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The Daily Verse

To make The Wise Owl more dynamic, we have introduced The Daily Verse, a segment where we will upload poetry all  days of the week. Just send in a poem to editor@thewiseowl.art

Theme for November
Forgotten Corners

Autumn Vibes

Forgotten Corners

Friday, 8th November, 2024

Image by Weichao Deng

Autumn's Canvas

By Narinder Jit Kaur

Hand Drawing

When nature’s canvas turns into

A palette of amber and gold

The languorous earth takes a sabbatical

And the sun bears a faded smile

 

When the crushed leaves are strewn around

Like the shards of bleeding dreams

The passion that once set my being ablaze

Lies frozen in the deep cold chambers

 

When the gusty winds shake

The lone sprig of the denuded tree

A dalliance long lost, stirs somewhere

In the rusted folds of memory.

 

The murky mist without

Settles deep within

Choking ‘n constricting

The frail heart.

The soul longs for the Sun

That warmed it

Long ago!

Thursday, 7th November, 2024

Glasses and Notebook

Haiku on Forgotten corners

By Steliana Cristina Voicu

Hand Drawing
Image by Redd F

Balchik…
the wind carrying cherry petals
to a forgotten queen

starlit veranda…
pierced pumpkins
out to dry

Image by Wouter Supardi Salari
Image by Daniel Shapiro

orientale dance…
on a rotten apple
moonbeams

Wednesday, 6th November, 2024

Photography of a House

A House and its Memories

By Sherin Mary Zacharia

Hand Drawing

Much to recollect

On those shapes

The shapes of shadows

The shadow-puzzle thrown by leaves

The green leaves of the mango tree

The mango tree in the garden

The garden in front of the house

The house was old, many lives it seen,

 many tales it has to tell.

They would sit in the spaces restricted

Near the wooden stairs,

Near the grinding stone,

Near the stacked fire wood;

Those corners where sunlight retreated early

Where the rustle of mango leaves forgot to reach.

 

No longer their stories travel

Not anymore, from lips to ears

No more is there anyone, to tell their tales.

The house, desolate.

Its corners where secrets whispered

Now swept with dust, crumbled memories

By the cold winds.

The cold yesterdays, like fallen leaves

Slowly to be moved aside

Into secluded corners

Of the mind, left to be forgotten.

About the Author

Tuesday, 5th November, 2024

Notebook and Pen

Haiku & Cherita

By Jan Stretch

Hand Drawing
Eyes

fruit fly
out the corner of my eye
a floater

dying
days

cobwebs
in the
corners

of my mind

Image by Mohamed Marey

Monday, 4th November, 2024

Image by kazuend

In Autumn's Hush

By Snigdha Agrawal 

Hand Drawing

in autumn’s hush, leaves descend

a fleeting dance before the end

like lives that drift from green to gold,

bloom, burn,

then quietly fold

life...

like autumn

must let go

to seed the earth 

for what will grow

Purple Petunias

Hand Drawing

purple petunias...

she hides the bruises

colours once bold

now veiled in decay

like autumn leaves

turning brittle

a quiet surrender

to age...

Friday, 1st November, 2024

Image by Steppeland - Lutgarde De Brouwer

Footfalls through Faded Leaves

By Monika Ajay Kaul

Hand Drawing

The air turns crisp,

memories endure a chill.

And I linger at the doorway

where home was once

the scent of rain on wood.

Autumn, soft and hesitant,

layers the earth in gold,

as if the trees fear letting go.

It stirs something old,

an ancient knowing

of rooms that held warmth

before seasons began to shift within me.

 

Exile is not distance,

but a state of being,

when home is no longer a place,

but a longing woven

into every step I take.

Leaves fall,

and with them,

debris of voices,

from a time before stillness crept in,

before the road swallowed all direction.

 

 

The brittle crack beneath my feet

reminds me..

a fragile noise,

like the way home once felt.

Alive,

before a lull settled in its place.

Memories decay,

like autumn itself,

into something tender.

A fading.

Carrying the weight of belonging,

and the ache of its loss.

 

I carry them,

those rooms,

that air,

the redolence.

Knowing they belong

to another season now.

Thursday, 31st October, 2024

Image by Mikhail Pavstyuk

Poems 

By Kavita Ratna

Hand Drawing
Image by freestocks

leaves scrunch

with every step...

thoughts quieten

a mynah bobs

on the tip of a branch...

