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 9, 2016 Friday Fictioneers
Photo-Credit: Emmy L. Gant
Genre: Shakespearian Fantasy / Grim humor
Word Count: 100 words of text, exactly
Ill-Met by Rain-Light!
©March 9th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
The King stepped into the urban jungle, followed by his retinue. He stared at his Queen, who emerged from behind a trash can, with her attendants.
“Ill met by rain-light, proud Titania!” His voice fell like rain, cold and stinging.
“What? Jealous Oberon, maker of ill-winds and trash-bins, here?! Fairies, skip away. He causes floods and Climate Change!”*
He looked around, and paled. “I take it all back! Come home to me!”
“What’s done cannot be undone. It’s ALL your fault. You wrangled with me over a mortal child who was mine to foster. Fairies, hence!”
And Planet Earth died.
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*I’ve always thought that Shakespeare must have experienced some glimmering of Climate Change, but in a fairy-world sort of way. In Act 2, Scene 1, when Titania meets Oberon, she tells him that the strangeness of the seasons (everything being topsy-turvy, as it is today in our world) is due to their fighting:
Therefore the moon, the governess of floods,
Pale in her anger, washes all the air,
That rheumatic diseases do abound:
And thorough this distemperature we see
The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts
Far in the fresh lap of the crimson rose,
And on old Hiems’ thin and icy crown
An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds
Is, as in mockery, set: the spring, the summer,
The childing autumn, angry winter, change
Their wonted liveries, and the mazed world,
By their increase, now knows not which is which:
And this same progeny of evils comes
From our debate, from our dissension;
We are their parents and original.
And thanks, as always, to Rochelle, our generous and talented Fairy Blog-Mother, and to Emmy L. Gant, for that beautiful photo-prompt!
Tags: #Shakespearean Fantasy, A Midsummer Night's Dream, Climate Change, Original 100-word short story based on a photo-prompt
Nov 5, 2015 Friday Fictioneers, Original Flash Fiction
Wife-Earth-Mother
©November 5th, 2015
By Vijaya Sundaram
I walked in her footsteps.
Grace had tended our arid acre of land, pouring her spirit into it. That which was infertile, she’d made fertile, and that which had died, she’d made live. For twenty years she grew corn, beans, squash, tomatoes, pumpkins, peppers – enough for our family of three. Her love fed and nourished us.
I had gone to work in the coal fields, and my lungs rattled and hissed.
My son had died in a war begun by evil politicians. Then, Grace died, heartbroken. With her gone, the land died. I was alone.
I picked up a shovel.
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(P.S. Thanks to Rochelle, our beloved Fairy Blog-Mother as I dubbed her, for hosting Friday Fictioneers each week. Thanks, also, to Connie Gayer …(Mrs. Russell) for her evocative and sombre photograph.)
(P.P.S I’m heading off to India tomorrow morning via Emirates, so I may not be able to read people’s posts today, unless I can find a few minutes (haven’t packed yet!). Please know that I will check out your stories, and respond to anyone who makes a comment at some point before next Wednesday!
Love to all, Vijaya)
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Tags: #Death, #Dirty Energy, #Life, #Loss, #Love, Climate Change, Original short story based on photo-prompt, Politics, War
Oct 14, 2015 Original Poetry, Writing 201
Elegy for a Dying Earth
(Day 8: Flavor, Elegy, Enumeratio)
©October 15th, 2015
By Vijaya Sundaram
I fear the earth has come to reap what we have sown
In haste, we sowed the breeze, and reaped this hateful wind
And through this storm, we’ll miss those things we loved so well
The rain, the snow, the flowers, this land– for we have sinned.
Not sins against a God, or gods, or goddesses
But sins against the likes of us, of you and me,
Against our children full of confusion and hurt
To whom we give our ravaged earth, and dying seas.
I’ll miss the scent of rain on dusty earth, the scent
Of budding rose, and jasmine sweet, and marigold.
We’ll see the ponds go dry in summer months, and geese
That leave in droves, will seek new lands, and mourn the old.
Now, storms and hurricanes ravage our broken lands
And dolphins strand themselves, and turtles gasp, and more —
Asphyxiated fish that choke in netted seas
Lie dead and blind upon our broken, littered shores.
I mourn them all, the birds, and animals, and plants
I mourn us all, so smug, so proud, so full of greed
With eyes of death, he chokes our breath– that demon, Wealth;
And laughs at us, although we cry; for mercy, plead.
