn't bobble this encounter
True... the years may ebb but this I will always remember.
Dearest flower, my experience with you is priceless,
consent me then to apportion this until forever
in this Eden Earth that only you~ Belle is my soul pair.
Sponsor Roy Jerden
Contest Name The Makeover
7:28 pm; March 11, 2015
*** Note: the original in the form of quintella the new one in iambic heptameter or quatorzain.
Long poem by
Olive Eloisa Guillermo | Details |
TO THE FLOWER
Your scent beckoned my weeping heart to painless flight;
amidst a garden where God dusts His pretty love.
Spring tints are pure and fragrant, free of guise.
Your hues painted another sunrise for my eyes;
when once I failed to catch the pledge of morn.
A seed of hope was born to white petals blush.
Though there are silhouettes of bitter yesterdays
must all the phantoms of illusions fade and leave...?
Your floating aroma stirred and shot my nerves;
inspiring a nightingale to sing some joyous laments;
It swayed with grace to dance on wind's despotic beat.
among the rustling leaves which hug the earth below;
So like the sun, which from distant horizon smiles;
it roused the sleepy world to begin the pen of baby prose.
The unfolding mystery of your petals brought
my bewildered mind to peacock's reflection.
Alas! All was transient. These eyes probe beneath
but were blinded by the intrusion of some stray shine;
Ambitions which from afar are building sprout;
t'is that which let this self to irksome doubt.
Lovely blossom of the wild, this sojourner nigh
to tame your perfume's sweet stinging scent.
A restless soul by some wicked, destiny pokes;
someone called--- but pity, I couldn't tell a note.
If by magic, a butterfly I could become;
Let it be over my being slowly span.
Then with you
(though the specters in our midst are fierce),
I could jet fly though miseries without fear.
But am just a mortal of faith that blows this wish
for only covenants call for my journey still?
I cannot be forever the one who would share your sweetness;
(Harken, fairies of blooms, this wilderness is not my lair.)
I shall not want to witness you wilt as no time left to stay.
Never again will you see me at day-break's bloom,
save something special for others to experience you.
This fleeting apparition I so adored;
promised me burgeoning petals.
"Be not afraid as seasons change,
beyond today, I won't be here to see that no harm
be done with all intentions to your sacred charm.
I leave you to Mother's Nature tender care,
for I must go to some greater musing-- heaven's ground.
Wilt not, as soon the rain will dash, refreshing you my dear.
If I return someday--
will your sublime scent still be here?"
Inspired by Susan Seddon Boulet's painting:
POEM OF THE DAY-- OCTOBER 21,2014
Contest Name Free Verse, Prose Poetry, haibun
Sponsor Debbie Guzzi
October 20, 2014, 10:19 pm
Long poem by
Eileen Manassian | Details |
The scent of your feelings clings
To the fabric of my dreams
It never leaves….it lingers
The scent of your feelings
The fragrance of gardenia
When you are tender, sweet
Gentle and serene
Tranquility showing through
In the gardenia scent of you
Seducing scent of jasmine
Surrounds you like an aura
Promising opulent luxury
Of flesh upon flesh
With you in control
Leading me deeper
Into the scent of your fantasies
Tantalizing, teasing, tempting
Endless jasmine ecstasy
Sensual and satiating
Is the jasmine scent of you
Perfumed in Damask Rose
Giving off the scent
Of inner turmoil
You are brooding and troubled
Needing to be reassured
Held in the strength of my arms
Quieted by my love
Till dawn’s light
When your safety is assured
And your scent finds release
Along with that of mine
Honey suckle perfume
Your need to nurture
To let me suckle
At your breasts
Your perfume speaking
In words my soul hears
That you live only
To care for my needs
Your perfumed hands
Soothing way the aches and pains
Of my rough and busy day
Honey suckle promises
Of womanly affection
In waves of comfort and light
I taste honey
Nectar that sweetens my lips
For I know it flows for me
I know I am nothing
A poor lost man
Without the fragrance of honey suckle
Wafting over me
When there is venom in your eyes
Sparks fly all around me
And I know a storm is coming
A scent foreboding
Indicating the imminence
Of the unleashing of thunder and lightning
Torrents of rain
The scent of angered passion
I sense it
I smell your brewing storm
I’m unleashed in the elements
And yet….I know
How to harness your storm
How to bring calm
How to let you vent in my arms
Beat at my chest
I silence you with a kiss
Your arms pinned
The anger passes
Left on my chest
Leaves me shaken
In the aftermath
Of your storm
The perfume of surrender
Absolute abandon to my will
The sweetest fragrance
The tenderest emotion
A wilting flower
Waiting to be revived
Tenaciously wrapping around my body
Knowing its source of life, love, and happiness
Your scent moves me
Brings out my desires
To please and reward
To bring color to your petals
By my life giving stream
Lost in this scent
The most beautiful of all
The scent of surrender
The scent of your emotions...
