979. Magic Potion

Another poem from this years March Madness @ thinkkidthink.com. 

This time the assigned world was 'quintessential':

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Magic Potion (or Why I Got An ‘F’ in Math)
By Vikram Madan

“First, take one twitch of witches’ itch, and swirl in swish of pirate’s blade
Then add a dab of dragon scab, and spice with hints of tint of jade
Whip up the scowl of two foul owls, and pep with pinch of poet’s woe
Mix in the roar of ogre’s snore, and boil this all with stub of toe!”

“And when you’re done”, the Gypsy hummed, “you will have made a potent brew -
A quintessential tonic that will fix whatever’s vexing you!”
No time to think! I cooked this drink! And poured it on my test today!
Well, did my test turn out the best?!? No … it grew legs and ran away … 

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980. Train Wreck

Here is a recent 'concrete poem' I did for the March Poetry Madness at the ThinkKidThink.com site. The poem was specifically written to accommodate the assigned word for the tournament 'concurrent'.

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Train Wreck
by Vikram Madan

My poem wasn't very tight – a word slipped out and fell
It landed on the line below and ruptured that as well
What opus could withstand the weight of words with such impact?
My rhymes were shaky from the start, but now my structure cracked!
The meter flailed, the rhythm quailed, the syllables played dead
Concurrent with this brouhaha, the verses cursed and fled
More lines caved in…! More words fell through…! The end is nigh, I guess 
I hope you’ll still make some sense of this train wreck of a mess.

My poem wasn't very tight – a word slipped out and fell
It landed on the line below and ruptured that as well
What opus could withstand the weight of words with such impact?
My rhymes were shaky from the start, but now my structure cracked!
The meter flailed, the rhythm quailed, the syllables played dead
Concurrent with this brouhaha, the verses cursed and fled
More lines caved in…! More words fell through…! The end is nigh, I guess
I hope you’ll still make some sense of this train wreck of a mess.

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A "concrete poem" is one where the physical structure of the written words give shape to the poem, an idea I took quite literally. However fixing word formats on web pages is very tricky - can you spot the simple trick I used to make sure the words show up in all the right places?

My upcoming poetry collection: The Bubble Collector

If you've stopped by my blog recently, you might have noticed that I've been missing-in-action for the last couple of months. The reason for my absence is that I've been heads-down for the last 3 months finishing up my first collection of self-illustrated humorous poetry, titled The Bubble Collector: Poems and Drawings by Vikram Madan. I'm happy to say that the finishing line is finally in sight. I received my first proofs this week and, some additional tweaking not-withstanding, I hope to release this collection within the next month or two.

Here is a quick video peek to whet your appetite:

981. Dem Bitter Snits

Some time ago, I stumbled upon a delightful little poem called 'The Bitter Snits' by Renee LaTulippe over on Renee's http://www.nowaterriver.com poetry blog. Reading this fun poem about these "niggling, wriggling" things called 'Bitter Snits' made me instantly want to tell the Bitter Snit's side of the story... and here it is, presented side by side with the original poem (reproduced here with Renee's permission). I suggest you read the original first, before reading my 'fan fiction' version :)

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The Bitter Snits by Renee M. LaTulippe When you hunker in a sulk, and you slouch and you skulk like a heaving, huffing hulk of mad That’s when the Bitter Snits slither in and steal your wits– oh, my dear, I will admit it’s bad. A Bitter Snit’s a wormy thing, a niggling, wriggling, squirmy thing that plants a nagging germy thing deep inside your brain. And then you start the sniveling, your surly head goes swiveling, your common sense starts shriveling – oh, it’s inhumane. If you blubber, if you bawl, beat your hands against the wall, Bitter Snits will come to call, it’s plain. So when your temper’s on the fritz and you sink down in the pits of your snicky-icky fits of mope Just remember that a smile for a Snit is something vile and if you do it for a while… there’s hope. 'The Bitter Snits' Copyright © 2012 Renee M. LaTulippe Reproduced with author's permission

