May 29, 2016 Free Verse, Original Poetry, Uncategorized
Strange Quark
©May 29th 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
It’s a strange quark of my nature
That interacts with my various
Flyaway particles, and is bound with them,
Making me stable, forcing me
To be seen, known, stay in one place
Not vanish in a trice,
Into a strange half-life,
Wondering whether to be
Or not to be.
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Tags: #Half-Life, #Metaphysics, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #Physics, #Quark, #QuirkofNature, #SciencePun
May 29, 2016 Original Poetry, The Daily Post
Orderly
©May 29th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
I am not.
I wish I were.
I gaze, longingly
At the ladies I know
Who arrange and re-arrange
And I, stumbling around, deranged
Because neatness and I are at war,
Rail against the disorder around me,
Try all that arranging and re-arranging,
And feel trapped underneath the burden of it all
For chaos primeval rules my world eternally,
And all I can do is pull up the weeds as they spring up,
So my flowers and ferns and trees can rise up to meet the sky.
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In response to The Daily Post’s Daily Prompt: Orderly
Tags: #DailyPrompt, #Orderly, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #TheDailyPost
May 27, 2016 Free Verse, Original Poetry, The Daily Post
Forking Metaphors!
©May 27th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
The temptation to make
A metaphor that is profound
Seizes me when I see a fork.
How irritating!
I shall deny this urge,
And prevent its expression.
I shall avoid all forks
That beset me when I
Travel the byways of my life.
I shall not fork over
Any money to those who make
Any bets about my using
Or not using a metaphor
With a fork in it.
I shall spoon my yogurt,
And forks be damned!
I shall spear my food
With a toothpick,
And garden with only
Shovels and trowels –
No pitchforks.
I won’t say forking hell!
No! Nor, shall I ever say
“I reached a fork in the road.”
All I need is to take this
Stupid metal implement
And stick it in some cake.
See?
I’m done!
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In response to The Daily Post’s Daily Prompt: Fork
Tags: #DailyPrompt, #fork, #metaphors, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #TheDailyPost
May 27, 2016 Free Verse, Original Poetry
Photograph©By Vijaya Sundaram, 2016
If You Tripped …
©May 27th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
If you tripped and fell
Headlong into my life
Would you fly, or drown?
The skies beat down
Like blue silver or silk,
And the sea screams “Seagull!”
You’d find yourself crossing an
Entire ocean, brushing up
Against seals and dolphins
Snarfing up some fish,
Avoiding nets and trawlers.
You’d get past islands
Of discomfort, trudge up
To tropical rainforests,
Take a right turn, moving to
Cold, frozen wastelands.
Do not be deceived.
Blue-white ice is beautiful
Sometimes, a body can
Be preserved perfectly
Waiting to be thawed
Right under it all.
Let’s leave the cold
Just for a while.
How about the heat?
Would you walk across
Hot coals and let your feet
Feel the fire, or would you
Flee, wanting out?
Would you greet the
Unicorns (yes, they’re lurk)
And the dragons (oh, very much there)
And the phoenix, aloof and quiet,
By name, and pay obeisance to each?
They like to be acknowledged.
They require payment.
They’ll ask for your
Truth and your fealty,
And they’ll repay it
In their own strange way.
The unicorn will gaze
At you from the depths
Of her forest, and will
Give you dreams, make
The moon descend.
Will you gaze back,
And send a dream to her?
Would you ride the dragon
And take the fire and the heat?
Would you sing, as you
Rise up higher, and higher,
And when you keep rising,
Would you beg to be let down?
And the phoenix will
Destroy all that you stood for,
And rebuild you, over
And over, and over again,
While dreaming of other worlds.
Look carefully where you tread
For you could trip and fall
Headlong into my life.
It’s not for everyone,
Not even me.
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Photograph©By Vijaya Sundaram, 2016
May 27, 2016 Original Poetry, The Daily Post, Uncategorized
Carping about Carpe Diem (Countless)
(Or, A Whinging about Procrastination and Ennui)
©May 27th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
Countless hours go by
And countless days slog along
And countless minutes flow by
And countless seconds jog along.
And still, I don’t seize them!
If I did, I’d have to release them,
And I hate holding time hostage,
Hate letting go of them, condemned
To fritter away the countless hours –
The hours of life after life that I live,
Repeating myself, cell by tired cell
Recreating it all, so boring, so tedious!
Waiting for an end to all this unaccountable
Counting of the minutes the hours, the days,
The years, the millennia of what passes
For this life, when it could be done with
One stroke
Of the pen,
Or one slit
Of the pen-knife!
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P.S. Please don’t be alarmed. This was just a post, nothing more.
