Dec 20, 2016 Daily Life
Now, What?
(What I wrote today, on FB)
©December 20th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
It really IS surreal, what’s going on.
I read the news in the NYT, The Guardian, and follow various sites. I think: All this … living that’s going on – how is it possible that we take it all for granted in this most amazing and fragile democracy? How come people are talking about the holidays, and buying things and shopping (and so are we – well, food and a few gifts)? How are we going blithely about our days while so much awfulness is happening to so many people already? And when it comes to all of us, as it will (except for the very, very, very rich, who will be able to hold it off for just a little longer than the rest of us), will we be surprised, or just shrug and meet our fates with a sigh?
A crazy, delusional person with completely evil people flanking him on all sides has been “elected” by the minority. How can those who elected him not see where all this is headed? How come WE cannot see where all this is headed?
Some of us can, but we’d go insane if we let it get to us, so we cook food, play music, gird up our collective loins, go to rallies and protests, take various kinds of action, and let our rapidly-beating hearts push us ahead to do what we can. Alas, however, this is the Dissolution, folks, and what we’re doing is making hasty sandbags.
And how can we hope against hope that some miracle will STILL deliver us from the evil of that ADHD-addled, NPD-riddled, thin-skinned, lizard-brained creature that masquerades as human? He may not be human, at that. Perhaps, he’s a construct, assembled from various spare parts from another dimension, sent to devastate the planet. If so, we have need of our wits, our guts, our hearts, our love for each other, our love for the planet.
AND we have need of a miracle.
We can fight, yes, and we will, yes, but HOW do we win, unless we give up the very things that we respect in a democracy? Our current President cannot seize power, or curtail the incoming President’s powers at the Federal level, like the outgoing GOP did in the recent NC legislative coup. Our side cannot do anything like that without also dying a little inside, from the shame of it. For, it goes against democratic principles. And the “other side” knows it. And they’re gleefully rubbing their hands together, saying, “Haha, we got you now, suckers!”
So, our very decency and upholding of laws has gotten us into this bind.
Honour? The other side cares not one whit for it.
I, however, do.
And it doesn’t help.
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Tags: #ClingingtoLife, #Decency and honor in the face of the opposite, #Democracy at stake, #Hope, #ThePeopleUnitedWillNeverBeDefeated
May 5, 2016 Free Verse, Original Poetry, The Daily Post
In response to The Daily Post’s Daily Prompt: Hope
Hope Springs
©May 4th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
Eternal, they say.
Now, in May, I cannot see
How a real Spring will
Return – with sun and rain,
And birdsong and flowers
And plants to go into the ground
And people singing in the rain,
Of a planet balancing itself
Keeping track of its heat and cold
And its axis tilted evermore
Away from normal –
When all I see is mist and cloud,
Drawn faces, and hurrying
And scurrying and worrying
Everything blurring before me,
All hope of people seeing what’s real,
Of people seeing reason,
Of having reason
To hope,
Gone.
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Tags: #Hope, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #TheDailyPost, #TheDailyPrompt
Apr 4, 2016 NaPoWriMo
Rebirth – A Hopeful Sort of Poem
©April 4th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
April is the cruellest month
Taunting and teasing,
Bursting with wickedness,
Squalling winds, blowing snow,
Budding leaves, blooming crocuses,
Cerulean skies, carefree clouds,
Leaden skies, lethargic clouds.
Yes, April is the cruellest month
A harpy dressed as a lady
Full of glee, full of rage,
Full of life, and full of death
Full of bulb-destroying fury.
And yet, and yet …
She brings me hope that
Soon, Spring will rise again.
And when Spring rises,
April will collapse quickly, a
Deflated balloon, a house of cards,
A puff-pastry full of hot air.
And May will arrive, serene,
Beatific, a lady in green and lilac
With zephyrs fanning her brow,
And birds caroling to her,
As she reclines, smiling, upon
A grateful Earth.
And we shall shout for joy
And dance in the green
And make little circlets of
Daisies and pansies for those
We love, and celebrate the
Birth of a New Earth.
___________________________________________
NaPoWriMo prompt for April 4th:
In his poem “The Wasteland,” T.S. Eliot famously declared that “April is the cruelest month.” But is it? I’d have thought February. Today I challenge you to write a poem in which you explore what you think is the cruelest month, and why. Perhaps it’s September, because kids have to go back to school. Or January, because the holidays are over and now you’re up to your neck in snow. Or maybe it’s a month most people wouldn’t think of (like April), but which you think of because of something that’s happened in your life. Happy (or, if not happy, not-too-cruel) writing!
