Mar 5, 2016 Tanka

Today, a Cold Sun (Tanka #1)
©March 5th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram

Today, a cold sun
Breaks upon my window-pane.
Shards of blue scatter.

I sit mute, keys a-tapping,
Awaiting winter or spring.

____________________________________________

Tags: #Original Poetry, #Waiting

Feb 14, 2016 Original Poetry

Poem for My Valentine
©February 14th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram

Sometimes, tumbling into sleep,
We turn to each other, smile
And close our eyes, and follow
Our own paths into our own
Inner romance, into sleep.
For, sometimes, love needs no words.
Although we talk and ramble.
Music, love, politics, friends,
Books, child, dog, ideas, all
Flow in and out of our days.
And at the centre of it,
Love stands calm, the start of our
Radius, diameter,
Circumference, our tangent
And our co-tangent, for all
Is embraced by that larger
Circle — our past, our future,
Our calm certainty that we
Will endure through all our days.
And I will always come home
To your song, beloved mine.

_________________________________________________

Tags: #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #Valentine'sDayPoem, Love Poem for my husband

Jan 21, 2016 Original Poetry

Tags: #Life, #Original Poetry by Vijaya Sundaram, #Trees, Woods

Dec 26, 2015 Original Poetry

Remorse
©December 26th, 2015
By Vijaya Sundaram

There are times
When silence is best,
When she needn’t
Have spoken the words
That hurt, and hurt again.

Wishing she could seize
Barbed moments, when words
Cut into someone’s soul, she tries
To push against the wheel of time
To set it back to the place
Before the words emerged
That hurt.

Wishing she could take back
All those words, true or not,
Pull out those burrs, those thorns,
Salve all those small, bleeding
Cuts with love, with soft,
Soft unguents and soothing
Poultices, and make
The hurt vanish as though
It had never been, she holds
Her guilt lightly cupped in mind;
Too much of it would choke her.

Memory, though, makes a hell
For her words were
Aggressions, micro or macro.
Conscience is a cross.
Still, she would rather bear it,
Than walk on a road
That leads to no remorse.
Done cannot be undone.
And that which comes from it,
Might teach.
She would love so much to learn.

Hold your guilt lightly
She says to herself.
Do not let it spill,
But carry it, carry it
Everywhere.

Tags: conscience, micro-aggessions, Remorse, soothing salves, Take back talk, Truths that hurt

Dec 21, 2015 Original Poetry

Plastic Angels — Ten Haiku for the Season
©December 21st, 2015
By Vijaya Sundaram

Lights blink on and off
A tangle of paper and tissue
Such innocent dreams!

Darkness pivots on light
Panic fills waiting houses
Cheer bursting its seams.

Not of this place, nor
This ethos of gift-giving
Shrug on your disguise.

No, we don’t believe.
Weaving our own myths and tales,
Yet, we soothe your lies.

Plastic angels sing
Animatronic reindeer,
All declaring “Hail!”

“Buy!” shriek the adverts
“Make the US great again!”
And greed prevails.

Rudolph’s bright red nose
Is a beacon in the dark
Funny songs abound.

Yes, yes, jingling bells
Red-white, blow-up Santas swell,
Rising off the ground.

The beast slouches, yes,
But under the weight of what?
Miracles, you think?

“Look!” she cries out, “Look!”
Above, a light rises, bright
Below, humans blink.

_______________________________________________

Thanks to Andy Townend for hosting Poetry 101 Rehab every Monday!  Here’s my first entry, for the prompt, which was about this season.

Tags: #Original Poetry by Vijaya Sundaram, #Poetry, #Poetry 101 Rehab, commercialism, greed, Holiday cheer, holiness, plastic angels

Dec 18, 2015 Original Poetry

Fare for the Ferry
(Prompt: Farewell; Poetry, Day 10)©December 18th, 2015
By Vijaya Sundaram

Goodbye, I said to the clock in the room
Goodbye, it whispered back to me.
Farewell, I said to the shadowy gloom,
Which said, “Oh, please come back to me.”

Goodbye, I said to the leaning tree
Goodbye, it whispered back to me.
Farewell, I said to the vanishing sea
It said, “Oh, you’ll come home to me.”

Goodbye, I said to my much-loved books
Goodbye, they whispered back to me.
Farewell, I said to the Time I took
The clock just smiled and ticked at me

Goodbye, I said to promises made
Goodbye, they whispered back to me.
Farewell, I said to the roles I played
But they dissolved in mystery

Goodbye, I said to the fish and the birds
Goodbye, they whispered back to me.
Farewell, I said, but nobody heard.
So, I cut the threads, and rose up, free.

