April 24th Poem Erasure or Blackout prompt by Gauri Dixit where I erase or blackout Wordsworth's famous poem I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud (Humour)

 BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH Erased

NAPOWRIMO TSL PROMPT BY GAURI DIXIT ERASURE OR BLACKOUT POEM 24th April 2021

Gauri Dixit

The original

BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on the milky way,

They stretched in never-ending line

Along the margin of a bay:

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:

A poet could not but be gay,

In such a jocund company:

I gazed—and gazed—but little thought

What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,

And dances with the daffodils.

My erasure

1

I, wan, lonely as a

hat, float, high o'er ales and ills,

When all at once I saw a crow,

da!

2

He wave-danced; but he

saw at a glance,

her head

The waves danced; but they

Out-did the waves; in glee

A poet could not but be 'gay',

In such a jocund company!

3

Hen on my couch

In vac

Hen my (he)art with pleasure fills

April 23rd poem For TSL Napowrimo and other poems with the prompt being by Nidhi Popli as your favourite ad or tagline

 "Yehi hai right choice, baby" TSL Napowrimo April 23rd prompt Ad tagline from

Nidhi Popli

My body needs sugar and craves Pepsi

Death needs victims and craves to enlarge its fiefdom and territory

I ask its Angel

Who sent you?

God?

The Angel only scythes

Where is the blood, is it on the lintel?

The Angel looks grim

I ask it

Am I like Nero

writing poems, instead of fiddling

when people are dying?

The Angel is silence

I look at the skies for help or an answer

I look at the hills

Everything is quiet

Nothing stirs, not even a mouse

The petrol bunk machine whirs its numbers

How many litres of death will it fill the world's engine with today?

What is the cost the world will pay?

Apocalypse in front of my eyes

Revelation is coming true

Blood up to the horses' bridles

And no one to give you anything that is hope's hue

But wait, hark!

There is still a bell that peals an after dark

If writing poetry strengthens you anew

To go on with living and helping others

Do

Yehi hai right choice baby

Not whether you live or die

But how you both these things do

Is the key and overcoming fear

Not to feel its stench without taking arms

God has no body being a spirit

Be his Body, his being

Be his eyes and tongue

Kind words and looks can go a long way

Be his hands and legs

Kind actions many fears allay

Reach out and help a few

Love helps us tide over a multitude of problems

Be to the world a small Jesus on two legs, do

Feel the difference light makes to darkness

And remember even a drop can and does make a difference

in the desert

if the water is pure and true

to others and to you

to quench the thirst, not a mirage but an oasis

To water the green roots under the earth even if you are fasting

unseen but growing anew

Each day dies like death but each morn we are born, afresh

Psalm 24

You are my safety mask

You are my isolation ward

You are my hospital

You are my inhaler

You are my betadine

My kettle my hot water

My lemons my vit C my vit B my zinc

My fruits and veggies

My hand sanitizer

My sanitary gloves

My Vicks vaporub

You are my oxymeter

You are my oxygen cylinder

You are my oxygen

My health

My God

For all of us

I may be broken

but that does not mean I am finished

Not by a long shot

This life is a long run

I am a marathoner

Long distance, solitary

I keep going on

Blood may fountain from my side

but my feet do not flag

Even the broken can reach the finishing line

and someone waits to catch them there

before they fall or collapse

or crumble into a heap.

Not the expected someone

but someone else

someone else broken

Two halves then make the rent whole

stanches the blood

even these days

under satan's sun.

