Apr 21, 2016 Original Poetry, Senryu, The Daily Post
In response to The Daily Post’s Daily Prompt: Fog
Fog Rising
©April 21st, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
Curtain lifts with sun:
Fog rises and dissipates
Coffee clears my head.
Gentle words soothe me
Mist of despair vanishes
Thank you for your love.
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Tags: #Fog, #Metaphorical poem, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #TheDailyPost, #TheDailyPrompt
Apr 21, 2016 Free Verse, NaPoWriMo, Original Poetry
What the Mountain Heard
(Poem From Point of View of Echo’s Mountains)
©April 21st, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
Whom does she call, this Voice
So alluring, so full of anguish,
So rich with music, quickening
With languishing love,
So haunted by lost hope?
Whom does she mourn,
Surely the most forlorn, the
Most beautiful of nymphs
Ever to dance lightly
Upon my slopes,
This sylph smitten by love?
Innocent nymph, so
Free from travails ere now
Now, entrammeled by woe
Why do you cry and call?
Fallen into a spell that
Besets those who live,
Whom do you mourn?
Why did you succumb?
Look! Don’t cry. For I
Will magnify your voice
Thrice three times,
Again and again and again,
For you sing me the music I crave.
I will repeat your brave words
So they will be heard
Again, and again, and again.
Come, call out once more,
For I have grown to love you,
And though that proud lad
Gazing at his beloved pool
Heeds not the sound,
I know the Pool does,
For she creases her brow
And clears again – she will
Not allow your interference.
She will frown, and erase
The ripples you cause
With your cries, your voice.
Foolish Pool, keep your boy!
I’ll have my girl, for she learns
She is not loved, not by him.
She will wander my slopes
Over, and over and over,
Seeking what she will not find
I will love her, and she’ll
Not know me, not she who loves
A mirage, an emptiness, a reflection.
But I shall hold her voice
In my cradle of sound
Forever, and ever, and ever.
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And the NaPoWriMo prompt for Day 21:
And now, for our prompt (optional as always!) Just as Rosa Jamila’s poems often sound like they come out of a myth or fairy tale (and not always one with a happy ending), today I challenge you to write a poem in the voice of minor character from a fairy tale or myth. Instead of writing from the point of view of Cinderella, write from the point of view of the mouse who got turned into a coachman. Instead of writing from the point of view of Orpheus or Eurydice, write from the point of view of one of the shades in Hades who watched Eurydice leave and then come back. Happy writing!
Sent from my iPhone
Apr 21, 2016 Free Verse, NaPoWriMo, Original Poetry
What the Pool Saw
(Poem From Point of View of Narcissus’ Pool)
©April 21st, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
I am loved.
I know this to be true, because
When a beautiful young man
Leaned over, and gazed at me,
His eyes were a mirror
In which I beheld my
Own true beauty, my
Sky-clad translucence.
Entranced, I gazed back.
Gaia had sent him to me.
My loneliness now arose
Like mist from a dream
And vanished in sunlight.
And I contrived to keep him
In my thrall, despite the ripples
That disturbed my gleam
Despite the dream threatening
To sweep him away into
The chasm yawning beneath him,
Where he would’ve lost to me.
And somewhere, I heard
A forlorn voice, cascading
Like a silver waterfall
From the lonely mountains.
But I gazed at myself in his
Deep, brimming eyes, and
Was utterly
Lost.
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And the NaPoWriMo prompt for Day 21:
And now, for our prompt (optional as always!) Just as Rosa Jamila’s poems often sound like they come out of a myth or fairy tale (and not always one with a happy ending), today I challenge you to write a poem in the voice of minor character from a fairy tale or myth. Instead of writing from the point of view of Cinderella, write from the point of view of the mouse who got turned into a coachman. Instead of writing from the point of view of Orpheus or Eurydice, write from the point of view of one of the shades in Hades who watched Eurydice leave and then come back. Happy writing!
