Octelle

Morning rain clouds bickering loud
over my house, over where and how
will lightning strike and rain fall.
Murder of crows caws and call,
waking me up from a dream
of hands catching a sunbeam.
Morning rain clouds bickering loud
over my house, over where and how.

© M. Jay Dixit, September heart-to-hearts, 2022 All Rights Reserved

posted over at dverse

Prompt

Post a poem following the Octelle poetry form to your blog or website. The Octelle, created by Emily Romano, is a poem consisting of eight lines using personification and symbolism in a telling manner. The syllable count structure for this verse is 8, 8, 7, 7, 7, 7, 8, 8, and the rhyme scheme is aa/bb/cc/aa. The first two lines and the last two lines are identical. 

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Take care.

~Jay ❤

August Poems

I

august brings
a gust of rain
quenching
the thirst 
of all living beings
flourishing
everything with love
far and near
children cry
monsoon is here.

II

On a sultry August morning
I'm walking,
watching--

Farmers harvesting
blazing August corn.

Fruit vendors selling
juicy perfect papayas.

Sweet sisters buying
Rakhis for Rakshabandhan.

Butterfly fluttering
wings in sunlight.

The air swelling
with rich smell of rain.

Posted over at dverse poetics: Sometimes August isn’t recognized

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Take care 

~Jay ❤

Haibun: A Dream of Spring

Trigger Warning: If you are in a state of paranoia or psychosis please don’t read the following piece as it contains a detailed version of a delusion.

I can see the ceiling fan, bloody in the glow of the exit sign at hospital corridor. As I concentrate on it, I can see its hub is rotating but not the blades. That’s strange, given how it’s switched off. Lately, I’ve been seeing other strange things too. Last night a dark man with no face tried to put a curse on me, so I stabbed him but he didn’t die, the knife was blunt.

My mother is here. She’s the only one I trust. The nurse here is my sister. But mother tells me that the nurse just looks like my sister and has the same glasses as her. I trust my mother, she’s right, the nurse can’t be my sister because my sister is only 14. I am so confused.

As long as the hub is rotating, I know there’s something wrong with me. I can see my reflection in the fan. It shows me in a hospital gown, lying in the bed and everything is spinning. Round and round it goes, so confused.

I remember when it started. A mosquito bit me while I was meditating on the terrace of our home. That was no ordinary mosquito, it was sent by the dark man, yes I know, it cursed me. It made me crazy.

Like the trees at fall
I am losing my leaves
With a dream of spring

Posted over at dverse: Haibun Monday: Look Up!

Prompt

“Today I want you to write about a time you looked up and saw. . .something.”

A/N: On March 1 2021, I was admitted for 3 days in a hospital because I’ve had an “episode”. It was the first time something like that had happened to me, me and my family were so scared. When I couldn’t get to sleep for 3 days in a row and began talking nonsense, hearing and seeing things that weren’t there, my father decided that they should take me to the hospital. There the psychiatrist told me that I was showing symptoms of schizophrenia, that I’ve had an episode of what they call, Acute Transient Psychosis. Months later I became stable, the meds helped though their side effects were horrible! I got fat, slept 12 hours a day, couldn’t concentrate etc. I also posted about it on the blog, you can read it here

On July 20 2022, my doctors told me that the meds can be tapered off. They told me I am in remission, so day before yesterday I stopped taking my meds as instructed by doctor. I’ve had only one “episode” in my life and it was the most awful thing that has happened to me in my whole life, I am 22 years old. But, I am happy that it’s over and I survived it. The spring is here!

I wanted to thank this community as it has been one of my coping mechanisms to post poetry here and read what other bloggers post. I love the support this community gives to bloggers like me and when I posted about my breakdown the first time, I was surprised by the amount of supporting comments, telling me that everything will be alright!

This haibun is inspired by my 3 days stay at the hospital, the prompt asks us to write about a time you looked up and saw.. something, well I saw that ceiling fan and I’ve had nightmares about that time too. So I chose to write about that and I’d also like to mention that the line I am losing my leaves is a tribute to the movie “Father” starring Anthony Hopkins as a man who has dementia. It is a heart breaking film, I love it very much.

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

~Jay ❤

Quadrille: Wolves

Neath the wrappings,
hiding in sheep's clothing
lie the wolves.

Violent, fighting,
tearing up holes in the house
but they're beautiful.

With deep love
in their misguided hearts.

Let's take off the wraps,
breathe,
let's be wise and wait

till those wolves
make nice.

