Feb 4, 2016 Daily Life, Uncategorized

Shadows of the Real
©February 4th, 2016By Vijaya Sundaram

Shadows chase shadows chasing shadows
And mirrors reflect mirrors reflecting mirrors.
And you stand to one side,
A shadow within a shadow,
Leaving behind no dent,
Causing no reflections,
Barely a whiff of air to prove you existed.
So easy to say, “What’s the point?”
As you watch squirrels chase each other
In pseudo-Spring in January.

So easy to feel nothing, nothing at all!
So easy to fold clothes endlessly,
Wash dishes, and see reflections
Bouncing off metal and glass.

So easy to get upset at news
And shrug silently, and watch
Dog settle with sigh upon couch
Knowing all reality is where one is
And yet, knowing that is not all–
Children wash ashore cold and dead,
And children from the cradle of the world
Lie hurt and fearful far away
In cold lands where they would
Rather not have been,
But for the hate and rage of adults.

Contradictions will kill us all
But we butter our toast
And drink our coffee
And read a book,
And wonder where Time went.

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Tags: #Contradictions, #Life, #Original Poetry, Syrian refugees, War

Jan 8, 2016 Uncategorized

Advice
©January 8th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram

This you shall do*:

Tags: #Life, #Love, #Original Poetry, Advice, generosity, Living

Dec 18, 2015 Uncategorized

Bound for Canaan
©December 18th, 2015
By Vijaya Sundaram

Hello!  Goodbye! in one breath,
We come into our birth and death,
We fly in and out,
Our cries are a shout,
Huddling together, we sisters and brothers
Seeking some warmth and love from each other,
Seeking a word or even a sign
That who we are is totally fine,
We gather our fruits
And look for our roots.
Upside down, our
Visions abound.

We see with our ears —
We shed a few tears,
We hear with our eyes —
Our breath is a sigh.
We taste with our nose —
And cling with our toes.
Then, before the gilding dawn,
We know it’s time to move along.
So, one by one, we take off in flight,
Finding our way to infinite night.
Was it just a hazy dream?
We ask, as we float on upstream.

But the stars guide our ears,
And our wings help us steer,
And something pulls us up and on.
It’s time to go, and be unborn.
The thorn goes in, the rose grows red,
And though your hearts be filled with dread,
Do not mourn, and do not grieve,
It’s only right for us to leave.
And so, my friends it’s time I went,
The dark star calls, where light is bent.
And so, goodbye, my lovely friends
We’ve found some life, and now it ends.
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P.S.  Feeling philosophical, not gloomy.

P.P.S.  Also, it’s just a response to a prompt.  Do not worry!  🙂
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Tags: #Original Poetry, #Writing 101, Poetry, Bats!, Bound for Canaan, Day 10, Farewell, Life and Death, Reference to The Nightingale and the Rose by Oscar Wilde

Dec 10, 2015 Uncategorized

Freedom Tracks

©December 10th, 2015

By Vijaya Sundaram

See those children skipping rope.

They chant and sing and dream and hope

Playing hopscotch, playing tag

Their minutes stretch, but never drag.

See those dancers, see them swirl

Full of tight control, they whirl.

Gravity is just a word

Freedom is a song not heard,

But felt, in bones that stretch and bend

They dance through lives that have no end.

You toss your clothes, and plunge into

The foaming brine lunging at you,

You lose your fear, you lose your shame

And freedom is your middle name.

And when you find you’re mocked and scorned,

And wish you never had been born,

You drown in sadness for a while,

Then think “This gloom is not my style.

I’d rather read or sing a song,

Think nothing as I walk along.

I’m free! is what I think of me

And enjoy what I’ve come to be.”

You make your choices, moral ones

And answer none under the sun,

You live with love and joy and peace

From rage and hate you find release.*

That’s freedom too, my listening friends

(Though there are fences we might mend.)

When lost and all alone, you find

That time and maps are left behind,

You doff your fears, and make a track

With dog in front, and wind at back,

That’s freedom, darlings, this I know —

I hope to see you where I go.