Dem Bitter Snits                 by Vikram Madan WE are dem SNITS! Dem BITTER SNITS! Dem no good restless little twits! WE howl! WE prowl! WE stalk! WE sit! And spread our spite where WE see fit! WE'RE always cruising for some huff! And specks of pout and crumbs of gruff! An upset mind dat's feeling rough Is where WE always plant our stuff! WE snick and snack on common sense! WE love to make your mind feel dense! Once you've been breached dere's no defense WE always quickly call our friends! As long as dere are sulks and tears Dere's little dat WE dread or fear! De only ding WE cannot bear Are signs and smells of (shudder!) cheer! So DO NOT smile! It gives us fits! NO SMILES! Smiles make us LOSE our wits! You smiled? OH, NO! You've made us fritz! For smiles destroy our SNITTER BITS ... !!!  *….Aaargh….**$&@*($*@#**.... 'Dem Bitter Snits' Text & Illustration Copyright © 2012 Vikram Madan

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There you have it folks - poetry from two perspectives. Don't forget - you saw it here first! :)

982. LOST: One Sense of Humor

No preamble, let's jump right in:

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LOST: ONE SENSE OF HUMOR By Vikram Madan The tale is spreading quickly; You must have heard the rumor I hurt my funny bone and then I lost my sense of humor I've looked for it all summer I've searched afar and near I'm feeling very dismal and Unsmilingly severe Hilarity eludes me My wit induces tears My jokes are flat as pancakes and Repulsive to all ears My puns are vile and pun-gent My tales of jest appall My gags induce much gagging and My banter makes them bawl Don't let this happen to you Protect your funny bone Or else you too might write a poem Whose ending is a 'groan'.

Text and Illustration Copyright © 2012 Vikram Madan

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If that ending made you groan, then I consider this poem a success :). Now hopefully I'll find my sense of humor one of these days - I suspect it'll be in the last place I look.

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Happy Poetry Friday, hosted this week at Think, Kid, Think.

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983. Midnight Hour (A Halloween Poem)

Halloween seems to always be worthy of a new poem or two. Here's an original one I jotted down this week:

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MIDNIGHT HOUR
By Vikram Madan

Just past Fall and shy of Winter
Somewhere, in there, in between
On a night of chills and shadows
Swills the web of Halloween

That's when Ghouls and Ghosts and Goblins
Witches and their Wraiths convene
Riotously overdosed on
Phantasmagoric caffeine

As the midnight hour approaches
As the shivers grow unseen
Supernatural commotion
Germinates an eerie scene

Skeletons and Specters saunter
Pale and pasty, pallid, lean
Unheard music molds the darkness
Nameless terrors lurk unseen

Phantoms float and fade and flicker
Poltergeists cavort, careen
Apparitions shimmer, glimmer
Shrouded in a hazy sheen

Then, at midnight, all goes quiet.
Nothing stirs in wood or green.
Halloween's hijinks seem over
Life is, once more, safe, serene.

Or is it?
Trick or treat.


Text and Illustration Copyright © 2012 Vikram Madan

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Now I just need to get me some of that 'Phantasmagoric Caffeine' ...

984. A Little Nap

Ever have one of those days when All. You. Want. To. Do. Is. Take. A. Little. Nap?

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A Little Nap       by Vikram Madan I’d love to take a little nap –   (Just forty winks or so) But noise in this construction zone   is hampering my flow The hammer's curt staccato tin-   tinnabulates my ear The drill's insistent counterpoint   keeps stabbing through my cheer The motor's surly grumbles send   dissonance up my core The chisel chip-chip-chips away   what’s left of my rapport The scraping, pouring, polishing!   The blare and racket stun! I guess I won't be napping till   my dental work is done… :(

Copyright © 2012 Vikram Madan
Sound Effect Fonts from Blambot.Com

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Yes, one of those days (sigh), and and now you also know what my visit to the dentist sounds like... (Hopefully your dental experiences are more peaceful).