What hope have we, who heed his lusty, tempting call?
What chance this earth against that mighty money-song?
If we but stop and turn things round (turn off the lights!)
We might yet live, and save what’s right, avert what’s wrong.
So, close your eyes, and step outside, while life yet thrives
And taste the beauty of this fragile Earth, who gives,
Such wealth, her fruit and flowers, and these, our forests wild,
So fragrant, fresh and sweet, in places that still live.
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So, our assignment today was: Write an elegy, use flavor in your poem, and try the rhetorical device of Enumeratio
Alas, I attempted the Elegy form, but gave up almost instantly. Still, just to challenge myself, I tried rhyming (It’s hard to resist a trite and easy rhyme scheme, but I really tried). I’ll probably go back to tweak this poem! This is only my second draft!
Also, I remembered almost too late that I needed to incorporate “flavor,” so I tried that, too.
My Enumeratio needs work, but I tried, I tried!
So, just as I did last week, when I attempted a classical Ode, and followed it with my next (non-Classical) Ode, I shall aim for another Elegy, but that will come later. I have to run, now)
Thanks for reading, all!
(P.S. So, I went back in just now – and tweaked three or four lines, just rearranged some words, cut out some, added an “and” or a “so,” and suchlike. It’s at times like these that I remember my favorite Oscar Wilde, who once said words to the effect of, “I’m exhausted. I spent all morning putting in a comma, and all afternoon taking it out.”)
Tags: #Elegy, #Life, #Love, #Writing 201, Beauty, Change our Ways, Climate Change, Commas, Dying Earth, Oscar Wilde reference, Save the seas, Savor the sweetness of this planet, Sow the wind and reap the whirlwind
Sep 29, 2015 Daily Life
The Woods, Waterless
©September 29th, 2015
By Vijaya Sundaram
Today, when I walked in the dull-green woods with The Hoddles*, brown leaves rustled underfoot, dry and disgruntled, crackling like the promise of flame without hope of moisture.
The air was still, and the sudden call of a bird or two only made the stillness more oppressive. There was no sign of life. The soil was loose, and only the entwining roots of trees held things together. I felt the panting desire of the whole place for water. Insatiate need and blind yearning were all around me — in the air, in that sudden bird-call, in the soil, in the leaves and dry underbrush. And yet, in all this dryness, the woods were beautiful — because these woods, my woods, are always mysterious and green, be it a lush green, or a desiccated, thirsty green.
As Holly and I climbed the rocky, root-twined slopes up the side of the hill (our usual route), a sudden rustle stopped me. I looked, and to my pleasure, saw a sinuous, beautiful jewel-green-and-black striped slim snake (a garter snake, I think) rustle amongst the leaves, pause, taste the air, and move on, like a trickle of water in the dust. Then, quick as a flash, it vanished. Holly, to my surprise, didn’t evince any interest, and indeed, looked the other way. Perhaps, she smelled a deer. In any case, I’m glad she didn’t notice it.
I don’t think of myself as a reptile-lover, but I loved this snake. Shy and sweet, dry and probably soft, this snake moved like a liquid jewel. She made me think of this beautiful planet, our earth, our host, our mother.
And I was sad.
For the earth needs us. Climate Change is real. If we listen to those ruled by greed and denial, we will drown in the rising seas around us, or in the dry deserts that will overtake our planet.
So … plant things. Plant trees and bushes. Drive less. Walk more. Consume less. Make things from existing things. Let animals live and thrive. Help your friends. Share. Give more. I know it’s too late, and we’ve gone beyond the tipping point, but still … I hope.
And I want to work towards another future — the one in which we might yet have a chance.
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Image from http://www.fcps.edu/islandcreekes/ecology/eastern_garter_snake.htm
*(Holly, my dog — to those who are befuddled by my reference to The Hoddles)
Tags: #Hope, Beauty, Climate Change, consumption, Garter snakes, Holly the dog, music is life, planting trees, The Earth, The Woods near my house
May 5, 2015 Uncategorized
A robin stands in bright, young grass
Under a bough of white blossoms —
Whose cherry tree stands, protective
And proud ,with outstretched arms.
I understand spring is here.
And that it’s beautiful.
And it’s life leaping up
Ready to fight.
And the robin hops, happy
Inquisitive, curious, its bright eyes
Darting all around.
It looks happy.
And I should be glad.
I shall be, I will.
Yes.
