Apr 5, 2016 NaPoWriMo, Original Poetry, Uncategorized
Vegetable Sacrifice
©April 5th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
Calypso dances around a campfire
While Bulls Blood is the sacrifice
Spicy Green picks a fight with the Red Russian
And the White Russian does the Tango, alone.
Diamond makes out with Lady Bell Sweet
While the King of the North frowns from his corner
Ida Gold proposes to Cosmonaut Volkov
Psst! There’s some romance out in space.
Cherokee Purple whispers with Black Krim
As they plan the overthrow of
German Johnson in the Jubilee, before
A Fiesta, which will follow the wedding.
Jasper gasps in Kentucky Wonder
Hidden behind a pole.
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P.S. Coincidentally, I planted many of my heirloom tomato seeds (some of which I’ve mentioned above) just two days ago! Some of these other things (Kale, Cucumber, Beets, Beans, Eggplant and Peppers, also mentioned above) are going in soon.
From the NaPoWriMo prompt, which reads:
And now, our (optional, as always) daily prompt! April is a time for planting things (at least where I am, in Washington DC – you may still be waiting for spring, or well into some other season!) At any rate, I’ve recently been paging through seed catalogs, many of which feature “heirloom” seeds with fabulous names. Consider the “Old Ivory Egg” tomato, the “Ozark Razorback” or “Fast Lady” cow-pea, “Neal’s Paymaster” dent corn, or the “Tongues of Fire” bush bean. Today, I challenge you to spend some time looking at the names of heirloom plants, and write a poem that takes its inspiration from, or incorporates the name of, one or more of these garden rarities. To help you out, here are links to the Southern Exposure Seed Exchange and the Baker Creek Seed Company. Also, here’s a hint – tomatoes seem to be prime territory for elaborate names. And who knows, maybe you’ll even find something to plant in your garden! Happy writing!
Mar 28, 2016 Climate Change is Real!, Daily Life, Ramblings and Musings, Uncategorized
Climate Change is Real: Day 8 of my Lone Vigil
© March 28th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
This morning, I actually had some dreams (which means I had about five hours of sleep, instead of four) from which I arose, like a fish jumping out of the sea, water streaming off its fins, before plopping onto an unforgiving shore. Fortunately, that’s where the fish analogy ends, because I evolved quite rapidly, grew legs, and trooped downstairs with dog, to start my coffee.
Dog went out, came back in, settled down, and I left.
I dragged myself to Warren’s Intersection (as I have dubbed it), travel mug in hand, and the “Climate Change is Real” sign on my shoulder. This was a most unusually flavored coffee, for it tasted like French Roast and Ginkgo Clarity tea (because I had accidentally forgotten I was pouring coffee into the travel mug, and had tossed in the ginkgo tea prior to that. Fortunately, I detected it before I left, and fished out the offender). Ever tasted coffee that tastes like ginkgo and other herbal ingredients? I don’t really recommend it, though it wasn’t completely awful.
It was a cloudy, gray morning, with no sign of sun. There was no sign of anything that denoted life, except an endless stream of cars, which, having awakened from their Sunday torpor, sullenly headed towards Boston.
I should have checked the weather (duh, here I am holding a Climate Change sign, and I don’t even remember to check the weather?! Tsk, tsk!). Why? Well, it started to rain, and increased in volume as the hour unrolled – and I’d forgotten to wear rain-proof gear. I mean, my wool-influenced winter coat held off the worst of it, and so did my wool felt hat, but my shoes were getting more wet than I would have liked. So irate and discombobulated was I that I didn’t notice anything much that would have piqued my interest.
So, I drank my coffee grimly, and started up the music, my ear-buds in place, hoping that would dispel my gathering gloom, and it did. More songs in Raga Bhatiyar, a nice tarana (the Indian Classical Music equivalent of scat-singing) that our Guruji had composed that was massively fun and rhythmically thrilling to sing, so much so that I had laughed out loud in delight in our 1994 recording, and laughed out loud today. That cheered me up a little, and took my mind off the weather. I confess I forgot about Climate Change, as well, for a little bit.