TSL Napowrimo prompt by Deepika Chand Open your lips and Sing and my poems on it

 TSL Napowrimo Prompt April 22 Four poems by Koshy AV

Open your lips and sing - given by

Deepika KC Chand

1, Open your eyes, poetry

and sing to me

always for me my lover

the one in my fantasy

woman whose lips are in her

secret places

and from there I drink

your fountains and graces

that spout forth from me

in sounds like that of nightingales

heard by the heart of a maiden at the window

of her garden

in plentiful long-lost, lovelorn notes

of melancholy

enchanting her and weary travellers

romantic to the core

my eternal verse

2. Love

Open your lips and sing to me

Anna, mon amour

with the lips that are wounds in your hands

with your eyes

and your lips I adore

with the lips of your heart

and the lips of your thighs

the lips in your bust

and sternum

and cerebellum

the lips of your spine that hold me straight

and the ones that make me float

that of your love's helium

3. Open your lips and sing

my children

The world grows ever dark and

tomorrow

is a question

But sing, sing your way through

Till your heart is burning

with faith, hope and love

out of the darkness of the future

and know there is always light

at the end of the day of sunlight

still, of starlight and moonlight

4. The Sacred

Open your lips and sing

Jesus

I met you too on the road

to

my personal Damascus

like Paul

Meeting you has made me lonely

marked me

set me apart

in a world that does not want you

but your song

more beautiful than any other's

I had heard ever, by far

so far

made me easily turn my back on the world

give it up

So open your lips and sing to me

Jesus

for when you do

the things of the earth grow strangely dim

and even heaven's

made new.

Ars Poetica Prompt from TSL 22/1/2021 and my take on it

 The Art of Poetry

(The truth that has never been written before by anybody, anywhere, in the whole wide world, in this way anyway, as far as this poet knows.)

God is Poetry.

Poetry is God.

,

All rights reserved by Koshy AV

Art of Poetry - Digression Metaphysical or Manifesto in the present

Let me lay it down for you. Good, real and proper, loud and clear. There have been great poets before me, it Is true. There are great poets even today, it is true. There will be great poets even after me, it is true. But when I am in the groove there is no poet greater than me or I am as great as any of these poets have ever been or will be,

in the past, present, or future. That is why I can talk of the Art of Poetry. What is Poetry? What is its Art? Let me tell you:

Poetry is everything and nothing, something and all things, any thing and everything. But it cannot be sold and it cannot be bought, it is not for free and it is not to be had for the taking. Poetry is everywhere, nowhere and always somewhere and moving out of reach and our grasp, one step ahead yet not a tease.

Poetry is not the poet who thinks getting recognized by being part of the grain means he or she is a poet or not that poem or poems created by the one who goes against the grain merely for its sake. Poetry is a move, can you shuffle to it, a beat, can you hear it, a swerve, a swivel of the hip, an extended note of music, it is percussion, wind instruments, stringed instruments, it is beyond all this, it is pauses, and silences too, it is words and lyrics, it is dance and the gaps, between the mudras and the splayed fingers and legs, it is paint, it is foreground and background, it is death it is a woman spreading her legs it is prana it is sculpturing it is theatre it is war and peace it is all the fine arts it is drama it is a man thrusting deep it is intense it is emotion it is feeling it is thought it is energy it is matter it is sex it is romance it is all feelings it is God it is hate and satan it creates preserves and destroys it is holy it is father and mother it is son and daughter it is family it's a venial sin and addiction a high but not a drug it is the womb and the tomb it is the vent it is the pen and ink the touch and tablet the typewriter and the fingers the brush the clay the body and its gestures and facial expressions it is the pent it is the rent it is the pain the hardship of giving birth the joy of breast feeding joints marrow and bone flesh and veins inner organs and outer body sweat and intake and outtake peaking to orgasm and aftermath the hurt the torn the broken the sorrow the grief the trears the blood the sweat of all human kind and also of the fauna and flora of the earth and the earth itself and the universe it is quantum galaxies it is dark energy it is black holes it is white dwarves it is quanta it is quarks it is the god particle it is gravity the brief history of time it is the uncertainty principle it is it is it is is is is....

Poetry is FREEDOM , to be and realize one is only a human or part of all giving and receiving living beings and nothing more and yet that is more than anything else, but it comes like great power with responsibility, it is a high and holy calling but found most often in the compost heap although a vocation. Poets are not liars as they are not paid and they sing the electric truth, that we are born as an accident and race, religion, caste, politics, gender, class, language, culture, environment, upbringing, ecological surroundings, are all not our choices and real choice is to overthrow all these and create ourselves and that is SHEER POETRY. We can now choose the colour of our eyes and skin colour and much more and that is poetry. We are united only by birth and death, suffering, illness, joys, sorrows, having parents, maybe, or siblings, maybe, or memories, or a past, histories and history, or significant others, or friends, enemies, frienemies, strangers, situations, happenings, events, actions, reactions, children maybe, and limitations, experiences or relationships, imagination and fancy, and the five senses and differences, all things by which we connect and survive forever not only to nature but all humans and living beings, and earth and the universe and the divine in and swirling all around us and poetry is to increase freedom and lessen our limitations and find the commonalities and similarities and sufferings, though lessening them might be too great an aim for it to achieve like everything else and everyone else who tried it too failed, and nothing to do with this talk of who is a poet or not who gets published where by who when who is read who liked who paid who gets awards who the fuck cares about all that, and instead everything to do with being a poem and what comes from or out of that.....