Sent from my iPhone
Tags: #NarcissusandthePool, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #PointofViewPoem
Apr 20, 2016 Free Verse, NaPoWriMo, Original Poetry
En Route to Toronto
©April 20th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
She flies along, skimming surfaces
With eel-ease, flowing through air
Purring now, growling at times,
This Traveler, swift as a swallow,
Carrying travelers, still as stone.
Companionable and old she is, but proud,
Unwilling to give up the ghost,
Nursed along by stubbornness.
The star-cradle bends low
As we fly horizon-wards
In a sunless space pierced by eyes
Streaming light –unblinking, lidless.
We converse about times past and present,
Of medieval castles and modern dwellings in cities and towns
Where the great Hum of humanity
Makes a song too passing strange to comprehend.
And we make the great Mother keen
While we ride her scarred body,
Criss-crossing her veins.
Our innocent Traveller – she, who
Drinks the ancient blood
Of dead Titans struck down in their prime
Along with the rest of her ilk –
Hums along absently, as she
Brings the slow, ineluctable
Collapse of all we know.
… Still, we like driving to Toronto.
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(I wrote this IN the car, on the way to Toronto — wrote it on my phone, at 11:31 p.m. Please forgive any lapse of language or imagination!)
In response to the NaPoWriMo prompt for Day 20:
And finally, our prompt (optional, as always)! Today’s prompt comes to us from Vince Gotera, who suggests a prompt very much in keeping with our poet in translation, a “kenning” poem. Kennings were riddle-like metaphors used in the Norse sagas. Basically, they are ways of calling something not by its actual name, but by a sort of clever, off-kilter description — for example, the sea would be called the “whale road.” Today, I challenge you to think of a single thing or person (a house, your grandmother, etc), and then write a poem that consists of kenning-like descriptions of that thing or person. For example, you might call a cat a mouse-stalker, quiet-walker, bird-warner, purr-former, etc. If you’re looking for examples, you can find one that Vince wrote here and a different example here. Happy writing!
Apr 20, 2016 Friday Fictioneers, Original Short Story, Uncategorized
Word Count: 100 words of text, exactly
Genre: Fairy tale? Demon-Tale!
Demon-Town
©April 20th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
I can’t take anymore, sighed Hans.
He’d been walking the fence for twenty minutes, trying to find a gap. THEY had segregated him, his family, and town, for unknown reasons.
Psst! came a voice from a tree beyond the fence.
Peering out, a young demon grinned wickedly, and said, Sell me your soul; I’ll let you all go free.
“Why?” asked Hans, incredulous.
I’m not paid enough for this. I need a soul. I’m hungry. Yours looks delicious.
Hans thought, If this is a hallucination, so be it.
By the time he breathed, “Okay,” the maw of darkness engulfed him.
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Thanks, always, to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, Fairy Blog-Mother, powerful story-weaver, and of Friday Fictioneers, and to Madison Woods (whose url I could not find) for the photo-prompt.
P.S. I wanted to write something about the Holocaust, but since Rochelle already wrote one, I thought, Head to fantasy world!
P.P.S. I’ll be travelling by car later this evening (to Toronto), and will not be able to visit any sites until tomorrow evening (we’re stopping on the way). Running around, getting things ready. I look forward to reading everyone’s stories.
Apr 20, 2016 Free Verse, Original Poetry
Questions For A New Odysseus
©April 20th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
All those years ago
Before you were ashes and dust
Before that muddy river bore you
Downstream, before more loss,
Before returning to mundane life,
Did you fall in love?
Did you see a demure golden lady
Perfect and pretty, full of
Doe-eyed allure, swing
Into your irregular orbit?
Did you fall in love or lust?
Did you remember your wife?
Did you remember your child?
Did you fling caution to the winds?
Did you say, “I’m damned anyway,
Might as well give in. My life
Brought some joy, but now
All is pain. I shall surrender –
My flesh is willing, my soul sore.
I need some love.”
And if you did, did it bring
Some joy, some peace, some
Shutting out of remembered loss?
Was there quiet oblivion,
A slow blotting, an erasure
An obliteration?
Did it all scatter like
Dandelion seeds on a
Wayward wind?