Clings to my being
A perfumed eternity
In your arms
For Anthony Slausen's Scent of Your Soul Contest
Long poem by
Ruben A. Hernandez Diaz | Details |
Roses in the garden,
Roses in the world,
But now roses curled...
Peach roses show modesty,
Peach roses show gratitude,
However, they are often insincere...
Yellow roses seem to care,
Yellow roses show friendship,
However, they are often joyless and jealous...
Pink roses communicate sweetness,
Pink roses radiate elegance,
However, they are often unthankful...
Orange roses have desire,
Orange roses show their pride,
However, they are often impassive...
Purple roses are majestic,
Purple roses express love at first sight,
However, they are often repulsed and unenchanted...
Green roses are harmonious,
Green roses carry hope,
However, they are often unpeaceful...
Blue roses like dreaming,
Blue roses are imaginative,
Blue roses desire to know the unknown,
Blue roses are mysterious,
However, they are often elusive and unattainable...
Red roses are emotional,
Red roses are devotional,
Red roses are respectful,
However, they are often remorseful, sorrowful and mistaken...
Gold roses are occassional,
Gold roses like memories,
Gold roses are preserved,
However, they are often misinterpreted and confused...
White roses are pure,
White roses have innocence,
White roses are spiritual,
White roses carry secrecy,
However, they are often arrogant...
Silver roses are rare,
Silver roses like to grow,
Silver roses convert fantasy into reality,
However, they are often lost and uneasy,
But they seem unpredictable and mystical...
Black roses are mysterious,
Black roses are rebirth,
However, they often remain elusive,
They often symbolize death and loss,
But they are unpredictable and silent,
Though, they are often harmed...
Roses in the garden,
Roses in the world,
But now roses swirled and twirled...
Although, now peach roses are lying,
Yellow roses turning jealous and browned,
Pink roses being unsweet and unthankful,
Orange roses being impulsive and compulsive,
Purple roses being repulsed and revulsed,
Green roses losing hope and harmony,
Blue roses being undiscovered and lost,
Red roses being regretful and voided,
Gold roses bewildered and confused,
White roses losing purity and innocence,
Silver roses turning black and unused,
And black roses silenced and unborn...
All there is to see are roses vanishing,
All there is to feel are roses withering,
In a bed of bleeding roses...
Long poem by
Poet Destroyer A | Details |
-The Tree of Life-
Featuring: Casarah Nance
~~I am beautiful on the inside you will see~~
~But really I am just a tree in the woods.~
Beauty found within a tree that sits, and does not speak
Owning, up to the heavens, come look at, when ready
Just stop, admire, count your blessings,
enjoy the raven staring down at you
For this tree was not planted by a gardener,
This tree, who needs, not to speak, draws true auspice air,
Not like the gardener who planted a garden,
then got annoyed by the smallest of weeds
This is a story, about a gardeners mockery,
after trying to cut down my Pecan Tree
Hypocrite the farmer,
does not know the first thing when it comes to flora
Plant sources, that only grow in as weeds, (poor crops)
a picture not even God, sets his eyes upon
I forbid, the thirsty growers from coming,
when putting up or wanting to gossip and speak of my roots
Look how they lose their lower leaves,
from over embracing each thorn
Take heed the whispers of these filthy propagators,
at my windows & doorsteps, Shh, they are watching!
