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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 December
Winter's Embrace

Image by Michail Prohorov

Winter's Embrace

Monday, 2nd December, 2024

Image by Velizar Ivanov

On the Wind

By Suzanne Smythe

Hand Drawing

Sometimes the wind is my Dad

I don’t know why

It is soft on my face

Sometimes cold and stings

I walk

Squinting in the sun

Or downcast under gray skies

A breeze comes up

A fierce gust comes up

And blows the leaves

I’ll notice it and I’ll say,

Hey Dad

Then the wind whispers back

Across my cheek

Saturday, 30th November, 2024

Image by Weichao Deng

The Obliterated Past

By Dr.Lalita Vaitheeswaran

Hand Drawing

The old days beckoned, taking my soul to the yore

I had never felt this bliss when I travelled before

The people laughed in merriment, in gay abandon to show,

Just as the autumn leaves which knew how to let go.

Warmth oozed out of hearts, affection and love gushed to run,  

Relationships nurtured and cherished with boundaries none

There were open spaces, and the air fragrant with bloom,

Wide pastures and meadows with a lake that deterred gloom!

The leaves flew, racing with the breeze, as they fell one by one

Yet, they felt contented that they made place for someone!

The old rituals and ceremonies were held in colorful splendor,

Rainbows looked spectacular and dew drops a wonder!

There was plenty of time, to cease and pause and take a look,

There was life celebrated in every corner, in every nook.

Everything has changed, just as leaves are grounded to dwell,

Frozen relationships, as the autumn retreats to bid farewell

Lives have changed to become fierce, unmoved and oblivious,

To those brown leaves of fall which lie to be trodden and trampled

Friday, 29th November, 2024

Image by Anne Nygård

He was my grandfather

By Matt Bianca

Hand Drawing

With a sly smile, you used to come looking for me.

I wasn't at your funeral, but I know you couldn't care less, because we're similar, but not the same.

Strong, few feelings, many sensations.

Believe in power? We're not fools.

You used to run in the veggie yard when something went wrong.

Leaping across generations, I find sanctuary in nostalgia's arms.

I watched you in the  yard when I was a child.

A spider entered my mouth; I only noticed it by a leg hanging from my lip.

I got worried; you told me, "it's nothing!" I learned the lesson.

From then on, everything that happened to me, it's nothing.

It has its importance. Now you're safe.

Thursday, 28th November, 2024

Image by Patrick Fore

Forgotten Corners

By Vijay Prasad

Hand Drawing
Image by Kirill

searching its fourth corner an old room

syllable by syllable the end of a presence

Image by Bia W. A.
Image by Khamkéo

winter wind  her absence divided by zero

she still floats through my previous sentences

Image by Vinicius "amnx" Amano
Image by Carolina Heza

on her secondary skin imprints of who i am not

Wednesday, 27th November, 2024

Image by JF Martin

Charcoal, on slow burn

By Sunil Sharma

Hand Drawing

In the right-hand corner, few feet away

from the French window, stacks of

old magazines, along with Dostoevsky, Wittgenstein, Ghalib, paper roses

in a broken vase, and

 

a yellow-faced diary, double-spiral; all items kept together

on

a sighing side table, near the tattered sofa, watched by a grim couple

 

in a

framed photograph, top corner of the wall

with

the peeling plaster, a plastic

dinosaur.

 

The wind enters

stealthily

 

the semi-dark room, a teen

late from a romp, surreptitiously slipping in

a half-snoring home; the flushed wind

kisses the diary, the way a totem is kissed by

an aching heart.

 

Pages flutter like old desires ignited

on solitary nights laced by rains,

decades

awakened

 

by those warm lips of the hot wind,

 

words

escape the gloomy silence

into

the neon-lit sprawl,

where, in another neglected

corner of the roof, sits a maid, eyes moist,

thinking

of

a far-off land, and a husband

who

never returns the frantic calls.

About the Author

Sunil Sharma is a humble word-worshipper: catcher of elusive sounds, meanings and images. Published 27 creative and critical books- joint and solo. A winner of, among others, the Panorama Golden Globe Award-2023, and, Nissim Award for Excellence-2022 for the novel Minotaur. His poems were included in the prestigious UN project: Happiness: The Delight-Tree: An Anthology of Contemporary International Poetry, 2015.

