Mar 14, 2016 Uncategorized
Painting: Amore e Psiche (1707–09) by Giuseppe Crespi
Love and Soul, Soul and Death
©March 14th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
Don’t look at me, he said to her.
And trust in me, he said.
Don’t seek to see my face, he said
And so she was content.
And unseen spirits came to her
And brought her food and drink
They fanned sweet breezes, spoke to her
While she awaited Love.
But jealousy can rear its head;
And always makes a strike
Where there is but the slightest doubt.
Her sisters sowed these seeds:
Perhaps he is a monster fierce
Perhaps, he’ll kill you soon!
So you must strike the blow quite quick,
Or he will get there first.
Her knife and lamp in hand, she gazed
Struck mute at his splendour.
Her heart and hand a-tremble,
She dropped some oil on him.
And he, awakening to Soul
In all her trembling fear
Spoke bitter words that fell like blows
For fly away he must.
She sought him love-struck day and night
And wept for what she’d lost
And Love had fled, for she had tried
Unveiling Mystery.
And painful were her trials dread,
She wandered long and far
And, serving Aphrodite,
At last she came to Death
For Psyche always comes to Death
With two coins in her mouth
And come back safely to her Love
Awaiting at the end.
And Love and Soul can always be
Together, but unseen
And if you do read Love’s true face,
Prepare to cross Death’s door.
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Tags: #Death, #Eros and Psyche, #Giuseppe Crespi painting, #Love, #Original Poetry, #Soul
Oct 14, 2015 Original Poetry, Writing 201
A Cold Christmas Pine-Tree
(Writing 201, Day 9: Shape Poem/Anaphora/Epistrophe/Symploce)
©October 14th, 2015
By Vijaya Sundaram
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‘Tis
Almost winter.
And chill will soon set in
And bitter snow will quickly fall
Before the Fall comes
Tumbling down, before the leaves
Come tumbling down,
Before green apples turn to brown, before
Our smiles turn into frowns, when bitter
Cold will curl your hair, your skin, and then, with
Blank confusion, you’ll begin to
Layer up, and slide down streets, and find that you can chatter
With your mouth clamped shut,
And what you say, or dream, or write, or think won’t matter.
Too soon will pine-trees don the frost
Of tinsel, paper flakes of snow, and lights of gold with pride and joy
And hope and peace and love enwrapped.
And shining gifts will glow beneath, a star above,
Who cares a whit if you seek and find your love of Soul
In other domains, other spirits, other lands? Who cares a whit?
That matters not!
This matters–not
What you say, but
What you are by
Night or day — a
Shining, lovely star!
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Tags: #Love, #Soul, anaphora, christmas, Christmas tree, cold, epistrophe, fall, gifts, joy, Pine-tree, shape poem, Shape Poetry, spirit, star, symploce, Winter chill