"What is life but a succession of preludes to unwritten words . . . "
Quote by Constance La France
Oil just few drops left; wick irrecoverably worn out;
Wet match box; just a single stick; I strike, yet, with no doubt;
Midst terrible tempests, torrential rains and thatch-roof-leak,
Clings to a nook of that cracked chimney, survival seen bleak;
I shield the flame; count the hour; will day, yet, before time dawn?
Who will steal? What? With these thoughts I serenely sleep, fears gone...!
17 November 2022
WRITING CHALLENGE - ''V'' Forms Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Categories:
irrecoverably, analogy, life,
Form: Vaasokht
I fled from the clutch of boss
To stay clear of drop-dead day
My head was buzzy, eyes fuzzy
As if stepped on a big stingray.
They call me an angry ghost
A poltergeist of neighborhood
They are very right my wife says
You are too ill-mannered and irrecoverably rude.
I am an epitome of conflagration
and sting my son like Bumblebee
My daughter Fay in the month of May
Cudgeled me on and I took a knee.
I am spontaneous that I can say
Like a thunderbolt on Vanderbilt
Although I am scared of a rainy day
I admit this is my only guilt.
05th May, 2018
Categories:
irrecoverably, anger, fun, funny,
Form: Rhyme