Tags: #AprilistheCruellestMoth, #Hope, #Original Poetry, #Rebirth, #Spring
Oct 12, 2015 Original Poetry, Writing 201
I have NEVER done “Found Poetry,” nor have I ever attempted chiasmus as a device, although I knew of it, and had encountered it. It seems that these days I’m doing things that I’ve never attempted. In any case, today’s (Day 6) assignment, in brief, was:
Create a “found poem”
Make it about “faces”
Use “chiasmus.”
I’ve typed up the text of my found poem, which I assembled from tea-bag covers, junk mail, an art catalogue, and a plastic bread-bag. Not having a working camera currently, I took an awkward picture with my MacBook Pro’s PhotoBooth. So, the picture below looks, let’s face it, bad and blurry. However, I shall remedy that when I can get a clearer image with a working camera. In any case, here’s the image, and then, my typed-up text below it, for those who cannot discern the words.
(Oh, and I was thrilled to FIND my chiasmus in the process of looking for words! The first line occurs on line 10 (after the heading, which is “Not When Pigs Fly”): The Power of each woman’s face. The second part of the chiasmus occurs as the punchline, the end: “Face each woman’s POWER.”)
Here’s the poem, in its entirety:
Not When Pigs Fly
©October 12th, 2015
By Vijaya Sundaram
We are women —
Friends of the earth,
Hope,
The People,
wise,
The Majority.
We shall converge on LITTLE DREAMS,
GIVE Clarity.
No Blisters.
Guaranteed.
VISIONS OF THE UNCANNY —
THE POWER OF each woman’s face
EXHIBITS passion,
SUPPORTS MEMORY.
SURVIVING THE ELEMENTS,
ULTRA CONCENTRATED,
OUR MUSIC ROLLS ON.
WE ARE PEACE.
WE ARE the Earth.
face each woman’s POWER!
Tags: #Face, #Hope, #Peace, #Writing 201, chiasmus, Dreamer of Dreams, Found Poetry, poetry challenge!, The Earth, The power of women
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
Apr 22, 2013 Original Poetry, Reading, Writing, Thinking, Teaching and Learning
Daily-ness and Disaster
©By Vijaya Sundaram
April 22nd, 2013
How banal, how mundane
How silly, how pointless
Our lives seem!
Sitting in class, pencils in hand
Trying to be good, while
The teacher gazes on.
Stern she looks, and somber
Trying to be vigilant
Wasting time on gum-chewers
And time-wasters.
When elsewhere, lives end
Abruptly, pointlessly.
Grief and loss bloom
Like a mushroom cloud
Over a teeming populace
Wiped out by violence,
Riven by famine and flood.
And children torn from the arms of love,
Watch as parents are afloat on a sea
Of uncertainty.
Where food comes from
Hardly matters, when
They worry about whether
It comes, at all.
Whether school is up and running
Seems to matter so little, and yet
Someone is shot at brutally,
Risking her all, to reach school.
Elsewhere, in the city, last week
A child of eight died, in mid-cheer
Abruptly, pointlessly, painfully.
A shining being, ready for greatness.
And here, in the humming peace
The strumming quiet
The numbing apathy of daily life
We sit, pretending what we do matters.
It may all seem pointless now,
In the aftermath of recent tragedy.
And I might be right.
But I’d like to be hopeful
I’d like to say it matters
I’d like to say, “Everything,
But everything matters.”
Writing matters, reading matters,
Being hopeful matters, being good
Matters a whole lot.
And I would be right.
~~~~~~~~~ The End ~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tags: #Hope, #Learning, #NaPoWriMo, #Teaching, Boston Marathon Bombing, classroom, famines, floods, global disasters, Goodness, Malala, reading, Students, wars
Apr 9, 2013 Uncategorized
Mercy-Crumbs
[Fourth Poem-Response to “Pigeon” by Anthony Green]
©By Vijaya Sundaram
April 9, 2013
Pigeon on the platform
Man on the train.
Sometimes, crumbs of mercy
Give life again.
Small pigeon at his human feet
His crumbs of mercy for the bird
A man, at gunpoint with the guards
A woman gives hope with a word
Each little crumb feeds living souls
Each little crumb gives back to life
Each little crumb furthers a goal
Each little crumb reduces strife.
A simple act, a simple deed
So easy, yet so very hard
For those who do not choose to feel.
And only some dare take that chance.
A simple act saved this man’s life
So simple, yet so very strong
Her kindness was that upon which
His life hinged; she set right that wrong.
The man saw her, and said no word
His thanked her with his eyes so mute
And filled with something that was stirred
Within, and rich with gratitude.
Pigeon on the platform
Man on the train.
Sometimes, crumbs of mercy
Give life again.
Tags: #Hope, #Life, #NaPoWriMo, #Original Poetry, Goodness, Gratitude, Mercy, poem-response to "Pigeons" by Anthony Green
Apr 9, 2013 Uncategorized
This is my second Poem-Response to “Pigeon” (film by Anthony Green)
Slingshot
©By Vijaya Sundaram
April 9th, 2013
Poor, poor bird,
Alone in the world
At the mercy of boys
With slingshots.
