Mar 11, 2016 The Daily Post, Uncategorized
My second poem for today’s Daily Prompt from The Daily Post: Flow
Flow-er
©March 11th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
When life tosses a few rocks
I plunge into the stream
Hold my breath, and
Submerge in my subconscious.
Sometimes, I fear I’ll
Never emerge.
Sometimes, I poke my head out,
Disapprove strongly
Shake my head,
Dodge the pebbles
And plunge in again.
Sometimes, I wish
I would never have to
Re-emerge.
The depths draw me
Mysteriously, their dark hands
Pulling me down.
I imagine lying on my back
On a continental shelf
Watching a watery sun
Shine, tremulous and
Tentative, from a great height,
Breaking uncertainly into
Threads of light over
An endless heave of
Brine and blue.
And I borrow the peace
And terror from the greater
Deeps falling away
Beyond my ken.
And a strange knowing
Forms, buds, and blooms
As I flow ever downward.
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Tags: #Original Poetry, Flow, Flow-er
Mar 11, 2016 The Daily Post, Uncategorized
(Poem in response to The Daily Post’s Daily Prompt for today: Flow)
Un-Jonah!
©March 11th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
I don’t WANT to go with the flow
It’s too easy for me
Too easy to let things be
I WANT to resist
Lest I be swept away to sea
And die in the mouth of a
BIG, BIG FISH,
And I, a minnow!
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Tags: #Fish, #Original Poetry, Jonah
Mar 10, 2016 Original Poetry, The Daily Post, Uncategorized
Legacy: A Simple Love Poem
(for The Daily Post Prompt for March 10th: Legacy)
©March 10th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
Give me your heart.
I shall always be true.
I shall wind the silk
Of mine with yours
And spin a cloth
That endures.
Give me your trust.
I shall hold it close.
And build for it a room
That opens to the world
And keeps it safe
When it needs a retreat.
Give me your hand
To hold when I’m unsteady,
And, if you have need of mine,
You will have it.
The rocks are hard, and
The hills are steep,
And we have need of
A steadying hand.
Together, we shall advance
Into the sunset.
It’s beautiful sometimes,
And stormy sometimes,
And full of rich color, always.
The horizon beckons,
And night advances.
It does not scare me.
Our laughter, the music of time.
Our struggles, the drama,
Our losses, our joys
The eternal dance
With which we braid
A life together.
Love with you is all I need.
And that will be our
Legacy for our daughter
When we are gone,
And she will hold it
Close to her heart.
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Tags: #Legacy, #Love, #TheDailyPost, A Love Poem
Mar 10, 2016 Original Poetry, The Daily Post
For the March 9th Daily Prompt: Object
Objects I Didn’t Make
©March 10th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
This stone in my hand?
From the heart of a planet
Swinging through time
And shaped by space.
More sacred than some
Gift shaped by human hand
(Although I like those, too!)
This flower on the plant?
More precious than any
Plucked to celebrate my
Being on this earth.
(Although I like those, too!)
I used to love pretty things
I still love them.
But my heart is full, now.
My life, likewise.
The sands are vast,
The sea heaves gently.
There is much to gaze upon,
Together, many swells,
Many troughs.
So many mysteries
Lit by the sun!
This shell, here, now,
Is the gift of time.
These glittering bits of sand,
The gift of this world.
Take these.
I didn’t make them,
But finding them,
Binds them to us.
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Tags: #Love, #Object, #TheDailyPost, Earth and her gifts, On the day before the day before my birthday
Mar 10, 2016 The Daily Post
This is my second offering for the March 8th Daily Post prompt “Contrast.”
Choice
(Daily Prompt, Single-Word Prompt: Contrast)
©March 10th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
Black is the colour* of his true love’s hair
And black’s in the heart of the racist’s stare
White is the colour of the skin he wears
And white is the colour of the black child’s prayers.
Blue is the colour of her eyes so bright
And blue is the bruise he inflicts at night
Green is the colour of Spring in the air
And green is the colour of jealousy’s glare.
Red is the colour of her lips that shine
And red is the colour of the rage that blinds
Yellow is the heart of a rose so sweet
And yellow the fever of cowards’ deceit
Brown is the colour of earth’s sweet grace
And brown are the shirts of those who deface
Purple is the pomp and power of wealth
And purple the heather so full of health.
Opposites, and contrasts are all of these
Choose not the stains, but colors that please.
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* All these years, I used the American spelling “color,” because I taught in a public school. Now, that I am retired, I am reverting to my Indian/English “correct” spelling of “Colour.”
🙂
(Yes, correct is a relative term, but I’ll go with English spelling!)
And yes, my first line is a reference to the traditional Scottish (later Appalachian) folk song, “Black is the Colour of My True Love’s Hair.” Here’s a haunting version by Nina Simone:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TJRh7PSaOzI
Here is a moving version by the incomparable Pete Seeger:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gIx_9deq4Nw
Tags: #OneWordPrompt, #Original Poetry, #TheDailyPost, Choice, Contrast
Mar 9, 2016 The Daily Post
In response to The Daily Post’s Daily Prompt: Contrast
Sun in a Universe Blacker than Night
©March 9th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
The night presses so blackly
Against my cold window-pane,
That the absurd orange of
Fake cloth flowers holds it back.