If it did, I am glad for you.
But if it did, why return?
And if you did resist, I hope
It brought you satisfaction.
And I hope your return home
Was worth it in the end,
Despite all the gods’ conniving
To fell you in your prime,
Despite all the storm-tossed
Terrors, the betrayals of friends,
The endless suffering you wrought
For yourself and others.
And I am glad for you that you
Came home, and I cannot imagine
How you survived it all.
So broken, so brave,
So ambiguous, so good
So full of doubt,
So full of faith,
So full of wanderlust
So full of homesickness
So full of unfulfilled dreams
So full of familial love
To enfold you, and hold
You until the day
You passed away.
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Tags: #ANewOdysseus, #NaPoWriMo, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #The Odyssey
Apr 20, 2016 Original Poetry, Senryu
Summer-Sky
©April 20th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
Sing of winters past
Sing of summer’s scorching scourge –
Fan me into coolth!
Let me sing that sky
And never be extinguished –
And let the rain fall!
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Apr 20, 2016 Original Poetry, Senryu
Sky-Poem
©April 20th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
Watch those skies flow by
Come, bridge me to remote worlds,
Climb those spirit lights!
Bright lights swing across
Skies so blue and gold and red –
Cut me not from them!
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Apr 19, 2016 Free Verse, Original Poetry, The Daily Post
In response to The Daily Post’s Daily Prompt: Fake
Fake-itude!
©April 19th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
How lovely to see you!
You don’t look a day older
(Despite the wrinkles, that is).
Such gorgeous ladies!
Fabulous beauties, all of you!
(Fabulous is for fifty-year olds!)
Oh, we must meet again, soon!
Where’d you get that dress?
It’s beautiful! So … colorful!
(I must make a note of it,
So I can avoid it.)
Call me, okay?
It’s been too long!
Will do, surely!
We have to get together!
I’ll call you, okay?
(In your dreams!)
You’re the best!
Isn’t she amazing?
She’s so talented,
So accomplished!
(So full of herself –
Wish she’d stop showing off!)
Hey man, you’ll be missed.
The place won’t be the same.
Let’s have coffee sometime.
Yes, sometime.
(In the next century!)
Let’s play some music sometime
Hang out, chill, you know?
Imbibe some, shoot the breeze,
Like the old days, man!
Sure, man! I’ll call you.
It’ll be like old times.
And how are you doing today, Miss?
(Like I care – wish you’d all go away!)
What’ll it be? Mochaccino? With skim?
Perfect! Nice choice, if I may say so.
No way? Chai with soy?
My favorite – you’ve got good taste!!
(If I taste it, I’ll puke –
These millennials are weird!)
Have a lovely day!
(And leave me alone!)
Thank you so much!
I wonder where you come from
India? How wonderful!
(I hope you’ll go back there –
Stupid people taking over our jobs
Make Amewica gweat again!)
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P.S. I don’t love this poem, but I was hard-pressed to write about fake things. It’s okay if you hate it. Just don’t fake it! 🙂
Tags: #Fake, #Humor, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #sarcastic poem, #TheDailyPost, #TheDailyPrompt
Apr 19, 2016 Free Verse, NaPoWriMo, Original Poetry
How to Clean Your House
©April 19th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
Want a clean home?
Snatch a dust pan and brush
Before the thought recedes,
Start The Beatles. Rush to it.
Revolver or White Album will do.
Start at the kitchen,
Then, stop. A thought strikes.
(Dishwasher needs emptying.
What I’d do for some magic!
Put dishes away. Sigh.)
After While My Guitar Gently Weeps,
Switch to Captain Beefheart.
Golden Birdies swoop(s) in,
Enters your soundspace, all crooked,
Fly irregularly around,
Like slashes of sun on steel.
Midway through dishes, remember
To gaze at the birds you love so much,
Fluttering magically, hungrily,
Outside the kitchen window.
Stop everything! Stop!
Write a poem about birds.
Make sure you include the words
Magical and delicate – oh, and
Don’t forget exquisite!
(Scratch that – too overdone!)
