I’ve always wondered
What it would feel like
If one day we awaken and
The sun refused to shine.
If the tree leaves stood ramrod
Without the rhythm of the winds.
If the birds remained in their niches,
And the sky stood empty.
What would it feel like
If all the coffee shops lacked coffee,
(Decaf does not count),
If papers wouldn’t take up poetry,
If silence was the new “pollution”.
And noise became (what’s noise?)
Then you left.
The coffee shops are still stocked
And of course the sun arose.
The tree leaves are dancing,
And the birds going to and fro.
Today.. I know how it feels.
Last month was my blogiversary, and I asked you all to ask any questions you want to be answered. For this month, I’d be posting my blog posts with an answer to a question, so keep an eye out for that.
Question 2 (Jodi) She asks “where does your inspiration for your writing comes from. It is often sad and deep and I worry it is about you.”
Most of the time, I get my inspiration from life. I am not an abstract person, so abstract art and still life art are not my forte. I cant look at an empty cup and easily gain inspiration from that. My inspiration comes from people.
I am a very inquisitive person, I love to understand people, why they feel the way the do, why they react certain ways. And if i don’t have answers to that, I find that poetry gives me the freedom to create that. It helps me fill in the remaining pictures of a puzzle. And also, the amount tragedy and sadness floating around becomes too much for me to contain at times, and so writing becomes a way of unburdening.
I hope that answers the question.
“Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness,
It took me years to understand that this, too, was a gift.”
The above quote is one I have seen roaming on the internet for years now, always the words, never the author. I only just found our today, It was written by the Pulitzer winner and incredible poet- Mary Oliver.
I have read a lot of Mary Oliver’s poems but connected with a only few- The poem I am sharing below is one of them. But then again, my choice of Poetry is something else. Either way, reading Mary Oliver’s poems gives one the sense that she is a woman in tune with nature. She writes a lot about nature and in soothing words.
Below is the poem I chose for this week’s writer’s Poem Wednesday. I hope you like it:
What can I say by Mary Oliver
What can I say that I have not said before?
So I’ll say it again.
The leaf has a song in it.
Stone is the face of patience.
Inside the river there is an unfinishable story
and you are somewhere in it
and it will never end until all ends.
Take your busy heart to the art museum and the
chamber of commerce
but take it also to the forest.
The song you heard singing in the leaf when you
were a child
is singing still.
I am of years lived, so far, seventy-four,
and the leaf is singing still.
Feel the warmth of the sun
Reflecting upon your golden skin,
feel it’s love bathing every inch
of your body. Absorb it-
the love the universe
Is pouring onto
Let it seep
Through the pores of your skin,
Through your bloodstream straight
To your heart, to your brain which
Needs a jog, a reminder that you
Are needed, you are loved,
Your presence on the
earth is a necessity.
He is the scent of
freshly ground coffee
On a winter morning.
The energy I need
To walk through
He is the gentle hum
Of mockingbirds. Flooding
The earth with rhythms
Solely and uniquely theirs.
His voice- a reminder
Of what a beautiful world
I live in- my world.
He is a breath of
Fresh air, in a world
Filled with darkness
And grey clouds
And starless skies.
He is the green tree
With it’s luscious leaves,
My source of peace,
He is the moon appearing
In spite of the night.
My light in an unending
He is everything
I need and I love him
Even more because-
He is mine.
I really enjoyed doing the december poetry challenge last year. Plus, I found this really inspiring prompt called “30 layers, 30 days” which many bloggers have completed now. So, I decided to use the prompts for December.
prompt: Another Reason
D.S Fenworthy found a spot to watch the magnificent display happening right in front of his eyes. He laid on his back, with his head resting atop his intertwined fingers; unbothered by the sand grains gaining entry into his clothe.
The display lasted only a few minutes, but those minutes were everything. The sun transformed into a ginormous golden beauty from a speck; and in the process, created an undertone of subtle colours, evoking a feeling words could not describe.
