Vijaya Sundaram

Poet, Musician, Teacher, and Amateur Visual Artist

Resurgence

Resurgence
©April 8th, 2017

By Vijaya Sundaram

Look!  It’s raining all around!
See the water rushing down

Down the streets, and in the town
Down the gutters, sodden grounds!

Down into the river, flowing.
Water, swelling, rising, growing.
Swollen rain, surprising, throwing
Caution to the winds a-blowing.

Buds appear on lilac trees.
Buds appear with sudden ease,
Bursting from their hidden seeds,
Bursting with a need to be.

Bursting with purple-to-see
Bursting with abandoned glee
Bursting amidst sticks and weeds,
Unrelenting in their speed.

Spring comes to us like a child
Vulnerable, naked, wild,
Begging to be rocked, beguiled
With songs of love, delighted smiles.

Catch that wildness, trap that hue
Give your life that which is due
Make it springtime, make it through.
Make yourself a child, anew!
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Today’s Day 8 NaPoWriMo 2017 prompt reads:

…I’d like to challenge you to write a poem that relies on repetition. It can be repetition of a phrase, or just a word. Need a couple of examples? Try “The Bells” by Edgar Allan Poe, or Joy Harjo’s “She Had Some Horses”. Poe’s poem creates a relentless, clanging effect through the repetition of the word “bells,” while Harjo’s repeated use of the phrase “she had some horses” and variations thereof gives her poem poem its incantatory effect, while also deepening its central philosophical conceit of what things are the same and what things are different.

NaPoWriMo 2017

Suddenly

Suddenly
(A Sonnet)

©April 11th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram

The water mirrors all the black and green
Of rocks (with rippled gold from sudden stone),
And trees, whose branches sway in singing wind,
As my dog and I walk in these woods, alone.

Our days were filled were bitter cold and dark
But clouds fill up with sun today and bloom
Like crocuses which, storing warmth, unfurl
Growing strong in gentle Gaia’s womb.

The wind is high, the trees all sing and sway,
A bird haunts me with lonely song up high,
A little snake goes sliding by, green-striped,
And ducks slice water in a pond nearby.

In solitude and company, I see
How suddenly all spring comes home to me.

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Submitted to NaPoWriMo 2016, in response to the Day 11 prompt:

And now for today’s (optional) prompt! Today, I challenge you to write a poem in which you closely describe an object or place, and then end with a much more abstract line that doesn’t seemingly have anything to do with that object or place, but which, of course, really does. I think of the “surprise” ending to this James Wright Poem as a model for the effect I’m hoping you’ll achieve. An abstract, philosophical kind of statement closing out a poem that is otherwise intensely focused on physical, sensory details. Happy writing!

NaPoWriMo banner copy

Rebirth – A Hopeful Sort of Poem

Rebirth – A Hopeful Sort of Poem
©April 4th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram

April is the cruellest month
Taunting and teasing,
Bursting with wickedness,
Squalling winds, blowing snow,
Budding leaves, blooming crocuses,
Cerulean skies, carefree clouds,
Leaden skies, lethargic clouds.

Yes, April is the cruellest month
A harpy dressed as a lady
Full of glee, full of rage,
Full of life, and full of death
Full of bulb-destroying fury.
And yet, and yet …
She brings me hope that
Soon, Spring will rise again.

And when Spring rises,
April will collapse quickly, a
Deflated balloon, a house of cards,
A puff-pastry full of hot air.
And May will arrive, serene,
Beatific, a lady in green and lilac
With zephyrs fanning her brow,
And birds caroling to her,
As she reclines, smiling, upon
A grateful Earth.

And we shall shout for joy
And dance in the green
And make little circlets of
Daisies and pansies for those
We love, and celebrate the
Birth of a New Earth.

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NaPoWriMo prompt for April 4th: 

In his poem “The Wasteland,” T.S. Eliot famously declared that “April is the cruelest month.” But is it? I’d have thought February. Today I challenge you to write a poem in which you explore what you think is the cruelest month, and why. Perhaps it’s September, because kids have to go back to school. Or January, because the holidays are over and now you’re up to your neck in snow. Or maybe it’s a month most people wouldn’t think of (like April), but which you think of because of something that’s happened in your life. Happy (or, if not happy, not-too-cruel) writing!

Rhymed Season: Spring – Haiku 1
Crocus Longiflorus by Meneerke bloem (2010)   Bluejay By William H. Majoros – Own work

Rhymed Season:  Spring – Haiku 1
©March 20th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram

Rain and bulbs and sky –
Blue-jays and geese flashing by –
Spring-time makes me sigh.
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Robin-Spring

A robin stands in bright, young grass

Under a bough of white blossoms —

Whose cherry tree stands, protective

And proud ,with outstretched arms.

I understand spring is here.

And that it’s beautiful.

And it’s life leaping up

Ready to fight.

And the robin hops, happy

Inquisitive, curious, its bright eyes

Darting all around.

It looks happy.

And I should be glad.