Peeping-Tomming, robbing from my bluebonnet bed,
while in a deep sleep counting sheep
Wake-up, and Click away,
the dandelions are gone, airborne into a fuller universe
From the hunger, I left behind,
since jealous eyes envied how high my beanstalk continues to rise
Smile, at the yellow wool, held out by the same green thumb gang,
whine when others succeed,
Patting one another on the back,
as if they were the National FFA Organization
Grazers growing superfast- crowfoot grass, a bitter look,
found in their dead pedal path
Horticulturist, all alone, on the inside, growing bushes of lies,
contaminated vase, black roses
I can't endure participating in a dead stem convention,
when the seed-woman cries for care
Exposing an over watered garden,
hoarding clodhoppers grin, separating everything
The potential of plowed plants, are nothing more than corrupt cactus,
and invasive plant species in disguise,
Proof they don't know the first thing when cultivating the perfect flowers,
A die hard moment-
Not even the sun wants to climb up on the side of the landscape of falsehood
Sickened by the holes and yellow stains of dust and dirt,
broken by the Farmer and torn overalls
By daylight, the gardener lives kneeling, tending the greenhouse, of lies
By nighttime, the grower, swallows, by singing and tossing salads all night.
The Tree, continues to grow,
The Gardner Cries
A challenge by: Susan Burch ( a SORTA slam )
Inspired by: my poem "THE FLOWER"
~FOR CONTEST~ Dedicated to: Nathan
Long poem by
Molly McCarthy | Details |
In my life I often feel I am alone; alone in my thoughts, alone in my musings, alone in my day-to-day movements and unsatisfying activities. I move like a ghost through hallways and down sidewalks, unnoticed and, at times, gratefully so.
I do not wish to be eternally alone. I long for togetherness. But despite this desire for a real connection, I find myself regularly retreating from that temperamental beast that is human interaction.
“Come on now, sweetheart. Don’t lower your head. Don’t look away. Look up! Smile at someone! No! Don’t go back into your bedroom. Don’t lock the door! Why are you doing this?” my brain will plea.
I can’t help myself. Aloneness is comfortable. In being alone, I don’t have to worry about anyone but myself. I don’t have to please anyone else. I can think anything I want, wear anything I want, listen to anything I want, and laugh at anything I want.
And still there remains that nagging desire to be loved and wanted and needed by somebody. I do not know the feeling of being truly desired. I do not know what it is like for someone to crave my company, my smile, my kiss, or my touch.
But I would like to…
I cannot make someone love me or like me or want me in some primal way. It may hurt, but I cannot make that handsome boy want to hold my hand or brush my hair back behind my ear. I can only struggle on. I can only work within myself. I can only try every God damn day to hold my head up, keep my eyes fixed ahead, a give the world the best smile I have. I and I alone can bring myself out of the safety of my bedroom and into the bright world that lies beyond that locked door.
I often find myself alone with nothing more than my thoughts and the ever-strong glow of a computer screen. But no longer will aloneness be the constant in my life. It is true that never having known the caress of a man’s hand on my thigh doesn't make me any less of a woman, but I fear that if I stay confined within myself much longer I will begin to become less of a human. A flower cannot grow if it retracts its leaves and petals every time it feels the warmth of the sun or the kiss of a gentle spring rain.
And I want to grow. I want to grow so tall and blossom so big and beautifully that every place on earth is touched by my shadow at some point in the day. And I will grow. I will push myself and share myself with the world, and finally
know the closeness and comfort of love and honest, unabashed companionship.
Long poem by
Robert Ronnow | Details |
Appointment to have organ removed by robot-assisted surgeon.
Air-conditioned, no mosquitoes in the OR. When you arrive
You'll remove all your clothes. Naked before the ladies, nurses
Who have seen it all before. Mainly remember you're not unique.
Think about the government while they're mixing up the medicine.
There's always governance even if there's little or no government.
Back to counting backwards. Inside out, if I die, will I know it?
At 70, Jack's running the gauntlet with some skill!
