Hot like Fire

She’s hot like fire—
“Start me up”, her body flirts
as she stands, idle—


—in the new year Sun
which has dawned early with a
dab of Spring on it.


I give in to lust,
She starts just after first kick—
shameless, mean machine!

44 Words and a series of three 5-7-5 haiku

I love to ride!

Posted over at dverse

M. Jay Dixit, 2021.

Poem/Lyrics: For The One

Dear reader, I invite you to listen me sing ‘For The One’, a romantic and inspiring poem. Its alternate title is ‘Abyss or A Bisque Carpet?’

You’re the one
who helped me
when I was young
and couldn’t see
the light.

When I was young
and couldn’t stand
on my feet,
you helped me
understand–

how to walk
over the land
and be free as a bird
in the sky.

When I’m older
and grown,
we’ll be together,
alone–

We would be warm
together
under the sun
alone
taking a chance
together
on a bisque carpet
alone
holding our lights
together
for those in abyss
alone
and let them shine on
together.

As our lives
will unfetter
once again,
we’ll be free
like a bird
in the sky
and shine
like the sun
over the land.

© M. Jay Dixit, September heart-to-hearts, 2021 All Rights Reserved

Bisque: It’s the color of the carpet in my bedroom, where I wrote this poem. It also means an extra turn or stroke allowed to a weaker player in croquet. A fine word isn’t it? 👌 

Posted over at dverse: Middles & Turns Prompt: To write a poem with turns. Peter explains it beautifully–

Sometimes they come when you’re lulled into a sense of knowing where a poem is going – and then ‘bam’ you’re hit by a powerful shift to what the poem is really about.  Sometimes it’s comforting or leads to an answer to the poem’s problem. 

I am still at the beginning phase of learning to play guitar. So my tune composing skills are nonexistent haha If you, dear reader, know songwriting please feel free to contact me. We can collaborate! and make this song even better. The tune I came up with was inspired by the song: Starting Over by John Lennon.

Lots of love and take care! ❤
~Jay.

Poem: Tangled Web or Flaring Red Carpet

For Sangeeta Dixit

I am the mother of sorrows; I am the ender of grief;

The Paradox, Paul Dunbar
Flaring red carpet of regrets,
hates, horrors, spites, rage,
hurts, distrust, compulsions,
expectations, pain, bravery
and love

on which I sleep every night
and walk every day for my sons.

As soon as the dawn breaks
with a sickening sound
of the neighbors’ damn
water motor pump, I grit

my teeth to demonstrate protest
alone on my bed—the carpet
since he split
after kissing goodbye
to his sons, 

my sons,
the younger is studying
and the older is sleeping.

Now as I walk to his bed
my feet hurt,
when did I get so old
so deteriorated and slow?

I take his name,
shout
so he would wake up
and study–
make his mark in the big world
before he gets old
and slow like me. Here

I go, singing my song.
As I walk on this flaring carpet,
I’m their mom and I know
what’s best and I’m not wrong.

He bellows back at me,
“Good morning to you too, Mom!”
Triggered, with a taste as sour
as vinegar in my mouth, I go
in head first,
never thinking about what I say
hurts us both.
I don’t know why we’re always
fighting, especially when his father
doesn’t trust us both.
That just drives us even farther,
I beat my son. As I poison
myself with hatred,
placing all the blame on him—
trying to get my son to conform
and stop dreaming his life away.

Moments later, he sees me crying
in the washroom. As I’m beating
our dirty wet laundry with the paddle—

I’m stubborn, I hate myself,
I see him standing at the door
I see his eyes, my eyes,
I don’t hate myself, maybe stubborn
but I still find myself beautiful
because I am his mom.
He comes to me and hugs me tight.
I do my best to raise them both—

I make delicious dishes to please,
I keep their rooms clean,
and I assure them they’re safe
under my protection,
as I devise escape routes
out of my own house
when the sleep won’t come at nights.
I care enough to follow
them to the edge of the world
and be there, even if I can’t help
them in their cause
or even when I know
that their cause’s wrong,
even then, I’m willing to die
and kill for them.

Now as I cry on his shoulder,
sweet smell of the aftershave
same as his fathers’.
He’s so much like him.
I tightly hold him in my wet
and tired arms

and for a moment I don’t feel
that overwhelming sorrow
of the carpet beneath my feet,
it and the floor under us
has melted
with an overload
of love.

© M. Jay Dixit, September heart-to-hearts, 2021 All Rights Reserved

Dear reader,
I had my last share of beating when I was nine or ten–I don’t even remember why.
Because of the nature of my father’s job, he’s away most of the time, nowadays he comes home and stays in for 2 weekends every month. My mom and my little bro and I stay in our little home. Needless to say, I love them all very much and they all love me. The poem is fictional but like all good fiction, it is also inspired by the truth and the woman at the center of this poem is very dear to my heart.
Take care, ❤
~Jay

Posted over at dverse: Poetics, Beyond Meaning or The Resolution of Opposites Prompt: To select one of the given lines from Paul Dunbar’s Paradox and build a poem around it.