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Oh, and happy poetry friday, hosted this week at the Teacher Dance blog.

985. Curses: A Villain-elle

This one is an experiment with a poetic form called the 'Villanelle'. A villanelle is a somewhat complex poem structure characterized by only two rhyme sounds, refrains that alternate as the third line of each successive stanza, and a total of nineteen lines across six stanzas.

For the longest time, I used to read the word 'Villanelle' incorrectly as 'Villainelle' (what can I say, blame my dyslexia). To make up for my disappointment at discovering my error, I decided it was time someone wrote a real 'Villain-elle'. Here it is:

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CURSES: A Villain-elle
    By Vikram Madan

I scheme and plot and plan in vain.
Once more I gnash my teeth and sigh:
And curses, I've been foiled again!

My dream is simple, sweet and plain
To rule this world from sea to sky
I scheme and plot and plan (in vain!)

What use my I.Q., my big brain
When fate just scoffs and pokes my eye
And curses! - I've been foiled again!

My death-star, robots, spider-rain,
My dino-clones … all gone, while I,
I scheme and plot and plan in vain

For no soon have I made some gain
When up pops up some super-guy
- And curses, I've been foiled again!

I'll NEVER give up my campaign
One day I'll win and no more cry:
I scheme and plot and plan in vain,
And curses, I've been foiled again!

Text and Illustration Copyright © 2012 Vikram Madan

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For more Villanelle fun, here are two of the more famous Villanelles in english poetry:

• Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night by Dylan Thomas
• One Art by Elizabeth Bishop

986. Ode to the Best Darn Poem What I Ever Did Write

Here's one only a poet can appreciate :)

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Ode to the Best Darn Poem What I Ever Did Write
                        By Vikram Madan

I marveled when you first emerged, a tendril of a thought
You needed care and nurturing: I gave you all you sought

I watched you thrive and blossom and unfurl your worded wings
The texture of a language, vibrating in your strings

I felt your rhythms synchronize, your meters coalesce
Iambic feet cavorting as you took on loveliness

Your metaphors? Magnificent! Your similes? A bliss!
The way your words enthralled my tongue was no less than a kiss

Climatic? Like a symphony; Sagacity? Profound!
We danced all day inside my mind - (My smugness knew no bounds)

A masterpiece so perfect that no world would be the same!
I went to bed content I stood upon the cusp of fame

I dreamt all night how you and I would transform mankind
I woke up … to be horror-struck - you'd faded from my mind!

Oh why, oh why, did I commit the poets greatest sin
I should have freed you to paper, not kept you locked within

I've tried but failed to bring you back - I'll mourn you ever more
You could have been my 'Raven' but instead you're my 'Lenore'.


Copyright © 2012 Vikram Madan

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[ PS. For anyone who didn't catch the references in the last line, look up Edgar Allan Poe's 'The Raven', a masterpiece of a poem that turned Poe into an instant celebrity. In that poem, Lenore is the maiden the narrator lost and forever pines for ... ]

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PPS Happy Poetry Friday - this weeks the funs at Renee LaTulippe's No Water River blog.
 

987. Franken-Jack and Franken-Jill

In celebration of this week's Poetry Friday, being hosted by Katya Czaja on her Write, Sketch, Repeat blog, here's a new twisted nursery tale I wrote this week. The plot will be at once familiar and at once not...

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Franken-Jack And Franken-Jill
        By Vikram Madan

Franken-Jack and Franken-Jill
Lurching, lurching up the hill
Testing out the new physiques
Doctor Stein has built this week

“Buck-Et-Take-Up!", F-Jack groans
"Wa-Ter-Bring-Down!", F-Jill moans
Fill the bucket at the top
Careful not to slop a drop

Franken-Jill and Franken-Jack
Heaving, swaying, stagger back
Teeter, totter, two left feet
Trip and tumble to the street

Franken-Jill's the first to rise
Dusts her dress, adjusts her eyes
Looks at Franken-Jack and frowns
"Frank-En-Jack-You-Big-Hurt-Crown!"