In response to The Daily Post’s Daily Prompt: Countless
Tags: #Countless, #DailyPrompt, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #TheDailyPost
May 26, 2016 Original Poetry, The Daily Post
Grains and Gains
©May 26th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
See her walking the watery fields
Picking grains of rice –
She searches for nourishing ones.
See him sitting on the fiery dunes
Picking grains of sand –
He searches for the shining ones.
May they find what they desire.
Amongst the waters, amidst fire.
There’s place for beauty
And shininess.
There’s place for food
For sustenance.
There’s place for idleness
And being quiet.
There’s place for work
And for moving.
Be at ease,
Be at peace.
Find your grains,
Make your gains.
Be very still,
Find what you will.
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Written in response to The Daily Post’s Daily Prompt for May 25th, 2016: Grain
Tags: #Daily Prompt, #Grain, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #TheDailyPost
May 26, 2016 Kyrielle, Original Poetry
Photograph@Vijaya Sundaram, 2016
It Isn’t Quite Goodbye, with Friends (A Kyrielle)
(Unintended Farewells)
May 27th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
When you turned and left her to go
And turning, the world seemed to slow.
Did you think that you’d see her again?
It isn’t quite goodbye, with friends.
Love never quite dies, even though
Every word that you spoke was a blow.
Will you return to make amends?
It isn’t quite goodbye, with friends.
Time moves like a wave as it flows,
And waves build up as they grow.
You’ll be swept up by them at the end.
It isn’t quite goodbye, with friends.
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Written in response to the prompt “Unintended Farewells” on dVerse
Tags: #dVerse, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #UnintendedFarewells
May 24, 2016 Free Verse, Original Poetry, The Daily Post
The Nightbird Sings (Passing Phase)
©May 24, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
The night bird sings a lonely song.
For she awaits one who
Is passing through.
It’s a passing phase, this
Like all the rest of them.
This despair, this elation
This sunny day, this cloudy one,
This happiness at seeing loved ones arrive
This sadness at seeing them leave.
When the time comes to die,
All this will be the memory of a dream.
It’s a passing phase, this
Like all the rest of them.
All that springing, leaping joy
In her blood in her youth
All that intense passion
In his bones, occluding thought.
When the time comes to die,
All this will be the memory of a dream.
So much rage comes and slashes away
At good sense, so much despair
So much anger and sorrow.
So much unhinged emotion drives
Away wholeness, and makes up
The stuff of songs and stories.
The girl who cries into her pillow
And wishes she were dead
The boy who stares self-hatred in the face
And courts Death.
The children who seek the love
Of those around them, and find none.
The women who look for their
Prince, who is off looking
Elsewhere for his true love, while he
Slays imaginary dragons.
The men who seek greatness
And mistake achievement for it.
The women who follow their Muse
And find it hiding in distant lands –
All these will pass through
A doorway into one phase, and enter
A space to be filled, a phase
To round into, to curve out of.
If I could ask for one wish, it is this:
Let me pass away brightly,
Singing under my breath,
Whispering a poem,
Holding my loved one’s hand
At the height of peace
And fulfillment, knowing
All whom I love are safe, and will
Go on, through all the phases
Of their lives, waxing and waning in quiet.
Let them find the same peace I desire,
While the moon waxes and fills
The air with cool silver, and an unseen
Night bird sings her last song.
But if I do die as the moon wanes,
Let me fill the air with my own silver
And radiate with my open arms
An entire universe. Let me in my
Final, dying phase, find my blackbird
While she sings in the dying night,
So I can soar away on her wings
And never return.
For the night bird sings a lonely song.
And she awaits one who
Is passing through.
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Written in response to The Daily Post’s Daily Prompt: Phase
Tags: #DailyPrompt, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #phases, #TheDailyPost
May 23, 2016 Free Verse, Original Poetry, The Daily Post
Saga
© May 22nd (into the 23rd) 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
It’s always about a quest, isn’t it?
Or a question that begs an answer.
Taking us through lives and lifetimes
And battles and romances, fought and won.
It’s about rings and magic and dreams
From which beasts and dragons emerge
And are transformed or slain.
It’s about honor redeemed,
Valour proven, hearts knits
Or torn asunder by time and space.
We want a saga,
We proclaim loudly,
We clamour for one.
We cannot have enough stories,
What about the story of one who left
Her native country to come far away
With the one she loved, only to find
His oaths of fealty were naught but air?
What did she do? Do you want to know?
Or one, who having come so far
Finds there are a finite number
Of heartbeats left, and she needs
Strength to carry on for her children.
Did her saga carry her through lifetimes,
Between the verdict and the acceptance of it?
What of the friends who pledge their help?
What about he, who upon coming home,
Finds a note saying goodbye
And finds there is no grief, just
A hollow space which had been
Emptying slowly over time?
