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Sunflowers by Neetu

January 26, 2022 by Neetu Malik in category Poet's Day by Neetu Malik tagged as Neetu, renewal, Spring, Sunflowers, Winter

Sunflowers

I will plant sunflowers
in the hollows we have dug
with a rusty spade

it is time to pull old roots
rotten with dead habit
in this neglected garden
long-choked
by winter’s breath

it is time to till the soil
let it soak in fresh April rain
steam in this year’s sun

and exhale pungent fumes
until its pores are free
to seed new grass
and soft beds for my flowers.

Some of Neetu’s Books

THE OCOTILLO REVIEW SUMMER 2018 VOL 2.2

THE POETIC BOND V

THE POETIC BOND VI

THE POETIC BOND X

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In the Mist by Neetu

December 26, 2021 by Neetu Malik in category Poet's Day by Neetu Malik tagged as ghosts, mist, Neetu, night, secrets

In the Mist

mist fills the night—
there are no ghosts, just my self
and me in mellow light

I pause only to listen
to rustling in the trees, where
secrets like my own
might be guarded mystery

it’s not for me to know what
theirs might be,
but a comfort to feel
a kindred familiarity

Some of Neetu’s Books

THE OCOTILLO REVIEW SUMMER 2018 VOL 2.2

THE POETIC BOND V

THE POETIC BOND VI

THE POETIC BOND X

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Aliens by Neetu

November 26, 2021 by Neetu Malik in category Poet's Day by Neetu Malik tagged as frosts, Neetu, seasons, tender sprouts, wind-blown

Aliens

Wind-blown seeds
land in unknown soil

in hopes that they will grow
into trees
strong and dense with leaves
heavy with fruit
in fertile ground
where rivers do not
run dry

they do not yet know
what winds and snows
await them
in seasons to come

how frost might freeze
tender sprouts.

be happy
she says, her soft arms
hold me as I lean
into them
seeking reassurance
a promise to protect

am I so old, I wonder
to need that which I gave
so freely, assuming
I was the stronger
when she was frail

am I so lucky, I ask
looking at the starry skies
as if the milky way
might hold the answer

but then I stop
look into her eyes
and know
the love of a daughter

The sign is posted
on the porch
I've walked many times
this way before
through seasons warm and cold
but no one appears at the door.

An abandoned house that
says Welcome
must have been somebody's abode—
leaves me guessing who 
might have 
lived in a happy home

in this town where few might wander
unless they've lost their way,
no highways feed into 
these streets, just old Chevy trucks
parked by stacks of hay.

A wind chime blows with 
wind's moody strokes
each time I stroll by,
but the windows seem 
so tightly sealed,
no visitors knock to say hi.

It must have been a place of joy
for some kind-hearted folks
who lived and left
the signpost still hanging
on the porch.