Franken-Jack gets up and looms
Feels his head, then rages, fumes
"Think-Me-Head-Doc-No-Good-Bind!
Lost-Me-Now-Me-Piece-Of-Mind!"

Text and Illustrations Copyright © 2012 Vikram Madan

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Following last Poetry Friday's Humpty poem, this poem originally started as 'Franken-Humpty' ... but 'Franken-Humpty' just didnt have the same rhythm as 'Franken-Jack and Franken-Jill', who took a life of there own after being hit by a bolt of random inspiration.... :)

 If you enjoyed this poem, may I recommend two other 'twisted' poems I recently posted:

• 990. The Countenance of Humpty Dumpty
• 993. The Toad Not Taken

And if you enjoyed those poems too, well then, feel free to poke around this site and follow this blog for regular updates ... :)

Happy Poetry Friday!

 

 

988. The Oviraptor's Kin

Here's an older dinosaur poem inspired by dinosaurs called Oviraptors, latin for 'Egg Thief'. The dinosaurs were so named because the first discovered fossil was found huddled over a clutch of eggs of - what was assumed to be - a different species. With time, paleontologists realized the dinosaur was probably guarding it's own nest and hadn't been 'caught in the act'. It's reputation was cleared, but the name still sticks. (Talk about a bum rap!)

This poem celebrates the original theory as that's the more imaginative one. :)

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The Oviraptor's Kin
By Vikram Madan

Said Oviraptor to his kin,
    'I’m great at stealing eggs!
My arms are perfect - long and thin!
    I have the fastest legs!’

‘My face has got a cunning look
    My gait is sly and keen
I steal those eggs by hook or crook
    My getaways are clean'

‘And once an egg falls in my hands
    I cannot help but smile
The eggs from many Dino-lands
    I’ve added to my pile’

‘No Oviraptor can compare
    Its stash of eggs to mine
A hoard this size has to be rare
    And none could be as fine!’

But as he gloated, full of pride,
    He erred and turned his back
Which let his kin sneak by his side
    And pilfer his whole stack…



Text and Illustrations Copyright © 2004 Vikram Madan

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An Oviraptor's kin, after all, is an Oviraptor too ...

990. The Countenance of Humpty Dumpty

It's Poetry Friday today, being hosted over at the Poetry For Children blog. To celebrate, here's a new humorous poem featuring an all-too-familiar character in an all-too-familiar setting. Or is it?

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The Countenance of Humpty Dumpty
              By Vikram Madan

As Humpty Dumpty, on the wall,
Sat in a cheerless slump
A passerby assumed the worst
And yelled, He’s going to jump!

An anxious crowd assembled and
Begged Humpty change his mind
The King's men and their horses came
(The Press shadowed behind)

They cordoned off the boulevard
Unfurled a safety net
A nervous chatter filled the night,
The tension, thick as sweat

Then Humpty shuffled in his spot
(The crowd shook with unease)
This isn't what you think, he said
I came here … for the breeze

You see, I haven't smiled in years
My countenance is skewed
I thought a dose of fresh air might
Invigorate my mood

For mirth lends me no company
I’m always feeling grim
And in my quest to lighten up
I sat here on a whim

But as he spoke he lost his poise
And toppled off the top
And treaded wind with flailing limbs
Down, down the few-foot drop

A solemn silence hushed the street.
All stared in stunned dismay.
Poor Humpty missed the safety net
(What more was left to say?)

The coroner, to close, declared
(As medics cleared the pile)
Humpty, our friend, is gone but look
At last, he’s cracked a smile!

