He is tired of seeing everyday
the scintillating sun rises and sets,
craves to capture the captivating time
as a beguiled butterfly flitting away
beyond the halcyon horizon.
So, on daybreak he starts to run,
his butterfly chase has begun
to hold time in control,
decide when the sun will rise and set,
how long the torn heart will dream.
The butterfly flies away far,
in its wake his past tapestry
he sees weaved with agony strands.
As he closes the dismal eyes,
dormant emotions well up in the present.
Melted rainbow stream flows to the future,
gust of hope clears the cloud of gloom,
he sees the butterfly return.
While he slips in the runnel of tear,
he is captured by the captivating time.
________________
October 14, 2022
Contest : Captivation
Sponsored by : Julia Ward
Grow in silence,
That I call a reliance;
In that no one will choke
And break my heart like a joke .
It picks me up from the mess;
Sh! Hear the nothingness.
An escape from the raucous world,
And the stories which are themselves curled.
Imagination thrives in it;
Where the soul feels a certain grit.
It gives a meaning to the esse,
Sh! Hear the nothingness.
Silence has a lot to say
And shows an unerring way.
It holds answers,
That are as right as lancers.
It makes the erroneous situation redress;
Sh! Hear the nothingness.
It makes a person ablaze,
For 'tis more poignant than a phrase.
Silence is often misconceived as an uncanny situation;
In truth it's a peaceful combination.
It offers calmness and makes the hassle less.
Sh! Hear the nothingness.
Some thinks that 'tis traumatic,
While some thinks that it's erratic;
But though 'tis full of hope and not a runnel,
Verily it's like a light at the end of the tunnel.
It's like an ocean that's serene and pulls me from distress;
Sh! Hear the nothingness.
-Namish
I spot the tunnel
tis is not bright
alas a runnel
it's in my sight
fear of runners
in the park
leery of gunners
after dark
Mobsters Ball
it is a panic
the bathroom stall
a hustler manic
now I'll close in
nowhere to hide
a rat's den
no tears have dried
something disguised
what can that be
yellow eyes
staring at me
I can't afford
to be frenzied
there is a board
I'll ward off the envied
now I will run
back to my dome
monster I did stun
my hideaway home
He’s tired of seeing everyday
the rise and set of crimson sun,
decides to capture time, thinking
as butterfly it flies away
beyond deep horizon sinking.
So, on daybreak he starts to run,
his butterfly chase has begun
to hold time within his control,
to decide when sun’ll rise, night’ll fall,
how long dreams will live in split heart.
Butterfly flies far, can’t avert,
in its wake his past tapestry
from the top of hill he could see,
weaved in snapped strands of agony.
He feels upwelled emotions rise,
on the present he closes eyes,
melted rainbow stream flows within
where future drifts away unseen.
Storm clouds of gloom gust of wind clears,
he sees the butterfly fly back
while he slips on runnel of tears,
time captures his life off the track.
January 24, 2020
Contest : Strict Rhyme And Meter Challenge
Sponsor : Son of Spock
THE DELUGE
Placid waters sans piquant ripples
Freaked out with furious,forceful jerks
Reeking of rare reckless rumbling rage
Bloated brook burst beyond banks, berserk
Downhill town duped ,drenched, drowned and devoured
by conniving crushing conqueror
Merciless river lost all morals
Swamping streets like a shameless sinner
Roared and rushed the ravaging runnel
Its long hideous hands hushed all lips
Millions of lives maimed marauded
Annihilate, said apocalypse.
Date Nov29 2016( earlier submission)
9 syllables per line
Contest Riverline New guidelines
Now submitted for Brian Strands any form any theme max 25 lines
When the unforeseen mistrel swipes the land,
tiny warriors trudge against the force.
“Back down! Retreat!”, the general commands.
The musketeers recoil back on course.
Then the torrent readily disembarks,
the entire army rolls up horse and foot.
A few lucky ones hop on Noah’s ark,
their chiseled armors soaked with sludge and soot.
When many lightning bolts descend to strike,
the runnel puts on a golden brown cloak,
keep spinning to show and tell, like a tyke.
Unheeded, the beast goes berserk and croaks.