For some reason, D.S Fenworthy felt at peace.
He searched in his pocket for the piece of paper his partner D.I Lucy had left for him and read it again.
“We all have those days…. Thank me later.”
That was all it said, and then this location and time was scribbled beneath.
He smiled and crumpled up the paper, thinking, despite what the other coppers said, D.I Lucy was one heck of a partner and boss.
word count: 158. The above story is in reaponse to Flash fiction for aspiring writers photo prompt challenge. Each week we are provided with a picture and are to write a 75-175 word story. Thank you for this week’s photo: @Footy and Foodie
There’s the sun in the sky,
A showstopper of it’s own runway,
Irrespective of the clouds.
There’s the moon at night,
A star amidst the stars around,
Unmatched in its might.
There are the trees and the
Exotic birds perched amongst them;
There’s the ocean with its waves
Rising then falling like a rollercoaster play;
There are the mountains,
With their peaks decorated with snows,
There are the valleys,
With water beautifying their body,
And there’s You.
You gush about the universe ,
And the beauty it encompasses;
All I gush about is- You.
They are your stars,
You are my star.
facebook page: Words of a random
From the lids of our lips;
Bear a story,
we deny the opportunity,
Of the permanence
Into the universe,
Uniting with its brothers-
Escaping from other’s prisons.
Do you feel it,
When the wind brushes,
Across your face,
On a summer day;
Do you hear its whispers
holds within itself,
A story untold.
The above image is courtesy of Pinterest.com
Because children are dying,
And women are dying,
And men and animals
And women are killing,
And men are killing,
Are the cause,
Of the death in our surroundings.
The climate is changing,
For we are polluting,
Then we complain,
The heat is unbearable;
The land shores are flooded,
And that’s not the problem,
The dirt they flow with,
We had thrown-
with our own hands.
The trees- are cut short,
New ones are not planted,
For simply ornaments;
Their forests are burnt out,
The animals homeless,
And yet we are
When they visit our home lands.
Children are dying,
Animals are dying,
At the hands of,
Men and women in our society.
Facebook page: words of a random. Let’s connect!
the above image Is courtesy of My word wizard
There’s beauty in odd numbers,
And the things that don’t conform;
The sun on a winter December,
And rain when autumn draws.
There’s beauty in resilience,
Falling nine times, rising ten;
Standing strong when all around us,
Are breaking down in pairs.
There’s beauty in acceptance,
Of the flaws that make us whole;
For the only way to right things,
Is to acknowledge first- the wrong.
There’s beauty in forgiveness,
Letting things roll off our backs;
Shunning off small talks and gossips,
For our sanity, not theirs.
There’s beauty all around us,
And within our ourselves- unique,
Different sizes, shape and colour,
Each beautiful in its own being.
Facebook page: words of a random, let’s connect!
“Boss“, began D.S Fenworthy before he was shushed to silence by his partner D.I Lucy. She sat with her head, half-out the car window, gazing towards the sky, as had been her position for the past 20 minutes.
“Boss, this is getting ridiculous.” Groaned Fenworthy.
D.I Lucy sighed before turning her gaze to face him in the driver’s seat.
“A few minutes of silence was all I wanted,” she muttered.
“Well, We’ve been sitting in this car for the past four hours“, Fenworthy moaned.
“4 hrs, 37 minutes“, she corrected.
“Yes that. Can’t we leave already.”
D.I Lucy smiled in wonder at how Fenworthy could be surrounded with such beauty- The soothing presence of the golden yellow ombré against a blue background in the sky, the soft whooshing sounds of tree leaves, the cool autumn breeze blowing; yet still find something to moan about.
“Soon Fen.” She answered, knowing he couldn’t decipher her facial expressions in the darkness. And thinking to herself, “some people need a date with nature.”
Word count: 166. The above story is in response. You Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writer’s photo prompt challenge, where each week we are provided with a picture and are to write a 75-175 word story on it. Thank you @footy and foodie for this week’s photo.