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P.S. *Instead of that line, I first wrote, “But rage at Donald Trump’s hairpiece.”  I couldn’t help it — I needed to write it.  However, in the interests of Poesy, I had to change it.
Then, I showed it to my daughter, who instantly endorsed it, so I kept it for ten minutes longer, before I changed it.

P.P.S.  I wanted to write a ditty, instead of a deep, winding, complicated, surreal piece, for a change.

Tags: #Original Poetry, #Writing 101, Poetry, Day 5, Ditty, Freedow

Dec 10, 2015 Uncategorized

Twist of Time
(A Surrealist Perspective)
©December 10th, 2015
By Vijaya Sundaram

Came a multi-chorused Voice
From the blue-green sphere:
May I have some more, Sir?
Please?  Could I, do you think?
My life’s running out,
My heart’s pumped out dreams
And fear,  desire and grief
My pulse hammers and quakes
In rhythm, in time.

SynchroniCity is the place
I want to be, but the dark
Comes close on my heels,
And my candle gutters
And is unsteady; I’m spent,
Stumbling on these sands
Sucked noisily, greedily
From the shore, while my feet
Feel the pull of the ocean beneath.

So many breaths spent
On fear, so many breaths lost
On the dreary dark,
So many breaths tossed on
Foolish words, foolish thoughts,
Foolish deeds, for I am a Fool,
Filling the air around me with sound.
How could I do otherwise?
I do but live, it’s what I know.
My tasks, my busy-ness plague me
Where I come and go is Life
All around, within and without.

I need to know this,
And this is all I ask:
Could you spare me a little time?
One more life, perhaps?
Or at least another hour?
Sixty minutes keeping pulse
With my pulse, with the swing
Of the planet in orbit –
Thirty-six thousand seconds –
Could I have some more, please?
That’s all I ask.

And in the sucking whirl
Of the sibilant sea, the crabs
Scuttled and made for the shore,
And the Voice waited, while a clock
Melted somewhere, and a fading Ear
Leaned down to listen,
And a gale swept through space
And the Voice scattered
In feathery bits, till all
Of it vanished, while the
Slowing seconds fell into orbit
Around a black hole,
And fell headlong into
The place before Time.

And the Ear leaned back.
Into its winding passageways,
Flowed all voices, all spaces,
All Time, and its Face folded
Into smooth lines of sleep.
Supremely indifferent,
It dreamed on, while the seconds
In a decaying orbit that never stopped,
Became twisted and wound into
An eternal braid winding around
And around Its memory, and
All was still once more.

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Tags: #Original Poetry, #Time, #Writing 101 Poetry Day 4, #Writing 101, Poetry, Oliver Twist reference, Salvador Dali reference, Seconds, Surrealist poem

Oct 24, 2015 Uncategorized

So, my beloved poet-friend Elizabeth Gordon McKim saw my post on FB about the tomatoes I’d mentioned yesterday (was it just yesterday?!), and commented that she loved “the sorting and the naming…appeals to (her) poet nature…waiting for the taste/the touch/ the aroma.”

This prompted a response from me, and I simply wrote a poem back.  Here it is:

Forever Summertime (Tomato Harvest)

©Ocotber 24th 2015

By Vijaya Sundaram

A faint whiff of mischievous fragrance
Like seduction contained in a sphere
Like delight bound within an ovoid
Or, simply a bright, sunlit scent.
Taste their tartness — those saucy imps,
Or temptresses who wave
Their languid, bejeweled hands,
Sometimes wrinkled, never
Apologetic, an eyebrow raised always.
Quizzical, smooth, packed,
Rounded and glossy,
So much ripeness, so much
Immaturity,
Reminds me of when I was young,
And life was long,
And summers lasted forever.

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Tags: #Original Poetry, #the-last-of-the-seasons-tomato-harvest, Summer memories

Oct 24, 2015 Uncategorized

How often do you nap?

This was the topic I got on the Random Questions – Conversation Topic Generator on Dan Alatorre‘s blog, where he issued a haiku challenge (and I got here via one of my blogging favs, Draliman (thanks, Dr. Ali!)

So, how strange that I should get my favorite topic — SLEEP?

