Sky when with dense clouds abound,
Seeing which peacocks dance around
On tender-green-dress-bedecked a hill,
In such a stirring scene, love-bound,
Which wayfarer wistful would not feel?
_____________________________
Translation (Quintain) | 34.08.2025 | monsoon, Nature, passion, peacock, nostalgia
Note: Here is a verse (in Arya meter) from Bhartrihari’s Shringaara Shatakam (hundred verses on love and romance). Spring was dealt with in the preceding verse. The poet now paints a picture of monsoon: dark clouds surround; excited, peacocks dance; the earth is bedecked with a lush green dress; a traveller longing for conjugal bliss, feels homesick. Here is the transliteration of the verse in Sanskrit:
Upari ghanam ghana-patalam tiryak
girayo api nartita mayurah |
Kshitih api kandala dhavala
drashtim pathikah kva yapayatu || 47 ||
She’d hypnotise, entrance in playful fun,
Annoy, amuse, play-sport, or depress men,
Embrace often as snub, damsel doe-eyed,
Hijacking heart, would show no compassion,
Wonder, what weapons would she leave aside?
_________________________
Translation (quintain) | 25.08.2025 | woman, weapon, win
Note: Here is a verse from Bhartrihari’s Shringaara Shatakam (hundred verses on love and romance). Once a woman wins over the heart of a man what all would she not do, the poet wonders (meter: Vasanta-tilakaa). Here is the transliteration:
Sam-mohayanti madayanti vidambayanti,
Nirbhartsayanti ramayanti vishaadayanti |
Etaah pravishya sa-dayam hrdayam naraanaam,
Kim naama vaama nayanaa na samaacharanti || 21 ||
When you have stared too long
at that lifeless screen,
take a hint from the bird song -
abandon the machine.
See me through your window, so serene.
And if you feel alone
gazing at the skies,
soften up your hard heart of stone -
her soul's window might surprise
when you see me in her loving eyes.
His future was assured. I’ll tell you why.
His father owned “Repairs and Parts Supply”.
Though only twelve, already Markie could
your median income at a glance descry
and whistle as he raised your engine’s hood.
With me, he mastered nothing. Didn’t try.
What need had he for Treaties of Versailles?
Before he came to school he’d greet the crew
he knew he would inherit, by and by,
and sell a solenoid – or maybe two.
My classroom, in those days, happened to lie
across the schoolyard. Out of habit, I
arrived before the others. There I’d sit
completely unobserved by prying eye,
and grade some papers, daydream how to quit.
Young Markie would approach me on the sly,
just me and him, alone at Fleetwood High:
his head appeared around my door to shout
(it never varied – what a funny guy)
“Just sort your life out, sir!” and then run out.
Some jokes are full-on funny, some are wry:
and humour sometimes makes us want to cry:
our choices, often hard to justify.
My friends all wish, and say so with a sigh,
I’d followed Markie’s counsel. So do I.
Napoleon the Second died today,
albeit back in eighteen thirty-two.
He had no truck with men like Soult or Ney,
but died too young to form a proper hue.
Would he have thrown a million lives away?
It ultimately matters what we do:
the world can disregard the dross we say,
and slaughter would begin again anew,
since ego , by its nature, seeks out prey:
the third Napoleon stood in the queue!
67 years 8 months, you are now of age
What achievements have you to gage
Married twice children there are four
What legacy is left as you walk out the door
Bowler. Firefighter, part time clown
Carpenter, DPW worker, man with a frown
Wonderful daughter, 2 boys and one stepson
To most this would be a lottery won
A failed engagement, divorce, a marriage of 41 years
Look back on my life, bring on the tears
Take a good long look and you clearly see
sixty-seven years, not where you thought you’d be
Clock counting down, retirement looms
A new chapter in life about to bloom
Pension set, financially sound
Damn I am not ready to just sit around
Often quiet evenings, when I read,
Memories of you softly intrude
Times when you were my only need
Heady days of a love we pursued
and saw only in glasses rose hued.
Thoughts surface I wish would move on,
as unknown others invade my sleep.
They are interlopers, quickly spawned,
spreading fantasies that grow and creep,
like tangled vines invading my sleep.
Dreams of you lie easy on my eyes
memories tossed and tumbled with time.
Although the past may wear a disguise
discarding thoughts we'd like to decline
I like thoughts of you caressing mine
Memories are stored of long-ago past,
as your sweet face invades my mind
with sunshine days that will always last.
They're a treasure we happened to find
while intrusive thoughts are left behind.
No matter what has become
Not willing to ponder or succumb
A moment of temptation's best
Breaking off wanting rest
A battle may be won
I only wanted a love,
And to fall in love with you;
I’m closing the door,
Just one time more,
To leave you in the rear view.
I desired to be about you,
Not wanting to live without you;
You’re a woman, so pretty,
It’s no mystery;
I thought I had found you –
"Never paint except with the three primary colors [red, blue, and yellow] and their derivatives." Camille Pissarro
One primary color can make me feel mellow
when warm like honey heated up or like rays of a golden sun.
It’s flax, saffron, blond, and canary yellow,
cheerful like a daffodil and bumblebee fun.
It’s bananas too and a well-buttered bun!
The second and vivid primary color
spells energy, boldness, passion and power.
Cardinals make most other birds seem simply duller.
A symbol of love, rose reigns as a fragrant red flower,
while scarlet and crimson sunsets my eyes can devour.
The loveliest for me of these three colors is the hue
that melds with yellow, thus creating green.
Some jewels, blooms and berries are naturally blue.
Splendid is a dusk with the tint of an indigo sheen.
Oh, cerulean sky above seawater shimmering aquamarine!
Moments come and moments go
as time keeps marching on;
hold me now and kiss me slow
‘fore sunlight breaks with morning dawn,
and wills this precious moment gone.
May 5, 2025
Life is a constant oscillation between the sharp horns of dilemmas.
~ Henry Louis Mencken
Who cares if I but die today
or a day after, for all I care,
There's nothing else to do or say
No thoughts to write or share…
Why would I linger on in despair?
So let me live my last days my way
To drink, dance, cheat, steal or lie,
You are welcome to join, if you may,
I'll feast and frolic, least worried to die
drinking wine, whiskey, rum and rye.
If I do none but good deeds and pray,
Will you guarantee heaven when I die?
I'll be honest and walk a straight way
On the words of the Lord I shall rely…
Will I then in Paradise blissfully lie?
Oh, I am aware about the afterlife,
I rather enjoy this life here and now
Neither heaven I crave nor eternal life
Unless you wanna go first somehow
Verify this place with joys did endow.
A Mom and Dad who'd drifted far apart
walked by their little daughter's room one night
and heard, "I'm hurting right here in my heart!
I wish," she told her dolls, "they wouldn't fight
and be mean to each other. It's not right!"
Before too long those parents, who had prayed,
stood holding hands outside their daughter's door.
They heard, "Oh, dollies, Mom and Dad have made
me happy. They're not fighting anymore.
My wishing made them sweeter than before."
Every year a page freshly spun,
Merry moments bright and bold,
Radiant cheer, your dawn begun,
Cradled by stories to be told,
Now celebrate as years unfold.
©bfa032525
Dill pickle hated him so
Because he stank badly
Dill pickle screamed just go
Blue cheese wept thus sadly
When I leave the fridg, bro
I'll stink ever much mo
Dill pickle grew older
Fermenting like a bozo
Then opening his holder
A stink scent deathblow
Specific Types of Quintain (English) Poems
Definition | What is Quintain (English) in Poetry?