Poetry from Kushal Poddar : The Little Voyeur Incident, War & Peace

(c)Kushal Poddar

The Little Voyeur Incident

The staircase swirls down deep 
right into the id,
and I realise I am red
from this vertigo prone voyeurism,
this watching my brother down there
kissing the new house-help.

I cannot help it. I stare. I stare.

My brother's daughter has 
emptied out our dwelling
to his ex for the weekend.
Summer and noontime, 
heat wears frills, and has an Alice-fall.
I try to reach out, fail.

War & Peace

The way I can draw a Christmas tree
with three arrowheads and a straight spine,
or draw blood by removing two sharp angles
from the top, I offer you peace;
our lovemaking can be altered
by annulling Good from the flesh of Intention.

The household, a planet self-contained,
exists and ceases to with the rise and fall 
of our curtains. I wonder at the manner
night hides other worlds, and their screaming
passion and hatred in the arsenals.
The solitaire of the noise our leaking faucet makes
cuts the silence into thin slices.

I can relate to the bonding of the wind
and the leaves. Now it is a dance. Now, the fall.

Wolfpack Contributor: Kushal Poddar

2 new poems by Kushal Poddar : Drinking with a Priest & Rabbit, Dance

A Poetry Series by Kushal Poddar “Hiraeth Series”

Blurbs for my (David L O’Nan) “Before the Bridges Fell” from Kushal Poddar

“David scrivens sparks and flickers, and if you, the reader, add your wind of imagination to those the result will be a constant fire, passionate and bright. His poetry is the song of passion, cultured from both inner and outer worlds.”

-Kushal Poddar, author of eight books

Current bio for Fevers of the Mind’s David L O’Nan editor/writing contributor to blog.

Available Now: Before I Turn Into Gold Inspired by Leonard Cohen Anthology by David L O’Nan & Contributors w/art by Geoffrey Wren

Bending Rivers: The Poetry & Stories of David L O’Nan out now!

Hard Rain Poetry: Forever Dylan Anthology available today!

2 new poems by Kushal Poddar : Drinking with a Priest & Rabbit, Dance

Wine, Drink, Alcohol, Glasses, Glassware

photo from Pixabay

Drinking With a Priest

Later the priest moots,
"Some dying men stares at me,
holds their gaze as if 
by the power death has vested in them 
they can see through me and my faith
and how I think about something else,
perchance about tomorrow's lunch.
In the life's Venn diagram death is ∩,
and at that point being and beyond intersects.
A man can see or accept the truth of his
lifelong blindness."

The beers in front of us sucks the warmth
of the room. They taste acerbic. 
Through the orange translucency
we can see eachother, a little distorted.

I wish I could see the words compadre
expects to hear, but this is not that day.

Rabbit, Dance

No trace of the magician,
a shot glass of jazz
left full on the table,
I decide to convey the bad news
to the organisers

and shake my head;
the rabbit maze-running inside
won't fall out. 
I pick up the glass from the table.
Now I dance with the shadow,
a rabbit in me.
The grass of silence undulates.
The audience waiting out there
sounds like an orchestra of crickets
in the befouled greenroom.

3 new poems by Kushal Poddar : “Cabin Song” “Earlier””The O of the Sky”

Poetry Showcase from Kushal Poddar

A Poetry Series by Kushal Poddar “Hiraeth Series”

Check out Kushal’s new book through IceFloe Press.

Wolfpack Contributor: Kushal Poddar

From a Burnt Out Diary by Kushal Poddar : poetry

From a Burnt Out Diary

The wind and the ashes 
enact their roleplay again tonight.

One morphs into a Zephyr,
desires to erode away the earth
beneath the other's feet,
and the other loosens its grip
on its form, shape, its pith,
all those probable secrets.

In the end the wind piles 
the ashes from one heap to

Wolfpack Contributor: Kushal Poddar

2 new poems by Kushal Poddar : Hunger & Calendar 

Poetry Showcase from Kushal Poddar

A Poetry Series by Kushal Poddar “Hiraeth Series”

2 new poems by Kushal Poddar : Hunger & Calendar


My grandmother's how to cook hunger
is safe in some government locker.

She used to begin with kneading the air.
Rest I cannot remember.

The great great grand kitten of her last pet
mewls hollowness in her withered kitchen garden.

I open the window, take a spoonful,
listen to the ting of the spoon hitting
the base of the bowl.


Somewhere, the last year
still holds on to the hinges,
and one drunken overcoat
misses the hook on the wall,
and its fall sounds soft -
one last leaf leaving the calendar.

The barren square inches 
of holographic past haunts
near the midnight.
Some clock slurs a tick and a tock.
You already mislaid the new calendar.
My call from the morning sphere 
hits a echoing blind alley.

Wolfpack Contributor: Kushal Poddar

Poetry Showcase from Kushal Poddar

Poem by Kushal Poddar  : The Smile Craft (for Merritt Waldon)