A Quest on Overdrive … :)

An eccentric rambler on life's lessons and mercies, found and lost… :)


Thirty Days

Thirty days of #NaPoWriMo
(That’s National Poetry Writing Month-
Out there in the Americas 😛
Just borrowed it, jhakkas, yo! 😀 )

Reminds me of the ol’ nursery rhyme
Of September, June and November
But, doncha worry, them three months
I shall not, in this manner, commit chryme 😀

This year be the challenge year
First, February, that odd one out
And now April, with chryminal showers
Starting with this one, the Appetizer!

Made Vows to not be Undone
By either the Summer heat
Or the lazy me! And Touché!
I wasn’t Recalcitrant, such fun!

Caught in the Crosshairs of a longing
Relieved by The Solace of a Song
Finding, Unexpressed, a Truth,
And The Fault of our…. yearning…

The Magic of Revisiting Innocence
Done, leaving one Untitled, then
Writing The Book, with the Sun In My Eyes
Finding Belonging, still going great guns 😀

The Eternal Damnation of the Teacher, next
Which better was left Unsaid 😛 as ought
The rain that did not fall, or the futility of expectation!
Two lines or more, a Memory Byte of a text 😀

Remembrance, dear, hot-footed, Astute as ever
To grief, even if the Reluctant Rain plagued thoughts
But no Cloud, upon the joy of A Special Person 🙂
Never Enough, is the best to say, of Love and Forever 🙂

Indistinct, most times, irreverent sometimes 😀
Rambling, always, senseless, but always 😀
The month, thirty days, of April, in verse, or worse
Has come to be, anyways 😀 😀

30 April, 2015

Day#30 of #NaPoWriMo …. the thingy of linking back in the last post, all of ’em that have been done, in the past month – an entirely unoriginal idea, first tried here (LINK – yes, another one 😛 )

If you let your mouse pointer hover over them links, in blue, and click on them, you will be taken to the post that goes by that name – it’s a compilation, this nonsense verse, of all of the posts for this month, for National Poetry Writing Month 🙂



Poetry. Such tremulous
Sheer evocative tingling poetry
Comes to me
Inside closed eyes;
Etchings on the inner lid
Trailing out of fingertips
Itching to write…

Always knowing that the self
Is but a conduit;
The source is not within
But in the gossamer threads
That weave themselves into
Pretty magical winged words
I know it’s useless to
Capture them on paper
Into a screen here.

They’re there, those poems,
They come to me, under closed lids.
They tease, they prod, they entice.

And not one offers itself
After that foreplay.
Such teases.

But, oh my!
Oh my! Those lines
That direct themselves
Into such images and metaphors
That have left their searing touch
Under my skin…
Only to disappear, when eyes open…

Oh my!
No matter how I court them

They shall never be mine.

Distinct, they hide.
For fear of being defined
And rent by meaning, perhaps.

Shall I then, let them be?


30 April, 2015

Day#29 0f #NaPoWriMo , a day out of blogoshpere 😀
Day#30 coming up by end-of-day 🙂 🙂