Yes, they’re hungry chickadees.
Open up your bird-feed box
Scoop a couple of cupfuls
Fill up that bird-feeder –
There, a duty done, see?
Steal a moment to watch
Morning sun filter in
Through your circle of
Deep, deep blue glass, like
Still waters of a tropical sea
Flowing, still, on your window-sill.
Blue glass with crackling lines
So fine, you see through it to
The other side of perfection.
You see how the flaw
Is perfection, frail, passing.
The flaw sings beauty,
Opens wide like a chasm–
You fall in, enspelled.
Focus for a few moments
On nothing at all, so restful!
– And yes, something too –
That swing hanging from a pine branch
Out in the yard – which your daughter
And her best friend made
With a plank of wood and ropes.
Childhood has no end, save age.
And nothing’s impossible in the Now.
Let your eyes rest on the swing
Go side to side, back and forth.
Will your body onto it, while
You watch from within your house.
Feel your legs push through the air.
You are free, a child, for now.
Remember, your dog needs her walk –
Remind your spouse to take her.
In mid-mid-age, we (or he)
Can use the exercise.
(I’ll take her out later.)
Having sent away spouse and dog
(Remember, you’ve got cleaning to do!),
Sit down, bang out your poem –
Your meditation, a moral calling,
A daily practice, like breathing, or
Playing music, or eating – calls you.
Make music, make poetry, stay alive.
(And if someone reads, sing to her, or him
Of what makes you dream,
Offer them some of it.
If they go away, be not sad.)
Oh, and yes, fold that laundry
Start a new pile –
Clothes are so important!
And so annoying!
(Of course, I would like to
Run naked through tall, green grass
A slim, young dryad,
Attended by butterflies,
In the sunlight
And mischievous fairies at night.
I’d collect pollen
On my sun-musked body;
Help the dying bees.
I would enrich my earth.
I’d sing songs to the sun and sky
And shout in joy, as I fall
Headlong into silver streams
In the rain-glutted woods.)
But you wouldn’t.
Too shy, too self-conscious
Too aware of widening
Middle-age, too aware
Of what’s proper.
Damn!
But now, back to the present.
Pick up brush and dust pan.
Sigh! But, oh wait!
You have to sweep first.
No vacuum for the likes of you!
Too noisy, too cumbersome,
Too electrical, too … grey!
Sweep away dust from corners
Sweep the floors, the stairs,
Sweep away chaos,
Make a pile of dust and fluff,
In the living room sits
A neat, shapeless sculpture.
Circle it, admire it!
The telephone rings.
(Always answer the telephone.
Could be fortune or misfortune.
You don’t need to have a machine
Deliver that kind of news.)
On second thoughts, don’t!
Could be a robocall.
Forget it – let it ring!
Add a few more lines, cut a few.
Then, rush outside to the garden
Before morning wanes –
Gaze your fill on brave daffodils
Surviving wild weather, defiant.
Recall Wordsworth, as you do.
Pleasure fills you.
(I awoke this morning from
A dream of dancing alone.
I was so young so light, and
Life was so free of dust!)
That reminds you …
Come back in, collect that pile
Leave no speck behind,
And drop it all with a sigh
Into the dust bin.
Good! Put the broom away!
Wash your hands!
You’re done!
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Today’s prompt from NaPoWriMo:
And now for our prompt (optional, as always)! Many years ago, “didactic” poetry was very common – in other words, poetry that explicitly sought to instruct the reader in some kind of skill or knowledge, whether moral, philosophical, or practical. Today, I’d like to challenge you to write the latter kind of “how to” poem – a didactic poem that focuses on a practical skill. Hopefully, you’ll be able to weave the concrete details of the action into a compelling verse. Also, your “practical” skill could be somewhat mythological, imaginary, or funny, like “How to Capture a Mermaid” or “How to Get Your Teenager to Take Out the Garbage When He Is Supposed To.” Happy writing!
Tags: #CaptainBeefheart, #CleaningHouse, #DidacticPoem, #Dust, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #TheBeatles, #Wordsworth