The fuck am I gonna do?

Just let go, enjoy
the tune, play
tennis in your room.

The unknown
light that you’re afraid of
seeking
will begin
to seep in
through the glass wall

and when that happens,
just cock back and break
that glass wall
with your courageous
balls.

© M. Jay Dixit, September heart-to-hearts, 2021 All Rights Reserved

Inspired by my poet-blogger and penfriend– Cindy from Unique Times Her posts and conversations are full of wisdom. A particular advice of hers which prompted me to write this poem is: ‘Just let go and enjoy the tune

Posted over at dverse: Quadrille #122 Prompt: To write a poem of exactly 44 words with some form of the word go in it.

Dear reader, I urge you to listen this song if you haven’t already.


Take care, ❤
~Jay

Capsized World

Featured!

Gobblers / Masticadores // Editores: Manuela Timofte / j re crivello

 by M. Jay Dixit / www.septemberhearttohearts.wordpress.com
 
 Living awfully in a capsized world
 of lizards on ceiling.
 
 The truth is deceiving,
 meaning it's biased
 
 like the media is biased
 and demeaning.
 
 Living awfully in a capsized world
 of lizards on ceiling
 watching everything
 that goes on in
 and out of our house.
 
 Living awfully in a capsized world
 Of lizards on ceiling
 on top of us
 scared of us
 making any fuss
 so they stay alert
 and watch us
 and kill bugs
 who make fuss
 and eat them later
 or lizards will get thinner
 and fall from ceiling
 and crash on the floor
 and die.
   

View original post

Field of Wheat

Autumn wheat ripening in the Sun–
thousand stalks
of wild wheat whisper
secrets of nature,
thousand waves of wheat
ripple like liquid gold
in an august afternoon,
as an easy wind sways you
singing a lazy song.

You’re equivocal.

A hungry artist sees,
believes and draws you.
Focusing on details
trying to interpret the truth.

A heartsick man sees you
and is reminded of his beloved’s
golden hair.

Lovers hand-in-hand
lay in your embrace
and share a warm hug
under the autumn sun.

A sweating farmer
halts his hard labor
to take a breather
and looks around at you
with endless love and joy.

I stop by
to look at you
on the way to my home,
the sun blushes
hesitatingly
turning a slow deep red
and then falls into you
So lovely, radiant and sweet.

© dixitmrityunjay, 2020. September heart-to-hearts.

The poem was inspired by the dverse prompt: Waiting on Wheat

If you enjoyed the post don’t forget to like, comment and follow!




Tendon: A rhyming nonsense?

Pardon?
Oh, Tendon
Like in garden
of Eden
Eve never abandons
Adam. And the Sun
seldom leaves its handsome
heat in summer season.
And like Cotton
holds oil in lantern.
And how the atom
never leaves
quantum dimension.
Oh and also like
that golden
glow which never abandons
the horizon
when the sun sets or rise. And
how Eminem

seldom leaves his mansion.
And autumn

wind never leaves
without coloring leaves
with its chilly passion
making you ache
deep in your bones.
In the same fashion,
your strong tendons
hold and connect
your muscles to bones
never abandoning
never leaving.

~Jay

Haibun Prose: To be a Rose

Alive and burning
Inside scarlet rose petals
A secret furnace

I bloomed triumphantly, beneath dim-amber skies, in the dawn of this world’s first day. The Sun rose, the sunlight falling upon the field, a weight of gold. I’ve travelled around the world, opened my heart, shouted in the Sun to everything that’s alive. They smelled my fragrance and rejoiced. I’ve felt love; red, hot and vivid, the smell of lovers as they laid upon the field. Melancholy; white, the rain washed me away, as I laid upon the grave.

a sky of billion stars, flickers-flickers;
in the night of this world’s last day,
a field of billion roses, flickers-flickers.

© dixitmrityunjay, 2020. September heart-to-hearts.

The featured image is taken from here

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If you enjoyed the post don’t forget to like, comment and follow!

Chilling Whispers

I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head.

The Song of Wandering Aengus, W. B. Yeats

Butcher Bob’s confession:-

I ran into her in the alley, I remember her young face but can’t recall her name. It’s like this with most of them. I was using crutches and I asked her to help me carry the briefcase out of my car, which she did, when we reached the car, I knocked her unconscious with crowbar. Then I placed her in the shotgun seat and went straight to my chopping blocks in the hazel wood.

I went out to the hazel wood because a fire was in my head. A burning sensation, hot and vivid. When I completely submitted to that fire, it was like I was reborn, a phoenix from the flames. But only for a moment. Because, the ingredients for ignition of the next fire were always present in the ashes, and the burning inside my head began again.

144 words.

© M. Jay Dixit, September heart-to-hearts, 2021 All Rights Reserved

Inspired by the dverse prompt: Prosery, The Song of Wandering Aengus and posted over at Open Link Night #284

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