Jun 10, 2016 Free Verse, Original Poetry, The Daily Post
Of Molehills and Mountains
©June 10th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
I made a molehill.
Tunneled under it.
Made a cozy nest.
I named it “Mountain.”
Then, bravely facing
The Eastern sky, I
Climbed it, scaling
It in a single bound.
Sure, it was easy, but
I did scale a Mountain.
What’s in a name?
A molehill by any other name,
Would be as easy to scale.
Now, I’m off to find a mountain.
I shall name it “Molehill.”
It’ll be much easier to climb, then,
Though I shall probably fall
As the Western sky flames red.
And if I do, I shall pick myself up
And say, I’m making a molehill
Out of a mountain.
________________________________________________________________
Tags: #DailyPrompt, #making a mountain out of a molehill, #Mountain, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #TheDailyPost
Jun 7, 2016 Free Verse, Original Poetry, The Daily Post
Dot Matrix
©June7th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
Here’s a dot, see?
And there’s one.
Quick, draw a line!
Resembles nothing much.
Now, see this one?
And that one?
Quick, draw another line!
Still, nothing much.
Do the same, draw lines from A to B,
From one bright dot to another,
All scattered chaotically across
This sublunar sun-bashed place!
Something seems to emerge.
Stand back and take a good, long look.
What do you see?
Was it what you wanted to see?
Or something you never imagined?
Was this the image you dreamed of?
No? Step back, stand aside.
Let us see with our own eyes.
Ah, you got an ape,
Arms low to the ground,
Brow furrowed and low,
Grief in his hirsute visage.
He’s looking up wide-eyed
Fearful, dreaming, while
Brilliant, icy spears of light
Pierce the night air, and he’s
Caught in the tug between
Confusion and desire.
Welcome to humanity!
You’ve connected the dots.
The stars await you.
____________________________________________________
*I use the term matrix in two different ways, and one of them means “breeding female,” from the Latin word for mother, i.e. “mater.”
And, of course, anyone who dealt with computers in the 80s and early 90s knows what a dot matrix printer is.
Tags: #Connected, #DailyPrompt, #Dot Matrix, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #TheDailyPost
Jun 5, 2016 Free Verse, Original Poetry, The Daily Post
Marble and Sand
©June 5th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
You hold your future lightly,
A glowing marble in the sun,
And watch it glitter.
And you twirl it about
Peering at it, curious,
Eager to get on with things.
Then, tossing it lightly aside,
You skip away, light-hearted –
A whole Now awaits you.
So much to do, so much to taste:
Read and sing, and laugh
And draw, and learn, and oh!
Such mindless joy, such joyful mind!
Rope-skip, hop-scotch, climbing trees,
Rowing imaginary boats with a best friend,
Becoming a merman (or mermaid),
Swimming to an islands, avoiding the Beast,
Your vast school playground an entire
Ocean to swim in.
Occasionally, you hold
That marble and gaze,
As at a crystal ball,
Mesmerized by what you see.
Do you see me in there –
Older, wiser (maybe), tired
Not jaded (well, sometimes),
Dreaming, always dreaming?
Or, do you shrug lightly,
As time turns to eat its tail?
Do you play endlessly, all chaos
And movement, shouts and
Ringing laughter – pure energy
On the receding shores
Of the shifting sands of your
Eternal, illuminated, sunlit,
Magical, singing childhood?
And all the while, a glinting marble
Lies buried in the sand, quiescent,
Patient, ready to be picked up later,
Because the Future can wait.
______________________________________________________
Tags: #Childhood, #DailyPrompt, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #TheDailyPost
May 29, 2016 Free Verse, Original Poetry, Uncategorized
Strange Quark
©May 29th 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
It’s a strange quark of my nature
That interacts with my various
Flyaway particles, and is bound with them,
Making me stable, forcing me
To be seen, known, stay in one place
Not vanish in a trice,
Into a strange half-life,
Wondering whether to be
Or not to be.
___________________________________________________
Tags: #Half-Life, #Metaphysics, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #Physics, #Quark, #QuirkofNature, #SciencePun
May 27, 2016 Free Verse, Original Poetry, The Daily Post
Forking Metaphors!