Night staggers away, singing –
A drunk in delirium.
I am not fazed. I sit and
Sing my song to solitude.
All around me press the ghosts
Of those past, and those to come.
I greet them and leave them be.
I have work to do right now.
Faraway ambulance wails.
Who goes where at 2:00 a.m.?
– Life so tenuous, like glass
Blown by a drunken artist!
I sit here calmly, knowing
As sure as the sun will rise
That I shall live, and live long.
This is not dumb arrogance.
Somewhere, dawn breaks over hills
Here, though, I fight the night with
Borrowed light, and invite sleep,
Comfort and warmth in silence.
Such foolishness to presume
That such things will always exist!
And yet, what do I gain by
Speculating on disaster?
Somewhere, people fight and die
Somewhere, people starve and die
Somewhere else, women give birth
Till the fields, harvest the wheat.
And it hurts me, every day –
The wounds of all who live, and
The terrors of all who die.
Still, I dream, and sing my song.
And the earth keeps spinning on,
Blue marble seeking her boy.
Her Sun keeping watch in a
Universe blacker than night.
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Tags: #Daily Prompt, #Original Poetry, Comfort and Solitude, Life and Death, Speculating, Sun and Space
Mar 9, 2016 Original Poetry, Tanka, The Daily Post
In response to Secret from The Daily Prompt
Secret Season – Tanka #2
©March 9th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
Bees buzz in sunshine
The Season of Secrets comes;
Blossoms everywhere!
See your child unfurl her wings;
Wonder at her secret smile.
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Tags: #Daily Prompt, #Secret
Mar 6, 2016 The Daily Post
Geese, and Catamarans, Cowrie Shells and Smoke
(Daily Prompt: Connections)
©March 6th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
If I send you a string of thoughts
Winging across the air
In goose-formation,
Would you watch their flight?
And would you send back
A flight of thoughts
Winging as surely as geese
Returning in springtime?
Little archipelagos we are
Locked in by surging seas
Close, but not connected
Lonely, we send out catamarans
Carrying our conversations
In exchange for yours
It’s all bartering, this parley
Between us, yours for ours.
Cowrie shells of self in trade,
Cloth of heart and steel of soul,
Gold bangles of love,
And rings of friendship.
Mind you keep mine well,
Treasure them, shine them.
I shall do so, likewise.
For these are precious things.
And I thank you for yours.
Little islands we may be,
But I see smoke spire out from
Your chimneys, and am cheered.
I shall keep my hearth clean,
Dust the ashes, stock my fireplace
Use good kindling, light a fire.
I hope you’ll see the smoke rise.
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Tags: #Connection, #Original Poetry, #TheDailyPost
Feb 19, 2016 Ramblings and Musings, The Daily Post
Karma Chameleon (Daily Post prompt)
Sow Well
©February 19th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
As you sow, so shall you reap.
Your good thoughts, good words, good deeds are the only choice that you, a moral person, should make.
Not just good thoughts, because the road to Hell or Perdition, as they say, can be paved with good intentions, all the way. “Oh, I didn’t think that!” you would protest, as your cells break down, and you collapse in a puddle of sulphur and brimstone, because your actions led to disaster, no matter what you thought you were doing.
Not just good words, because your words might be sweet, but you might apply poison from the other side.”I said good things — I didn’t mean to do that!” you’d cry, as they bind your soul to a vast rock, and let the vultures have at you, before they release you back into life.
Not just good thoughts and good words, but good deeds constitute karma. “I didn’t mean to do that!” you’d scream, as you repeated the cycle of birth over and over again, till you learned your lesson.
But if only ’twere so easy to choose the right thought, the right word, and the right deed!
Every thought is a moral decision. Every word is a moral decision. Every deed is a moral decision.
I’d like to choose right, even if it’s painful and difficult. I haven’t always been successful — I have hurt people’s feelings along the way, and I never let myself forget it. That is my self-inflicted cross to bear.
We have to choose carefully and quickly, but not too quickly, because action delayed is result denied.
Most of us are in the category of minor deviants from the path of truth and righteousness. Perhaps, our karma will consist of wallowing in guilt, because we are saddled with a conscience.
But what about the truly evil ones? What about their karma? If one were, say, a Genghis Khan, or Attila the Hun, would one be reborn as a Hitler, only to die an ignominious death, doused in gasoline, and a gun to the head? Or, would one be given the only other option, which would be to be reborn as a worm, to be crushed underfoot?
In the end, I’d like to think I’ll not be reborn. That this is my last cycle. Then again, my rational side insists that there’s no such thing as rebirth. If we are reborn, it’s simply matter re-consituting itself, and in that sense, we could be reborn as many things all at the same time: A worm, a fish, a flower, a rabbit, a dog, a bird, a tree, a part of a star, a part of a black hole, a gateway into another universe — anything!
