Nov 5, 2018 Original Poetry
The Monday Before the Mid-Terms, and Rain
©November 5th, 2018
By Vijaya Sundaram
The ground swells in anticipation
Rain-sodden, pregnant with future life
It prepares for imminent death.
In the meantime, we clench our muscles,
Tighten our jaws, feel our voices constrict,
The country heads to the polls tomorrow,
And my blood congeals in a strange,
Unnameable dread.
Winter rears his hoary head
Somewhere on the horizon a way off,
But doesn’t trouble us yet.
The leaves are yet to finish their downward dance,
A soughing of sorrow, a balletic descent,
A celebration of death.
Far, far away, thousands of refugees
Make their unknowing way to here.
If *this* is their land of choice
To which to flee, what was their land like?
What horrors did they leave behind,
And was our country not the cause?
And do they know what awaits them here?
Would they turn back, if they did?
The rain comes down, dripping
Unending. Human matters are trivial.
The rain endures,
After which, the floodwaters will rise,
There are no dams, no levees,
Lands will disappear.
We may not have an ark this time,
But that time is not yet,
Oh, please, not yet.
We can stem this tide,
Can we not?
Bring all your sandbags,
We have need of you.
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Nov 2, 2018 Original Poetry
The Dark Comes Quickly
©November 2nd, 2018
By Vijaya Sundaram
The dark comes quickly,
A spy hurrying down an alley
Hood drawn, willing himself into invisibility.
The dark comes quickly,
An assassin with undefined intent,
Bringing sadness, an unclear threat.
If Autumn comes with uncertain step,
Winter treads on her heels, a bully,
Bringing with him the threat of death.
But I malign Winter, for he,
Old and frosty though he might be,
Brings snow too, and there is magic there.
Life is full of light and song,
But it extracts strength,
And weaves dreams full of sweetness
When one should be practical.
Death has its sweetness, too, though.
The work of living exhausts me.
Spent trees drop leaves.
Plants give up the ghost.
Winter covers the land.
Only we toil on – for that’s all we know.
The dark comes on suddenly,
A shroud that settles on us.
I do not fear it, not anymore.
It is an old friend, now, this assassin.
I even welcome the sadness it brings.
Everything passes, even these rising
Waters, this feeling of being lost,
This vague fear of the uncertainty
Looming over all.
I should worry. I should mourn.
But everything passes, and
Strangely, this comforts me.
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Nov 2, 2018 Original Poetry
Potato-Eyed
©November 2nd, 2018
By Vijaya Sundaram
I was mundane today.
Elbow-deep in dirt,
Back aching from stooping,
Lifting, carrying, dumping
Rich, dark dirt onto beds,
I felt around the potato sacks
Scrabbling and unearthing
Small, stubborn, little potatoes,
Unwilling to leave their dark womb.
All that work in the late, late spring –
All that blending of soil and compost,
Manure and more, all that toil
In sun, sweating and singing –
And THIS is what I reaped:
A colander-full of small, yellow
Stubborn potatoes!
Where are the larger yellow tubers
Of yesteryear?!
Where, indeed?
(And last year wasn’t great, either,
But still …)
I tell myself:
I will never be a farmer, not a good one!
But then, there is a small thrill
Within, a voice full of pride:
Those are my potatoes, mine!
If harvesting these hurt my back,
It’s honest work.
Next year, I’ll do better.
I shall plan, plant, stay focused.
My potatoes will be jewels,
Full of rich earthiness,
Full of goodness.
My potatoes will join my beans,
In timeliness and intent,
All planted early, carefully,
Without dilly-dallying,
And I will not wander off into dreams.
The earth will have my attention
And I will do all my research
And not let other voices call to me.
I will plant myself firmly
And see everything, everywhere
At once, my eyes growing roots.
And my potatoes will form,
Bunching together, ready to die
For my pleasure.
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Nov 2, 2018 Original Poetry
Dog-Salon
©November 2nd, 2018
By Vijaya Sundaram
Freshly coiffed, and pretty as a poodle-dream,
The dog returns home from the Salon,
Traumatized and defeated by dog-shampoo,
Clippers and razor. All trace of dog is gone.
I am unhappy for her, but she is neat now,
And winter will not be hellish on her hair.
When I picked her up at the place,
She stood there, in a nightmare
Canine vortex. Cross, Yapping Small Dogs
Surged around the feet of the groomers,
While my Dignified and Thoughtful Girl
Stood with tail at half-mast, trying
Not to drown in the rising tide of
Cross Little Dogs, shrilly shouting
Curses at an indifferent universe.
Desperate, eager to be rescued, Holly
Squeaked in barely held-in distress.
The groomers, matter-of-fact,
Kind, but blank, accepted my payment,
And went on with their patient shearing.
I looked over the separating counter.
A Fatalistic Lab was up on a pedestal,
Being shorn. My dog still behind
Their half-door gazed up at me,
Mute appeal in her now-visible eyes.
Several nameless Cross Little Dogs
Yelled imprecations at me and mine.
We paid them no heed, she and I.
Collar and leash back on,
She emerged, and leapt at me
Again and again, letting me know
What she had endured.
I took her home, fed her richly, watered her,
Gave her treats, whispered soothing words,
Told her I loved her, made much of her.