Tuesday, 26th November, 2024

Image by Unseen Studio

Poems on Forgotten Corners

By Mandira Ghosh

Hand Drawing
Image by Geetanjal Khanna

My Journey

My journey towards the dark east

  When I can't even touch the moist

         eastern darkness ,

Through the whole night, through the reflected light

I could touch rain .

Last Rays

The day breaks down 

To sun and its shadows

My mesmerizing eyelashes 

Save you from the fierce elongated sun rays

also the red infra red of the morning sun 

Frightened me in the afternoon by

Ultraviolet rays

Image by Johannes Plenio

Monday, 25th November, 2024

Image by Alex Wing

Ressurection

By Toolika Rani

Hand Drawing

As leaf after leaf fall from the trees

Gliding their way into oblivion

In the days slightly grey,

It almost seems like a soft demise-

A noiseless sway-

As if the detachment was but natural

Induced by a mere change of weather!

But the thud on the ground was hard.

And, above on the branch,

It left a scar.

A desolate nakedness

Contrasting with

A floor full of drying manure.

For ages long, the process of forgetting

The trees endured.

Then, blame it on the weather again-

The resurgence of pain,

A tiny, brownish, miniature

Rearing its head from the scarred stain

Refusing to submit

Unable to erase

The memory of the grace

With which its previous form had swayed

In the wind wild, in a storm’s face,

And there again, the trees smile in all their verdant glory

Telling the birds, with a mirthful swerve,

Many a forgotten story!

Of staying alive in deadness,

Of the power of an entrenched memory,

Resurrection! That makes life savoury!

About the Author

Friday, 22nd November, 2024

Image by Carli Jeen

The pages of my Diary

By Aishwariya Laxmi

Hand Drawing

Within the old, forgotten pages 

Of a yellowed diary

Lies the rose you gave me, 

Pressed between the pages 

And flattened,

The rose resembles

Ephemeral beauty

It has captured

Another time and place

One that no longer remains.

The seasons came and went

With it, you took your promises

Of forever, looking

For newer pastures

And leaving behind

Old acquaintances

That you probably forgot.

That rose has lost

Its meaning for me

The fragrance long gone

From the pages of my memory

What dawns is a new season

Of life, requiring new skills,

New attitudes, and new beginnings. 

About the Author

Aishwariya Laxmi is an Indian writer, editor, blogger, and poet living in suburban Chennai, India. Her poems appear in Spillwords.com, The Drabble, anthologies by Sweetycat Press, Writefluence, Soul Poet Society, ThirdEyeButterflyPress, Indie Blu(e) Publishing, etc. Her bio was featured in 'Who's Who of Emerging Writers 2021' by Sweetycat Press. She was one of the TOP 3 winners of High-5- The Great Poetry Hunt Contest organized by WriteFluence. She has also written flash fiction and essays that have been published in anthologies and are available on Amazon. She holds a master’s degree in communication. She blogs on https://aishwariyalaxmi.com/.

Thursday, 21st November, 2024

Image by Thought Catalog

Poems on Forgotten Corners

By Sandip Chauhan

Hand Drawing
Writing Letters

letters from home

 weathered with years—

 each autumn I wonder

 if my name still lingers

 in the rings of time

lullabies drift

on the wings of dusk—

the last breath of

mother tongue withers

in the chill of harvest

Image by Gaelle Marcel
Image by Viktor Talashuk

rusted hinges creak

on a half-open gate

watchful crows perch

on bare branches

summoning the night

Wednesday, 20th November, 2024

Image by USGS

Reminiscences

By Sanjeev Sethi

Hand Drawing

During the phase, the paterfamilias

was on his last hurrah, none of his

progeny enlisted as caretakers. His

eyes rolled in rheum. It signaled a

failing mind, a forsaken maestro.

 

Nobody spotted the grime in his nails.

No one noticed his desire to be doted 

on. Post his death, they profited from

his stardom. Prolix meter on public

platforms magnified the mensch.

Tuesday, 19th November, 2024

Flower in Sunlight

Forgotten Corners

By Kavita Ratna

Hand Drawing
Image by Irene Kredenets

starched linen

a soft wrinkled hand

on her lap

flowers trampled

in the gale

the tricolour wrap

Image by Annie Spratt
Image by Priyanka Pandey

fragile

emotional lattice

scaffolding history

Monday, 18th November, 2024

Image by Pranav Kumar Jain

Forgotten Corners

By Geeta Varma

Hand Drawing

Ammu. Slightly bent, old,

Exposed her betel-stained teeth

When she smiled,

Was up by five,

Woke all the children,

Calling them affectionately,

‘Kutta’, ‘Kutty’, or ‘Mani’,

Made them brush their teeth,

Bathe, wear proper clothes,

Drink their milk…

(She shouted when they hesitated)

Then she cleaned, washed dishes…

Late afternoon, after lunch,

(Children watched her eat),

She went home.