I like this rational way of thinking better, but I still like the idea of good karma.
So, sow well. And reap well. And sleep well at night.
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Tags: #Rebirth, Good actions, Good choices, Good thoughts, Good words, Karma
Feb 13, 2016 The Daily Post
Quoth the Teacher: Never Again!
©February 13th, 2016Dreamer of Dreams
Even as I write this, I hesitate. But this was MY life and reality for seventeen years, and I will write about it.
So, to what do I say Never Again?
Waking up at 6:20 a.m., frantically getting showered, dressed, coffee-d, and unbreakfasted (except for ten almonds) and ready for school, which begins at 7:30, an unholy time for a nightbird like me? Never again!
Hurrying down the hallways to the photocopier only to find five other teachers lined up before me, waiting to get their quiz or test or handout copies for the day done? Never again.
Staying after school to clean up, prepare a lesson plan, wipe surfaces, sweep up (most of the custodians did a shoddy job, so I simply pre-empted their efforts in my classroom by doing it myself), and put up student work? Never again.
Facing parochial, judgmental attitudes, and uncomprehending colleagues in a mostly white, Catholic, self-satisfied suburban school system? Never again?
Attending rambling, endless meetings, where a powerful few held sway and drowned out the rest? Never again.
Having rigid and pointless schedules to follow, schedules which didn’t allow for spontaneity? Never again.
Dealing with some bullying teachers, who didn’t see that the sign on their door (a slash through the word “Bully”) was completely ironic? Never again.
Staying up until 2:00 a.m., grading student assignments (many of which were written by my poor stressed-out, over-scheduled students to please their parents and teachers and achieve their elusive dream of getting good grades in eighth grade, in the hopes that this would advance them along the path to Harvard or M.I.T., or Yale)? Never again!
Having to chase down students who hadn’t done their work, in order to get something, anything in order to help them not get failing grades, because, otherwise, there was hell to pay from the system or from parents? Never again.
Having to deal with and defuse irrational hatred directed at me by certain, difficult students, to whom I was nothing but kind? Never again.
Having to deal with the double-handful of racist parents (and their mutely racist children) I have had over the course of my seventeen years of teaching? Never again!
Having to write reports for the special education students, whose I.E.P.s needed annual reports? Never again.
Having to adjust my tests to accommodate the needs of special education teachers, many of whom were simply covering their behinds, out of fear of legal repercussions? Never again.
Having to deal with prejudiced custodians, or disrespectful secretaries? Never again.
What I will miss, though:
- Teaching my students in the classroom (which I loved)
- Helping my students get better at reading and writing.
- Helping expand their consciousness with connections to art, psychology, anthropology and science in an English class.
- Running a Drama Club, writing a play and having brilliant students in it, many of whom have gone on to becoming playwrights, writers, actors and directors now, and who are still in touch with me.
- Running a Homework Club.
- Running a Poetry Club, and truly gifted “alternative” students come devotedly every week, and write poems, because they loved writing. Many of them still write beautifully, and have been published.
- Running the Green Team with dedicated, planet-conscious, environmentally-informed students, several of whom were also poets in my Poetry Club.
- Some of my dear colleagues, who’ve always cheered me up and on.
- Making bulleted lists. (Just kidding!)
Don’t get me wrong. I learned a lot being a brown-skinned, red-dotted, Indian teacher in a suburban school system. I made several good friends among my colleagues, who offset for me the deep rejection I experienced at the hands of others. I’ve taught almost 2000 students in my classroom over the years, and several others in my Poetry and Drama Clubs, and the Environmental Team. I was deeply fond of many of my students, and they were influenced by me. From them, I learned to be a better teacher. Observing my colleagues, I learned about how one should play the political game at school, although I didn’t play it. I learned that when the outside world threatens the world of teachers, they band together and protect each other. This can be a great thing. It can also be a terrible thing. I learned that if anyone in the teacher community has a personal setback or a disaster, all the other teachers help out. And I learned that everyone has sorrows and troubles, and therefore I must, for my own soul’s sake, forgive them their trespasses against me.
But I sure am glad that I never have to go there and teach again. I gave notice six months in advance, much to everyone’s surprise (because I had the school-teacher’s equivalent of “tenure” and I had name-recognition and respect in the larger community) — and left at the end of the teaching year, last June.
It felt as if a huge weight had rolled off my shoulders. I’ve been trying to walk straight since then, metaphorically.
And I’ve been recovering. It’s as if I’ve been through a protracted, debilitating illness. My brain’s turned fuzzy, and I have grief at irrational times. I feel damaged.
But I’m happy now, with my dearly beloved, loving husband, my beautiful, loving daughter, my beautiful, funny, loving dog.
I take walks in the woods on most days. I write a lot more. I’m singing and playing guitar again.
But will I teach again in public schools? I want to say, Never again! but one cannot truly say, Never again, can one?
But I will. And I won’t.
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Tags: #DailyPost, #Learning, #Teaching, public schools