Apr 5, 2016 NaPoWriMo, Original Poetry, Uncategorized
Vegetable Sacrifice
©April 5th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
Calypso dances around a campfire
While Bulls Blood is the sacrifice
Spicy Green picks a fight with the Red Russian
And the White Russian does the Tango, alone.
Diamond makes out with Lady Bell Sweet
While the King of the North frowns from his corner
Ida Gold proposes to Cosmonaut Volkov
Psst! There’s some romance out in space.
Cherokee Purple whispers with Black Krim
As they plan the overthrow of
German Johnson in the Jubilee, before
A Fiesta, which will follow the wedding.
Jasper gasps in Kentucky Wonder
Hidden behind a pole.
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P.S. Coincidentally, I planted many of my heirloom tomato seeds (some of which I’ve mentioned above) just two days ago! Some of these other things (Kale, Cucumber, Beets, Beans, Eggplant and Peppers, also mentioned above) are going in soon.
From the NaPoWriMo prompt, which reads:
And now, our (optional, as always) daily prompt! April is a time for planting things (at least where I am, in Washington DC – you may still be waiting for spring, or well into some other season!) At any rate, I’ve recently been paging through seed catalogs, many of which feature “heirloom” seeds with fabulous names. Consider the “Old Ivory Egg” tomato, the “Ozark Razorback” or “Fast Lady” cow-pea, “Neal’s Paymaster” dent corn, or the “Tongues of Fire” bush bean. Today, I challenge you to spend some time looking at the names of heirloom plants, and write a poem that takes its inspiration from, or incorporates the name of, one or more of these garden rarities. To help you out, here are links to the Southern Exposure Seed Exchange and the Baker Creek Seed Company. Also, here’s a hint – tomatoes seem to be prime territory for elaborate names. And who knows, maybe you’ll even find something to plant in your garden! Happy writing!
Apr 5, 2016 Climate Change is Real!, Daily Life, Ramblings and Musings
Climate Change is Real: Day 12 of My Lone Vigil
©April 5th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
I awoke, swampily, out of a thick dream which enclosed me like a blanket, and when I opened my eyes, I found it was the blanket. Pah! It was no dream at all (although there might have been a flying monkey somewhere in there, and a giant, flashing being who straddled the sky and earth – but I might have imagined it).
Last week, I was out there at the Intersection on four out of five days. This week, today was my first day out. Yesterday, it snowed and snowed, and I declined firmly and politely to go out and face it, having (as usual), gone to sleep at an ungodly hour (there must be a detox facility for those who are addicted to late-night wake-itude like me).
This morning, after putting on three layers of shirts, one sweater, a fleece sweater on top of that, plus tights and pants, and two pairs of socks, and a winter coat, I called Warren, and said, “Wait for me – I’ll join you soon.” Alas, after I filled up my travel mug with hot coffee, and dealt with Her Serenely Goofy Dogginess, I did join him – but not soon, you understand.
Still, I made it there. The sidewalks were treacherously slippery, and it was 25 degrees out there – REALLY cold – but the sun shone merrily, and the sky was a tranquil blue, and I felt less reluctant today.
Warren and I had barely any time together (he had to return to teach a student on Skype), so I continued where he left off.
I put on my ear-buds, and listened to Guruji sing Kafi: “Aja Khelo Shyama Sang Hori Re” – very ironic, because this song (although appropriate for the Spring season, and India’s Holi festival) seemed so absurdly out of place in today’s snow-cloaked landscape and roadscape. Our voices in the recording were full of laughter and pleasure, and rich, warm singing from all of us. Guruji’s follow-up after that was thrilling, and I enjoyed myself singing along with his tappa composition titled “Bera, Bera, Manuva,” which was full of twiddly bits and, and gamak-laden bol-taans.
And, as I watched the cars go by, I felt both pleasure and sorrow in the vigil today.
Pleasure, because I was alive, still fit, still strong, still full of life, and love of life. Pleasure, because the sky and sun were blue and gold, and the air was cold, and I’ve learned to love the cold. Pleasure, because I knew at the end of my vigil, I could go home, and eat a slice of toast, and drink something, and take my daughter to Home-School Chorus, and write a poem at Starbucks while I waited. Pleasure, because I would come home after that, and eat Sambhar-chadam, and drink water, and cuddle with Holly. Pleasure, because my life’s pretty good, and reasonably safe, and full of interesting things to look forward to.
