Love is in the air She’s sitting on a chair I am sitting right across the table shy and unstable I am giving her the looks from behind a pile of books will she notice? The lady next to her is in her forties Her eyes met mine Rose red wine I get the chills I forgot my pills Alarm sounded Am I grounded? Was it a dream? Why did I scream? Did I see a ghost? I smell French toast It’s early morning I can’t stop yawning There she is My sweet cheese She’s the one Her heart I won She sits by me I let her be I stare at her My vision blur I feel the jolt My nuts and bolts! Why the world is shaking? Windows cracking! Speakers on, he cleared his throat I took no note The plane just landed Dreaming again? Inside the plane? or was I dreaming in my dream?
It was quite a journey. Mostly downs than ups and that is for a reason. When I hit the rock bottom the first thing I look for is a pen and a piece of paper. It is easier for me to paint woes and grieves than smiles and happiness. May be because good things are good to share with people while bad things rather stay deep down in a no-go zone within me. I can keep it safe.
As far as I can remember, the first poem I really fell in love with is the ‘Daffodils’ by William Wordsworth. It is a classic even to this day. I vaguely remember my teacher telling us how few daffodils in the garden turned out “Ten thousand saw I at a glance” in the poem. If I am not wrong, it was his sister who spilled the beans.
There is a story behind every poem which normally gets buried along with the poet. By the time your poem gets noticed you will be long gone. Well, in most cases I mean.
Most, if not all of my poems are rhyming poems. I personally love to write poems with rhyming words. I enjoy it that way. I had had written quite a few without them but it seemed like an ocean without tides, tree without leaves, music without rhythm, me without you…… That said, I love reading poems of all sorts. I admire the creativity in some of you. The way you play with words is a feast to the eye.
Sad part of it all is that there is no market for poetry. There are no much takers. Not many people care to take a peek into your personal life. Unlike art, which albeit depicts your many moods decorates the wall, poetry eats dust. But, we write. That’s the way we know to express ourselves. May be in an unknown future someone will read our poems and try to live in the world that we once lived. Until then, we keep writing or at least I will.
I need a title for this poem It must be unique, Simple and catchy I want a stand-out name for this poem Something like Samsung or Hitachi
Sometimes I see bloggers write beautiful poems but for some reason can’t give it a nice title. So they call it ‘untitled’. That in itself is catchy title. So, I decided to title one of my poems ‘untitled’.