Apr 25, 2016 Free Verse, NaPoWriMo, Original Poetry
Ishmael – A Fever in a Dream
©April 25th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
The whale sings of coral, and of algae
The whale sings of deep sea divers
Who dive for the perfect pearl
The Pearl of the World.
And as they come and go,
The whale watches from afar,
And sings her lonely song
Waiting for her pod,
For she is lost, as she sings:
Alone, alone, all, all alone,
Alone on a wide wide sea!
And, singing, she turns
About and around, and bursts to breach
The surface, and startle the waiting sky,
Her heartbreak and her loneliness
Breathe song into the listening air,
And pull in longing into her lungs.
Without hope, without despair,
Without sorrow or pain,
She sings these thoughts:
Alone, alone, all, all alone,
Alone on a wide wide sea!
But she knows nothing of saints,
She knows nothing of pity.
The sound of whale-song,
Is what fills her heart.
She sings and she sings, and no one
Hears her, save a sailor or three
Whose names might be Ishmael,
Or, mayhap, Ahab, or Other.
Falsely is she named
And falsely pursued.
But in the end, she escapes
Them all, for in the end,
She finds her pod,
As they swim towards her,
With welcoming flukes
And welcome songs,
As she sings hers:
Alone, alone, all, all alone,
Alone on a wide wide sea.
In the end, all humans die
On the heaving heart of water,
Save one, just the one,
And in the end, does this man
Roam the wide, wide sea.
An albatross around his neck,
Swings like a pendulum,
Marking the days, the hours
That tick by, as he thirsts
Endlessly, and cries to the skies:
Alone, alone, all, all alone,
Alone on a wide wide sea!
Or, perhaps, it’s a cross
The one he bears, and will bear
Till the end of his days,
As he cries for respite.
Or, perhaps, it’s a pendant
Full of flash and beauty
Signifying nothing, just a piece
Of coral and a pearl on a string
Torn from the gut of a
Dying sea-thing.
Alone, alone, all, all alone,
Alone on a wide wide sea!
He thirsts and he cries,
This lonely man, as he’s found,
And he rises among the pod,
A man among whales.
And as they hold him aloft,
Forgiving him the ills
Of his kind. He bursts
Into a thousand points
Of light, and dissolves
Himself in salt and water
And makes of himself
A feast for the sea.
And the whale, flowing
In his wake, cries for him
As he re-forms, and grows
Into plankton to feed her.
And she eats and sings:
“Alone, alone, all, all alone,
Alone on a wide wide sea!
This man who drifted
Took pity on my soul
In agony.
“And offered of himself
That I might feed.
My pod is the pod of
Ishmael, and we shall
Roam the seas, always singing,
‘Remember this man
This Ishmael, this lost one,
Who roamed for years,
Alone, alone, all, all alone,
Alone on a wide, wide sea!’
And take heart, for he
Lives among us, still.
_________________________________________________________________
In response to Day 25 prompt from NaPoWrimo:
(I guess I chose a magic-realist route!)
And now for our (optional) prompt! Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem that begins with a line from a another poem (not necessarily the first one), but then goes elsewhere with it. This will work best if you just start with a line of poetry you remember, but without looking up the whole original poem. (Or, find a poem that you haven’t read before and then use a line that interests you). The idea is for the original to furnish a sort of backdrop for your work, but without influencing you so much that you feel stuck just rewriting the original!. For example, you could begin, “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day,” or “I have measured out my life with coffee spoons,” or “I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster,” or “they persevere in swimming where they like.” Really, any poem will do to provide your starter line – just so long as it gives you the scope to explore. Happy writing!
Tags: #Ahab, #Coleridege references, #Ishmael, #Poetic references and allusions, #TheRimeoftheAncientMariner, S.T. Coleridge
Apr 24, 2016 Free Verse, NaPoWriMo, Original Poetry
Lucubrations of a Doggy Sort
©April 24th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
I inveigle my canine companion
Into perambulating with me
Down the street
To do her doggy business.