©May 27th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
The temptation to make
A metaphor that is profound
Seizes me when I see a fork.
How irritating!
I shall deny this urge,
And prevent its expression.
I shall avoid all forks
That beset me when I
Travel the byways of my life.
I shall not fork over
Any money to those who make
Any bets about my using
Or not using a metaphor
With a fork in it.
I shall spoon my yogurt,
And forks be damned!
I shall spear my food
With a toothpick,
And garden with only
Shovels and trowels –
No pitchforks.
I won’t say forking hell!
No! Nor, shall I ever say
“I reached a fork in the road.”
All I need is to take this
Stupid metal implement
And stick it in some cake.
See?
I’m done!
__________________________________________________________________
In response to The Daily Post’s Daily Prompt: Fork
Tags: #DailyPrompt, #fork, #metaphors, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #TheDailyPost
May 27, 2016 Free Verse, Original Poetry
Photograph©By Vijaya Sundaram, 2016
If You Tripped …
©May 27th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
If you tripped and fell
Headlong into my life
Would you fly, or drown?
The skies beat down
Like blue silver or silk,
And the sea screams “Seagull!”
You’d find yourself crossing an
Entire ocean, brushing up
Against seals and dolphins
Snarfing up some fish,
Avoiding nets and trawlers.
You’d get past islands
Of discomfort, trudge up
To tropical rainforests,
Take a right turn, moving to
Cold, frozen wastelands.
Do not be deceived.
Blue-white ice is beautiful
Sometimes, a body can
Be preserved perfectly
Waiting to be thawed
Right under it all.
Let’s leave the cold
Just for a while.
How about the heat?
Would you walk across
Hot coals and let your feet
Feel the fire, or would you
Flee, wanting out?
Would you greet the
Unicorns (yes, they’re lurk)
And the dragons (oh, very much there)
And the phoenix, aloof and quiet,
By name, and pay obeisance to each?
They like to be acknowledged.
They require payment.
They’ll ask for your
Truth and your fealty,
And they’ll repay it
In their own strange way.
The unicorn will gaze
At you from the depths
Of her forest, and will
Give you dreams, make
The moon descend.
Will you gaze back,
And send a dream to her?
Would you ride the dragon
And take the fire and the heat?
Would you sing, as you
Rise up higher, and higher,
And when you keep rising,
Would you beg to be let down?
And the phoenix will
Destroy all that you stood for,
And rebuild you, over
And over, and over again,
While dreaming of other worlds.
Look carefully where you tread
For you could trip and fall
Headlong into my life.
It’s not for everyone,
Not even me.
________________________________________________________
Photograph©By Vijaya Sundaram, 2016
May 24, 2016 Free Verse, Original Poetry, The Daily Post
The Nightbird Sings (Passing Phase)
©May 24, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
The night bird sings a lonely song.
For she awaits one who
Is passing through.
It’s a passing phase, this
Like all the rest of them.
This despair, this elation
This sunny day, this cloudy one,
This happiness at seeing loved ones arrive
This sadness at seeing them leave.
When the time comes to die,
All this will be the memory of a dream.
It’s a passing phase, this
Like all the rest of them.
All that springing, leaping joy
In her blood in her youth
All that intense passion
In his bones, occluding thought.
When the time comes to die,
All this will be the memory of a dream.
So much rage comes and slashes away
At good sense, so much despair
So much anger and sorrow.
So much unhinged emotion drives
Away wholeness, and makes up
The stuff of songs and stories.
The girl who cries into her pillow
And wishes she were dead
The boy who stares self-hatred in the face
And courts Death.
The children who seek the love
Of those around them, and find none.
The women who look for their
Prince, who is off looking
Elsewhere for his true love, while he
Slays imaginary dragons.
The men who seek greatness
And mistake achievement for it.
The women who follow their Muse
And find it hiding in distant lands –
All these will pass through
A doorway into one phase, and enter
A space to be filled, a phase
To round into, to curve out of.