Then emerges an ugly tsunami,
too marred, the canoe gives in to this strife.
Unyielding, the orts repair unity,
primed to take it down head-on with their lives.
When the wreckage is wrecked with such a flair,
then their raw thumbs stands upright in the air.
I am in my house,
With a panicked mouse.
Coming back from the fridge
Going through the sand-ridge
Into its hole in a jiffy
Then squeaking out - Yippee !
Then come two rats
With a hard pat on the back
Running along with its mate
Making things obfuscate
Around the bagful of nickels
Crossing the jar full of pickles
The rat and its mate came back trotting
With a block of cheese that was rotting
After some time in a line
Came a parade f rats and mice
With and hats and lice.
Everyone was mournful
But a mouse eating a mouthful
Who was happy and glad
Was making everyone sad.
He ate with nosh
Wearing a hat that was posh
After hogging and stuffing
He got up puffing,
Ready for his quest
Sqeaking good bye to the rest,
He leaped across a runnel
And ran into a thicket
Never to be spotted again.
There is a little ficary with brilliant golden disks,
Scattered all along the riverbanks the first in April,
Then a homely happy little daisy rises to look around,
Smiles and grows thinly sprinkled on turf on our walk.
Colts foot shows yellow flowers on many cold bear lands,
Violets blue and white as sweet as honey in its haunts,
A card amine bows to to the sun and his flowery friends,
From a hollow or on the margin of a tiny little runnel.
The primrose in their glory are a punctual as daylight,
Anemones dance a lovers dance in the cool early breeze,
Everywhere the trees in a wood and hedges look crimson,
Nature prepares delight even in these black chilly days.
The daffy-down-dilly is picked and plucked by children,
It has always been known as the good old English flower,
It lives in cottage gardens with rue so bright and yellow
And grows in box-hedges neglected arbor's and dirty alleys.
Radiance sifts through the crinkled foliage,
as the shadows mimic the gently oscillating
leaves. For the full yellow-white moon has risen. A brook cascading over stones
is embraced by grassy banks,
as it flows through an Early Autumn.
The runnel captures the shimmering gleam;
it is a glittering diamond bracelet
wrapped around a woman’s wrist;
she may pleasurably touch,
twist the glass-like gems-
like the falling leaf that flutters,
twirls in the breeze,
lightly grazes the surface-
'til it is lifted again by a gust in the night.
A bird nesting over the moonlit rill
wears its luster
on its grey- green speckled wings.
They are tucked to sleep.
The coloring leaves rustle,
continue to sway...
The light, this enlighten definition of facing thyself
As a warm aura floating on your skin
The light of your mind.
Suddenly, there is a voice leading you
To an inner path, forgotten yet carved
The voice of dominance.
Like an angel from the sky touches your name
With her winds of glory
As a blaze, a spark, a fire this realization appears
In front of your eyes
In front of your soul.
This epiphany is nothing more than you.
Your spirit needs to overhang, your hands want to atone
For this blood they carry
From centuries of stone, where trees were brown
Where life was just a runnel.
A mirror stands in front of you
This is your curse, this is your price
To know your eyes color, the shape of your nose
The lines carved on your palms
Your knees ligament, your toes steps.
The acceptance of these is the Apocalypse!
You touch your breaths and you can count them
Along with your choices and your mistakes.
Now you can Appear as Epiphany to you.
Once along those lines, counted your years here...
Was this then? ornate clasps solace thee,
upon its iris, all exempt from night,
Thy day decides, laud shall lead us on,
Spoken, 'tis breath already expired, exhale,
down hills, scurry curtsied runnel quips ye,
have you not Life? or does life have you knot?
do you, not laugh the casket on blooms?
this nightmare won ye, shrouded lids lash,
await! Have I lost, its timed overt petals?
Twas darkness cascading crosswise, nay ye mask,
waterfalls, could tremble beneath tincture's awning,
Young solemn face, grows splendor for light,
So then as this was, pistils shrivel tessera's fib,
undo its pulse, a cadence true of one,
One measure at a time, one string strung tight,
and your expression, cleft, as if said,
"If only, you can see; what I see, now."