Her Linty Goofiness
Sidesteps my urgent
Persuasions and entreaties
Staunchly, steadfastly refusing
To step onto the patch of grass
Oh no, not she!
What catches her fancy
Is a squirrel, bushy-tailed,
Impertinent, inquisitive,
Flashing its tail at her,
Semaphoring inter-species
Flirtation – or, could it be
That the squirrel wishes to
Incite my dog’s not-too-hidden
Need for committing mayhem?
My dog, thus instigated
Tears around at the end
Of quivering leash,
Barking her head off,
While my inner self
Doubles over in helpless
Cachinnation, and my outer one
Vociferates fiercely
With loud and indignant calls.
The squirrel leaves,
Peace returns,
The dog meditates on
The grassy patch of a
Toronto sidewalk,
Leaves her scent
For another to comment on,
And trots serenely on,
With me in tow.
These and more shallow
Thoughts occupy
My sieve-like mind,
As I lucubrate
Over this pathetic
Efflux, and labour over
Ephemeral pursuits,
Like Poetry.
_______________________________________________
In response to the NaPoWriMo prompt for Day 24:
And last but not least, our prompt (optional, as always). Today I challenge you to write a “mix-and-match” poem in which you mingle fancy vocabulary with distinctly un-fancy words. First, spend five minutes writing a list of overly poetic words – words that you think just sound too high-flown to really be used by anyone in everyday speech. Examples might be vesper, heliotrope, or excelsior. Now spend five minutes writing words that you might use or hear every day, but which seem too boring or quotidian to be in a poem. Examples might be garbage disposal, doggy bag, bathroom. Now mix and match examples from both of your lists into a single poem. Hopefully you’ll end up with a poem that makes the everyday seem poetic, and which keeps your poetic language grounded. Happy writing!
Tags: #DoggyBusiness, #Mix-and-Match-Poem, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram
Apr 22, 2016 Free Verse, NaPoWriMo, Original Poetry
Written in response to The Daily Post’s Daily Prompt: Earth
Forgive Us Now … And at the Time of Your Death
©April 22nd 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
She bloomed
In the chaos of night,
In the clang and clamor
Of her birth-pains,
In the clash and clutter
Of planets forming,
Re-forming,
Dying, becoming moons
Or clouds, or dust.
She birthed
Microbes and giants,
And sea-things and air-things
And ground-things,
In a frenzied burst
Of lonely lust
Of love, perhaps.
Hostile space
Pressing down, down upon her –
An untamed sun,
A runaway moon,
Gas-giants in the distance,
And nary a friend.
She formed and re-formed
Herself, my sui generis
My Earth.
She, my mother,
Whom I love beyond all
Whose trees I worship,
Whose animals I adore,
Whose horrors I fear,
Whose gifts I revere,
Dies before our eyes.
Weep! Weep tears of blood!
Write pretty poetry!
Write paeans unending.
Write songs and ditties.
Dance for her,
Clear her air,
Plant more trees,
Halt her death,
Try!
Alas, you cannot,
You cannot,
You cannot.
Crumple down now,
Down on your knees,
Lift up your hands,
Cry!
Pray!
Ah yes, and do, please
Celebrate today,
Your Earth day!
Celebrate – and beg for
Her forgiveness.
This is the sin
I will own.
Forgive us all.
Forgive me,
O My Mother.
________________________________________
Also submitting this as my second Earth poem to NaPoWriMo:
Tags: #EarthDay, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #TheDailyPost, #TheDailyPrompt
Apr 21, 2016 Free Verse, Original Poetry, The Daily Post
In response to The Daily Post’s Daily Prompt: Locked
Locked Wor(l)ds
©April 21st, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
In a room so far away
A lady lives a black dream,
Locked away from
Everyone she ever loved.
Cold she is, and full of dread
For, soon one day,
She’ll be dead to all,
And no one will ever
Know that she lived,
And loved, and danced
And sang, and made
A whole world come alive
Painting by painting,
Dance by dance,
Song by song,
Word by word.