Benny Golson wonders aloud what might have been
Had Clifford Brown not been killed in that auto accident.
Jack's girlfriend once said he was the reincarnation of Clifford
But he doesn't believe in ghosts, karma or an afterlife.
Benny's old girlfriend Betty inspired the tune Along Came Betty
And that's the most afterlife Benny or Betty's gonna get.
I thought the discussion of Citizens United in Foreign Affairs
Was liberating. I had had my usual liberal Subaru reaction
To MSNBC reports whereas this article showed the Court's decision
Will diversify political action and break the duopoly of the stalemated
Major parties. Good for you, good for me, good for the family tree.
Those two gay geezers Yeats talks about, I think I like the serving man
Who stands and waits. As a boy, did he hunt? Alone or with his father?
The Trojan bench being not as deep as the Greek
Once Sarpedon and Hector go down even the lucky shot
To Achilles' feet is not enough to save the town.
Aeneas is no match for wily Odysseus
Although unbeknownst to all he has the last laugh when Rome
Conquers Athens, the Myrmidons, what's left of Ilion
And the whole known world from India to Britain.
It's not bad to acknowledge death's primacy
Although after a while you stop remembering
To fear. That's when everything becomes clear
Purpose v. purposelessness matters less,
Anomie v. rule of law, that's a preference
Love v. loneliness, worth about 25 cents
Or a million bucks in the light of the holocaust.
Nothing but light, love and the majesty of death in the room.
Machines stand ready like marines, their beauty is in the motion
That overcomes inertia. The food supply is deeply compromised
So eat whatever you want. Mourning the dead is part of the business
Of healing and staying alive. When you get to the afterlife, walk with eyes
Ocotillo and cactus may be in flower. The robot does the work, imposes
Its own small order, like a girl on a bicycle with disorder in her hair.
Long poem by
Ravindra K Kapoor | Details |
Make The Silent Poetry on Floor - Rangoli*
A gift for all Poetry friends
The Poem is dedicated to Deborah Guzzi for the
inspiration from her blog Onam India &
Linda-Marie The Sweetheart of P.S
Making Rangoli is a thing of joy,
It would fill your heart with lovely pleasure,
When you would watch the silent Poetry,
Smiling in your house on the floor,
And telling a lovely story, of your creative art,
You would feel as if, you have found a treasure,
A treasure of wealth and a way to pleasure.
It is so simple a thing and so lovely in nature,
Even a child can get this priceless pleasure,
Just think a shape or design which you can draw,
It would bring for you
The wealth of happiness of immense nature.
No hard and fast rules, to explore this pleasure,
Just clean your place, when you are at leisure,
Specially the place, where you want to keep this treasure,
Make it as neat and clean, as a place of prayer.
You have many options to make a Rangoli*,
Of your choice and colors,
Take plenty of flower petals of different shades & colors, or
Just take powder of Arrowroot & make it colored,
Keep more of Purple, Yellow, Red or Green,
Both light & dark as you wish to paint and keep, or
Simply paint it with watercolors, to make,
A gorgeous beauty at your door steps.
Make a simple flower, a lotus bud or a figure
Fill these flower petals, in the sketch you have made, or
Just carefully spray different shade of powders
You have made, as different color shades to use.
You can make a Lotus, You can make a Jesus
Make a Temple, a Church or a bell of Christmas,
If you like it, you can also make Mosque,
Just draw a circle & fill it with colors,
Its joy to make a Rangoli & more when,
Watching it becomes a silent pleasure.
Just make it near the entrance point,
From where the Goddess of wealth
May come seeing these colorful drawings,
Sitting on her favorite seat of Lotus,
She would enter in your house
With her blessings of wealth & pleasure.
Make a Rangoli to attract the Goddess of wealth,
Just keep only your dwelling free from heat and dust,
Decorate it with your own made drawing and colors.
See how the children would love this creative game,
Of Making designs and art, to bring in them
A joy of creating something from nothing.
*Rangoli (is a Hindi word) means Circle filled with different colors
Kanpur India 24th Sept. 2010
*Origin of Rangoli is given in my previous Poem