Clichés

To the rapt fifty, that day
(Or was it forty-eight?)
I ranted. 

When I rant
They need to be rapt!
Or else... :P
The ogre, you see, is at work!

I, as usual, on my soapbox-
About clichés -
In speeches, in essays
In letters, in e-mails
They'd need to write
For me to evaluate. 

Class Eight.
Writing tasks :D
Now you'd be a-thinking-
This here lady's really
Got a nut loose.
Clichés, and Class Eight?

Well, yes. I did.
They listened. They giggled.
I swear I even heard some snorting too! :P
In the next fifteen minutes
I had to be done. Just in time I did.
They were saved, by the bell! :P

And so, I forgot, as I suppose, they did too. 

Till.
Ta-da! Surprise!
Exams time, and papers galore
(That, incidentally, is where I'm at :P )
Some neat, some spidery
Some short, some too darned lengthy!
Some diatribes, some earnest
Some irreverent, some irascible 

And some - God help me!
To wake me from the stupor
of the overdose of the work-
For, I spy ...

Cliché.! I jump. I cheer.
I look again. Ooooh yes!
Right along there - c l i c h e’
That dashing tiny accent too, to boot!
I have never been more blessed! :P

Never mind that the child wrote:
I quote:
"It's a cliché to say speeches like this"
Unquote
About the topic; and put me well in my place!
I do this fist pumping grunt of satisfaction.
I accept that criticism.
And I do that clichéd thingy.

I write a ramble.
This a-way.

Clichés are good.

23 March, 2013.
A 'eureka' moment :D

Pic: Courtesy Google Image Search :)

Secrets

Secrets to keep
And some to share
Many to tell
But none to hear

Secrets blossoming
Each day, within, without
Some haunt; some are hunted

Tall tales, and short jabs
Some Spicy and
Some just plain ol' drab
No matter what the flavour-
Can you resist even one?

Secrets, they damn-
And they sometimes do more harm
Than good, if you ever saw any in 'em!

You've got yours
I know,
For, I sure have mine!

So, I'll tell you one
If you tell me another
Let's make it one, together
Or maybe, take a bit farther?

Or let's just secret it away
Till it burgeons, and spills
And let's itself out;
For that is it's nature

Secrets are to hide,
And then to tell
Then to spread
Till finally, back at you, it heads!

You know then-
You should have kept it
A secret!

 March 2013
Online, but of course, and getting crazier by the day :P
Image Courtesy: Google Image Search on 'Secret' :P

A Woman ...

Am I, am I.
And glad of it. 

I'm Daddy's Girl, still Growing Up
And I wonder if I'll ever be
The Right Age :)

I'm that Little Girl yet
Who hasn't given up on dreams,
And Carousel Rides :)

I wish I was stronger.
But then I might give
Mr. World a run for his money.
Thank you. I am happy this way :D
For now. :P

I've lived Sepia Dreams And coloured them bright :)
I have my reasons and seasons
And most times, I am defiant :D

Today, too, like other days
I celebrate me. And you....
All of you, who be humane ...
Who loves and respects another,
Especially a woman; for then,

You truly live. 

8 March, 2013
Wishing every reader here, both men and women the best of the day, and of life, as you walk through the world, sharing your respect for everyone, especially women. Happy Women's Day.
And for a change, I shall not excuse myself for a self-aggrandizing post, linky linky one at that :D

Listened to, as the first song of the day, "Woman" by John Lennon. Magic :)

Conundrums

Why friends weren't born in the family

And family didn't all turn out to be friends

How laughter and tears are just the same;

Most times, even anger and love!

How people listen, but seldom understand;
But some understand, even if nothing is said.

How words hurt, and silences heal.
But silences gouge, yet words never heal. 

And Life. The biggest of them all.

5 March, 2013
Seriously on the way to being an absurdity :D

Nit-Picker's Ballad

On the loveless shores of dissatisfaction
He wanders, dark and sombre.
She said she loved him, you see.
And he wonders why.

You, the reader, would now smell a skunk.
You don't? You're supposed to. There!
Why does he wonder why! Because, you think?
Fine. But why?

He wonders, that's why.
Now, why he should, does it matter at all?
No, you think? Why not, I ask.

Walking the shores, with promises of love
Given endless dreams, and lustrous hopes
A hand held warm, a heart cosseted gently
Why would he wonder? Why should he?

But then he is that alter ego of everyman
The one that never takes on trust, 
The one that fell foul of love
The one who found no love within. 

And yet that one, too, is he
That quietly stood, and braved the angst
When she lost her mooring.
Gathered her when she was washed ashore
From a tumultuous voyage, bereft, and battered.
She knew. Though he did not.
Saviour he was not. Survivor, he was.
As was she. 

A pause to this tale, here now;
To tell you how love, it creeps upon you.
Perhaps to envelope, perhaps to smother,
But always to fill each pore, till replete it is.
And so it was, with her. She knew.
And so it was, with him. He did not.

So there comes, then, this moment:
Survivor to survivor; the honesty of a heart,
The unfathomable depths of utterance
And the incomprehensible betrayal of the ear. 

She confessed. He ran.
In circles, on that loveless shore afore mentioned.
What then? The storyteller is asked.
What then? And you wait with bated breath.
Willing a fairy tale to happen.
Knowing that some things are never to be. 

Will he stay?
Will she accept, then?

But ah! The threads, they dissemble, the weave fragmented...
And the spell of the storyteller is broken.
He sighs. His gnarled fingers wrap themselves around his staff.
And on, he plods. 

Thinking, dreaming, of what could have been.
Had he stayed. 

1 March, 2013
Online, on yet another silly line of thought :)