The earth grew things
Under her words, and
Animals took shape
And so did birds,
Titans and gods walked,
And people stood upright.
Rivers flowed silver-clear.
Oceans grew whales,
And fish and lobsters,
And the sky grew birds,
And the land grew trees,
And the trees grew people.
And the people saw her,
Mocked and teased her,
Saw her fright, laughed
In fierce delight,
And sent her far, far
From them in loathing.
Now, disease grew
Death came, clothing the land
In Stygian gloom.
Rivers flowed blood-red
And brooks flowed mud-brown
Songs of joy soon turned to
Songs of sorrow, while
People paddled barges of dirges
Through water-hyacinth-clogged
Lakes, through rivers that
Slowed with time, which swung
This way and that, a pendulum
Between one world and the next.
For still, she made worlds,
Still she sang – her words were daggers
A piercing blade, full of rage,
Blind fury, love thwarted.
Staging a coup, her people
Found her, flung her in a tower
A star leaned down, single and cold
And a moon cut away a sliver
Of itself day after day – her moon,
Her star, her world, her doom.
And here she lies,
Alone, outcast, the Mother
Of all, the Maker of beasts,
The Giver of all things
Mutely, she stares
Into the glaring darkness
Of her locked room,
Blind with sadness.
Now, slowly, slowly, in a
Dream, she takes the key
(For she made it), kisses it,
Flings it into the
Waiting arms of night,
And slowly, slowly
She unmakes herself,
Taking her locked tower,
The people, the animals,
The fish and whales,
The birds, the rivers and brooks,
The star and moon,
Disease and death, barges and dirges
Hyacinth-clogged rivers,
Songs and dances, and words,
As she vanishes into a dream.
And somewhere, the key
Floats along on a stream
Of stars, far, far away.
_______________________________________________________
.
Tags: #Locked, #NewFairyTale, #NewMyth, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #TheDailyPost, #TheDailyPrompt
Apr 21, 2016 Free Verse, NaPoWriMo, Original Poetry
What the Mountain Heard
(Poem From Point of View of Echo’s Mountains)
©April 21st, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
Whom does she call, this Voice
So alluring, so full of anguish,
So rich with music, quickening
With languishing love,
So haunted by lost hope?
Whom does she mourn,
Surely the most forlorn, the
Most beautiful of nymphs
Ever to dance lightly
Upon my slopes,
This sylph smitten by love?
Innocent nymph, so
Free from travails ere now
Now, entrammeled by woe
Why do you cry and call?
Fallen into a spell that
Besets those who live,
Whom do you mourn?
Why did you succumb?
Look! Don’t cry. For I
Will magnify your voice
Thrice three times,
Again and again and again,
For you sing me the music I crave.
I will repeat your brave words
So they will be heard
Again, and again, and again.
Come, call out once more,
For I have grown to love you,
And though that proud lad
Gazing at his beloved pool
Heeds not the sound,
I know the Pool does,
For she creases her brow
And clears again – she will
Not allow your interference.
She will frown, and erase
The ripples you cause
With your cries, your voice.
Foolish Pool, keep your boy!
I’ll have my girl, for she learns
She is not loved, not by him.
She will wander my slopes
Over, and over and over,
Seeking what she will not find
I will love her, and she’ll
Not know me, not she who loves
A mirage, an emptiness, a reflection.
But I shall hold her voice
In my cradle of sound
Forever, and ever, and ever.
_______________________________________________
And the NaPoWriMo prompt for Day 21:
And now, for our prompt (optional as always!) Just as Rosa Jamila’s poems often sound like they come out of a myth or fairy tale (and not always one with a happy ending), today I challenge you to write a poem in the voice of minor character from a fairy tale or myth. Instead of writing from the point of view of Cinderella, write from the point of view of the mouse who got turned into a coachman. Instead of writing from the point of view of Orpheus or Eurydice, write from the point of view of one of the shades in Hades who watched Eurydice leave and then come back. Happy writing!