Tags: #Original Poetry, #Spring, Climate Change, Despair, Robin in the grass
Mar 31, 2015 Original Poetry
Hum-Ant
© March 31st, 2015
By Vijaya Sundaram
Gaea awakens from a troubled dream.
Ants crawl over her sleeping, aging
Rocks, her streams and plumes of
Buried hair and abused bones,
Like carbon unredeemed.
Hum-ants, building anthills everywhere
Tickle, bite, pluck, rip,
Carry on war and kill for fun,
And maim her trees, and
Muddy her waters, and choke her air.
The Titans do her bidding again.
Happy to serve her, they stir
Restlessly, they arise, full
To the gorge with vengeful
Intent, with billennia of pain.
Churning the waters above, blind,
They groan, and grind plate
Against continental plate.
Stretching, yearning, shoving
Landmasses aside, they grind.
All will be changed, all.
Run, for the waters WILL rise,
Or learn to swim.
Run, for the unforgiving sea
Will swarm over our cities
And swallow our cries.
All will be changed, all.
Run, and as you run,
Sing to the crying sky
And the grinding earth.
Sing of your history
As you follow the sun.
All will be changed, all.
Sing the song of innocence
And the songs of knowledge.
Sing the praises of your mother
And forgive the hurtful words
You uttered, and made no sense.
All will be changed, all.
Sing of stirring into being
And careening into death,
Eyes wide, stretched
Wide to accommodate
Light-years of stars, still unseeing.
All will be changed, all.
Sing of hope, of all the shoulds
Of ambivalence and despair,
Of words understood and
Of words misunderstood.
All will be changed, all.
Sing of forests felled for highways
And buildings arrogantly
Reaching for the sky, crushing
Life out of sidewalks, die-ways.
All will be changed, all.
Sing now.
Or learn to fly,
And take off before
That final tidal wave
Envelops us all.
Or, better still, let the storm
Transform our cry.
All will be changed, all.
Disintegrating into atoms,
We shall be simple matter
Once again, a part of
Earth and Stars,
Blown from the palm of
A Titan’s hand, phantoms.
All will be changed, all.
Like stardust, we will blow
Into the void that waits,
We hum-ants will know,
At that final moment,
That from humus we come
And to humus we will go,
For that is what becomes of us.
Human we are, humble, humus.
All will be changed, all.
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Tags: #Gaia, #Original Poetry by Vijaya Sundaram, Climate Change, Gaea, Hum-Ant
Feb 24, 2015 Original Poetry
Glacial Epoch
©February 24th, 2015
By Vijaya Sundaram
Part I
On these cold, white, muffled February days,
With heaped snow all around,
And chill creeping into our lives,
An insidious whisper,
An irreversible trend,
With ice-caps melting, oceans rising,
Poseidon winning this round,
Glaciers the size of countries breaking off
Into an endless turning, churning,
Burning ocean, with dying krill,
And beached dolphins, broken whales,
And vanishing fish and blocked-up birds,
I go into survival mode,
Existing (comfortable, yes),
Living only for family and dog.
Guitar music drifts down
I stare dimly out the window
Watching flurries of snow —
Wayward thoughts of winter.
If this is the end of the world,
We won’t die of thirst at any rate.
I think into my Madras coffee,
Eat my veggie-burger sandwich,
Break sunshine from my clementine,
Drink in its gold and gleam,
Grateful for the here and now.
I will need these memories
For the there and then of the future,
Where ghosts wait.
Part II
You know your place
When the enemy shows its face
You know you can fight or flee,
For you know (though you may
Not be free)
What you’re fighting for.
And though it hurts and burns
Boring a hole you cannot ignore,
All the way through to the centre of you.
(It’s up to us to do what we must.)
You arise, and fight for right,
Not scared to break, or die,
Or acquiesce, or desist,
Your heart a tightened fist.
At least you know your place,
When you can see
Your enemy’s face.
It’s when the enemy
Smiles at you, then
Turns its back,
Whispers, glances at you
Then away, smirking,
Shoulders you out,
Ignores your voice
Demanding their ears,
Listens with veiled eyes,
(Curtains drawn over darkened rooms
Allowing no light, no air, no thought
No time to spare for you or yours,)
Shocked by your intelligence,
Then denies your truth, learning,
Insight, power, compassion
Uses cryptic speech,
Condescends —
Then, it’s worse than open warfare.