If I could ask for one wish, it is this:
Let me pass away brightly,
Singing under my breath,
Whispering a poem,
Holding my loved one’s hand
At the height of peace
And fulfillment, knowing
All whom I love are safe, and will
Go on, through all the phases
Of their lives, waxing and waning in quiet.
Let them find the same peace I desire,
While the moon waxes and fills
The air with cool silver, and an unseen
Night bird sings her last song.
But if I do die as the moon wanes,
Let me fill the air with my own silver
And radiate with my open arms
An entire universe. Let me in my
Final, dying phase, find my blackbird
While she sings in the dying night,
So I can soar away on her wings
And never return.
For the night bird sings a lonely song.
And she awaits one who
Is passing through.
_______________________________________________________
Written in response to The Daily Post’s Daily Prompt: Phase
Tags: #DailyPrompt, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #phases, #TheDailyPost
May 23, 2016 Free Verse, Original Poetry, The Daily Post
Saga
© May 22nd (into the 23rd) 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
It’s always about a quest, isn’t it?
Or a question that begs an answer.
Taking us through lives and lifetimes
And battles and romances, fought and won.
It’s about rings and magic and dreams
From which beasts and dragons emerge
And are transformed or slain.
It’s about honor redeemed,
Valour proven, hearts knits
Or torn asunder by time and space.
We want a saga,
We proclaim loudly,
We clamour for one.
We cannot have enough stories,
What about the story of one who left
Her native country to come far away
With the one she loved, only to find
His oaths of fealty were naught but air?
What did she do? Do you want to know?
Or one, who having come so far
Finds there are a finite number
Of heartbeats left, and she needs
Strength to carry on for her children.
Did her saga carry her through lifetimes,
Between the verdict and the acceptance of it?
What of the friends who pledge their help?
What about he, who upon coming home,
Finds a note saying goodbye
And finds there is no grief, just
A hollow space which had been
Emptying slowly over time?
Will his story continue, or does it end in sorrow?
And what about the parent dying
Unseen, unloved, undesired
All alone in a vast, echoing house,
Where his beloved spouse died,
And he cannot hear himself think
So he talks to the air around him,
Which seems to listen, pressing close,
Like his wife’s body on the bed?
What about the dog, who, abandoned
By his owners, finds an old ruin,
Makes a home, and awaits his slow
Descent into death from disease and starvation,
Only to be found by those who care,
And those whose hearts bind them to
All living, suffering creatures, and who
Build a living being out of the dust?
They deserve no less a name,
For they tell a vast story
Sometimes of love and loss,
Sometimes of death and betrayal,
Sometimes of bad luck,
Sometimes of courage and endurance,
Always the story of finding something,
Someone who will capture their story.
Listen to their stories,
And drink deep of the well
Of their understanding.
Listen well, and fill your cup.
__________________________________________________
In response to The Daily Post’ Daily Prompt: Saga
Tags: #DailyPrompt, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #Saga, #TheDailyPost
May 21, 2016 Free Verse, Original Poetry, The Daily Post
Sing, O Muse!
©May 21st, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
Sing to me, O Muse!
Sing of children who play at war
And warriors who play at war
Only there’s no death in one,
And death in the other.
Sing to me, O Muse!
Sing of those who capture and kill
Who accuse the innocent,
Who feed the prisons more fodder
Of the darker-skinned kind,
Of the poor who are chased off
Parks and sidewalks for being poor,
Of the immigrant who leaves her land
Or his, for better shores, only to find
Horror upon humiliation forced
Upon them, being reviled for
All that they do to benefit
The fat, the wealthy, the self-satisfied.
Sing to me, O Muse!
Sing of wanderers far from home
Seeking wife and child, or children
Prisoners not of the Cyclops, of Circe, of Calypso,
But of bloodthirsty Ares in unseen prisons,
Operated in secret by men who hide behind acronyms
Who have power of the lives and deaths of
Others, who happened to stray unwittingly
Into their orbit;
Who serve Belial and Moloch, Azrael and Alastor;
Who take refuge in what they call the law;
Who get off on torture and force-feeding the helpless;
Who get off on waterboarding them;
Who get off on the agony of the damned;
Who maim and cripple their own minds,
While maiming and crippling others’ bodies.
