Vijaya Sundaram

Poet, Musician, Teacher, and Amateur Visual Artist

A Cold Christmas Pine-Tree — Day 9: Shape poem, about the cold, using anaphora, epistrophe and symploce

A Cold Christmas Pine-Tree

(Writing 201, Day 9: Shape Poem/Anaphora/Epistrophe/Symploce)

©October 14th, 2015

By Vijaya Sundaram

______________________________________________________________________

‘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!

______________________________________________________________________

Nap-Time

Nap-Time

©January 15th, 2015

By Vijaya Sundaram

So sleepy.
Washing over me is pure lethargy.
I lie in bed and type these words.
I cannot believe I’m going to … gasp … take a nap!
A nap?
Really?
Try going on a few hours of sleep every night for three nights in a row.
So, okay, it’s my own fault, I admit.
However, I insist that I was possessed by an evil spirit, which made me stay up till 2:00 a.m. last night, doing laundry and sweeping the floor.  Why?  Ask that evil spirit.  In any case, going to sleep at 2:00 a.m. was fine fine, except that I had to get up at 6:20 a.m. this morning.
So, now, I am wafting on a petal-pink magic carpet that lifts me ever so gently, ever so tenderly into a land that beckons.
And here I am, still resisting it!
I look around me, and I’m purely a creature made of a body.  My extremities tell me where I end, and the sheets begin, or the computer keyboard.
I feel my blood circulating sluggishly and contentedly through my veins.
Pure body.  Who cares about the bloody spirit?
Here are bones encased in flesh typing these words.
There are eyelids half-narrowed to take in blue computer light.
My skin feels happy, with coolness and warmth both.
I shall NOT think about those who are suffering right now.  I do it all the time, every day.  I shall enjoy these sybaritic moments.
My body is the only reality that IS.
This computer is ephemeral, though.
It’s going to go out of my reach now.
That’s actually nice.
See you later.