I shall be, I will.

Yes.

Spring and Rain, and Flowers and …

Spring and Rain, and Flowers and Dog

©April 26th, 2014

 By Vijaya Sundaram

Rain erases with gentle

Pearly, indifferent mercy

All that ever was that died.

 

And with one wash, she

Brings forth life anew.

 

Daffodils nod along the paths,

Pink hyacinths and purple ones

Glow amidst a young green

Pushing from a pulsing earth.

 

Narcissus and Puschkinia

Bright, cheerful pansies,

Close to the earth, but undeterred

All beautiful, all simple —

 

No terrors, no hopes, no fears,

No egos, no sorrows, no losses,

No working for a living,

No guilt about idleness,

No chasing after dreams,

No saying “no” to things.

All saying “yes” to Life

 

— Even when it comes along

In canine form, sniffs, springs,

Laughs soundlessly, and

SNAP!  A pansy is gone!

 

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April Sun

April Sun

©April 17th, 2014

By Vijaya Sundaram

 

Blueness crowds the sky.

Sun-gold from up high,

Shoots down streams of gold

And pierce the bitter cold.

Breaking into splinters,

Falling shards of winter,

Shatter round my feet

As I walk down the street.

The Place I’ve Come to Live

The Place I’ve Come to Live
©By Vijaya Sundaram
April 20th, 2013

I wish I knew more about everything
And I wish I didn’t.
I’d love to know the names
Of those little blue-edged white flowers
Growing close to the soil amidst ferns
Which we planted years ago,
Probably memorizing their name.

I’d love to know the names of the trees
Pushing their way into Spring,
In all kinds of weather
In the woods close by, where
Invisible animals come out to play
In the moonlight, and small snakes
Slither away in April.

I wish I knew why music moves me so much,
And has taken residence in my body
So that I cannot move without
A beat or a song pulsing in my blood.
I wish I could tell you why the face
Of my daughter, or of all children
Fills me with the greatest urge
To protect, to cherish, to save.

I wish I could say that I would
Have run, without a thought
Towards that explosion, despite
My fear of what it could do,
But I do not know whether
I would have been a heroine.
(We’ll never know, will we?)

I wish I could tell you that
I would have been the first
To rush up and pinch a bloody
Artery or vein of a man in shock,
Who, having lost both legs,
Managed to write the words:
Bag.  Saw the guy.  Looked right at me.

I wish I could tell you that
I’d know exactly what words to say
To those who lost their legs:
I know how you feel?  I feel your pain?
My father lost his left leg
And some toes on his right?

I wish I could say: Kill the man
Who did this crime, maim him,
Torture him, make him scream.
But something doesn’t let me,
Like a hand, pulling me back, putting
A calming palm on a fevered
Forehead, making it cool down.

And, meanwhile, elsewhere,
Millions live their lives
In fear, unplumbable sorrow,
Unfathomable hunger and rage.
I wish I could say something
To everyone, be everywhere,
Do something useful.

But I sit here, paralyzed, mute
Looking out at a quiet, peaceful
Backyard, with those little
Blue-edged white flowers,
Growing close to the soil,
Which I planted years ago,
And whose name I’ve forgotten.

I wish I could say something
About more what happened this week.
All I can say is I’m glad it’s over.
But it’s never over, is it?
Knowing more doesn’t help.
Not knowing is unbearable.
But I have to accept this, for
This is the place I’ve come
Finally, to live.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The End ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spring, in Pigtails

Spring, in Pigtails
©By Vijaya Sundaram
April 17th, 2013

The sun shone, jubilant, joyous, gold.
The grass was new-born, bursting forth
Like song from pursed, pinched lips.
The sky shone cold-blue, flooded with warmth

The children played on slide and swing.
I sat and watched my little girl
Racing about, her beauty breaking through
Like Spring between the cracks in the
Winter-clutched sidewalks.

Italian ice, lemon and watermelon,
Cold water chasing it down,
Brought sweetness and surprise.
Flinging herself into the air,
Her Groovy Girl Doll(Nicole)’s
Sheer joie de vivre, matched
My little girl’s, her pigtails flying.

And these:

My pink and blue-clad child,
Flying about, glee-filled, singing.
Reminding me that this is life.
Dogs surging about, teenagers skipping
Parents calling, sunshine dripping
Down on my upturned face.

And for a moment, grief and rage
Scudded away, clouds driven by sun
Into a corner of the sky.
And in that moment, peace bloomed
And momentary joys took root.
Of these, are our memories made.
Upon these, are our lives built.

Today was beautiful,
And I was glad.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The End ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A Trio of Quick Couplets

Pollen

©By Vijaya Sundaram

March 27th, 2013

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My dry eyes sting —

Could this be spring?  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~The End~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Burgeoning

©By Vijaya Sundaram

March 27th, 2013

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Faces are blooming.

No more glooming.

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My Golden Rule

©By Vijaya Sundaram

March 27th, 2013

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Everyone matters.

Mend, don’t shatter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~The End ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~