Not a single crumbling house will remain.
People on the pavements, hawkers, garbage,
Only then, a city painted on a scroll, ding-dong.
For the household fish to be cut,
a ash-boti is needed,
not a knife or a dagger.
This city, you see, was once,
in primordial times,
a forest, where deer and tigers
also lived. Keep thinking about it.
Catwalks on the ramp,
soft, gentle feet, within the dreams
of sitting beside the lotus pond,
rural Bengal is becoming far too genteel,
chairs, tables, curtains,
birthday cakes,
Bhadra-month Bhadu Puja, people
dancing and singing, swaying their waists
in courtyards,
a little rice, a little money.
I keep gazing at the pond,
the afternoon pond.
I am an old-fashioned man.
Sparrows and mynas, walking in tiny steps,
squirrels racing past,
the inarticulate map of nature.
I don't know why I am so frightened,
I don't know why I am so delighted,
I don't know, the birthing room, the constellations,
I am thinking about the price of everyday things,
thinking about an ordinary life,
thinking about an ordinary world.
Just now, I had a cup of tea,
a cigarette
We’ve read that Test cricket’s nearly dead
Clearly in a spin checked in to a sick bed
Really fills me with dread could still be fed
If well led & go where angels fear to tread
Been bled and if to T20 wed will be rationed
Why my plea for lunch & tea so impassioned
No modern mantra more tantra & old fashioned
In the silence of the world echoes the sound of old-fashioned verses, full of desires and whispers,
where the rhymes of love intertwine with the thread of time, losing themselves in the distant horizon,
I give you everything I have, without reservation, each moment flowing like a river of unbroken emotions,
what is mine becomes yours, and yours transforms into my essence, an exchange of souls,
begin your day with a warm smile, a universe where light dances on the wings of dawn,
distance measures only miles, but the moments spent together remain like stars,
in the memory of evenings where words needed no sound, only each other's presence,
I have no shiny gifts to offer you, nor flowers that open their petals under the moon's rays,
but I give you my heart, a treasure hidden in endless letters, letters full of longing,
and I tell you that I miss you, like a whisper lost in the night's wind, searching for its echo,
for in your absence, each moment takes on a strange weight, a dance of suspended time,
where each heartbeat is a longing seeking harmony in the silent quiet of love.
Love, love, the old fashioned way
With courtships that lasted more than a day
This new modern age of total free love
Has its appeal but missing the hugs
It's straight to the bedroom on the very first date
Never a thought of perhaps we should wait
Back in the day we wanted a virgin
To experience together the joys of flirting
The coy little love words that promised the moon
Wishing so badly it happens real soon
Anticipation built up in our throbbing veins
Imagining that moment when passion reigns
Now it's “pleased to meet you, let's go to bed!”
Oh for the days of mystery instead
Thinking of when your union's complete
That moment when both are swept off your feet
That moment sublime lasts forever and ever
To happen today, the chance would be never
I want an old fashioned love,
One that misses me when I sleep,
The kind of love that'll sit me down,
And wash my tired feet.
The kind of love that sends me things,
Just to see me grin,
I want the kind of love,
That started as a friend.
I want an old fashioned love,
That will stand there by my side,
That will show me to the world,
Because I am their pride.
The kind of love that lifts me up,
When I have fallen down,
I want the kind of love,
That'll fix my frown.
Old-fashioned parloring. Dreaming
of friendship with tea and cakes.
Feathered fascinators, blooming hats,
all dressed like a bountiful bouquet.
Chatterbox of lovely talk, liveliness
in eyes and lips. Excitement of togetherness.
A cozy of ladies is the best. Dress us up,
kiss us with tasty treats and sips of chai.
Such is the picture of yesteryear, placed
in the Southerner's space. Children pass by
with hardly a howdy-do. Little girls pleased
by a lit up screen, chattering at a box,
unable to size up the others by their character,
wearing ripped up jeans and too small shirts.
These girls don’t know the beauty of baking,
the blossoming of a glass teapot, the lumping
of sugar, an afternoon of nestling in proverbial
glow with sun streaming its shadows on the wall.
One girl glances up, her eyes fly off, like butterflies,
into the space behind the frame, the fragile glass
removed for this moment of time. Her great-grandma
smiles and weeps, holds hope for this progeny.
Suddenly, the girl of twelve, is whisked away in time.
She’s seated at a fresh set table, not questioning why.
All the dreams we talked about
All the words we spoke
I really loved you Bluebird
It wasn't just a joke
And I still do, the fact remains
For you I always will
Have a space inside my heart
That only you can fill
And if the day should ever come
Where longing's in the past
My love for you will still be strong
This kind was meant to last
It's hard, the thought of letting go
I want to hold on tight
And keep the hope that still, you know
That's no more said at night
One time I read a poem
Scribed from you to me
Of things you say no more but that
I still want to believe
Things you said you kept inside
I wonder if they're gone
And if they are I understand
And I will carry on
But I'll pretend they still remain
At times I'll think about
A message from you saying so
Then I won't have to doubt
But if it has to fade away
Again, I'll understand
Though I'll still dream of afternoons
Walking hand in hand
Regardless where my life may go
My days many or few
I'll always love you little dove
And I'll still wait for you
Love takes different steps in different cultures,
If touching means a show of affection,
If holding hands in privacy mean anything,
It's a sincere show of love in my old-fashioned way..
