Last Year

last year gone —
a new night shadows
the usual talk
~
barking dogs
trail my shadow
like last year
~
last year memories —
ablaze in the orange flame
of the street light

.

Linking it up with Carpe Diem # 639 and Heeding Haiku With HA: New Year(click to participate now)

Image source

It is 2015. I wish you and your loved ones a joyous and prosperous new year.
There are certain blogging resolutions, I would like to make, for this year:

1. Write at least a 100 posts this year.
2. Poetry must be the focal point but I would also like to consider writing reviews(books and music albums) and simple thoughts coursing through my mind.
3. Renew friendship with the bloggers. In 2014, I lost touch with many bloggers. I would like to renew contact with them, while at the same time, making some new friends in the blogosphere.
4. Participate exclusively in the prompts of poetry and blogging communities.
5. Reach a wider audience through my writing, with the help of other social networking sites like Twitter.

Advertisements

Soaking

unheeded
soaking the grass greener-
December dew

.

Linking it up with Carpe Diem Special # 122

Image source

The thoughts also become foggy just like these days sometimes. I remember such incidents which are of no significance anymore. They are smeared with the ink of the past, which one can’t change.
The dew of hope soaks the memories and dreams, making them appear brighter than they ever were or would be. This grass still grows within me, as December is passing by, and another year would soon be erased from our lifetimes.

Anm

Green

a bud reaches out

conjured by the smoke whirls-

day light blows off

.

green tunnel of trees-

a boy from a passing bus

plucks a specked leaf

.

An inactive spell has infiltrated my mind and my senses nowadays. And here I wrote what I saw in a memory or a dream, when it arrived at my door of current thought.

For Carpe Diem # 507 and the upcoming prompt of Heeding Haiku With HA on Wedbesday, where I talk about improvising our haiku by taking care of certain details while writing. Do not forget to visit Mind Love Misery’s Menagerie for a variety of writing prompts throughout the week,

Image source

Anm

Wind’s fault

Imagine me on one side of the division by a steel wire(originally meant for hanging clothes to dry, of course no net for home players) hanging a little crooked between the two walls and my sister on the other side of it. I am waving my racket, playing shots at the empty air and she is looking at me with a zealous fire in her eyes. She serves.

The shuttle cock lifts high and high and flies over the top of me. I thrust my hand upward to make my racket reach and hit it back but I miss because of the loftiness. It befalls and I bow down to pick it up. She shouts, “1-0”.

“But it was way too high.”

She doesn’t reply and I serve(we do not play by traditional rules. Anyone can serve anytime) while saying, “That is blatantly wrong.” And before my words reach her, the shuttle falls down… on my side. A fault in my serve. “I was distracted. I was talking to you.”

She doesn’t reply. And I pick it up once again to serve. Thankfully, it goes right. After a good rally, I gain my first point. The match continues.

“3-1”

“4-3”

“5-5”

Then, it happens. “10-6” “12-8” Shot after shot, she makes the winning points because I can’t match the height of her shots. I complain. Sometimes, she obliges by agreeing to giving no one any point but other times, I myself reward her with the increasing numbers because after all, my strokes are not good enough. And as she well puts it, “It is the wind’s fault. It is blowing in your direction and when I strike my racket and make a shot, the shuttle goes way too up than the height it is intended to reach while on your side.”

I know it to be quite true.

After I gain some momentum, the score reaches, 15-15.

“17-15”

“17-19”

“Game-19”

She plays the winning shot.

I say, “It was the wind’s fault. I could have won it.”

“Hmm. I won it from you for the first time.” She just nods but forgets to mention that it is the wind’s fault.

We play some more but eventually stop because of the fast blowing wind. See, it is actually the wind’s fault.

it is the wind’s fault

aiming at the height of it

shuttle cock befalls

~

shuttle cock befalls

eyes follow its passage down

palms freeze by wind’s fault

~

losing the high aim

I grunt and wipe my cold sweat

it is the wind’s fault

.

By the way, I won today. Yay! You did yay as well, right? End score: 21-17, 21-18. 🙂 I will be linking it up with the Poetry Pantry today. I will be here and there… somewhere but I will eventually visit you to read the poetic confluence of your words.