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Collection of Ovi Poems (2022-) |
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OVI: an ancient Indian form of narrative poetry consisting of four-line stanzas with the first three lines rhyming and having eight syllables each. The fourth line does not rhyme and contains less than eight syllables. Dnyaneshwaar (1275-1296) was the first to use ovi in literature. (Illustration) |
| Hamas attacked brutally And Israel ferociously Retaliated directly Oh, all those deaths! People are in stupified shock Murder, mayhem, and blasts ad hoc The Gaza Strip, its people are on lock: No food, water, or power Hostages are taken by terrorists Two countries divided through mist Of smoke, hatred, and cunning list Of two years of preparation. Jews and Palestinians go In murderous embrace, the flow Of escalation in a row The world is looking. |
Ninety-eight in the hospital |
Some sightings upwards in the sky Called UFOs, flying way up high Are real or not? We have to sigh Thinking of alien life Grey with big eyes or green from Mars Learning and watching from the stars Or are they starting earthly wars We have to wait and see Note ▼ |
Row the boat, gently down the stream Party all day, me and my team Boozing, laughing, eating ice cream Till dawn sets in All I remember the boat shook We all plunged into the cold brook A passerby watched us and took Us out of the water Note ▼ |
Imagine A world without violence and pain Where people interact not in vain With love, understanding the brain - Imagine The heart, major power to use Arms, to include all; introduce Space and liberty reproduce - Imagine |
Salman Rushdie, writer of tale Got stabbed yesterday in assail On stage, before he could prevail - Freedom of speech attacked A fatwa on his head was set Now he lies in hospital bed Maimed for life, luckily not dead - Pray for recovery |
Weeping willow in summertime. Hanging down, lush leaves green as lime. This nature’s hideout is sublime. Giving shelter. Strong, long branches way up high, Stringing down from the sky. When my dog Sprout is passing by He pees at them. |
Palm reading: marked lines in my hands Are telling a tale, grasping trends Life-long visuals make amends With scattered broken paths Love, destiny, travel, and stress Right or left hand, they both possess Influence, growth, outcome, or mess As past and future maps |
Murderous Poet It’s late at night, I am wond’ring Rhyming, thinking, a bit pond’ring - two flies buzzing, circling, blund’ring… Wished them dead! |
Working in silence Work in silence being a scribe Means isolation avoiding the hype Social media, and the vibe - Just me and the screen Words, sentences, and storylines Poetry with or without rhymes Hours of passion, in the mines Of the lonely writer |
My uncle Frits A younger brother of my mom Frits, twenty-one - the bravest one From Holland to New Guinee, won A medal when he died Nineteen sixty-one, end of war He headed home, free to explore His life with family and more Stepped on a landmine Great mourning of this loss back home My pregnant mom felt all alone My life began, it set the tone - a difficult bond Frits got attention he deserved Years later a plaquette reserved In an army meeting observed By us all, the family |
My first Ovi In the second wind of my life Turning sixty-one, seem to thrive long fortuitous way to drive Without a destination So, soulsearching and thinking hard Where do I go from here, you bard What is the purpose, goal, new start How-to from now? |
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