If a few minutes of conversation,
Brings your mind to loving affection,
If going out with the love and families mean anything,
It’s the next step to a solid romantic affection.
If hugs and kisses could wait till wedding,
If bouquet of roses can arouse passion after the bonding,
If dreaming of being in loving arms in silvery night can wait for the day,
It’s true and lasting love in my old-fashioned way.
After living and raising kids for a while,
If one lover leaves for the heavenly pearly gates,
Missing her and passionately feeling alone,
It is a sure sign of deep love.
No door I won't hold open
Old fashioned's my campaign
I'll give you my umbrella
And walk out in the rain
I'll stand until you're seated
I'll offer you my chair
I'll listen to you when you speak
Because I really care
Would a serenade make you happy?
If so, that's what I'll do
I'll treat you like a lady
Only the best for you
Ingredients:
~ A pint of stress
~A cup of anxiety
~A tablespoon of guilt
~A pinch of regret
~A dash of hopelessness
~A sprinkle of self-doubt
Directions:
- Mix all the ingredients in a large bowl
- Stir well until you feel a lump in your throat
- Pour the mixture into a baking pan
- Preheat the oven to 350°F
- Bake for 30 minutes or until golden brown
- Let it cool for 10 minutes
- Cut into slices and serve with a side of tears
*I wrote this poem on January 20, 2024, as part of a ’30 days of poetry’ January challenge. This was day 20 and the prompt was: Write your poem in the form of a recipe. This can be for something tangible, such as a cake, or it can be a more abstract concept such as love or happiness. List ingredients and directions for mixing and tips for cooking up your concept to perfection.
It’s an old-fashioned
Bell - a silver-tingling, it’s a-ringing
The choir’s singing
Their wrists a-swinging, up and down
It’s an old-fashioned
Carriage ride, abiding on the crunchy snow
Fresh and new
Flakes still falling, silently blowing
It’s an old-fashioned
Popcorn string, winding ‘round the pine
Some popped
Into cherub mouths, those kids grinning
It’s an old-fashioned
Reading of the ghosts of past, present, future
Chills from the draft
As the smoke pours into the hereafter
It’s an old-fashioned
Christmas Eve - carolling comes calling
To each decked out door
Gifts scattered under tree at midnight
It’s an old-fashioned
Church service - all eyes on Jesus
The babe’s in the manger
Kids - Bethlehem clothed
Bell - a silver-tingling, it’s a-ringing
Carriage ride, abiding on the crunchy snow
Popcorn string, winding ‘round the pine
Reading of the ghosts of past, present, future
Christmas Eve - carolling comes calling
Church service - all eyes on Jesus
Bring back the old-fashioned joy
You may think me a bit old-fashioned…sometimes I know I do…
but when it comes to presents this Christmas…or any day…
in my heart I know this to be true….
The only present I ever wish for…
the one that keeps my life on track…
is to have someone to say ‘I love you’ to me
and for them to hear ‘I love you’ back.
You may think me a bit old-fashioned…sometimes I know I do…
but when it comes to presents this Christmas…or any day…
in my heart I know this to be true….
The only present I ever wish for…
the one that keeps my life on track…
is to have someone to say ‘I love you’ to me
and for them to hear ‘I love you’ back.
A rotted old house deep in the South
Was where I learned to shut my mouth
And keep my stockings high and my hems low
And take care of babies and learn to sew
And the very first thing I stitched together
Was made of cotton that had heathered
Was a pair of pants like my Papa wore
“For wearin’ ‘round the house!” my Mama swore
When I was ten I was grown enough
To wear layered dresses and shoulder puffs
To gussy up when I went out for a walk
And to court a man with dainty talk
I got old enough to leave the nest
And my Papa found one out in the west
A farmer’s boy with corn agrow
And I didn’t care enough to say no
Six babies to him I gives
Ain’t none of which who lives
I didn’t much care for them anyways
But now he works much longer days
But when he’d come home and go to bed
I’d creep around the dark farmstead
And saddle up his horse to ride
I felt like such a man astride
He done worked himself to death
On that horse he drew his last breath
The preacher offered three hundred
And my horse and I were sundered
Now as I sit, old and gray
I think about the final day
And maybe the Lord will let me be
Out of these bones and finally free.
Gentlemen always say ‘Ladies first.’
Women always seem to adore it;
Masculine ways charm naysayers,
feminine tears a man does not permit;
Flower bouquet given for no reason,
power to bring a smile and calm mind;
Shower of laughter and a bear hug,
our love is the old fashioned kind.
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