Napowrimo 13 Elizabeth and Darcy (the untold story of how she stole his heart)

Elizabeth and Darcy (the untold story of how she stole his heart)

Now that I am old I can tell you the true story
Like Kate Winslett did in that movie
That came later, much after my time
On how her ship was sunk
And all she was left with was a stone
When Wickham was talking I was looking at his ruffles
They were more in number than Mr. Bingley's
I don't like men whose names end in hams or start with Binges
By the way, do you?
It's so much more romantic if they end with sea
As in you know who's does.
My smile grew wider though he was such a proud oaf
Seeing how his wristwatch perfectly mantled o'er his wrist
And his pocket-handkerchief peek(p)ed out of his pocket
So white, so delicious, like a little white mouse-head
His breeches were like the arches of some churches
So stylish, I mean; don't get me wrong, he wasn't bow-legged
And his shirt, coat, and weskit were all impeccable
Like the sun and the rain on a picnic hospitable
In a cummerbund or bow-tie, he'd still be resplendent
His biceps would win any battle of the bulge
And his grounds and mansion were ideally large
Fully to my taste
How could I get off the barge?
Barge, what barge, you may be thinking?
Has she had one too many of the large?
No, I am just being metaphoric
Didn't Raleigh and another Elizabeth sail in a barge?
Suffice it to say, soon I found him unbend
In my mind's eye, all prejudice spent
One day - not written off in the book-
When no one was looking I kissed his pride
and whispered in his ear
Darcy, my dear
Tell no one, but your name ending with 'sea'
has quite clinched it for me
Poor Lydia and Jane can have their hams and binges
I choose you, if you'll have me, I'm thine
Taken aback by my passionate kiss
He quickly rallied
and - not written in the book -
put his hand
(this I blushingly confess)
in my bosom
This did my prejudice entire
take away, if any was left.
He knew how to steal my
shame-faced mien away
to a bolder glance, to his unquestioned sway
while I stole his millions and his nights
(This will, I thought, thrilled, also put paid to Mr. Collins)
that day, happy, as I wanted badly
to know where his hand would go next if left to stray!

Not-a-triolet - a savage deconstruction

A crazy form called triolet -

Its name sounds a lot like toilet -

is a cheat. You write five lines

and three of them you cut and paste

to say you wrote an eight-line poem!

Then you pat yourself on the back

as if you did something great

after filling in the rhyme with words like marmoset

or worse still, ones like flibbertigibbet! 

Theft in the Time of Corona

Theft in the Time of Corona - with Aakriti Kuntal (thanks)

Helpless in the tide from
the oceans of my mind
where the homeless trudge
back to nowhere, trepanned
the blood roaring in my ears

The waves wash up the bodies of the children, tattooed
By death

I steal
away from the images
crowding
inside
to resemble
the living dead

The river, at another bend
grows drinkable
and swallows swoop
on the red sunset
to peck out its heart
as if echoing the dreams
and cries of the mute
who will never know, now
crisis again
resting in the arms of the ones
who went on ahead
have permanently slept
free of the scouring dis-ease
of life.

My mind
of jungled Apolemia too
longs, not for peace but rest.

My Poem Black Dove translated into Italian by Santa Vetturi

‎Santa Vetturi‎ द्वारा Let's Hug The World With Poetry

21 मार्च को 1:04 अपराह्न बजे

Ricevo questa prosa poetica dal dottor Ampat Koshy, che lavora presso l'Università di Jazan, in Arabia Saudita, mentre la sua famiglia è rimasta nella città d'origine, Bangalore, in India.

HOPE

Someone working abroad worried about his wife and children waiting for him.
Back home in another country finds hope coming in through the window
Smiling as a gentle breeze and forgets temporarily himself and his sorrows.
Outside, but, Covid-19 hunts and hope as a black dove flies about in the sky.

SPERANZA

Qualcuno che lavora all'estero è in ansia per la moglie e i figli che lo aspettano.
Con il pensiero a casa, in un altro paese sente la speranza entrare attraverso la finestra
sorridendo come una leggera brezza e dimentica temporaneamente se stesso e i suoi dolori. Fuori, però,
il Covid 19 va a caccia e la speranza come una colomba nera
vola nel cielo.

Napowrimo 13 April 13 The day I stole Santosh Bakaya away ( "Unbeknownst to her she was stolen, and how")

I have met them at the close of day
coming home from their work
looking tired, and wanted to say
Hey, lovelies, look at me

and put a smile on your face
You look enchanting e'en more
When tired at the end of the day
or sprouting at the gates

like forlorn, desolate lilies
waiting for the husband, daughter or son
to come back to make life less dull
and bring in some end-of-day cheer

I had stolen many of their hearts
I had stolen a Malayalam textbook
I had stolen my father's stamp album once
I am quite an accomplished thief

But all agree on such a dismal, dark day
I stole Santosh Bakaya away
to the Lidder to live in two small white cottages or tents
for we had two novels to write and then read

out to each other
on the banks of the river Lidder
I stole her off all the way to Kashmir
Where Father Time, fairyland-like, stands still

I stole her - unbeknownst to her - quite away
I stole her clean away
I stole her clear away
I stole her, soft and quick, away

The temperature might have dropped in the mouth
of the instrument that measured it that day
But not a care had I in the world
as I had stolen Santosh away

All the way to the Lidder
to read her novel, and write
mine and read it to her
in wit, humour and dazzling wordplay

It was winter when we got there
spring went by and summer
and then came autumn
and we were still

scribbling madly away
For when two mad people start writing
they never stop for a day
and the pages keep up piling

and the novels getting longer
day by night by day
night by day by night
day by night by day

We may never finish these novels
but we read it out each day
at the end of it to each other
on the banks of the Lidder, I say!

I have hardly seen her since here
except when we emerge
each evening to read them out
our novels and then retreat

I have met them at the close of day
My characters and her characters
Willy-nilly, mixing and talking
at the end of each such day!

By the side of the river
with the backdrop of lush green mountains
under clear blue skies
with the sounds of the rushing foaming swirling white waters

In a place called Pahalgam
in Jammu and Kashmir
where the peace is unbroken
in a 'novel' lockdown.

They come out from two small white cottages or tents
and dance in the pale moonlight
with the devil or without him;
her characters and mine.