Hamlet moment 

Image by viswaprem anbarasapandian
Image by Filip Zrnzević

August showers

dawn pats dry

the tears

bookcase...

an abhaya mudra

raises above the words

Image by Stefan Steinbauer

Wednesday, 30th October, 2024

Image by Andrew Neel

Poems on Nostalgia

By Maurizio Brancaleoni

Hand Drawing
Image by Olena Bohovyk

though encircled
its wrinkles untouched by rain —
armchair

autumn morning —

those checkout girls

gleam less brightly

Image by DoorDash
Image by Cory Woodward

the flickering of a floodlight —

autumn semitones

Tuesday, 29th October, 2024

Image by Roman Mager

Poems on Nostalgia

By Al Gallia

Hand Drawing
Image by Peter Herrmann

attic rummaging…

inside a cobwebbed chest

dad’s navy cap

alpine lake

on the granite boulder

our fading initials

Cloudy Day
tricycle.png

abandoned house

in the overgrown yard

a rusting tricycle

Monday, 28th October, 2024

Image by Laura Chouette

Poems on Nostalgia

By Fatma Zohra Habis

Hand Drawing
Image by EVGEN SLAVIN

Jasmine blooms

so without introduction

thoughts unfold

I feel a warm touch

from mother nature

secrets of darkness

the night wears its cloak

time passes slowly

memories of longing accumulate

deep is this sky

Image by Casey Horner
Image by Katie Moum

morning fog

on the mountain road ...

I search for him

on dim pathways 

with my heart's own light

Friday, 25th October, 2024

Image by Florencia Viadana

Poems on Nostalgia

By Robert Witmer

Hand Drawing
Image by Dulcey Lima

baby birds

tasting the tips

of the tiniest twigs

honeybee

the flower's lover

fluffs her golden hair

Image by Christoph
Image by Evgeni Tcherkasski

sparkles

in the stargazer's eyes

a puppet's smile

Thursday, 24th October, 2024

Image by Laura Chouette

Poems

By Kevin Cowdall

Hand Drawing
Image by Saubhagya gandharv

Bamboo Flute

 

A single high note,

piercing the afternoon air.

Then all is silent.

Old Window

 

Grubby old window

letting in a little light

and a lot of draught.

Image by Denny Müller
Image by Bonnie Kittle

Sunflowers

 

Standing in a row,

they all raise their heads as one,

a silent fanfare.

Nightingale’s Song

 

A nightingale sings –

a song to gladden the heart

and lift the spirit.

Image by Rahul Mishra

About the Author

Kevin Cowdall's poems have been published in journals, magazines, and anthologies, and on web sites, across the globe and broadcast on BBC Radio, RTÉ Radio, Ireland, and local radio stations across the UK. His 2016 retrospective collection, Assorted Bric-à-brac brought together the best from three previous collections (The Reflective Image, Monochrome Leaves, and A Walk in the Park) with a selection of newer poems). His most recent collection, Natural Inclinations, features fifty poems with a common theme of the natural world.

Wednesday, 23rd October, 2024

Books

Micro Poems 

By Jerome Berglund

Hand Drawing
Abstract Texture

a face 

in the empty 

space 

where the trees 

don't touch

they switched 

the bulbs 

but balanced 

color temperature

we didn't notice

Abstract Liquid
Abstract Paint

witness 

a prang — 

the lightning 

these days seems

less forgiving 

Tuesday, 22nd October, 2024

Stack of Books

Senryu

By David Cox

Hand Drawing
Image by note thanun

weight 

of the day…

one yen coin 

unwrapping the 

envelope so carefully -

nigiri roll 

Image by Amr Taha™
Image by Unseen Studio

undoing every

word of the poem…

babies and bath water 

Monday, 21st October, 2024

Image by Ihor Malytskyi

Insomnia

By Nisha Nair

Hand Drawing

I woke up to

The call of ravens

Nested outside

My window, their haven.

 

Half-awake and

Half in a dream

I searched the dark

To find a gleam.

 

Doubts arose in

My mind; is it yet

The dawn or night

Undone still? I fret.

 

Ravens caused a ruckus

Still, in the mid of

Night, it seemed,

Driving slumber off.

 

I shut the windows

Drew the blinds

Wishing upon wish

For sleep in my mind.

 

I counted stars

And counted sheep

Yet, I could not find

The precious lost sleep.

 

I read books of

Fiction and history

Still, sleep was an

Alluring mystery.

 

A brew of herbs didn’t

Lure sleep in

I lamented – is this

‘Cause of unknown sin?

 

Sleep hid away

Like a playful sprite

Despite what I did

Which seemed so trite.

 

‘T was nothing but a

Recap of nights, so far.

A rooster crowed somewhere

As dawn effaced the stars.

 

I moaned over

My fate so glum

and sleepless nights

Yet to come.

Friday, 18th October, 2024

shards.png

I am in your new house

By Ronita Chattopadhyay

Hand Drawing

that is yet to fully become a home
and the word sliver comes to mind.

Sliver as in
a life like glass
smashed into slivers.

Sliver as in
slivers of glass
painfully embedded in the skin


Sliver as in
slivers of glass
that shine with light and hope
not from outside but within.

