Ricochet, brown girl in the ring …

Brownian motion … Haiku on the prompts of the universe. Everything we write resonates with others and vice versa. It’s our narrow common humanity that connects us at similar frequencies, for don’t we all harbour the same angst, similar feelings and aspirations. The system is inherently random and yet, we take pride in imagining free will, control and intentionality, a bit like an Amoeba with pseudopodia, engulfing each prompt, each lead, each stray idea to create something, what we think, magnificent. I feel like the world writes for me and I for the world, a conceit perhaps, but that’s what they mean by writing that speaks to you.

“Brown Girl in the Ring” is a traditional children’s song in the West Indies, sung by Boney M, which appeared in their album “Rivers of Babylon” on the 3rd of April, 1978. How quaint, an anniversary ! That was a fun group. Thank you Robert Brown, you inspired some Haiku today.

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Random salvos find

pinnacle in protean

fates of love regrets.

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In echo chambers,

perfunctory collisions

birth brownian verse.

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Agitated hearts:

warm, contracting liquid life

unintentional …

Loud deliberate

destinies streak the future

in strange mutations.

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If time contracts years

to seconds, would then star death

be random showers ?

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It’s incredible how brownian our lives actually are. Even intentionality is remarkably changed by interference. Change is the only constant, that appears enshrined in certainty in Physics.

Arabian Nights and other stories

It occurred to me that ‘One thousand and one nights’ could have been the story of a woman stalling death through self soothing soliloquies. Marie Antoinette went grey the night before she was guillotined; so it must take a lot of strength to wax eloquent in stories, before ones imminent execution. I read one very tattered copy, lying around my childhood home, at twelve I think and loved parts of it. Today, I will try some haiku, tanka, waka maybe …

Sweet Scherezade,

spins in soft soliloquies,

sepulchral solace.

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April blossoms are,

the laconic wit of Spring

at a shy winter.

She sings syllables in hue,

to a frosty reluctance.

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Virgin bedchamber,

sweetly ricochets in tales,

like peas slumbering

in pods that divulge secrets

ripening in explosions.

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Despite the dreary circumstance of Scheherazade’s storytelling under duress, within the bedchamber of Sultan Sharyar, she apparently gave birth to three sons during the period. Ok, poetic license I reckon but this is one heck of a strong woman.

A haiku-esque photo-amble on a long beach …

Stratified clouds jostling for attention, a self effacing Sun, quietly forming dunes, all conspired to create the perfect sand and spray in Ocean County, New Jersey; a day that began with oysters, after a long leisurely drive that ended finally on a long stretch of beach that provoked spurts of inspired Haiku.

I call it my haiku~esque photo-amble. It quite succinctly sums up the day.

Check the post at The Itinerant’s Plan b

Finally on Instagram !!! Let’s be friends !