Many-Hued Verse

I wrote a few sidlak poems over the past few days. This form, which has 4 lines of 3-5-7-9 syllables and concludes with a fifth line that is a color, has been fun. I found out about it from Abigail Gronway, who also wrote a nice one. Shared with the Tuesday Platform.


Black coffee

In a library,

On antique, sturdy table —

I sense the musty smell of old books





Proper meter? Rhyme?

Freedom in form anytime.

Word queen of my poetry world, hued





Anxiety fight

Oppressing like a devil,

A cardboard box, sent, undelivered:


Make Music

This is another ghazal, so I am sharing it with DVerse and also with the Tuesday Platform (even though it is Wednesday).

How wonderful it is to make music.
Remember still to sing, do not forsake music.

Voices of the choir rise to the sky,
It comes straight from the heart, this is no fake music.

Even completing chores around the house,
When cooking, mix ingredients and bake music.

Another year has gone, we celebrate
With sweetness special birthday-cake music.

And here comes fall. No fermata on the days
Red leaves tumbling, we rake music.

Cold winter comes, and birds migrate:
This Sparrow packs nothing but can take music.


For Real Toads’ portrait challenge, I took inspiration from a photo taken just before my graduation. 


She’s standing tall, smiling wide,

White tassel not yet on the left side,

Black mortarboard covering brown hair,

Bangs for once out of her blue eyes —

She enjoys this moment feeling surprised

She made it through, with friends too,

Feelings of relief, pride, and true joy bloom.


She has climbed many hills
And mountains, in quick
Succession, sinking soon to
Valleys — wishing for
Flat land, release:

But must everything be
Symbolic? The depth might
Be a bit myopic, for
Are not hills beautiful?
Is not flat land beautiful?
And even the valleys, are
They not verdant, when
One looks to see the whole?

Shared with the Tuesday Platform at Real Toads.









































Bring Us Back Again

This is basically Psalm 80 rewritten as a sonnet. Shared with the Tuesday platform at Real Toads. 

O God of hosts, come bring us back again,

Save us with light shining from Your face,

Why do You frown upon our plea? Soften

Your gaze, and every sorrow please efface.

As bread we have been given tears to eat,

And still more salty tears to be our drink,

We feel from enemies naught but defeat

As day by day our souls more and more shrink.

You planted a vine out of Egypt’s land,

Let boars and beasts ravage the vine no more!

Listen, give life and strength with Your right hand,

We call upon Your name and now implore!

Defeat and destitution now oppress,

But we believe in lasting happiness.