A Night of Jazz

Daily writing prompt

What was the last live performance you saw?

The stage was small, a cozy little scene,
But the music—oh, it was the queen!
A brilliant vocalist took the lead,
Her voice a powerful, soulful steed.

She had been away, they said, for a time,
Battling storms, climbing mountains to climb.
But here she stood, in the spotlight’s glow,
Her voice richer, deeper, a warm alto.

A four-piece band was her loyal crew,
On drums, bass, and piano they flew.
Their notes were tight, yet wildly free,
Crafting waves in a musical sea.

As the night unfolded, guest stars took the stage,
Each one adding a story to the page.
Classic blues and jazz songs filled the air,
Songs of love, of life, of despair.

But it was she, the woman with the mic,
Who held us all in her melodic dike.
Her comeback was not merely a return,
But a lesson in how music can burn.

In the quiet that followed, I felt anew,
How music, like morning, can renew.
And as I walked out into the night,
The stars above seemed to burn more bright.

Fortune’s Leash

Daily writing prompt

Describe a random encounter with a stranger that stuck out positively to you.

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While playing in the street, one day,
With a dog as white as milk,
A stranger paused to say,
“That mutt will bring luck your way.”

Her words, light as a feather’s touch,
Left me pondering, oh so much,
Could a dog, so merry and such,
Really bring luck with every nuzz?

I laughed, the thought quite droll,
That luck could be on a stroll,
In fur as white as coal is black,
Leading fortune on its track.

Yet since that day, I must confess,
Life’s shown a bit more, not less,
Of abundance, in its fine address.
Perhaps the stranger knew, God bless.

Whispers on the Wind

Daily writing prompt

Jot down the first thing that comes to your mind.

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A thought drifts,
a leaf on the stream of my mind,
twirling, unfixed,
where does it begin? Where does it end?
Or does it simply flow,
a river of light and shadow,
touched by the sun, swallowed by the canyon.

I hear a clock ticking somewhere,
or is it just the tapping of a branch against the window,
the world outside reaching in,
or is it my heart, beating a steady rhythm
against the ribcage of routine?

Coffee steams on the table,
curls up like a cat in the morning light,
its scent a memory,
a morning years ago, or was it just yesterday,
when the rain fell in sheets,
thick as the curtains in an old movie theater,
muffling the world into a hush?

Words hover like hummingbirds,
eager, elusive,
dipping into the bright flowers of ideas,
never quite landing,
never quite still,
each a burst of colour,
vibrant and fleeting,
a heartbeat captured in mid-flight.

Laughter bubbles up,
a wellspring from the depths,
why did it come? From a joke, a memory?
It fades before I grasp it,
but leaves a warmth,
a lingering glow that paints the world gold.

The pages of a book lie open,
each word a stepping stone across a stream,
I wander across them,
lose my way,
find it again in the plot,
a character’s sigh, a twist of fate,
like walking through a forest,
every tree familiar, mysterious.

Ode to a Future Harvest

Daily writing prompt

Where do you see yourself in 10 years?

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I saw myself, in 10 years’ time, on a stretch of land where the old world whispers,
in the tranquility of a European village, where the earth holds deep secrets and the air is thick with the past.
There, amidst the rolling fields kissed by the soft sun,
I build my sanctuary, a farm, where time slows its relentless march and simplicity breathes.

With cats that slink and curl between beams of sunlight,
with dogs that bound, their joy uncontainable, across the expanse of open land,
with the humble company of farm animals, each a character, a companion,
in this workshop of living, I weave my days.

I plant my roots deep in the soil, fertile and rich, a foundation of centuries,
where vegetables and flowers bloom like a painter’s palette splashed across the canvas of green,
each season cycles like verses in a long, lyrical poem penned by the earth itself.
Here, the quiet hum of the village life sings a gentle lullaby.

The barn, a cathedral of rustic, aged wood, stands solemn, sacred,
a monument to the pastoral life long dreamed of in the restless city nights.
Here, peace is not just a concept, but something palpable, as real as the dirt under my fingernails,
as the smell of rain on wind, as the warmth of the sun on my face.

I trade the blaring horns and the clatter of machines for the morning calls of roosters,
the twilight whispers of the wind through the trees,
for the celestial quiet of the countryside and the rhythmic chant of cicadas as dusk falls.
This is where my soul finds its pause, its deep, fulfilling breath.

Freedom here is not solitary, it’s a chorus of life, of interconnection,
a daily dialogue with nature, with the creatures that share my slice of paradise.
In this envisioned future, my spirit dances with the infinite, where every leaf, every cloud, every star is a poem,
where the land itself writes stanzas on the sky.