Text and Illustrations Copyright © 2012 Vikram Madan

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Ok, ok - don't twist my arm - I admit I wrote this poem backwards, starting with the ending in mind. Sometimes you just gotta do what you just gotta do :) .... Happy Poetry Friday!


 

991. I Tried To Clone a Dinosaur

Here's an old poem I wrote a while back. Can you tell that it's inspired by 'Jurassic Park' and other mad-cap mad-scientist capers? :)

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I Tried To Clone A Dinosaur
     By Vikram Madan

I tried to clone a Dinosaur
From old amber-encrusted drones
But I could not produce much more
Than half-grown bits of skin and bones

And so I built a Time Machine
To head back to Jurassic days
To view first-hand all those unseen
Dinosaurs of the yesterdays



And I came back from this fine trip
Only to find, to my dismay,
Some Dinosaurs stowed on my ship
And breeding in the cargo bay



They looked at me with hungry eyes
I zapped them with my Shrinking Ray
But now that they were all pint-sized
They slipped through cracks and got away



Next time a bug goes scurrying by
Take one close look just to be sure
That it’s indeed an ant or fly
And not a tiny Dinosaur…

Text and Illustrations Copyright © 2002 Vikram Madan

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992. Poetry Stretch: A Lai

This week's Monday Poetry Stretch was to write a Lai - a "French syllabic verse form consisting of one or more stanza of nine lines with two rhymes", a rhyme scheme of a-a-b-a-a-b-a-a-b and additional restrictions of 5 syllables in the 'a' lines and only 2 syllables in the 'b' line.  All in all, a very concise and tight poetry form, and not easy to write to. Here's a quick, somewhat grim, 'Lai' I slapped together:

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Warning: A-lai-ve or Dead

The Vampires arise
Under savage skies
   To seek
A suck-culent prize
Oh, how they despise
   The meek
They've planned your demise
So say your goodbyes
   This week.

Copyright (c) 2012, Vikram Madan

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Someone should have told me never to 'Lai'  (all puns intended) ... :)

995. The Knight And The Dragon

I wrote this poem a few years ago for an online zine that was doing a themed issue on Dragons.

[Note: If the opening line sounds familiar, well yes, it takes inspiration from the opening line of Lewis Carroll's well known poem (from Alice in Wonderland) 'You Are Old, Father William', which you can read in it's entirety on Wikipedia.]

                    The Knight and the Dragon
                            By Vikram Madan

‘You are old,’ said the Knight, as he polished his lance
     ‘And your wings are all tattered and torn
And the ache in your bones surely softens your stance
    And your talons seem dull and well-worn.’

‘You are old,’ said the Knight, as he mounted his steed
     ‘And your eyes are beginning to gloss
And the weight of the years surely makes you knock-kneed
     And your scales are all covered with moss.’

‘You are old,’ said the Knight, as he straightened his shield
     ‘Do your teeth rattle loose in your gums?
And your blood, once so hot, must lie cold and congealed
     Do you get by on more than just crumbs?’



‘You are old,’ said the Knight, as he spurred on his horse
     ‘And your glory lies faded and maimed
But your fate, though much withered, has shown you remorse
     And left you the keys to my fame’

‘You are old,’ said the Knight, as he galloped in fast
     ‘So why bother to swagger and pose?
With my heart just as kind as my courage is vast
     I shall bring a swift end to your woes.’

‘You are old,’ said the Knight, as he readied his blow
     ‘And your breath smells like brimstone and ash
And your fire… still burns?! … Like a hot… volcano!
     So… hot!!…’ And he was gone in a flash.

Copyright (c) 2005 Vikram Madan, All Rights Reserved

 

996. Captchas

For this week's Poetry Friday, well-known author Douglas Florian had a poem on his blog about captchas, ('captchas' are those weird number/letter combinations you have to decipher and type to prove you are human - read more here) to which I had to comment:

 

          Captchas

  

I tried to prove that I was not

A bot, a script, a tool

But I failed so persistently

I felt just like a fool

 

Is that an 'A'? Or 'T'? Or 'C'

Or 'X' crossed with an 'N'?