So, the cars went by, and there were even a few waves, smiles, thumbs-ups, despite the dreariness of the morning. At one point, someone honked, and I looked up from fiddling with the i-Pod, and a young man waved, held his phone out the car, and took a picture. Hm. (I’m going to be world-famous, folks! Hah!)
The usual vans and trucks advertising various services drove by – plumbing, masonry, water conservation, air purification systems and other environmental services, security systems, communication systems and construction services – the providers of the infrastructure of our modern modes of living. (Sometimes, I wish that Atlas could shrug. That would show us the way to a different world). Apart from that, the usual cars drove by with preoccupied people and their Dunkin Donuts coffee, their i-Phones, their children, their spouses.
When I see all these cars, I make up stories about the people in them, just to pass the time. I have always, always, been curious about every single individual I see, because each person is such a magical mystery tour of sorts, each person’s trajectory is unique, each person’s life is being lived parallel to mine, and I know ONLY mine. And yet, great things happen simultaneously with terrible events, tragedies occur, people are born, people learn, people play, fall in love, get married, get separated, or stay together, and people die. People love and hate, live and give, and take and make, and everyone is moving blindly, or consciously, along the path or her or his life, like a bead on a wire. And we learn from all these experiences, and from our reactions to our setbacks. It’s all we can ever hope to do. And music can steady us as we learn.
Music has been in my blood and bones, in my voice and in my fingers, and it has helped me always – that is why when Warren speaks about saving music, the traditional music that bridges the past and the future, it resonates deeply with me. Music is the best of who we are. (I wrote a semi-sci-fi story about it three years ago, which I transferred from an old blog of mine to my current one. See: Polaris-Bound – A Short Story.)
We have to preserve our best selves. We have to preserve the planet and its music. Climate Change is Real, true, but music is Real-er (sorry about the grammar, but as a former English teacher, I grant myself a pardon on this one!) – so, sing, and learn the music that sustained you as you grew up. And if it didn’t, find the music that does sustain you. When there’s more beauty, there’s more peace, and more concerted effort to unite. And we can unite on this issue.
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P.S. A nice encounter this afternoon. I was walking Holly in the misty afternoon rain, when a young man came towards me from the opposite direction, and said, “Excuse me, but are you the one who stands with the sign every morning?” When I said I was, he said, “I have to tell you I appreciate what you’re doing, and think that it’s right and true.” Then, he said, “And what happened to that gentleman who held the sign earlier?”
I informed him that “that gentleman” was my husband, and that he was returning on Tuesday, and would be back at the circle. We exchanged names. He had nice words for Holly, and we parted. Gives one hope, doesn’t it?
Tags: #ClimateChangeisReal, #ClimateVigil, #Music, #Original Short Story: Polaris-Bound
Mar 27, 2016 Uncategorized
Wormhole – Time Feel
©March27th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
The beat took hold of me,
But turned upside down
And inside out,
And I found myself pulled into
A rhythmic wormhole.
And when I emerged on the other side,
The music was over.
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Tags: #Original Poetry, #Rhythm, #TimeFeel, #Wormhole
Mar 23, 2016 Friday Fictioneers, Original Flash Fiction, Original Short Story, Uncategorized
PHOTO PROMPT – © Ted Strutz
Word Count: 100 words of text, exactly
Genre: Philosophical Realism / Science-Fiction at the end
Out of the Muck
©March 23rd, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
We cannot live without hope.
Throw us in the dirt – we’ll rise. Throw us in the ocean – we’ll swim. Feed us rats – we’ll survive. Toss us down a cliff. We will cling to every rock, every branch, until we climb back up.
It’s coded into our DNA. You don’t believe us? Come, walk through this yard in the heart of the slums. See that toilet? What’s in it? Flowers?
THAT’s who we are.
So, please leave our planet alone. Go to another one. We are human. We WILL triumph. We WILL prevail. We are the Masters and Servants of Life.
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Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, whom I have dubbed our Fairy Blog-Mother for her unwavering commitment to hosting Friday Fictioneers, an online pow-wow for those of us addicted to writing flash fiction – and for her thoughtful feedback to everyone who posts stories on the photo-prompt de la semaine. This week’s photo-prompt is by the redoubtable Ted Strutz, an amazing storyteller and thoughtful commentator on others’s posts.
