Author: poetryfest

In my hometown,
winter was a fairy tale.
The concept of time,
a rising curve,
capturing
our attention with its hook.
In the midst of this thought,
I want to pause at the climax,

as if watching
the story that lies beyond,
at the end of the slide. Yesterday
I was calculating the rest of the day
with a glitch in my system.
The frozen dawn in the darkness,

back to old times,
hanging out in isolated cabins—
kerosene lamps, lit up candles,
those wood stoves that always work.
The rest of my friends like little shadows
in the middle of the campsite. In our town,
the old, renewed winter was a fairy tale,
and I tried to remember that machinery
can always be fixed—I thought

we’d have to be ready
to forgo some of the day’s plans,
and return to our manuals,
or call our parents for instructions
to make a bit more tea,
and relax with our limited tools
and our problems.

Each winter, the wet earth devours the gravel,
so reserving some fixed paths
for torrential rains and melted snow
requires planning. Yesterday
I was calculating the rest of the day
with a glitch in the system,
but back to energy—

I’ll change the batteries
next time and get some spares
with a block of cast iron;
I’ll add a bunch more solar panels.

My friends decided to warm the edges of the cabin
by moving a few feet away,
burning pine boards
for their candles. Trapped among the woods,
listening to the whispers of the breeze,
stuck in Woodstock—
as free as we could be,
with canned food munitions
and our weekend itinerary,

without needing the campfire to convey
the tales of some winter
even as the falling flakes
became a mass,
their individuality erased
in a flurry of white snow.

Orion, Pleiades opening constellations
in the dark, while the group recalls
old anecdotes from when we were younger—
a conjugation of time’s frame,
decorated by a white glow on the hills
while we barely distinguish
their silhouettes afar, trying to count
the stars as they fade like light.

From the east comes a sudden wind
that wakes us;
we, diurnal beings,
greet the star
fading in the distance,
as another splendor
is about to begin the morning.

Cold dawn in the darkness,
back to old times;
kerosene lamp, candles,
wood stoves that always worked.
The rest of my friends
as little shadows outside the cabin,
their heads covered in Eskimo hats,
living a wisdom
that is far off—

awareness has a distinctive form.
Our present selves,
empty and formal in their discourse;
these character arcs,
so deep and superficial.

A spark of a liberating spirit
that traps us
back in Woodstock.

Turmeric is the aroma I smelt from the kitchen, my am’ma calling me to the table for dinner
Telugu and Tamil are the languages I hear from family, tongues I did not understand
Silk is the fabric I felt from my kurta, a garb a boy from Maryland felt out of place in
Chai is jolt I taste in the morning, a drink I once found off putting now one of my favorites
A man with skin of chocolate and eyes of almonds is what I see in the mirror,
A man now proud of his culture

In the meadows where the grasshoppers sit,
where the ants laboriously make their pits,
where the rabbits hop around with glee,
a place where nature embraces me,
where I encounter the unfathomable divine,
soaked in the gorgeous sunshine.
A place where loneliness befriends me,
encircled by the endless sea,
when the dolphins reach out to play,
with the ebbs and flows, we sway,
clouds float in the blue sky,
a place that hears my cry.
The birds call out my name,
where the wild is not tamed,
the trees comfort my soul,
and, the rats digging out holes,
the divine resting in the ocean,
admiring, His flawless creation.
Encompassing the galaxies and beyond,
entwined in a timeless bond,
gazing at the fragility of life,
precious times wasted on strife,
a desire to experience my creator,
and, seek a purpose much greater.
Nature summons me to the wild,
I follow like an obedient child,
an opportunity to witness the unknown,
On this journey, I walk alone,
into the wilderness with its magical powers,
the mysterious path, adorned with wild flowers.

Nothing is waiting in the dark
That is the lie they tell us
Nothing is waiting in the dark
But what is that movement in the corner
Just out of sight

Nothing is waiting in the dark
But what is that scratching sound
Every time the lights go out
Nothing is waiting in the dark
But was the wood so warped before?

Nothing is waiting in the dark
But I know that wasn’t my stomach
Growling loud enough to echo
All through the room
Nothing is waiting in the dark
But now the light isn’t as bright

Nothing is waiting in the dark
But I feel hear something moving across the floorboards
The sound of feet, claws, paws
Scratching, lurking, creeping
From the impossibly dark corner
Nothing is waiting in the dark
But the room is more dark than light now anyway

Nothing is waiting in the dark
But I feel something breathing
Rank breath, splashing its thick odor across my face
Sending chills down my spine as my stomach churns
I try not to vomit, to cry out, to open my eyes
I back away as far as I can, but I’m in my own corner now
Nothing is waiting in the dark,
But now the room is only dark
And I know I am not alone

Nothing is waiting in the dark
When the sun rises
Light fills the room to find…
Nothing
No one is left to wonder if
Something is waiting in the dark.