The only problem with that question above is that I do NOT nap, or at least hardly ever.  I SLEEP, and that too, often quite late, in the wee hours of the morning.

So, let’s have a go at this thing, shall we?

Dream-Nap

©October 24th, 2015

By Vijaya Sundaram

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Screen-sucked, I hear you:

So, how often do you nap?

I dream my answer.

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Tags: #haiku, #Original Poetry, random topic

Oct 24, 2015 Daily Life

Crunch of leaves,

Underfoot, a soft sound.

Golden-brown flutters down,

Red-rich, green-meagre trees

Bravely holding on.

Slant-wise light,

Deepening shadows,

Graying skies.

Dog by my side,

Paws scudding,

Joy fills her nose.

Up the slopes, and

Down the craggy

Face of the wooded hills,

Down the leafy paths

Narrow and wide,

Into that which is

Familiar, but always

Changing.  Strange!

I, the human, will

Forever be the watcher,

With and without

These woods I love so well.

Never of them, but in.

But my familiar, my dog,

Will show me her world

Nose a-quiver, tail aloft,

And I will enter,

Oh, so softly,

With the scent of fall

Falling soft,

While the leaves crunch

Underfoot.

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Tags: #Original Poetry, Walk in the Middlesex Fells in the fall, wilderness is paradise enow

Sep 21, 2015 Uncategorized

Bright Fall, Cold Winter – Five Haiku

©September 21st, 2015

By Vijaya Sundaram

Cold presses palm-down

As the seasons swing around

Bright air sings sunshine.

Though there’s weariness

Tomatoes burst into song

Curtain coming down.

Chickadees flicker

Cardinals swoop down to eat

Trees droop, drop down fruit.

Riches bearing down

But somewhere, a cold whisper:

Winter lies in wait.

Darkness pressing down

Frost whispering down to soil

Bones stiffen and freeze.

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Tags: #Original Poetry

Sep 9, 2015 Writing 101

Home
©September 9th, 2015
By Vijaya Sundaram

Where you arrive, drop your wings
Remove your bra with a sigh,
Greet your child, your husband, your dog,
With a “Yay!” in your voice
And they greet you back
With a “Yay!” in theirs;
Where you sing out loud,
Toss your bag down,
Not caring where it lands
(A tiny act of rebellion in a safe space),
Traipse into the kitchen
Pour out a glass of clear water
Sink into your chair,
Sip.
And sip.
And sip again —
And the clarity of the water flows in
Deep, not just in your body
But finding its way into another You
Bringing peace, quenching thirst
Letting little shoots of plants
Poke out of parched, dusty ground,
Bringing freshets into dry places;
Where you lean back in your chair,
And see little birds — hovering around
And landing on perches on the
Bird-feeders outside your kitchen window
Feeding in delight and calling
To their mates to join them;
Where a beautiful Japanese maple tree
Filters sunlight like liquid laughter
Onto a rhododendron bush and
A butterfly bush, hung about with swooning blossoms;
Where you take off your socks
And wiggle your imprisoned toes
And stretch aching calf muscles
And feel the joy of simply flowing, of
Living in your body, free from people, from
Other eyes, judging, evaluating, admiring, condemning;
Where the book- or books – that you left
Half-finished on the kitchen table await you,
Like a slew of lovers whom it’s safe
To love, to admire, to caress;
Where the soft sloshing and plishing
Of the washing machine slapping
Clothes into clean submissiveness blends
With the low buzz-hum of your
Ancient refrigerator, and the breeze
Rustles the pine tree in the back-yard,
And they form a lovely symphony
With your husband’s rich, golden-warm
Voice in his Teaching Study, singing
Into the ether, Skype-ing Indian music
Into the ears of a student in a
Far-off land, and your daughter’s
Joyous silver voice floats down her recent
Favorite song from the bedroom;
Where you know you have other things
To do, that await your ministrations,
But you DON’T care, at least for now,
Because, here, now, drinking cold, clear
Water, you are completely inhabiting
our body, and you know you are free —
That’s home to me.
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Tags: #Original Poetry, Home