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!

__________________________________________________

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

Oct 16, 2015 Uncategorized

No poem from me tonight — But there’ll be a sonnet from me tomorrow.  Meanwhile here are some sonnets to keep you company and gladden you as you go about your possibly sad and forlorn day, which might, perhaps, be stripped of poetry (I’m just being facetious — I know all your lives and days are filled to the brim with poetry!  🙂 ).

This first one is by William Wordsworth, and is one of my favorites.  I have often felt like Wordsworth did, but he lived in the early 19th century, so life should have been less frantic — just goes to show that the times, they aren’t a-changin’– they’ve always been bad:

The World is Too Much With Us

By William Wordsworth

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm’d;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature’s changing course, untrimm’d;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st;
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee

Ozymandias

by Percy Bysshe Shelley:

Tags: #Wordsworth, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Shakespeare