And sorrow, because I shall never be as good as I want to be about helping the cause. I have too many selfish needs, and am too enmeshed in this world to sacrifice much. What I SHOULD be doing is to give up ALL new things, eat less, drink no coffee, avoid buying foods that are trucked in from far away, refrigerated for all that time, avoid restaurants, avoid buying new books, avoid the clothes dryer, the washing machine, the dishwasher, electricity, a car, and give up all milk products, entirely (I couldn’t care less for most milk products, but I really LOVE yogurt, and no matter what the vegans say, soy or any other yogurt is HORRIBLE).
What I WANT to do is:
Go vegan completely (I tried it for a few months, and it was good, but I went back to my bad old vegetarian ways);
Eat only vegetables that I’ve grown;Not travel, unless it’s by bicycle, foot, or public transport (at least we have only one car, and we use it mostly for S’s activities);
Raise my own awareness by reading a whole lot more about Climate Change, not just the hair-raising articles I see online;
Attend more conferences on Climate Change;
Preach at schools (and THAT would be very popular, no doubt – HAH!);
Propose Neighborhood Meetings where people can pool together local resources;
Do something dramatic and public about it.
But I’m selfish. I like to read, sing, dream, work at home, write, take care of my family. How does one reconcile private needs with Public Need?
If I were to cut everything, I would have to give up being a family person, too, because being in a family means taking into account everyone’s needs at home, or making sure that no one (including me) feels forced to do something, or give up a way of living. That’s not on the cards right now – no way! So, compromise is all I’ve got.
Meanwhile, as I thought sadly about my various failings and failures, I stood there, sipping hot coffee, enjoying the sun on my face, and the intense cold on my nose. I saw the cars go by steadily, assembly-line style, coming into view, and vanishing into nothingness, as ephemeral as my place in this world.
Many honked, and smiled, and waved, and one man smiled, leaned out, and called: Vijaya! (Although he looked familiar, I did not know him – perhaps, he could be a friend of mine from another dimension.) So, I said, “OMG, HI!” enthusiastically, figuring that if he was someone I knew, I had acknowledged him. It doesn’t hurt to do that.
At the end of forty-five minutes, I had to leave to attend to my daughter’s schedule (I have to come earlier tomorrow).
As I walked home, with the wind buffeting the two signs I held, I saw something shining in the snow on the sidewalk. My glasses from last week! I picked it up, and was sad to see that it had lost one ear-stem (at least, that’s what I call it). I kept it, anyway. Perhaps, I’ll see the missing part tomorrow. Maybe, I’ll even be able to fix it.
Thank you for reading, all!
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Tags: #ClimateChangeisReal, #ClimateVigil, #GoingVegan, #SacrificesICannotMakeYet
Apr 5, 2016 NaPoWriMo, Original Poetry, The Daily Post
In response to The Daily Post’s Daily Prompt: Street
Street-Dream
©April 5th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
Gliding through the streets ‘tween dusk and dawn
Sliding past your eyes; you look; they’re gone.
Shining through your gaze ‘tween noon and night
Finding eyes so glazed, it’s hard to think right.
He walks, she walks, and they walk all in line.
When seen by you, or them, they all decline
Your pity, charity, and silver dime –
What they want is some of your free time.
Do you have time to spare, O Brother mine?
Do you have time to spare O Mother mine?
Do you have time to spare, O Sister mine?
Do you have time, as I stand in this line?
The street is harsh, and full of hearts that beat
A clock that ticks and ticks, but no hands meet.
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Submitting simultaneously to The Daily Post and to NaPoWriMo.
Tags: #Dream, #sonnet, #Street, #The Daily Prompt, #TheDailyPost, #Time
Apr 5, 2016 NaPoWriMo, The Daily Post
In response to The Daily Post’s Daily Prompt for April 1st: Colorful
Colored Me
©April 5th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
Color your world blue
Blue ice, blue eyes,
Blue mood, blue skies.
Color my world brown
Brown skin, brown hair
Brown earth, brown stare.
Color their world green
Green trees, green grass
Green youth, green lass.
Color our world red
Red blood, red flowers
Red hearts, red scars
Color our space gold
Gold sun, gold dunes,
A golden noon
Color my world black.
Black eyes, black skin
Back where you’ve been.
Hold my blue,
I’ll follow you.
Hold my brown
I shall not frown
Hold my green
(Of youth, I mean)
Hold my red,
I’ll not be led.
Hold my gold
To make you bold.
Hold my black,
Don’t hold me back.
Hold me thus
In all my modes;
In all my sorrow –
The dread it bodes.
In all my joy,
The boundaries break;
In all my peace,
It’s love I make.
In all my art
Live songs I sing
In all my worlds,
I rise on wings.
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Submitting this simultaneously to The Daily Post, and to NaPoWriMo
Tags: #Colorful, #Colors, #DailyPrompt, #ModesandMoods, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #TheDailyPost