When the hypocrite dons its mask,
Your truth moves farther and farther
Away, slipping over the horizon,
Into a deeper trough than will be found —
Just shadows and froth left in
The wake of your enemy’s
Glacial smile.
…
But even glaciers will break off
And the ocean will win.
But your truth will rise again
And float upon the waves,
And perhaps a bird will
Alight upon your shoulder,
Bringing news of a newer
Pangaeic world, where
You and others can begin again.
Dropping enormous thoughts
You smile, turn away from
Window, white sky, back-yard, and
Resolutely switch on the kitchen light.
A dog needs attending to.
A child calls to you.
A song your husband plays
On his guitar pulls you back to
Avalon, After the Ball.
Ghosts can wait.
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Tags: #Family, Climate Change, existence, February daze, glaciers, racism, snowstorms, weather
Aug 5, 2014 Current Affairs / General Interest, Original Short Stories
Overthrow–A Sombre Vision
©August 5th, 2014
By Vijaya Sundaram
Gaea was angry, and her rage had built up to incandescent levels, lighting up the skies, pouring out through fissures, terrifying her children.
Too long, too much wrong had been done unto her.
Deep down, deeper than the human mind can follow, in the sombre shades of Tartaros, lived the monsters, the forgotten children of Gaea, who waited patiently, calmly.
They knew their turn would come. It was only a matter of Time. It is the way of the Cosmos. One gets overthrown by another, then, another, and another until the end of creation. After this, it would begin again, but in what form, nobody could know.
A crater blew up far, far away, where the Titans and Cyclopes lived in the deep, deep cold of a frost beyond human ken. Then, another, and another.
Things melted. Plumes of invisible spirits arose into the air, vengeful spirits all, locking arms, high above the world.
The Titans and their children were now the Gods of the Air, triumphant and savage after having been chained within for so many billennia.
And the Children of the Earth, puny humans, proud and heedless for so long, looked up and trembled.
Their time had come.
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Note: What made me write this piece? I’ve been reading too many accounts of the horrible methane craters being discovered in Siberia. I’ve also been reading Greek Mythology to (and with) my daughter, who has been devouring them voraciously. (I remember being the same way at that age!)
Tags: #Original Short Story, Climate Change, Cyclopes, Gaea, Gigantes, Greek Mythology references, Methane Craters in Siberia, Tartaros, Titans
Jun 6, 2014 Original Poetry
Being Prepared (Or: Fiddling, While …)
©June 6th, 2014
By Vijaya Sundaram
Plunged in reality,
I discussed mundane,
But important, things
Like, “Educational Testing.”
“Why do grownups
Discuss dark matters?”
Asked my nine-year old.
I paused, hand on receiver
Suspended my tirade
About the Privatization
Of Education, looked at her,
And admired her
For her straightness
And her crystalline mind.
“Because,” I said,
Choosing my words
Like a person stepping
On shards of glass
On a tile floor,
“Because, if we don’t,
They come upon us
Suddenly, when we
Are unprepared,
And we need to be.”
“But why do you need to
Discuss it?” she persisted,
“Because, though I hate it,
I need to talk about it with others.
Think about it, be able to fight it.
It’s important, though awful,”
I said, feeling the weight
Of it dragging my voice,
And my internal voice
Asking, Why, indeed?
And I thought,
Because, I need to
Find arguments against it,
Look at it, discuss it.
Because, I need
To know my enemy,
And size it up,
Before it comes at me.
But I didn’t say it.
I think she already
Understood my world.
She looked thoughtful.
“I know it’s important,
But I prefer books,” she said,
And went back to hers.
So do I, I thought, and
Returned to my
Telephonic exchange,
Then hung up.
Outside, the coolness
Hung in dewy curtains,
Exquisitely damp,
Promising sweet rain.
Oblivious, my pup pawed,
At the kitchen door,
Impatient, eager to drink the
Evening air, dance in dew,
Pounce on a harmless stick.
And, somewhere,
Bubbles of methane
Arose to swampy
Siberian surfaces.
And animals fled,
Or curled up and died.
(But … we’ll have
No more talk of
Dark matters, shall we?)
So, I took my dog out,
Let her taste the
Beautiful evening,
Brought her back in.
Then, with a sigh,
I opened my book.
Reality receded.
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Tags: #Books, #Mother and Daughter, Being Grownups, Climate Change, dark topics, Educational testing, escape into stories, Fiddling While Rome Burns, Privatization of Education