Sent from my iPhone
Apr 21, 2016 Free Verse, NaPoWriMo, Original Poetry
What the Pool Saw
(Poem From Point of View of Narcissus’ Pool)
©April 21st, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
I am loved.
I know this to be true, because
When a beautiful young man
Leaned over, and gazed at me,
His eyes were a mirror
In which I beheld my
Own true beauty, my
Sky-clad translucence.
Entranced, I gazed back.
Gaia had sent him to me.
My loneliness now arose
Like mist from a dream
And vanished in sunlight.
And I contrived to keep him
In my thrall, despite the ripples
That disturbed my gleam
Despite the dream threatening
To sweep him away into
The chasm yawning beneath him,
Where he would’ve lost to me.
And somewhere, I heard
A forlorn voice, cascading
Like a silver waterfall
From the lonely mountains.
But I gazed at myself in his
Deep, brimming eyes, and
Was utterly
Lost.
_______________________________________________
And the NaPoWriMo prompt for Day 21:
And now, for our prompt (optional as always!) Just as Rosa Jamila’s poems often sound like they come out of a myth or fairy tale (and not always one with a happy ending), today I challenge you to write a poem in the voice of minor character from a fairy tale or myth. Instead of writing from the point of view of Cinderella, write from the point of view of the mouse who got turned into a coachman. Instead of writing from the point of view of Orpheus or Eurydice, write from the point of view of one of the shades in Hades who watched Eurydice leave and then come back. Happy writing!
Sent from my iPhone
Tags: #NarcissusandthePool, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #PointofViewPoem
Apr 20, 2016 Free Verse, NaPoWriMo, Original Poetry
En Route to Toronto
©April 20th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
She flies along, skimming surfaces
With eel-ease, flowing through air
Purring now, growling at times,
This Traveler, swift as a swallow,
Carrying travelers, still as stone.
Companionable and old she is, but proud,
Unwilling to give up the ghost,
Nursed along by stubbornness.
The star-cradle bends low
As we fly horizon-wards
In a sunless space pierced by eyes
Streaming light –unblinking, lidless.
We converse about times past and present,
Of medieval castles and modern dwellings in cities and towns
Where the great Hum of humanity
Makes a song too passing strange to comprehend.
And we make the great Mother keen
While we ride her scarred body,
Criss-crossing her veins.
Our innocent Traveller – she, who
Drinks the ancient blood
Of dead Titans struck down in their prime
Along with the rest of her ilk –
Hums along absently, as she
Brings the slow, ineluctable
Collapse of all we know.
… Still, we like driving to Toronto.
_____________________________________________________________
(I wrote this IN the car, on the way to Toronto — wrote it on my phone, at 11:31 p.m. Please forgive any lapse of language or imagination!)
In response to the NaPoWriMo prompt for Day 20:
And finally, our prompt (optional, as always)! Today’s prompt comes to us from Vince Gotera, who suggests a prompt very much in keeping with our poet in translation, a “kenning” poem. Kennings were riddle-like metaphors used in the Norse sagas. Basically, they are ways of calling something not by its actual name, but by a sort of clever, off-kilter description — for example, the sea would be called the “whale road.” Today, I challenge you to think of a single thing or person (a house, your grandmother, etc), and then write a poem that consists of kenning-like descriptions of that thing or person. For example, you might call a cat a mouse-stalker, quiet-walker, bird-warner, purr-former, etc. If you’re looking for examples, you can find one that Vince wrote here and a different example here. Happy writing!
Apr 20, 2016 Free Verse, Original Poetry
Questions For A New Odysseus
©April 20th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
All those years ago
Before you were ashes and dust
Before that muddy river bore you
Downstream, before more loss,
Before returning to mundane life,
Did you fall in love?
Did you see a demure golden lady
Perfect and pretty, full of
Doe-eyed allure, swing
Into your irregular orbit?
Did you fall in love or lust?
Did you remember your wife?
Did you remember your child?
Did you fling caution to the winds?
