Inspired by Solitude

PC:  Paul Whitener (1911-1959) Big Bluff of Humpback Mountain, 1955, Oil A voice echoes from the depth of this art, “his” wishful perseverance to marvel a craft. In its silence is hidden a message so worth, colourful extravaganza is not for earth - effortless, subtle and unblemished beauty, hues of green’s enough to make it pretty. In response to Margaret's challenge at IGWRT, titled " Artistic interpretations with Margaret - Small town inspiration... " 

Picture from MPR News on outsider art. I am the inside outsider Indebted to - birth and life - - For the rent free costly survival here and life extension year after year. For the consistent untruly hopes from dears and false myths to keep away fears. I am the inside outsider Blind, deaf and dumb– I see deceit others and I wear but life is the brightest lie, one can only - stare. Ocean of lies I say and hear but life is the widest lie, one can only - bear. I am the inside outsider I am not of this land, water and air, Do not know -  I belong -  where? I found my temporary accommodation here, A life with some satisfaction, more scare, Dawning on me, my existence is - -   but mere! In response to " Outsider art" by Karin gustafson at Imaginary garden with real toads .

PC: Mi Young Lee …and when the cassette began to rewind - I looked at what I earned and lost on my way. The reel showed a vibrant mosaic of colours; a patch of happy as well as bad times. No turns, no ups, nor downs but straight, I assessed the path of my emotional life. All the grouch seems useless now, time had been kind and always on my side. With every dark patch it offered a light zone, And all through with love and support of the own… In response to Susie's "Bits of imagination" at IGWRT .

Body drenching in the rain; mind in past thoughts, painted in moistened eyes

PC: www.cuded.com She is -  today -   a still log- tethered to savour, eyelids treasure – those tears, from severed memories, of the penny gush ‘bout this lavish city.  The girl she knew - insignificant, grovelling at feet; now measures her worth, with her visitor’s count. The night is sore somewhere here; beholds tears from rotten carcass - Early scavengers undressed and caressed, she now mourns her breathing death. Her reflection denies a dream the iris still holds; Past had it – a nightmare; her altered, ruined reverie, She refuses to close her eyes, but to hide dew from the last fun-filled ruthless night, where glossy lips seduced and the heart within cursed few. For mindlovemisery menagerie's wordle#150 and poem sketch at IGWRT: Words used (penny gush, lavish, girl, iris, mutable (here, altered), grovel, insignificant, count, reflection)

She is a flirt-  her charm casted on sane, an addiction; her seduction to be blamed – her concealed superlative unmatched beauty, like sparkle on waves of afternoon sea, the earthliness of mud – on a day, rainy, she’s a filthy, sultry love epitome. She is the freshness of vanilla, plumpness of berries, Boldness of citrus and cinnamon woody. She is the ecstatic blooms and pulpy fruits, and impulse of fragrances; whisking minds. She is the unembellished adornment; timid’s chaste and strength to dare, the urge of sublime consummation; and the essence of womanhood. PC: pinterest In response to "Bits of Imagination -Perfume" with Susie Clevenger, at Imaginary garden with real toads. and Linking to "Open link #191" at dVerse poets pub

Welcome friends to my kitchen of colours. There's some cooking happening in here... I wish you enjoy this recipe ;) Linking to  Play it again toads! at Imaginary garden with real toads (73 words with Mama Zen) and also to  Sanaa's Prompt nights at A dash of sunny  Emptying can n’ squeezing the tubes; With pinch of black - or - white for hues - brushes to splash; a knife to spread all from kitchen - to - canvas;       not bread! Clear portions of neat julienne; spherifications around when drying is done. Haven to mind – the colourful palette, Food for soul that has - colour savouring palate! Magic of love n’ varnish preservative Relish this painting, do you find it attractive? ©Vijita Pillai, 2016

PC: www.emaze.com Minutes before I pass down, unveiling my identity, My bearer, I wish to say-be prepared to have their pity. I fathom your despair; for I am not the first, there were also two ‘n three! I understand-- for your people, it’s blissful-“he”, discontent-“she”! In this moment of agony your heart cries out and I can see, It’s not this pain, but you weep trepidation; loud prayers that I be “he”. Hard will it be- some abuses, few sympathies; but happiness will flee, Will you still hold me safe, “Mother, will you protect me?” You know you’re lucky, who bloom each time, while few others make desperate plea, If your people are so cruel, I wish in some other womb I could be! The fateful is yet to come-no more in you; it’ll be you and me, If head goes out I will see the ones, who sting you like bee, If firm feet down, I go out; I’ll be safe till knee --- You be brave, let me out, let’s begin with blood and sea, Look around Mother; find a face –t...