Just there,
Nowhere else to go
Nothing else to do
But just be and peck
At crumbs of mercy
Tossed its way.
Every crumb matters
Every gesture burns
As a brand in the dark.
Every act of goodness
Lasts an eternity.
Though the cruel day
Comes, hell-bent on
Exposure and betrayal,
Each kindness leaves
A trace.
And the bird survives for
Another day, another hour.
Though cruelty
Dogs its steps.
Every kindness brings
Life.
Every saving brings
Hope.
Every crumb brings
Fullness.
And somewhere,
In another world
In another time,
Those traces will come
To live and glow
Through eternity.
And life will take wing
In the light of peace.
And only goodness will
People that world, with
No slingshots in sight.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The End~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tags: #Hope, #kindness, #NaPoWriMo, #Original Poetry, #Peace, fullness, Saving, Slingshot
Mar 22, 2013 Uncategorized
Grail – A Poem
©By Vijaya Sundaram
March 22, 2013
I spend my days in
Walking,
Not winging.
Yearning,
Not learning.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You spend your days in
Talking,
Not singing.
Weeping
Not leaping.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
We spend our days in
Clocking time
Stinging,
Sneering,
Not spurring.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
They spend their days in
Mocking,
Mud-flinging.
Jeering,
Not cheering.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And we seek, and we yearn
And we weep and we burn
And in circles we will turn
While we earn, earn, earn.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Just sing, don’t speak.
Just learn, don’t yearn.
Don’t sorrow for tomorrow.
Don’t weep, just sleep.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Don’t mock, just cheer.
Just listen till you hear
For I’ll whisper in your ears
And I’ll wash away your tears.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Throw your hat in the air
Throw your scarf to the skies
Toss your bag to the ground
Toss your pride with your lies.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Throw your dreams away
Let them fall where they may.
Let them laugh while you play.
In the new-born day.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Here’s a puzzle and a knot,
The more you seek you’ll fail.
And if you use, and lose it not,
You’ll reach your holy grail.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~The End~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tags: #Hope, #Original Poetry, #Sing, better tomorrow, Seek
Mar 21, 2013 Teaching and Learning
Despair — A Poem
©By Vijaya Sundaram
March 21, 2013
All this writing is a flailing
All this talking is a failing
All these songs are a wailing
All these stories are a hailing
Of ice onto a desert, frozen
By sun and burned by snow.
You know that, don’t you?
A flailing and a failing
Because the silence waits.
Brooding and unrelenting
Endless and frightful,
The dark and angry silence
Waits.
Jealous of those who speak,
Greedy to suck our sounds,
Enraged by us,
Ready for us,
Eternal and malign,
Silence awaits our sound.
For it will all be swallowed
By the gaping chasm
Yawning like a grin
In the skull of Death,
A chasm that widens
And lies at the very end of
The trail of my words,
And the wail of yours.
Our out-pouring of the chatter
Which approximates thought,
Words, words, words:
Weak reflectors of the
Unfathomable,
Beaming into the blackness
Between our minds,
Create false comfort,
For in our waking sleep,
Creeps in the beast.
All words lead to …
All roads lead to …
All songs lead to …
All action leads to …
So, I know this, don’t I?
And you know this, don’t you?
And yet, I struggle and flail
Throw my songs, my words out,
Hoping some of them will flutter
Onto a Waiting Cliff, bleached
By a starving sun,
Weak but pulsing still.
And you struggle and flail,
Toss out cry after cry,
Song after song,
Story after story,
Hoping they will be
Miraculously delivered
To a faraway shore.
Perhaps a Someone will see
And hear, listen and watch.
See mine struggling,
Loosen their terrified hold,
And set them free.
Perhaps another Someone will see
Your castaways on the faraway shore
Revive them, give them succor.
And they too will be free,
Eternals, all.
And perhaps, mine will flutter
Into a sky that promises
Something unknown,
Unknowable, but bright.
And perhaps, they will call
Into the widening sphere
Hoping to find their mates,
And roost somewhere,
Forever.
And perhaps yours will traipse
Into another sphere and bask
In the light of Imagination,
Ready to be reborn
In another form.
I can only dream of this,
I can only give shape to this
In those very words
Which might tumble,
Echoing eerily
Into that yawning chasm.
For, to think otherwise,
Is to die, not by degrees,
As we all do, and must,
But right here, right
Now.
– And that would never do!
And thus, the false dawn brightens
Our gasping, choking day.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~The End~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(Feeling very, very dark today.)
Tags: #Communication, #Death, #Hope, Despair, Eternity, Falling, False Dawn, Flailing, Silence, Words