She slept after that, exhausted.
Being made pretty can do one in.
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Nov 1, 2018 Original Poetry
Guy Faux
©November 1st, 2018
By Vijaya Sundaram
The bullies are out in full force
It’s Halloween in this country
Frightened, we sit and watch
Behind our chattering curtains,
While they clutter up our lawns.
The bullies are out in full force
With their dog-whistles and phony faith
What will they do, when we, enraged
Beyond fear, rush out with rakes,
And sweep them into a big pile?
Bonfire-time!
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Nov 1, 2018 Original Poetry
Today, at the Park
©November 1st, 2018
By Vijaya Sundaram
Grey upon grey upon green,
And three dogs racing each other
Tails aloft, and raucous in their glee.
I remind myself: This, here, now.
Be. Expect nothing. Be present.
Love, and play, and live.
Hold your tail aloft.
Birdsong in the air, winter
Held at bay, leaves falling like rain,
Red and gold and green and yellow,
A dance of death amidst
Exuberant life.
Expect nothing. Bark at the clouds.
Hold your tail aloft.
Play, but remember this, here now –
It will hold you aloft
When tomorrow comes.
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It will hold you aloft
When tomorrow comes.
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Oct 30, 2018 Original Poetry
Ruby-Song
©October 31st, 2018
By Vijaya Sundaram
I crave rubies in my throat
So I can sing like a clarinet.
The pomegranate in my fridge is tired
I regard it with fondness –
My partner in enervation.
Its redness is beyond the price of rubies.
It calls to me coldly, like a clarion,
A question shaping its urgent need.
Somewhere else, a beet sings of redness too,
Far beyond my ken, I’m sure of it,
But it sings a darker red, a sombre passion.
I will seek it at some other point.
I have need of clarity, coldness, red fire.
And this other, pressing matter at hand –
My pomegranate – which has but one purpose,
Since its other purpose was abrupted
When it was cut down from the mother-tree.
I will answer its call, but not now.
Tomorrow, I shall cut into it, inhale
Its weary fragrance, suck its tart juices.
The pomegranate will bleed in delight,
And die on my tongue.
And I will sing with a voice like rubies.
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Oct 27, 2018 Original Poetry
Tree of Life
(Addressed to Robert Bowers)
©October 27th, 2018
By Vijaya Sundaram
Your name means the shade,
The sheltering arbor.
But you broke into the
Tree of Life, and snapped branches,
Trampling on prayer and holiness.
The dead will haunt you.
And you will die, broken, your
Voice gone, choking on grief,
As the roots of the Tree of Life
Will clutch at your feet
And draw them in,
Deeper into the earth,
And your life-force
Will be sucked into it.
You, who kill,
You will meet the dead,
And they will forgive you,
And love you, and haunt you,
Till you scream for mercy.
And they will smother you
With all the love you took
Away from them, all the love
They still had in the world,
All the love that broke loose
When you shot them, as they prayed.
And you and your kind
Will choke on their sentence of love
That never got to be completed,
Because …
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Oct 27, 2018 Original Poetry
Longing
©October 27th, 2018
By Vijaya Sundaram
And the rain drips like a reminder:
Everything gets washed clean.
Everything gets eroded.
Everything gets reshaped.
Everything begins anew.
In the meantime, the cold
Shrivels up leaves.
My dog lies still, contemplating
Nothing, knowing our unease,
Providing her own kind of solace,
A true bodhisattva.
We give each other solace,
She and I.
I remember when I was young,
I remember love and loss,
Remember upspringing hope,
But now, today, in this unrelenting rain,
Memory is useless, and longing
Is for the young.
I type words on a screen,
And feel a sudden
Flash of forward-vision
Looking back at myself,
Now, longing for something.
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Oct 27, 2018 Original Poetry
Null and Void
©October 27th, 2018
By Vijaya Sundaram
Death waits, encased in human flesh
Churning with rage and hate
Unwilling, but trapped by its host.
And when the bullets fly,
All the prayers in the world
Float upwards, like confetti being
Sucked back into its box.
Death waits, unwilling, but trapped
In the fleshpots of hatred,
And can never leave,
Except through a gun.
All those prayers scatter,
Dissipate, devotion shattered
By a terrorist who listened
To the source of our terror,
Blathering nonsense on
A world-wide stage, despised by all,
Yet allowed to sit in his sacred post,
Inspiring zealots and haters,
And acknowledging nothing.
From all that emptiness, emerges
A wind that lifts everyone
In its path into its vortex,
And slams them down,
Then, retreats, mumbling, speaking
About the Second Amendment,
Taking refuge behind empty words,
And shouting, “Fake News!”
And when everyone looks
(“Look! A Ferrari!”), it dismantles
Yet another monument, or topples
Yet another pillar of the nation’s
Eroding rights.
This is not a President,
It is a gaping chasm,
A Void that has no bottom.
And all its legions are
Emerging, laughing, excited.
Do we allow them to
Swallow us whole?
Do we fight back the hordes,
Do we cower behind platitudes?
Do we want to even listen
To their shrill cries?
Will we let doubt rise up around us,
And will we drown,
Even as we speak
About liberty and justice
For all?
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