This squint-inducing task I'm sure

Is not for mortal men

 

I refresh, retry, try again

Until my brain unspools

Whoever thought these 'captchas' up

I fear is somewhat cruel ...

 

Copyright (c) 2012 Vikram Madan, All Rights Reserved

 

 

 

 

997. In The Back of The 'Fridgerator

Sometimes inspiration can come from the strangest of sources. I was poking in the back of the fridge one day, and thought to myself, 'Wow, this stuff in here is really old and really stale'. Well, the phrase 'Really Old and Really Stale' got stuck in my head because it sounded like the opening line of a poem, which I then just had to sit down and write.

Here's the first version:

IN THE BACK OF THE ‘FRIDGERATOR
 A Love Story by Vikram Madan

Really Old met Really Stale
In the back of the ‘fridgerator
“Love at First Smell!” they declared
Each vowed its love was greater

“You and I shall have such FUNgus”
“Let’s grow mOLD together”
And thus they lived in rotten bliss
Decaying with each other

But then one day a hand reached in
And decomposed the pair
And one was left mourning the loss
Of one no longer there

This tale would be a tragedy
As one sat there and yearned
But the ordeal was not over yet
And the cleansing hand returned!

Before too long the fridge was bare
And scrubbed from well within
And the lovers? Reunited,
In the heart of the compost bin.

Text and Illustrations Copyright © 2012 Vikram Madan, All Rights Reserved
 

The phrase 'In the Back of the 'Fridgerator' had a nice ring to it and sounded like a refrain that needed repitition within the poem. Here's the second version I wrote, this time with a chantable refrain:

IN THE BACK OF THE ‘FRIDGERATOR
A Love Story by Vikram Madan

Really Old met Really Stale
     In the back of the 'fridgerator
So began this stinky tale
     In the back of the 'fridgerator
Love at First Smell!, they declared
     In the back of the 'fridgerator
Oh, the fun-gus times they shared
     In the back of the 'fridgerator
Growing m-old and mildewy
     In the back of the 'fridgerator
R-O-T-T-I-N-G
     In the back of the 'fridgerator...

Then one day a hand appeared
     In the back of the 'fridgerator
Did the thing they both had feared
     In the back of the 'fridgerator
Picked one up and split the pair
     In the back of the 'fridgerator
Lonesomeness and sorrow there
     In the back of the 'fridgerator...

Does this tale end in regret
     In the back of the 'fridgerator?
Wait! Mom's not done cleaning yet
     In the back of the 'fridgerator!
When the scrubbing was all done
     In the back of the 'fridgerator
The two once more were joined as one
     But away from our 'fridgerator...

Really Stale met Really Old
     In the heart of the compost pile
Henceforth rotting uncontrolled
  Gladly rotting uncontrolled
   Together rotting uncontrolled
     In the heart of the compost pile.

Text and Illustrations Copyright © 2012 Vikram Madan, All Rights Reserved

                             ***

I was feeling partial towards the second version, but a ten-year old I tested it on found it to be (sadly) too repetitive. What do you think?  Does one work better than the other? (Right now the first is headed into my upcoming poetry collection while the second is destined for the reject drawer ...)

998. Through Deep, Dark and Lovely Woods

Here's a poem I wrote a few years ago for an online zine for a provided prompt of 'Deep, Dark and Lovely Woods'. The phrase was no doubt taken from Robert Frost's 'Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening' and so I threw in a few subtle references to Frost's work inside the poem. See if you can spot them.