In this future, I am not just a keeper of land, but a seeker of truths,
taught by the steady growth of oak, the resilience of pine,
the eternal wisdom of the earth beneath, the expansive teachings of the open sky above,
in a village that cradles my existence like a timeless hymn.

This is where I see myself, not just surviving, but thriving,
in a communion with the earth, a pact with the simplicity of life,
where the frenzy of the ‘now’ yields to the profound pulse of the ‘eternal’,
in the heart of a village, my home, a sanctuary not just made, but deeply, truly lived.

Named After Me

Daily writing prompt

If you could have something named after you, what would it be?

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Kittens, soft and bright,
Adorned in fur, pure delight,
Species rare, a sight.
Majestic in their quiet grace,
In every gentle, fluffy face,
Named “Kasmin,” they embrace.

A Furry Heart’s Delight

A pet will bring you joy on a quiet day,
With a wag or purr, they make your heart play.
They turn your simple house into a home.

They listen to your tales, no need to roam,
With every little nuzzle, they’ll repay.
A pet will bring you joy on a quiet day.

In their eyes, you’re perfect, come what may,
No judgments passed, no words they need to say.
They turn your simple house into a home.

Through games of fetch or when you’re led astray,
Their antics paint your life in bright array.
A pet will bring you joy on a quiet day.

They’re teachers of the moment, to convey
That every stick’s a treasure, come what may.
They turn your simple house into a home.

In their company, you’ll find the way,
To feel the love that’s here to always stay.
A pet will bring you joy on a quiet day,
They turn your simple house into a home.

Leaving For Foreign Lands

Daily writing prompt

What’s the biggest risk you’d like to take — but haven’t been able to?

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When I was just a child, young and mannered mild,
I dreamt of distant lands, where I’d be beguiled.
My heart desired to roam, to break the tether,
Yet here I’ve stayed, in Bombay’s temperate weather.

The thought of leaving was a whispering breeze,
But unfounded fears rustled in the trees.
I worried of the world, so strange and new,
And so I stayed, ‘neath the Mumbai sky non-blue.

Years went by, and opportunities did knock,
Yet I hesitated, my dreams held in a deadlock.
The familiar streets, the known faces around,
Kept me in Bombay, firmly on the ground.

I never packed my bags, never took that flight,
In Bombay’s labyrinthe, I found my delight.
The foreign lands and distant dreams,
Remained within me, like untasted creams.

I’ll dream of the lands I never did roam,
And wonder if someday, I’ll venture from home.
For the child’s wish still lingers inside,
To explore, to adventure, to not just abide.

A Scribe’s First Book

Daily writing prompt

What have you been working on?

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I’ve been a scribe for many a year,
Pounding keys without a hint of fear.
From papers to pixels, I’ve been around,
But this book thing, man, it’s a battleground.

My vast experience, my stories grand,
Now lay in heaps of tangled sand.
I wanted to share my writer’s delight,
But this book thing felt like an endless fight.

My keyboard clattered, my fingers bled,
My thoughts swirling like a storm in my head.
I wanted to be bold, to tell it true,
But my first book felt like a kangaroo.

Jumping from topic to topic, you see,
A chaotic mess, much like me.
I’ve covered culture, food, and the arts,
But this book, it had its own retorts.

The critics may say it’s a mishmash of sorts,
But I’ve poured my soul into these reports.
From newspapers to websites, I’ve paid my dues,
And now, this book, my words let loose.

This first book, it’s a beast, no doubt,
But with each word, we cast our clout.
And when it’s done, we’ll raise a toast,
To our stories, and what we love most.

Snail Girl Era

Daily writing prompt

Do lazy days make you feel rested or unproductive?

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In the “snail girl era,” I always dwell,
Where lazy days and stories softly swell.
With a pace like snails, we take our time,
In a world of rest, our thoughts do rhyme.

In the land of comfy, where hammocks sway,
Snail girl reigns throughout the day.
She moves so slow, without a care,
And in this era, all burdens we share.

In a world of rush and endless haste,
Snail girl era is a welcome taste.
We learn that life’s not just a blur,
But a leisurely stroll, a cozy interlude.

Days unfold like the pages of a book,
In the snail girl era, we stop to look.
At the little things we often miss,
Like the beauty of a snail’s slow kiss.

The to-do lists, they fade away,
In this unhurried, restful bay.
Time’s not the master of our domain,
In snail girl era, we simply remain.

A snail’s pace may seem a curse,
But in this world, it’s truly a verse.
To rest and dream, to take our time,
In snail girl era, our souls do climb.

Let your spirit rest and roam,
In the comforts of your cozy home.
For snail girl era is a soothing balm,
In the midst of life’s relentless storm.

Embrace the snail girl (or guy) in you,
For s/he knows what’s right and true.
In this era, you’ll find the way,
To rest and dream throughout the day.