Will his story continue, or does it end in sorrow?
And what about the parent dying
Unseen, unloved, undesired
All alone in a vast, echoing house,
Where his beloved spouse died,
And he cannot hear himself think
So he talks to the air around him,
Which seems to listen, pressing close,
Like his wife’s body on the bed?
What about the dog, who, abandoned
By his owners, finds an old ruin,
Makes a home, and awaits his slow
Descent into death from disease and starvation,
Only to be found by those who care,
And those whose hearts bind them to
All living, suffering creatures, and who
Build a living being out of the dust?
They deserve no less a name,
For they tell a vast story
Sometimes of love and loss,
Sometimes of death and betrayal,
Sometimes of bad luck,
Sometimes of courage and endurance,
Always the story of finding something,
Someone who will capture their story.
Listen to their stories,
And drink deep of the well
Of their understanding.
Listen well, and fill your cup.
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In response to The Daily Post’ Daily Prompt: Saga
Tags: #DailyPrompt, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #Saga, #TheDailyPost
May 21, 2016 Free Verse, Original Poetry, The Daily Post
Sing, O Muse!
©May 21st, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
Sing to me, O Muse!
Sing of children who play at war
And warriors who play at war
Only there’s no death in one,
And death in the other.
Sing to me, O Muse!
Sing of those who capture and kill
Who accuse the innocent,
Who feed the prisons more fodder
Of the darker-skinned kind,
Of the poor who are chased off
Parks and sidewalks for being poor,
Of the immigrant who leaves her land
Or his, for better shores, only to find
Horror upon humiliation forced
Upon them, being reviled for
All that they do to benefit
The fat, the wealthy, the self-satisfied.
Sing to me, O Muse!
Sing of wanderers far from home
Seeking wife and child, or children
Prisoners not of the Cyclops, of Circe, of Calypso,
But of bloodthirsty Ares in unseen prisons,
Operated in secret by men who hide behind acronyms
Who have power of the lives and deaths of
Others, who happened to stray unwittingly
Into their orbit;
Who serve Belial and Moloch, Azrael and Alastor;
Who take refuge in what they call the law;
Who get off on torture and force-feeding the helpless;
Who get off on waterboarding them;
Who get off on the agony of the damned;
Who maim and cripple their own minds,
While maiming and crippling others’ bodies.
How shall I sing of these?
Sing to me, O Muse!
Sing of those who kill the outspoken
The brave, the bold, who, in pursuit of the truth
Run afoul of those who pursue lies.
Sing of the good, the selfless, the kind,
Those who give of themselves
Who save the wretched, who clothe the poor,
And feed the hungry, and shelter the homeless
Who deal in mercy and goodness
And give willingly of themselves
To those who have need of them.
Tell me how goodness can prevail
When so much evil flourishes?
And how shall I sing of them?
Sing to me, O Muse!
Sing of children who die starving
While the rich feed on riches, and throw away excess
Sing of women who search for grains of rice
Who search for a drop of water,
While the wine-dark sea around their land
Gets hotter and hotter, as the waters rise,
Whose bodies are ravaged and defiled
By the demons who are born of war,
Whose homes are hollowed out
By those who mine the mountains for that which
Makes us all text each other faster,
About whether we’ll meet each other
And where, while rosy-fingered Dawn
Lights those lands where the rivers run red.
Sing to me, and tell me how
All of this came to be,
And who suffered this
To come to be.
And if you do, how shall I sing of this,
Save with fast-beating heart
And rage and sorrow?
Sing to me, O Muse, and teach me
How to sing of this, and not court grief
Grief unending, grief overpowering,
Grief that threatens a vision of joy.
Teach me to sing of this, and still
Sing of fruit, and flowers, and summer skies
Of children, and laughter and love,
And animals who live simply, and birds and bees,
And trees that gift us the breath of life,
Of songs to come, and worlds to be.
For sing I must, of these things and those,
Sing I must of the dark and the light,
For without a vision of joy,
All is lost, all is forsaken.
Without flowers and children and happiness,
And budding trees and butterflies and laughter,
We shall live and die, revolving
In awful darkness, without dreams
Without love, without breath, without joy,
Without friendship, without stories,
Sans everything, dissolving into dust
After a lifetime of nothingness.
So sing, and teach me to sing
Of what I must do, of what we must do
To make all of this vanish,
As we contemplate the sunlight
And the golden honey of our happier days,
As one half of the world reels about,
Dying by degrees in the descending darkness
Of a hell on earth beyond all imagining –
So that we can seek, and find,
A truer Peace, that Land which is ours
By right, and shall become ours again.
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In response to The Daily Post’s Daily Prompt: Sing
Tags: #DailyPrompt, #HomericReference, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #Sing, #TheDailyPost