Through Deep, Dark and Lovely Woods
          By Vikram Madan

Despair not, O Weary Pilgrim
   I too made the same mistake
Stopped and fell under the spell of
   Easy wind and downy flake
Took a path that was less traveled
   Through deep, dark and lovely woods
Falling snow erased my footprints
   I too was then lost for good…

Daylight gave in to the darkness
   As did fortitude to fear
Fear to fright and fright to terror
   When those voices reached my ear
Vile and vicious, harsh and hostile,
   Reeking of pain and torment
Surely mortal tongues might never
   Harbor so much ill-intent…

As the sounds grew ever closer
   As my heart beat louder still
I saw shadows in the darkness
   Lurking, lurching down a hill
Rough and ragged raspy breathing
   Shuffles of demented feet
Hints of claws and fangs and maws and
   Whiffs of rotten, spoiling meat…

Was that wind that tugged my collar
   As I turned around to flee?
Were those roots that sent me tripping?
   Thorns that dug into my knee?
Could I be but more uncertain
   Were those rocks that struck my head?
There is little I remember
   Past that final sense of dread…

Despair not, O Weary Pilgrim
   Even if prospects look grim
You too have been well surrounded
   Chances of escape are slim
Heed my counsel, curb your anguish
   When the end comes, do not fuss
Once your misery is over
   You too shall be one of us…

Copyright (c) 2006 Vikram Madan, All Rights Reserved

I remember I spent a month on and off back then tinkering with this poem trying to get it just right and was quite happy with the end result... 

999. In Which All Planning Comes to Naught

Another day, another challenge. Over at The Miss Rumphius Effect blog is a recurring Monday Poetry Challenge. This week's challenge was to create a 'trimeric' poem. A trimeric is a complex poetic form where subsequent stanzas repeat lines from the first stanza (what can I say - poets like challenging themselves). You can read more about the 'trimeric' here.

The original form, as conceived, is not a rhyming form, but I thought to try my own hand at a rhyming variation of it. Here's my sorta-rhyma-trimeric:

IN WHICH ALL PLANNING COMES TO NAUGHT

Now all through the summer I begged and I whined
In hopes that my parents would make up their mind
But parents have reasons to do what they do
And that's why I sit here and grumble and stew.

In hopes that my parents would make up their mind
I begged and cajoled and I craved and I pined
Until they said, 'Yes, we are almost inclined - 

But parents have reasons to do what they do
And that's why we're saying - No! No pup for you!'
And with that they sent all my planning askew

And that's why I sit here and grumble and stew
For now there's no dog who I hoped to have 'chew'
The homework I shirked, which I'll now have to do.

Copyright (c) 2012 Vikram Madan

In retrospect, I have to say this is a hard form to work with, and I compounded the challenge for myself by trying to rhyme it, which seems to have somewhat constrained the expression of the idea within...

1000. Ominous Sign

Poking around the web the other day, I stumbled across the blog of David L. Harrison, a well known children's book author. David runs a 'word of the month' challenge where he invites people to submit poems based on a single word. August's word was 'LINE'. I couldn't pass up the challenge and here's the poem I came up with in short order:
              

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              OMINOUS SIGN
               by Vikram Madan

I was born in the grip of an ominous sign
That has scalded my life with its evil design
It's a fate worse as any that fate can consign
It's a bane to be weathered till stars realign
I have traveled the world with this burden of mine
I have sought out the wise in the rarest of shrines
Though they poked at my toes and they prodded my spine
They had nothing to offer to curb my decline
So from six in the morning to past when I dine
I must go right on living as if it's all fine
But I know, in my heart, it's a matter of time
When my curse reappears and ensures it assigns
Me to wait, yet again, in the slow-moving line
In the slow-moving line, in the slow-moving line
Wherever men queue up to await or combine
That's where I'll be standing, in the slow-moving line…

Text and Illustrations Copyright © 2012 Vikram Madan

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This poem should really have been called 'Slow-Moving Line' but that would have given the ending away. Somedays, it feels like I'm living this poem, especially when I'm at the airport. :)