Honor Hallows’ Eve
Stay cozy in the rain
Crunch the fallen leaves
Before winter comes again
Put your nose on the grindstone
Let the work begin
Reap what you have sown
Before the frost sets in
Cherish every stride
Enjoy it while it lasts
Keep your friends by your side
The cold approaches fast

As a protest to jockeying, I beat a dead horse
Hearing the still breath of the piebald
I love conducting witchcraft in Ohio graveyards
Inhaling the taste of frozen blood
on an iron wrought fence
Hearing only slush
and gravel

Smelling this mush I come to a fury
Then calm to worship the sun
rising over gravestones
Ghosted by even the night

“I can’t afford to die,” says the nearest stone
The ghostly goulash of rotting things
The dead grass of resilence

The marker speaks to me, “Why do you beat a horse?”
Emmie pays no mind to what gravestones have to say
Witchcraft is lessons in poetry

Cursing the sun when it rises above the treeline
and awakens birdsong
Running from the yard
and taking off down the brightening street, I say
“I am sister of Calliope, sigomi!” to no one in particular
I’ll go down the street, to the church by the corner
And ask the cross if they have any more horses

I went downtown today in my patent leather shoes
To do charity work in the new jail for criminals

I went to teach a young man to read because
He would be a long time there and
Boredom would make him crazier

He had killed his mother

He twitched nervously when
I looked into his heavy eyes

No, I said each time you see these letters
You pronounce them the same way
He looked at my feet
Cool shoes Babe
His grin like a rip in his face

The vampire awaits his next victim,
To savor the blood of this person,
When will this happen?
It is hard to say,
He will go out during the full moon,
On a clear night for this escapade,
He believes he can find a victim,
This is how it will be for this vampire,
He obsesses about fresh blood,
The time is passing,
He is ready to go,
He will turn into a bat and fly to this next destination,
May he find him or her,
The night awaits his calling every step of the way.

Creating a new universe as we know it
We live in the present universe now,
However, there are changes,
What does this new universe bring about to others?
In what part of the solar system does it exist?
These are questions to pose,
Are there any answers to them?
Our known universe keeps evolving,
This is just how it goes,
Are there other beings out there?
Do they live in a universe that is adjacent to ours?
Or is there just a new one on the horizon?
These are questions that are hard to answer,
The universe as we know it is, is what it is,
Keep an open mind about tomorrow,
Who knows what will happen?
For now, be good and be happy,
The future will continue in a good or bad way,
We as people will continue to live on planet Earth,
Take care and may a better tomorrow happen,
Seize each moment with open arms,
For now, and always, carpe diem.

Whenever I went to Costco, I bought condoms for my son
I never said anything. Never made a drawn out speech
I figured the Trojans spoke for themselves.

One day, I came home to this girl in hidden in his room
chin to chin they sat there watching tv
Even if he didn’t, I knew why she was there.

The next day, laying barefoot, she painting her nails
A shade that made canaries proud.
“I’ll get you a bottle if you want,” she told me.

Unfortunately, my smile translated to consent
Because the next day, she brought a putrid vial for me
Well, I thought, at least she ain’t stingy.

As weeks melted to months, I hoped she’d evaporate like soap
but with the door closed, she shrieked to Judge Judy on tv
followed by laughter that sounded insane.

I was going crazy. Everyday was the same. Soon as my
husband left for work, she appeared. Her oversized purse bred
under the bed and I wondered if one Costco box was enough.

I should have spoken sooner, especially when a Courvoisier bottle
appeared but as a step-mom to a full-grown son, I didn’t rock boats.
My motto was more like, “Who wants cocoa?”

One day, I woke to the microwave beep and the sound of feet
scurrying down the hallway. Eventually, she sauntered in the kitchen
at her leisure, peering in frig, helping herself without a word.

Maybe it was her laughter, or all the liberties she took,
but one day, I finally snapped. I didn’t care if I caught them buckass
or in the middle of the act., I swung the door and barged in.

“OMG,” she said “This food is so good. He told me you could cook.”
She made ravenous jabs. I swallowed her complement hook,
line and sinker. Everyone has their weakness.

Two months later, she rolled a new bike down our hall.
“I’m hiding my son’s gift. He won’t find it here,” she grinned.
Your son? Who was watching him? After that, I admit, I was done.

But I procrastinated. Grappling between rat fink & cool mom
Meanwhile, the bike gleamed like a shiny Trojan horse
reminding me that Christmas was right around the corner.

After the holidays, the bike was replaced by her son.
He stared at a Game-boy like it held the secret of life.
“Hi,” I said to him. “Hey,” he replied. His eyes looked like he drowned.
.
When my husband took a business trip, she moved in.
El Pollo Loco wrappers flooded the counter. Happy Meal toys ate my toes.
The boy rode his bike at heart-attack speed, and I swore I smelled weed.

That day, I grabbed a plate from her hand, “You can’t stay here,
we don’t allow overnight guests.” Who was I kidding?
I let the fun last for months and now I was playing the heavy.

She looked devastated. Eight months pregnant, she packed & left.
When her water broke the next day, I felt conflicted.
Later, after their break up, I clutched my grandbaby to my chest.

That’s when it hit. You can throw box after box at problems.
Or pray they’ll go away. But some things just happen, whether you want
them or not. And sooner or later, life breaks your heart