Tags: #Humans will prevail, #Out of the ooze, #Triumph over adversity
Mar 20, 2016 Uncategorized
The Peel’s The Thing
©March 20th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
Everything is camouflage,
All of it, all.
So, who are you, really
When you don’t blend in?
Under all those words,
Under all those deeds,
What is your true
Immaculate, perfect Face?
You peel and peel away
Each layer of self
Until you reach the core,
And it’s not there!
Perhaps, the mistake
Is in assuming there is one.
Perhaps the peel’s the thing
Perhaps the core’s a dream.
Metaphors fail us
When we need them most.
And what are we without them?
Just a trace of ourselves, mere ghosts.
Mere constructs we are
Of memory, of love, of lust
Of DNA strands coiling
In eternal dance.
Constructs which think
Constructs which grow
Constructs which reflect
Themselves in fun-house mirrors!
And with these peeled shadows,
These confused reflections,
These strands of DNA which dance,
You make a life, and await death.
Tags: #Constructs, #Original Poetry, #Reflections and Shadows of Self, #Sui Generis
Mar 19, 2016 Uncategorized
Photo Credit ©2016 Vijaya Sundaram
Four Haiku
©March 19th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
Sky-shine like blue silk
Road, a glimmering river
My dog and I, fish.
Not a shoal, we two,
Just sun-dazed, slow-moving fish
Silk-threading a cool, blue trail.
Sunlight slips within
Our footsteps rise up like air
We hum-float along.
Plants wave like sea-weeds
The world moves like clear water
Thought-bubbles in Spring.
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Tags: #Figurative poetry, #haiku, #Original Poetry, #Walk with Dog in Springtime
Mar 14, 2016 Uncategorized
Painting: Amore e Psiche (1707–09) by Giuseppe Crespi
Love and Soul, Soul and Death
©March 14th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
Don’t look at me, he said to her.
And trust in me, he said.
Don’t seek to see my face, he said
And so she was content.
And unseen spirits came to her
And brought her food and drink
They fanned sweet breezes, spoke to her
While she awaited Love.
But jealousy can rear its head;
And always makes a strike
Where there is but the slightest doubt.
Her sisters sowed these seeds:
Perhaps he is a monster fierce
Perhaps, he’ll kill you soon!
So you must strike the blow quite quick,
Or he will get there first.
Her knife and lamp in hand, she gazed
Struck mute at his splendour.
Her heart and hand a-tremble,
She dropped some oil on him.
And he, awakening to Soul
In all her trembling fear
Spoke bitter words that fell like blows
For fly away he must.
She sought him love-struck day and night
And wept for what she’d lost
And Love had fled, for she had tried
Unveiling Mystery.
And painful were her trials dread,
She wandered long and far
And, serving Aphrodite,
At last she came to Death
For Psyche always comes to Death
With two coins in her mouth
And come back safely to her Love
Awaiting at the end.
And Love and Soul can always be
Together, but unseen
And if you do read Love’s true face,
Prepare to cross Death’s door.
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Tags: #Death, #Eros and Psyche, #Giuseppe Crespi painting, #Love, #Original Poetry, #Soul
Mar 14, 2016 The Daily Post, Uncategorized
For The Daily Post’s Daily Prompt: Fleeting
Fleeting Nature – Haiku 3
©March 14th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
Tall trees lose their seeds
Bolting in desperation
Premature birth-death.
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Tags: #Bolting too early, #Fleeting, #haiku, #Nature, #Original Poetry, #Trees, Climate Change
Mar 12, 2016 Daily Life, Uncategorized
On the eve of my birthday (wait, it IS my birthday now, since its now 12:30 a.m.), I wish to say this:
I am happy to be alive.
I am happy to love and be loved.
I am happy to know good people.
I am happy to learn new things.
I am happy to teach.
I am happy to just be.
There are merits to growing older.
I shall go to bed now — sleep beckons.
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Tags: Happy!
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