Hotel India

[Bernie01]

The vicissitudes of the city
heavy like lead paint thrown
on Rabindra Setu Bridge.

The pillowcase and towel
hold a puff of pectin scent,
her cup branded by a burnt
maroon mouth.

It rained in Chowringhee
a short while ago and her
tangled hair flew lopsided.

Her blue bhagalpuri saris
and jeweled sandals, flat
beside my writing desk.

She returns to a husband
in posh Kali-ben. Her eyes
vacant, mindless.

Below, a corn laden barge
creeps on the flaxen river.
Rain again with both hands.

Streets fold into white ash.
Lights turn-on soft as women
talking in a kitchen.

I drift, a man with no work.
Fools see I am crazy in love,
my life pissed into a corner.

[Kenneth2816]

I love poetry like this, exotic locales, bit of the vernacular and a mysterious woman.

[FranktheFrank]

B.

It's not fair

How can we possibly compete with this level of writing.

Brilliantly condensed like Fussel's Condensed Milk
so thick you could stand your spoon up in it.

Everything is right in this poem of India,
The title
every Asian word exotic
similes abound
metaphors too
not to many to spoil the plot
a believable narrative
a loser with a grip on life
although doomed
you didn't forget the rain, who hates rain, not me

My favourite stanza/strophe

Streets fold into white ash.
Lights turn-on soft as women
talking in a kitchen.

Nomination reserved for this month.

[Bernie01]

Ken and Frank---


this pom humbly thanks, a wonderful reception.

(frank, let's hold this nom---your poem and several others i would like to see given a nod.)


bernie

[FranktheFrank]

This has to go through Bernie
if it had fallen below your standard
I would agree, but it is superb.

But it is your pom.
Therefore nomination reserved.

[BobBradshaw]

World class, brilliant poem! I love and savor every word, every image, every sound...

[Bernie01]

Frank and Bob---

god, you guys know how to cheer a dark soul on a stormy, stormy night.

OK, my honor to see this poem barking up the next tree....and thanks, deeply, i thank you both.




bernie

[meenas17]

Wonderful poem, Bernie.
The erotic part clashes with my culture and upbringing.

Meena.

[FranktheFrank]

I think she met him for tea
to discuss business
the selling of ten thousand Jute bags for grain
Contract signed she felt unwell
and she lay down for an hour
he gave her a drink to revive her
she was chaperoned throughout
by her ancient punkah wallah who as deaf as a post
she returned without telling her husband
she had lain on a gora man's bed.

[Bernie01]

Frank---

hilariooous.


(you rascal)

bernie

[FranktheFrank]

[SivaVelliangiri]

Bernie
What a lovely poem,everything that Frank said and much more--thrilling like flash fiction.Will definitely return to it several times for a long time,better still store it in my favourite poems folder.

Below, a corn laden barge
creeps on the flaxen river.
Rain again with both hands.

I join hands to second this poem.

S

[Bernie01]

Siva---

you make me very happy this morning.

not just this poem, but your artistic friendship over the many months.

I have made no secret of my liver transplant operation---now three years old. and last night, a famous American singer died while waiting for his transplant. my thoughts, of course, were with him and the others still hoping for an operation.

poetry was my unflagging, constant companion. this poem i had the most trouble finishing. but friends would not let me forget these lines entirely, so it is for all those who rallied me during low moments, and now cheer i offer this completed poem.

so many suffer aches, pains, emotional and psychic. i salute poets today and send all my encouragement. India, England, America---many lands where poetry is loved.



bernie

[FranktheFrank]

Bernie,
that you have survived such a dreadful cutting out of an organ,
a major organ, and then taken the new graft at your age is nothing
short of amazing. Enjoy the rest of your days and keep writing gems
like this. So you get tetchy some days, don't we all, you get 'down',
goes with age, you repent of the past, healthy for the soul.

Between you and me, I could never live in England for long.
They are sais, the enemy, ask Eira, she does live in that
dreadful place called England, although Brummies are not too bad

[SivaVelliangiri]

B

Thanks for sharing. We live in hope. Poetry is the tattoo on our skin--accompanying us in our after-life.

S

[Bernie01]

Meena---


I never relax with my "india" oriented poems until i get your judgment,

i am peaceful now, thank you for your opinion.


bernie