by Prasanta | Jul 2, 2015 | Poetry
The Guest He tramples on my azaleas, barges right in— no ringing the bell or hearty knock– plants himself right beside me on the couch. Of course. The old tusker won’t leave me alone, ribbing, winking, and nodding my direction...
by Prasanta | May 25, 2015 | Poetry
When I first came to town, knowing no one I felt like that, like there was no one Anywhere Oh- there were faces, but There was no one And there are days— I walked through the house today Her purple plaid backpack underneath the table Calendar on the desk Books piled...
by Prasanta | May 8, 2015 | God's love, Poetry, Writing
My heart bursts its banks Spilling beauty and goodness. I pour it out in a poem to the king Shaping the river into words. The Message, Psalm 45:1 #writefromafullwell
by Prasanta | Apr 29, 2015 | Poetry, Spring
Over The Land Is April – Poem by Robert Louis Stevenson Over the land is April, Over my heart a rose; Over the high, brown mountain The sound of singing goes. Say, love, do you hear me, Hear my sonnets ring? Over the high, brown mountain, Love, do you...
by Prasanta | Apr 27, 2015 | Poetry
Spring – Poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti Frost-locked all the winter, Seeds, and roots, and stones of fruits, What shall make their sap ascend That they may put forth shoots? Tips of tender green, Leaf, or blade, or sheath; Telling of the hidden life...
by Prasanta | Apr 26, 2015 | Poetry
The First Spring Day – Poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti I wonder if the sap is stirring yet, If wintry birds are dreaming of a mate, If frozen snowdrops feel as yet the sun And crocus fires are kindling one by one: Sing, robin, sing; I still am sore in doubt...
by Prasanta | Apr 24, 2015 | Poetry
Because it is Spring, and April is National Poetry Month… Sonnet 98: From you have I been absent in the spring William Shakespeare, 1564 – 1616 From you have I been absent in the spring, When proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim, Hath put a...
by Prasanta | Apr 22, 2015 | Poetry
Freshly picked Destinies Emerge from unfolding past Converge momentarily– Future breaks fertile. . .
by Prasanta | Apr 18, 2015 | Poetry, Uncategorized
Shadows Words fall like mist upon morning; awaken the dust, soak dry bones. I wipe off dew and see that you have left your prints on my flesh. I am no longer a ghost; I move like wind, seek quiet shadows, and translate their words...
by Prasanta | Apr 17, 2015 | Poetry
Somewhere, winter is dying Winter is dying somewhere We know it is time. The apple barrel is nearly empty And I am no longer muffled by the snow. I am not sure what to do when spring comes; will I know where to step, will I sink in the grass or stand...