Carol Law Conklin's Batik Work The dark hills set a perfect contrast -  for the sun to rise and rays be cast. Trees wake up in envy of hills - for sun caresses it before the green frills. Wind carries silence of dawn, flowing blue hums a country song. Slowly the sky steal colors of sun, lends it to river like they are just one! Naughty water tickles grasses on its way, that fall a drenched sleep as they shy away. Elements of nature have started the day, Let’s too wake up and join to say – Happy to have received yet another one, Forces be with us to have good deeds done! My submission for   Artistic Interpretations with Margaret - Carol Law Conklin Batik Artist   at Imaginary garden with real toads     Margaret wants us to write an original poem or greatly re-vise an old poem for this prompt tagging the wonderful work of Carol Law Conklin, a batik artist. Her beautiful art pieces have been sh...

Haiku # 9 on the theme "find the silence" in Winter Retreat 2016 at CDHK Also linking this to the Tuesday platform at IGWRT. I have tried my best and ......hope to have done complete justice to the tranquility of the lake at Lamahatta.  So for those of my friends who do not know about this place - It is a small village in India on the way from Darjeeling to Gangtok, two famous hill stations and tourist spots! In the heart of the village is a garden, much like a dense forest I would say - which starts with a low lying plain with garden of beautifully arranged vibrant flowers, followed by a steep hill covered densely with tall dark (and at places scary) trees and shrubs. The tiresome trek is nearly an hour or two long, but really worth the pain! When you reach the top of the hill, there... where sky and land is one... all you find is thick fog and somewhere in between as you walk more on the surface is a place where only beauty and silence speaks... a still beautiful ...

This week at IGWRT, we are presenting micro poetries on the topic "the cross-roads" in 10 lines or less. So, here is a small poetry form called cinquain from me.. Basically cinquain is a 5-line stanza which follows the following pattern: 1.    Title 2.    Two words to describe title 3.        Three words to express action 4.         Four words to express a feeling 5.        One word that restates  the title PC:google PC: google Amidst all the emotions that one feel when it comes to decision making and choosing a path further, the bitter truth is that there is no one correct path! All ways however lead to a better future or prepare one for a better future :) Crossroads offer choice pick a way there’s no right path steppingstone

picture found on pinterest If eschatology were to be believed, Life were to end by now, certainly ; but here; I live and so do you, something says we’ve eons to spend. Restlessness steals peace of solitude, drenched in memories; good and odd; pushing the seams of wrapped , lost thoughts; like turning pages of an old read book. Adversities that bedraggled bonds, sudden flash of a well-kept secret, debris of broken hearts from deceived love; conducts that awarded unfair epithets - tears flow down of joy and sorrow, as glimpses from this movie are caught, I wish some edits could be made, only if some time could be borrowed! The air of grief then slowly hummed, the songs of happiness we sang then; reminding that the bad whiles spent, are indeed that keeps other times content. For Wordle#127 at Mindlovemisery's Menagerie and tuesday platform at Imaginary garden with real toads

This week at Imaginary garden with real toads, poets frame queries in "Fashion me a poem", using not more than 100 words, in the style of Emily Dickinson's 'Answer July' Here's one on the dilemma on which is the best phase of life - past, present or future:  PC: www.google.co.in Answer tomorrow -  What do you hold - Where lies my smile - Which way to memory? Sighed tomorrow - Are you bold - Can you laugh every while - Yester is remembrance already! I am gone - said yesterday - What did I teach - Where is the dream - Do you wish to deem - What is it today? Frowns today – Is past the leisure I had – Is future good or bad – How many more of me(s) to add? Exclaimed – life explained – Beautiful was yester – Upcoming not to pester – Today a daily fad! Live everyday – taught experience PC: www.google.co.in

PC: www.brainyquotes.com In heat of moment, Passion splashed, sowing its seeds; Belly bloom blossom   Written for TOI's #RhymeIndia  Also tagged with "Transforming Fridays with Hannah" at imaginary gardens with real toads and CDHK for Carpe Diem Universal Jane#4 abalone shells and lovers

PC: www.brainyquotes.com Eyes purely mimic expressions the heart conveys; hidden views exposed and this one goes for "Transforming fridays with Hannah" at "Imaginary garden with real toads"

PC: google In a leap I plant foot on the moon and in a fall see ocean bed,  such is the nature of thoughts; no topic, constant. The clouds, I feel thunder within me, numb eyes losing its spark, Drops pour down, form puddle of thoughts; cold I turn, feelings lost. By the window side, sit a restless me, resting head on the wall, Deeper goes sun, vanishing out; darker it turns, offers reasons to sob. I try to be content, no grief touching my soul; failed are the attempts when shallow breath strikes me more. Orange, red, pink, violet; more colors that fill life but to the lovely hues at this hour, I pay a fake smile; Emotions paint my thoughts; what I recall is some scars, few colorful lies; Lie- isn’t Life one? Or the existence here, a colourless truth,   The shades of gloom and tints of joy, how much is true, what is false?- No answer I get any day and still gaze in the zero sphere, The moon lights up and stars blink in, I am shaken for a while, The...