46Amita Paul, Anju Kishore and 44 others

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Minisons galore for April 20 TSL Napowrimo's prompt

 Minison 1

We live fourteen

April 20th Prompt by Reena Prasad: write minisons, the form, TSL's Napowrimo freely themed. Rebel Minisons. (4 and 5 need to be reworked)

Take 1.

We live fourteen.

Take 2.

If

the camera

never lies, is

that why her pic

gets more love than?

Take 3

Title: Found on Lay's cover and altered to suit my purpose minison (not a part of the minison)

Authentic chees -

Take 4

Fourteen letters

of the alphabet

Fourteen words

Fourteen lines

Fourteen lives

Fourteen breasts

Fourteen wives

Fourteen loves

Fourteen deaths

Fourteen bodies or corpses

Fourteen hammers

Fourteen knives

Fourteen times fourteen

Fourteen repeated

Take 5

The pink shoe flower

The rhododendron

The hibiscus

The bougainvillea

The stamen, the pistil

The shape of the jasmine

The scent of a woman

The waif of the moonlight

The glowworms of starlight

The butterflies of sun motes

The golden pollen

The tickling green grass

The tinkling windchimes

The sonnet at last

A funny set of linked minisons of 14 words each where my Hindi approximates Modi's English

"DOLAND", CORONA DID NOT GO!

Mithron

Bhaiyon aur behenon

you diyas lightified

you bajaofied thaalis

you kumbh melafied

You

chanted "go corona go"

You burnt effigies

Of Greta

Rihanna

all rakshasis

corona devis

But

Corona did not go

Do not worry

Let's see what Modi will do

Modi hai to mumkin hai

"Hamara Bajaj" hai hi woh

Mithron

Bhaiyon aur behenon

Minisons next set

So this Thrissur pooram

is around the corner

elephants and men

not many women

Will they hold it?

For votes?

I don't know

Death is cheap

These days

Votes matter more

As in Sabarimala

Left, right or centre

Priest must be Brahmin

Women can't enter

Dalit is still Dalit

Lucky I am not in

Kerala anymore

Minison last one (a continuation of the previous one)

If you ask me

I'm with the elephants

Set them free

They're the gods.

Not the humans

Not the devotees

Not the temples

Not the gods

Not me

Feby Joseph

writes a minison (mini suns and mini si(g)ns) using my poem for the 'found' technique

#NaPoWriMo2021 – TSL NaPoWriMo – Minison – April 20th – Ampat Koshy Reena Prasad

Turkish Delight

*(or waking from dreams)

Found from Ampat Koshy’s “Turkey: An Interlude: Internal Realism/Flight Stop-Over/Turkish Delight”, part of his large poem Swapna Sundari from the book The Blue Hours

Was not about the

idea – (cold turkey)

Beethoven in the

Ninth, lives that

My life… Jeddah to

Tripoli – a rumble;

Wings to Nabokov –

Lepidopterist’s

Butterfly story…

(Flash Tiger Moth)

Kerala was magic

Realism let it go

Never a nymphet, I

Still pay the fee.

© Feby Joseph

TSL Napowrimo 20th any themed Shadorma Prompt given by me and here are the 2 poems written on it.

 April 19th TSL NAPOWRIMO Prompt any themed Shadorma given by Koshy AV

"Nothing comes

Nothing goes, happens"

Nothing stays

Nothing is (alternate line: Nothing, twice/thrice)

Except this, that I go on

I will beat Nothing.

Shadorma 2 TSL Napowrimo prompt

Ziggurats*

in the memory

History

Babylon

Or maybe Sumeria

Word in the mind porn

*"Ziggurat, pyramidal stepped temple tower that is an architectural and religious structure characteristic of the major cities of Mesopotamia (now mainly in Iraq) from approximately 2200 until 500 BC. The ziggurat was always built with a core of mud brick and an exterior covered with baked brick. It had no internal chambers and was usually square or rectangular, averaging either 170 feet (50 metres) square or 125 × 170 feet (40 × 50 metres) at the base. Approximately 25 ziggurats are known, being equally divided among Sumer, Babylonia, and Assyria."