Children followed her till the gate

When she promised them ‘Muttayi’

On her way back.

They waited near the gate,

Played, keeping an eye on the gate

But she would have entered

Hiding a newspaper wrap

Full of sticky, orange ‘Muttayi’.

 

Wonder where she is now!

Friday, 15th November, 2024

Image by Jr Korpa

Autumnal Remembrances

By Sreelekha Chatterjee

Hand Drawing

My mind’s haunting eagle hovers over my past,

as I wade through a sea of memories

in the coil and uncoil of autumn days

like treading the withered leaves

into a bed of multihued, carpeted rills

in shades of yellow and brown.

Their crunching, crackling sound stirs

the elapsed corners of my consciousness.

Days of fall pass in a wink of an eye,

hinting at the short attendance of the season

and a year soon to be gone.

Reminiscences of slips and misses overwhelm,

while the triumphs shelter in an egghead’s store.

Like the quiet, mellowed-down autumn sunshine,

the sprightliest recollection glows the mind’s lonely alley,

a vague emotive tone that brightens but doesn’t warm.

Slanting angles of light fashion more past shadows

that whip and clearly define where they touch—

an elegiac lament of the wondrous days,

or regret of times passed looking away.

Underneath the yellowing leaves of a tree,

I espy a tiny, elfin weed with vivid cerise leaves,

a trifle noticed when at rest.

A bolted chapter of my life suddenly unfolds—

like a phantom of a relative, a friend, or a lover—

magnifying an emotion of a departed era.

As the days pale and mingle with nights,

I light lamps at every forsaken corner of my house

so that I can turn moments’ remembered tears

into sparkling jewels of cognizance that will

serve as a passion for the coming year.

Thursday, 14th November, 2024

Image by Debby Hudson
Hand Drawing
Image by xiaokang Zhang

shards of the moon -

an empty shell

on the coast

dawn of dreams -

on the abandoned easel

the creepers

Image by Adam Dillon
Image by Zoltan Tasi

deserted bench-

a bouquet of roses

without perfume

Wednesday, 13th November, 2024

Suburban House

Metamorphosis

By Biswajit Mishra

Hand Drawing

The little house

we lived in near the equator

a colonial residue we were told

with a tinned roof

shut windows to ward off the bugs

locked gates to seal the noise out

and you painted it vibrant

without a brush,

the volume within growing

with your breath every day

that aired it well too.

 

Outside, you planted the flowers

which were not a patch

on the blossom inside and

floral aroma of the garden

was challenged by the flavor

that you stirred out of the pots

and as an icing on top:

we saw our first double rainbow across the gate

crowning the little house

where the colonial sediments

still clung to the unused fireplace’s chimney

but you waved it all away

always restoring the house

to what you destined it to be

as you went about expanding

every part of a room.

 

I wonder if our visitors

saw the hues, and

the expansiveness

like we did

unless they came without

their lenses

and

mirrors with pent images!

Tuesday, 12th November, 2024

Image by Rachel Strong

Haiku on Forgotten Corners

By Deborah Bennett

Hand Drawing
persimon.png

broken rung  -

i continue up

the persimmon tree

pushing the wheelchair 

of her mother too  -

path of morning dew 

Image by Rollz International
withering sala.png

as one of us  -

flower of the sala tree

withering

Monday, 11th November, 2024

Image by Aaron Burden

Unto that haven...

By Supatra Sen

Hand Drawing

Across solitude and autumn hues

I return

Home

To myself…

 

To my hidden corners

Of fairy tales

And enchanted trees

Of magical lands

And wispy clouds

Of people who never grow up

Of music which never dies

 

My retreat

My shelter

With scattered fragments

Of myself

Strongly secured

With multitude of roles

And chains of time

About the Author

Dr. Supatra Sen is Associate Professor And Head PG Dept of Botany, Asutosh College,Kolkata. She loves to read and write poetry in her spare time.

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.