sundance season

knp 2021 sangeetha
autumn colour bursts in blooms
spritzing sweet scented perfume
sunlight smiles

swathes of cinnamon carpets
unfurl at your feet, my pet,
my sunshine

orange-zested October sings
shy blue skies giggle, turning
sunburn red

season turns on full charisma
sporting her burnt sienna

flakes of fire fall freely
as winds fly them off their tree
till sundown


Mindfills by s.s. for Cee’s FOTD and d’Verse. dVerse’s Grace asks us to write The compound verse of 3*5 lines of 8/8/3 syllables and aab rhyme, the third line using a stem from the title

wit or without ~ a blitz poem

call me
call quick
quick wit
quick to add
add ons suck
add to bill
bill in post
bill not paid
paid in advance
paid service

service with a smile
service secret
secret compartment
secret keeper
keeper of bees
keeper to be
be kind
be silly
silly high
silly till I die

die is cast
die another day
day break
day to blitz
blitz poem
blitz it up
up to no good
up in the air
air of Nike
air that lifts

lifts my spirits
lifts to life
life lines
life in progress
progress of poet
progress on pause
pause to listen
pause button
button rose
button fell

fell a tree
fell down flat
flat liner
flat number four
four lines left
four words without
without an end
without much thought


I wrote this blitz poem after seeing David of Skeptic’s kaddish have so much fun with this poetry form 😁 Thank you David.

  • Blitz Poem Rules…umm it kinda does 😉
  • Line 1 should be one short phrase or image (like “build a boat”)
  • Line 2 should be another short phrase or image using the same first word as the first word in Line 1 (something like “build a house”)
  • Lines 3 and 4 should be short phrases or images using the last word of Line 2 as their first words (so Line 3 might be “house for sale” and Line 4 might be “house for rent”)
  • Lines 5 and 6 should be short phrases or images using the last word of Line 4 as their first words, and so on until you’ve made it through 48 lines
  • Line 49 should be the last word of Line 48
  • Line 50 should be the last word of Line 47
  • The title of the poem should be three words long and follow this format: (first word of Line 3) (preposition or conjunction) (first word of line 47)
  • There should be no punctuation

leaves leaving ~ a cethramtu rannaigechta moire

leaves leaving
~autumn calls
loud and clear
let go - fall

floating free
one by one
yellow flakes
have some fun

the wind says
ride on me
I'll take you
down gently


I’m trying this poetry form I met on Val’s blog Murisopsis. It’s a Cethramtu Rannaigechta Moire, an Irish poetical form that is composed of one or more quatrains where all lines are limited to 3 syllables. The 2nd and 4th lines rhyme. A poetic form I can’t pronounce 😀

evening ~ an imayo

The Himalaya ~ Dec 2020
evening unfurls parasol
striped pink and orange
mountain looks up adoring
opening his arms
letting swathes of dusk's desires
splay and play his slopes
~ what colours the night may bring
can just wait awhile


Mindfills of s.s. for Colleen’s Tanka Tuesdays synonyms only – twilight (evening, dusk) and hue (colour) , word choice by Willow, in imayo – a Japanese Poetry form of four lines of 7/5 syllables each.

Thank you Colleen for selecting me for the photo promt for this week. I am including a link to the image here.

somewhere ~ a decima

somewhere near the afternoon
the sun lit up a dream I'd drawn
with true colours of my life's storm
that turns, on a whim, glee to gloom
or takes me right up to the moon
and back for breakfast served
- a shot of coffee, extra verve
only for me, that little more
of my sweet life that I adore,
...all that I totally deserve!


Ronovan Writes Decima – verve in c rhyme abbaaccddc & Reena’s exploration challenge – wordplay (Customer – true storm, or, to, more, me), Cee’s CMMC – orange, Cee’s FOTD

Angkor ~ prosery

He sat on an ancient block of granite. The symmetrical serpents carved on it had collected some of the recent rain and his pants soaked in some of it. He gingerly turned another page of his grandfather’s brittle notebook, cursive writing recording a day at this very place, a day perhaps quite like this one.

His eyes swept the expanse of the Angkor ruins, peeling off layers of time. He let his mind drift along the network of the banyan roots that soaked up human history, mixed up in mystical mythology of the temples, lifting ever-living, never-living spirits to blue skies that didn’t seem to care at all. People lived here once, people with dreams and gods and laughter.

What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow out of this stony rubbish? Why was this great city built? Why was it abandoned?


Mindfills for dVerse’s prosery monday hosted by Mish – What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow out of this stony rubbish?” TS Eliot