Did you say, “I’m damned anyway,
Might as well give in. My life
Brought some joy, but now
All is pain. I shall surrender –
My flesh is willing, my soul sore.
I need some love.”
And if you did, did it bring
Some joy, some peace, some
Shutting out of remembered loss?
Was there quiet oblivion,
A slow blotting, an erasure
An obliteration?
Did it all scatter like
Dandelion seeds on a
Wayward wind?
If it did, I am glad for you.
But if it did, why return?
And if you did resist, I hope
It brought you satisfaction.
And I hope your return home
Was worth it in the end,
Despite all the gods’ conniving
To fell you in your prime,
Despite all the storm-tossed
Terrors, the betrayals of friends,
The endless suffering you wrought
For yourself and others.
And I am glad for you that you
Came home, and I cannot imagine
How you survived it all.
So broken, so brave,
So ambiguous, so good
So full of doubt,
So full of faith,
So full of wanderlust
So full of homesickness
So full of unfulfilled dreams
So full of familial love
To enfold you, and hold
You until the day
You passed away.
______________________________________________________
Tags: #ANewOdysseus, #NaPoWriMo, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #The Odyssey
Apr 19, 2016 Free Verse, Original Poetry, The Daily Post
In response to The Daily Post’s Daily Prompt: Fake
Fake-itude!
©April 19th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
How lovely to see you!
You don’t look a day older
(Despite the wrinkles, that is).
Such gorgeous ladies!
Fabulous beauties, all of you!
(Fabulous is for fifty-year olds!)
Oh, we must meet again, soon!
Where’d you get that dress?
It’s beautiful! So … colorful!
(I must make a note of it,
So I can avoid it.)
Call me, okay?
It’s been too long!
Will do, surely!
We have to get together!
I’ll call you, okay?
(In your dreams!)
You’re the best!
Isn’t she amazing?
She’s so talented,
So accomplished!
(So full of herself –
Wish she’d stop showing off!)
Hey man, you’ll be missed.
The place won’t be the same.
Let’s have coffee sometime.
Yes, sometime.
(In the next century!)
Let’s play some music sometime
Hang out, chill, you know?
Imbibe some, shoot the breeze,
Like the old days, man!
Sure, man! I’ll call you.
It’ll be like old times.
And how are you doing today, Miss?
(Like I care – wish you’d all go away!)
What’ll it be? Mochaccino? With skim?
Perfect! Nice choice, if I may say so.
No way? Chai with soy?
My favorite – you’ve got good taste!!
(If I taste it, I’ll puke –
These millennials are weird!)
Have a lovely day!
(And leave me alone!)
Thank you so much!
I wonder where you come from
India? How wonderful!
(I hope you’ll go back there –
Stupid people taking over our jobs
Make Amewica gweat again!)
___________________________________________________
P.S. I don’t love this poem, but I was hard-pressed to write about fake things. It’s okay if you hate it. Just don’t fake it! 🙂
Tags: #Fake, #Humor, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #sarcastic poem, #TheDailyPost, #TheDailyPrompt
Apr 19, 2016 Free Verse, NaPoWriMo, Original Poetry
How to Clean Your House
©April 19th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
Want a clean home?
Snatch a dust pan and brush
Before the thought recedes,
Start The Beatles. Rush to it.
Revolver or White Album will do.
Start at the kitchen,
Then, stop. A thought strikes.
(Dishwasher needs emptying.
What I’d do for some magic!
Put dishes away. Sigh.)
After While My Guitar Gently Weeps,
Switch to Captain Beefheart.
Golden Birdies swoop(s) in,
Enters your soundspace, all crooked,
Fly irregularly around,
Like slashes of sun on steel.
Midway through dishes, remember
To gaze at the birds you love so much,
Fluttering magically, hungrily,
Outside the kitchen window.
Stop everything! Stop!
Write a poem about birds.
Make sure you include the words
Magical and delicate – oh, and
Don’t forget exquisite!
(Scratch that – too overdone!)
Yes, they’re hungry chickadees.