And when I arose, and was borne aloft
I floated till the air grew soft,
Till it bloomed into streams and carried me
Where a boatman stood to ferry me.

But I had no coin, and I had no fare
I had to return, and descend the stairs
But I tripped and fell down athwart the skies
And now, I’m  a dream behind your eyes.

And, now I sing, Farewell to all
The night is good, it hears my call.
Farewell, I sing, and go to sleep,
And I will weave you dreams to keep.

Just carve me a coin cut from the moon
I’ll give it to my boatman soon.
For I am weary and need my rest
I’ve loved this life, now comes the test.

No, do not weep, and do not moan
No, do not wail and do not groan.
It’s sleepy-time now for my soul
And time for me to be made whole.

____________________________________________

Tags: #Death, #Freedom, #Life, #Writing 101, Poetry, Boatman, Charon, Coin for the boatman, Day 10, Dreams, Farewell, goodbye, My 2nd Poem for Day 10, Rest

Dec 17, 2015 Original Poetry

On the Road to Perdition
(Prompt:  Camouflage; Poetry Day 9)December 17th, 2015
By Vijaya Sundaram

He stands at the corner
And they drive right on,
Or stop, pull up windows,
Lock their doors, cautious
You see, because … well …
Because …they’re … cautious,
And it’s good sense, right?

Not knowing what
Lurks in the empty space
Before them, in the
Shape of one they don’t see,
Because they are blind,
All blind, driving into the
Blinding dark of denial,
They drive, tanks full,
Mouths full, chewing on talk.

And the man they cannot see
Stands, reflected in the sky
Which approaches them,
So fast, so close — who brought down
That blue emptiness before them?
Or is it a cloud?  Yes, a reflected cloud.
See?  There’s no one there!

Staring straight ahead,
Eyes fixed on empty air,
Perhaps viewing empty dreams,
Speaking into cell phones
Texting their loved ones,
Sipping designer lattes,
They drive on, these rich ones
Empty-eyed, empty-souled
Empty-hearted, full-bellied.

Unaware, uninvolved,
They drive, while he blends
Right into the blue sky,
Into stiff brown trees.
Trees, aging ballerinas,
With arthritic hands,
freezing cold, stand cold, cruel,
And he blends, a broken man.
Like a thin growth of forest
He stands, eyes wide.
And he blends.
And they drive.

The scudding clouds,
The bitter steel and concrete
Of a bridge to unease, these
Smile for him, as he stands,
Unsmiling and alone in islands
Of light, and circles of sun.
And the sign he holds says:
Could you spare some change?
Homeless veteran,  need food.

What he does not say:
Can you see me?
Can you hear me?
I am homeless. I am lost.
I am homeless. Tossed upon
This life, did not ask to arrive. 
Yet, here I stand, stranded.
Will you give a moment
Of your time?  A hug, perhaps,
Better still, a dime?
At least a smile, for I am here.
Can you see me, car-people?
Can you hear me?

What he doesn’t say
You will never know.
For you cannot see
You cannot hear
You cannot be
Where he is, or who he is.
For you have blended
Into that darkening sea
Of unpersonhood,
And you have dissolved,
All humanity gone, lost
In dull resentment, lost
in indifference to yourself

He stands, silhouetted
Just for a moment.
While your car becomes sky
Then, shoulders slouched,
He walks on, his sign
The mark of his own
Personal Calvary*
(And you won’t see him).

_______________________________________________

* The use of the word “Calvary” is symbolic here (I do not wish to offend anyone’s sensibilities).

Note:  “The Road to Perdition” is a phrase that is far, far older than the movie of the same name by Sam Mendes.

Tags: #Camouflage, #Mask, #Poetry, #Writing 101, Calvary reference, Day 9, Homelessness, not the movie!), Sign, The Road to Perdition (the phrase

Dec 15, 2015 Original Poetry

Wailing Wall
(Prompt: Graffiti; Poetry, Day 8)
©December 15th, 2015
By Vijaya Sundaram

Standing uncertain
And pulling the curtain
Away from your eyes
You stand, hypnotized.
Come, write this on me,
Tell yourself that you’re free
From the fate that dogged you
And the hate that fogged you
And all you’ve endured since
The time you were born
You lost and hurt prince
So scarred and so scorned.
Show me you’re here
Before me, and come near!