 

Thursday, 17th October, 2024

Reading Glasses on Book

Micro Poems

By Belinda Behne

Hand Drawing
Image by Christine Tan

a child’s glazed eyes
sweets behind glass
just out of reach


one small coin
clutched in her fist
is it enough

a host of swallows
swirl beneath storm clouds
frenzied last supper

Image by Ronan Furuta
Image by Tanya Cressey

planted pink
my poppy blooms
bright red
a mind of her own

Wednesday, 16th October, 2024

Image by Gayatri Pandkar

When Memories Refuse to Fade

By Sarojkanta Dash

Hand Drawing

Dear Mukesh, every time I hear a song

We enjoyed on the radio long ago

I'm lost, deeply saddened, my heart racing

Against the wall of memories, washed clean with tears

 

The picture remains vivid, refusing to fade

You had no voice, yet sang to the tabla's beat

I had a voice, but never learned the rhythm's sway

That was me, and you knew it, in your own way

 

In your absence, life's rhythm is now a discord

I never wrote a good hand, yours was harder to read

But now, I cherish the letters you wrote from afar

The scribbles that once hurt my eyes are now softened with love

 

I wonder, were you born to be a rebel, wild and free?

Yet, you lacked the refinement of spirit, rough and carefree

You strayed too far, never to return, leaving me

To ponder, and remember, and yearn. 

Tuesday, 15th October, 2024

Books and Coffee

Poems on Nostalgia

By Tuyet van do

Hand Drawing
Image by Gabriel

first spring walk 

an empty swing

in the park

faded photo

on the mantelpiece

sound of wind howling 

Image by Vinit Vispute
Purple Flower Field

afternoon stroll

an elderly couple 

holding hands 

Monday, 14th October, 2024

Foggy City

Fathers

Kavita Ezekiel Mendonca

Hand Drawing

My father and my spouse’s father

Shared coincidences in stories we now tell about them

 

Both rose early in the Bombay mornings,

His father woke up at 5am,  tiptoed zigzag around the sleeping children

Had a shower, tea, contemplated the mango tree outside

Then immaculately groomed, he spoke no words

Left without breakfast, on the motorcycle

Parked at the bottom of the apartment building.

 

My father woke up early too

Dressed neatly, drank tea he made himself

“Seize the Day,” he said, his only words

And walked briskly to catch the 8:15 train.

He left the house without breakfast too.

 

In stories we remember both fathers

as we drink our chai on the patio outside.

I had never met my spouse’s father

He had met mine many times.

Poet's Note: My spouse and I often tell stories about our families. Many of my poems are written about both families, in order to to preserve our legacies and our memories. The poem “Fathers” is inspired by Robert Hayden's poem "Those Winter Sundays." Both my father and my spouse’s father were creatures of habit. Each had a distinctive personality but there were some striking similarities as well.

Friday, 11th October, 2024

a boy sleeping in bed.jpg

A Mom's Note on the Counter

By Biswajit Mishra

Hand Drawing

“Good morning little one,

Happy birthday,

live long, and

always be happy.

 

Your breakfast is on the kitchen table,

eat all, don’t leave anything,

your lunch box is in your backpack.

 

Dress properly, don’t forget the jacket,

wear your cap too, it’s getting cold,

ask Nani or wake up Papa if you need help.

 

Remember to eat the ginger juice with honey

in the little stainless steel bowl

on the counter,

your throat doesn’t sound good.

 

Go carefully my dear,

I will see you after I am back,

we will have your birthday special in the evening.

 

Be a good boy, love,

and stay blessed, always,

my treasure.

 

Mama”

 

The sun woke up.

Note: Nani- older sister in Odia

Thursday, 10th October, 2024

Image by Debby Hudson

Poems 

By Robert Witmer

Hand Drawing
sun reflected through dew drops.jpg

dew on her grave

the many eyes

of the sun

rosebush

a raindrop

on every thorn

raindrops on thorns of a yellow rosebush.jpg
an old wooden pier.jpg

the old pier groans

so many come and go

syllables of salt

About the Author

Robert Witmer has resided in Japan for the past 45 years. Now an emeritus professor, he has had the opportunity to teach courses in poetry and creative writing not only at his home university in Tokyo but also in India. His poems and prose poetry have appeared in many print and online journals and books. His first book of poetry, a collection of haiku titled Finding a Way, was published in 2016. A second book of poetry, titled Serendipity, was published earlier this year (2023). An author’s page for Robert Witmer can be found at both the Poets & Writers and AuthorsDen websites.

Wednesday, 9th October, 2024

lotus in a pool.jpg

Footsteps...

By Ketaki Mazumdar

Hand Drawing

in a constant wandering

I flow with the clouds

in moments of realisation

am the lotus

in the moonlight

at your feet

am the peacock that dances

with the sound of the rain

and the strains of the Dark One's flute

I return to You over and over again

I burn in an ecstasy

waiting for that unity

we shared every lifetime

in my soul's journey

About the Author

Ketaki Mazumdar is an educationist and a poet. She is a recipient of many awards. Her poetry reflects her excitement with the beauty of nature, emotions of grief, joy, love and also gently touches on the spirituality and mysticism of life.

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