Open up your bird-feed box
Scoop a couple of cupfuls
Fill up that bird-feeder –
There, a duty done, see?
Steal a moment to watch
Morning sun filter in
Through your circle of
Deep, deep blue glass, like
Still waters of a tropical sea
Flowing, still, on your window-sill.
Blue glass with crackling lines
So fine, you see through it to
The other side of perfection.
You see how the flaw
Is perfection, frail, passing.
The flaw sings beauty,
Opens wide like a chasm–
You fall in, enspelled.
Focus for a few moments
On nothing at all, so restful!
– And yes, something too –
That swing hanging from a pine branch
Out in the yard – which your daughter
And her best friend made
With a plank of wood and ropes.
Childhood has no end, save age.
And nothing’s impossible in the Now.
Let your eyes rest on the swing
Go side to side, back and forth.
Will your body onto it, while
You watch from within your house.
Feel your legs push through the air.
You are free, a child, for now.
Remember, your dog needs her walk –
Remind your spouse to take her.
In mid-mid-age, we (or he)
Can use the exercise.
(I’ll take her out later.)
Having sent away spouse and dog
(Remember, you’ve got cleaning to do!),
Sit down, bang out your poem –
Your meditation, a moral calling,
A daily practice, like breathing, or
Playing music, or eating – calls you.
Make music, make poetry, stay alive.
(And if someone reads, sing to her, or him
Of what makes you dream,
Offer them some of it.
If they go away, be not sad.)
Oh, and yes, fold that laundry
Start a new pile –
Clothes are so important!
And so annoying!
(Of course, I would like to
Run naked through tall, green grass
A slim, young dryad,
Attended by butterflies,
In the sunlight
And mischievous fairies at night.
I’d collect pollen
On my sun-musked body;
Help the dying bees.
I would enrich my earth.
I’d sing songs to the sun and sky
And shout in joy, as I fall
Headlong into silver streams
In the rain-glutted woods.)
But you wouldn’t.
Too shy, too self-conscious
Too aware of widening
Middle-age, too aware
Of what’s proper.
Damn!
But now, back to the present.
Pick up brush and dust pan.
Sigh! But, oh wait!
You have to sweep first.
No vacuum for the likes of you!
Too noisy, too cumbersome,
Too electrical, too … grey!
Sweep away dust from corners
Sweep the floors, the stairs,
Sweep away chaos,
Make a pile of dust and fluff,
In the living room sits
A neat, shapeless sculpture.
Circle it, admire it!
The telephone rings.
(Always answer the telephone.
Could be fortune or misfortune.
You don’t need to have a machine
Deliver that kind of news.)
On second thoughts, don’t!
Could be a robocall.
Forget it – let it ring!
Add a few more lines, cut a few.
Then, rush outside to the garden
Before morning wanes –
Gaze your fill on brave daffodils
Surviving wild weather, defiant.
Recall Wordsworth, as you do.
Pleasure fills you.
(I awoke this morning from
A dream of dancing alone.
I was so young so light, and
Life was so free of dust!)
That reminds you …
Come back in, collect that pile
Leave no speck behind,
And drop it all with a sigh
Into the dust bin.
Good! Put the broom away!
Wash your hands!
You’re done!
__________________________________________________
Today’s prompt from NaPoWriMo:
And now for our prompt (optional, as always)! Many years ago, “didactic” poetry was very common – in other words, poetry that explicitly sought to instruct the reader in some kind of skill or knowledge, whether moral, philosophical, or practical. Today, I’d like to challenge you to write the latter kind of “how to” poem – a didactic poem that focuses on a practical skill. Hopefully, you’ll be able to weave the concrete details of the action into a compelling verse. Also, your “practical” skill could be somewhat mythological, imaginary, or funny, like “How to Capture a Mermaid” or “How to Get Your Teenager to Take Out the Garbage When He Is Supposed To.” Happy writing!
Tags: #CaptainBeefheart, #CleaningHouse, #DidacticPoem, #Dust, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #TheBeatles, #Wordsworth