44 words

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

Posted over at dverse

Prompt

Write a 44 word poem sans title including the word “wrap” and post it on your blog or website.

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.

Crows Calling at Night

Widow cries salty tears on her pillow
as rain falls in the ghost town.
She hears the cawing of the crows,
caw-caw, the reminder of his doom.
The lonely room echoes with melancholic sounds--
weeping, raining and crows calling at night.
Sorrowfully--she thinks of his handsome face
but neither sleep nor any respite comes.

The form loosely resembles Chinese LUSHI style:

  • eight lines long of couplets – The first couplet should set-up the poem; the middle two couplets develop the theme, the final couple is conclusion
  • each line must have the same number of words, either 5,6, or 7.
  • a mono-rhyme is on every even numbered line
  • Caesura (a pause) should separate clauses.

Inspired by Crows Calling at Night by Li bai:

Yellow clouds beside the walls; crows roosting near.
Flying back, they caw, caw; calling in the boughs.
In the loom she weaves brocade, the Qin river girl.
Made of emerald yarn like mist, the window hides her words.
She stops the shuttle, sorrowful, and thinks of the distant man.
She stays alone in the lonely room, her tears just like the rain.

Image

© MRITYUNJAY DIXIT, 2021. — ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

3 a.m.

A short story in verses.

It's 3 a.m. 
his mind carries him 
to an unknown place.

There he sees
himself surrounded by lots of mosquitoes 
and 3 dead bodies 
clothed in burkas.

He's somewhere in the woods 
and the moon is a bone fishhook
in the clear night sky. 

He's having creepy visions
of kidnapping the women 
from the mosque 
and bringing them here.

His head is hurting 
and the mosquitoes are bothering him 
he checks his pockets

in one he finds a note 
that says, "I quit taking my drugs."
and in the other
he finds two human toes.

He instantly pukes 
and to his surprise 
he finds another human toe
in his vomit.

He passes out 
and when he wakes up
many mosquitoes are sucking his blood.

He kills 3 of them bloodsuckers.

He's in cell of a mental hospital, 
on the table beside him
there's a blue horse notebook

Doctors have told him
that if anything bothers him 
he should write it down.

He opens it and begins to write-
"I had another nightmare, 
a bad one and very filthy too."

He continues,
"I think it's happening again,
words are getting stuck
in my head and bothering me.

This time it's 'mosquitoes'
mosque-quit-toes, ah shit!
I'm making connections
that don't exist."

He closes the notebook
and lies in his bed
staring at the ceiling
until dawn.

© M. Jay Dixit, September heart-to-hearts, 2022 All Rights Reserved

posted over at dverse: OLN

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

~Jay

Quadrille: Rabbit in a Snowstorm

A writer goes to an art museum,
there he muses on a painting
to amuse himself,
waiting for his own muse to come.

Looking with amusement,
he muses, “What kick do people get,
watching this white sheet of paper?”
Somewhat bemused, he walks away.

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

The prompt was to write a poem of exactly 44 words containing some form of the word muse in it. In this poem I’ve tried to use the word ‘muse’ and its forms in such a way that all the different meanings it conveys are captured.

I came to know about this painting when I was watching Daredevil on Netflix the other day and it was very interesting to me so I thought why not use it in a poem.

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Take care 

~Jay

Poem: Mutilation

I embrace 
this mutilation.

The torment
has tore me in two.
It's in the air I breathe
heavy, cold 
as snow this silence 
surrounding 
strangling
submerging me underneath.

Can't feel my right hand, 
I can't write
There's no righting 
of this kind of wrongness.

M. Jay Dixit, 2021

Life’s all light!

Light feels right
Music starts to play
In higher part of brain
In higher planes
Where the flowers grow
Life feels right
Right as the light
You'll be back 
in an hour or so
From the higher planes
Like haiku
They don't have names
You can't say
A word
You can't remember
The world
Seen from afar 
Even random walls
starts to show
hidden patterns
around the corners
You can't tell why
the letters look crooked
Or why every(one/thing) looks
so smooth, so obvious
Like through a glass wall
What's that painted quality of light
You can't know for sure 
Why are there stars in 
the summer blue sky
Look at all those lost stars
Where do they all belong
and laughter plops down
like a fat lady on a chair
not even listening to
what you're saying
You can't you know, tell
whether you're dreaming
or just feeling sleepy
but that's alright
Life's alright
Life's all light.

© M. Jay Dixit, September heart-to-hearts, 2020 All Rights Reserved

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

~Jay ❤

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