Tag: story
group name: myxmasbreakdown
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December 21, 2009 08:04 PM EST --
The penumbra of a Monday
The shadows’ montage on the Monday path;
the shadows of cars, trees, people, rooftops;
everything is on the move; even trees
move from . . .
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October 03, 2009 07:52 AM EDT --
Hearing a festival
The promotional colored handbills
are in a fancy flight of freedom.
Roads cheer; wind blows; children dance, couples.
These are the special . . .
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December 13, 2009 07:59 PM EST --
Reality of a vacation
It falls, dignifiedly sloth, deliberate;
it falls while we listen to the stream, the tune.
The harmony embraces us; the rich hues
of the . . .
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October 28, 2009 09:38 PM EDT --
haiku
two boys ride
a broken car
sun sets at the junkyard
= © 2009- C opyright reserved Kushal Poddar (reprinting is absolutely prohibited, without permission) . . .
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January 05, 2009 09:55 PM EST --
The rabbit's grave
Remember the tree, belonged to you,
grown with fussy care and given a name?
look, the wintry cage of its branches
is seeking the answer why you have left! . . .
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October 25, 2009 06:33 AM EDT --
N eatly p assionate
By
Kushal Poddar
I
He looks at those packing boxes, lying askew. The lack of pattern disturbs him. He moves them till they form a perfect pyramid. Ask anybody . . .
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June 28, 2009 10:23 PM EDT --
Father does not know
She is swimming for an promised land
struggling with wave after wave.
The desert storm always tumbles
her thoughts’ relative perspectives.
. . .
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October 06, 2009 09:44 PM EDT --
The Journey Home
© 2009 Robert C. Burnham
God created mountains
So I would learn to climb
He put some dirt before me
Removing my fear of grime . . .
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March 02, 2009 09:47 PM EST --
Another day with rain
The sky has been falling down
since last Monday.
He brings the glass ashtray
kept on the porch.
It is sparkling, bathed, fresh.
“No cigarette.”
He promises . . .
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October 29, 2009 09:34 PM EDT --
Tastes like life
A drop of gold on your tongue; roll it;
savor the flavor; this is what we
are made of…the taste of the moments.
The bar, . . .
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February 26, 2009 10:13 PM EST --
Middle class dreams- II
( To the women, to Alison )
“How do you feel, having a job after all these years?”
She may have answered that it feels like facing a sea;
standing in front . . .
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March 11, 2009 10:30 PM EDT --
The five minutes in a killed lift
The soft buzz is killed all of a sudden.
The world flickers, blinks as the lights die and born.
You can listen to millions of words
the . . .
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January 11, 2009 09:54 PM EST --
Attic eyes
A pensive eagle flies
in the ethereal space.
The encyclopedia salesman
crawls down the road
with his paralyzed cheery face.
A note of distant bell
is . . .
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October 05, 2009 09:46 PM EDT --
Insane bones
Van Gogh went away before I knew him well.
Yesterday I finally understood him
over a goblet of blood and a shared
feelings of the burns of insanity.
In the basement . . .
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October 08, 2009 09:39 PM EDT --
the second monsoon
Résumé of rain; a daughter waits
for her gifts at the end; you call her
to come out, to have lunch; remind her
that it is too early for the . . .
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November 07, 2009 08:37 PM EST --
Flesh of an apple
A drop of red; stains earth; proves gravity;
grows up as a sprawled tree; bears alluring,
glistening fruits I have brought for you at this
sickbed. . . .
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October 30, 2009 09:25 PM EDT --
to the psychiatrist with a stabbing wound
(To Dr. Astrid Desrosiers and Kathy, she drew my attention to the news)
Stabbing wound; let the wet sigh gush out!
Now the autumn sun, . . .
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March 30, 2009 03:23 PM EDT --
Dame Ruth asked that we dust off any old articles we might have that we would like to share for Mirthday. I thought this one might be fitting for the time of year. first posted: March . . .
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August 02, 2009 07:38 AM EDT --
passion of believing
If this red orchid means anything
it is the passion of believing,
it is the belief in believing.
Noon has made the orchid little shy;
it . . .
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August 04, 2009 07:32 AM EDT --
R un, soul run (Don’t ask where)
When the train has passed, you can still see them,
coming, sweaty with the long chase and noon.
As we are turning our head, running
again my eyes . . .
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