How shall I sing of these?
Sing to me, O Muse!
Sing of those who kill the outspoken
The brave, the bold, who, in pursuit of the truth
Run afoul of those who pursue lies.
Sing of the good, the selfless, the kind,
Those who give of themselves
Who save the wretched, who clothe the poor,
And feed the hungry, and shelter the homeless
Who deal in mercy and goodness
And give willingly of themselves
To those who have need of them.
Tell me how goodness can prevail
When so much evil flourishes?
And how shall I sing of them?
Sing to me, O Muse!
Sing of children who die starving
While the rich feed on riches, and throw away excess
Sing of women who search for grains of rice
Who search for a drop of water,
While the wine-dark sea around their land
Gets hotter and hotter, as the waters rise,
Whose bodies are ravaged and defiled
By the demons who are born of war,
Whose homes are hollowed out
By those who mine the mountains for that which
Makes us all text each other faster,
About whether we’ll meet each other
And where, while rosy-fingered Dawn
Lights those lands where the rivers run red.
Sing to me, and tell me how
All of this came to be,
And who suffered this
To come to be.
And if you do, how shall I sing of this,
Save with fast-beating heart
And rage and sorrow?
Sing to me, O Muse, and teach me
How to sing of this, and not court grief
Grief unending, grief overpowering,
Grief that threatens a vision of joy.
Teach me to sing of this, and still
Sing of fruit, and flowers, and summer skies
Of children, and laughter and love,
And animals who live simply, and birds and bees,
And trees that gift us the breath of life,
Of songs to come, and worlds to be.
For sing I must, of these things and those,
Sing I must of the dark and the light,
For without a vision of joy,
All is lost, all is forsaken.
Without flowers and children and happiness,
And budding trees and butterflies and laughter,
We shall live and die, revolving
In awful darkness, without dreams
Without love, without breath, without joy,
Without friendship, without stories,
Sans everything, dissolving into dust
After a lifetime of nothingness.
So sing, and teach me to sing
Of what I must do, of what we must do
To make all of this vanish,
As we contemplate the sunlight
And the golden honey of our happier days,
As one half of the world reels about,
Dying by degrees in the descending darkness
Of a hell on earth beyond all imagining –
So that we can seek, and find,
A truer Peace, that Land which is ours
By right, and shall become ours again.
________________________________________________
In response to The Daily Post’s Daily Prompt: Sing
Tags: #DailyPrompt, #HomericReference, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #Sing, #TheDailyPost
May 20, 2016 Free Verse, Original Poetry, The Daily Post
Brick Shift
©May 20th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
You built your edifice
Brick by brick
You created the castle of you
Out of nothing, from nothing
You made your self a building
That sat on rich land, verdant
Lush with plants and trees,
Your castle housed attics and cellars,
Oh, and a damp dungeon,
Through which flowed a somnolent river,
Where you kept a sleeping creature
Fierce and fiery, long and spiny –
A creature you never visited,
But you knew lived and breathed
Down somewhere in the depths.
You built great halls and baths
Sleeping chambers, libraries
Turrets to look out from
And a moat around you.
And on the topmost tower,
You kept a phoenix, whom you loved.
Fire and water you loved,
And earth and air, too.
You fashioned for yourself
A world where they served you.
And the birds that wheeled around the tower
Sang songs and soared, but always returned,
For they were tethered to you.
Brick by brick by patient brick,
And stone and straw, too,
You built your edifice.
You saw for miles around,
You owned it all, celebrated all,
You saw that you could make your life
Whatever you wished it to be.
And so you did, so you did, for a time.
Ah, such folly! How far can you make life
Yield to you? How far can you shape your stones?
All one needs is one brick out of place, somewhere,
And the earth to shift beneath it all.
________________________________________________________
In response to The Daily Post’s Daily Prompt: Brick
Tags: #Brick, #DailyPost, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #TheDailyPost