Come spray that word-art
And tell your split heart that
Though things won’t be fine
You’ll free up your mind and
That ache within you.
Now, make within you
More space for love missing
Who’s there who’ll listen?
Just the night-air and I
(The wall where you cry).
And I don’t begrudge you
Your secretive words
Nor will I judge you;
Your cry is unheard.

Then, after you’re spent,
And said what you’ve meant
May peace within stir,
And know that right here
All of your rage that was
Trapped in its cage.
Has found its release,
And has vanished in peace
Come, cry me a river
And come, make me shiver
Come, cry out in paint
Though it might be in vain,
At least you, my friend
Will make art in the end.

_______________________________________________

Tags: #Writing 101, Poetry, Day 8, Graffiti, Wailing Wall

Dec 15, 2015 Original Poetry

Ouroboros
(Prompt:  Beloved, Poetry, Day 7)
©December 15th, 2015
Vijaya Sundaram

When the stars have burned out
And turned into lumps of coal
Useless, unless sparked into life,
That’s when I might, just might
Leave you.

My beloved, it’s because I have
To light those stars again.
It’ll take some time
Before I return.
An eternity, perhaps, or
Just the time it takes to
Create another, crisper
Tighter Universe, self-contained
Not expanding uselessly —
Such a waste of space
That would be!

Will you forget me
And move on, seeking
The ghost of a memory?

Or will you stick around
And wait, while I tend
To those fires?

Because, you know, beloved,
Ours will always endure.
We journeyed across
Continents of space-time
And burst into this world
Comets from the heart of time
Except that we bent the warp
And weft of space, and time
Bent upon itself, an
Ouroboros weaving itself
Into itself, being born
And unborn,
While we, too, met and
Parted, met and parted,
Knowing we’d meet again.

So, if you’ll wait here, right
By this doorway into that
Other world, I’ll return
From my light-self,
Into this body, and hold
Your hand forever,
And never let go.

______________________________________________

Tags: #Love, #Ouroboros, #Writing 101, Poetry, Beloved, Day 7

Dec 14, 2015 Original Poetry

Dog and Snout and Door, or, Unreasonable Sense
©December 14th, 2015
By Vijaya Sundaram

If a picture paints a thousand words,
I shall paint Her straining, pointing
Sense of smell, Her mystic Nose;
Knife-bladed, full of delicate velvet,
Wet with warm canine intuition,
Her Nose sketches out landscapes
Full of squirrels and raccoons.
And Her Nose, mapping
Topographic incongruities
And atmospheric pressure,
Leads me straight into the door.
My head connects.
Strange swim of stars and birds
Swarming around head and bursts
Of sharp sensation, a whack of
Reality across my snout!

Ah, see those Feet pad surely across
Landscapes of dream and desire
Snout and feet that hold dim
Yearning memories of a calm Mother.
 Memories of warm mother’s milk, and
Squirming bodies of fur — squealing
And squeaking memories.
Now, detecting butter and cheese
With impeccable precision, the Nose
Leads her straight to me.
See her hold on the world.
Her implacable hold, full of
Bitter resentment at Authority.

The world careens, galactic core
Glistens and beckons, but
The Nose holds steady.
See how that squirrel jumps
From its hilly hollow of logs
See how it logarithmically
Scales the senses, and makes
The Nose leap for a dream, as I follow
And slam face-first into the door
Leading to a world where logic
And magic marry and produce
Leaping birds and flying frogs —
When they sit, they stand, almost,
When they jump, they fly, almost.*

My nose grows, a bulbous fruit,
Full of outrage and tear-filled
Indignation.  Such indignity
When I slammed into that door!
And across the vast region of Nose
My senses detect alarm and
Despondency, and a dejection
Of dog-Tail.

Forgiveness, the function
Of love and understanding,
Makes herself scarce, then
Returns, a bride, full of
Shy reluctance at the threshhold
But willing, willing to endure.
For love conquers all,
Even a whack on the snout
By leaping Door,
Arising between Canine and me.

I shall now begin to paint
That picture of a thousand words —
Or perhaps, as a concession
To contrite Canine (contrite as concrete)
Only three hundred and fifty-two words
Unreasonably inviting sense.

_______________________________________________________

 *Reference to a round we sing in my family:
What a queer bird the frog are
When he sit he stand, almost
When he jump, he fly almost
When he sing, he cry almost,
And he ain’t got no tail.
Hardly, he ain’t got no tail.
And he sit on what he ain’t got, almost.

Tags: #Poetry, #Writing 101, Dog-Nose, Door, Fun, Human, Not-quite-nonsense poetry, Stars and Birds, Topological Contemplations