A grand praise for Garden Radhamani sarma

 

Poem of the week: The Garden by Nicholas Grimald

A grand praise for Garden

Who will not like grand theme of garden?

Who would abhor entering into the blissful

Spot unless infected with cold or similar such?

Her Muse, already invitatory notes to compose

Song in praise of sweet aroma of garden’s flower,

Buds, blossoming spell on her mood and mind

Set for another journey celestial and sacred;

Herbal roots with tiny upcoming leaves,

Medicinal care for cure for long ailment

Dictated and preserved in scriptures for long,

 By Sages and sagas, of long Repute in histories

Carved and cared with all veneration and due respect;

Bees buzz in morn and eve, on honeyed flowers,

 Around buds, a coil for them in and around 

Seasons full of honey and sweet perfume,

When thrill  for imbibe proves never ending,

At times, buds bar closing themselves,

For mankind a wonder unheeded.

Leaves of medicinal care and endure

For mankind in dire necessity and timely care.

Agriculture  and sericulture other  feeds

On the tool  of gardening, provided full flow

Of water  and  tilling, good soil  and deep plough.

 Medicine  and food from leaves, greenery

In plenty for Nature ever  stays in gardens

With unfailing aids,  at all times.

My muse now ready to compose

Songs in praise of gardens and  yields.

what and where is demon?

 what and where is demon?

what and where is demon?poem of the week: A Little Catechism from the Demon by Edwin Morgan

what and where is demon?

From morn till evening,

Questions throng your mind,

already disturbed, unable

to reach or find answer.

  Internalized questions about 

Mountains, fire, deep and river

All aspects of Nature don’t stop;

Thunder and deep boom around;

Somewhere something is hanging

Or pushing you ahead on march;

Film and villain, war and victory

roll on from victories and defeats,

still a query arises where is the self?

Demon or thinking or evil 

Set out to spoil your make,

Your karma or consciousness?

Could be demon hiding from within

enacts a drama either for good or otherness,

all proceeding from your thinking mode

demon for negative, angel for prosperity.

All time answer for my introspection.

 Poem of the week: The Mower’s Song by Andrew Marvell

 After ( guardian)

  A day in grass and lawn

Day in grass, day on meadows

Sing and jump mow and lawn,

My field of grass, field of study,

The green smell  an aura 

runs along my blood

As  nature did for the great  Bard.

Moment of pine, cut the blade of grass

But a flower smiling with nod

I leave with care to the edge of lawn;

Sorrow sings a song not joyful

for days of sad moments still linger

her moments spent  now with grass nod;

ye, grass  and meadows don’t fall

for earth replenishes your growth

but my heart still holds her whom 

I loved once, but she forsook hard

She  willful pushed me aside

From where I am yet to regain and grow.

 Age of machines, age of innovations,

flights, pulverized food, easy mode,

food in form of tablets, oranges 

in machines, mixie,grinders,

rocket to propel our desire 

straight to moon, moon landing 

curiosity dipped in dedication,

today children in classes, 

in private hours, marvel at moon;

orange peel on ground, earthbound,

when we  land to moon, a history 

culled out, deepens in our efforts; 

after all the culminations, success,

discoveries, a time for longing,

a longing for time, your own time,

aloneness, to think and move, strong

and stable, your horizon of choice.

After  all this, we need our own

Time, aloneness, to brood and invent,

Write and compose, to publish and bind.

Guardian’s The Age of Cardboard and String

 

GGuardian’s  The Age of Cardboard and String

Age of machines, age of innovations,

flights, pulverized food, easy mode,

food in form of tablets, oranges

in machines, mixie,grinders,

rocket to propel our desire

straight to moon, moon landing

curiosity dipped in dedication,

today children in classes,

in private hours, marvel at moon;

 

orange peel on ground, earthbound,

when we  land to moon, a history

culled out, deepens in our efforts;

after all the culminations, success,

discoveries, a time for longing,

a longing for time, your own time,

aloneness, to think and move, strong

and stable, your horizon of choice.

 

After  all this, we need our own

Time, aloneness, to brood and invent,

Write and compose, to publish and bind.

 

 

 

sailing blissfully in the happy new year

 sailing blissfully in the happy new year 2022

In pursuit of a philosophy Radhamani sarma

 

Poem of the week: The Jailbird by Maurice Riordan

  In pursuit of a philosophy:

 Often a  persistent feeling rouses in me

 An awareness, of something new, strange,

 unusual, requires my visits, my scrutiny,

  Break from routine, from shell;

 but from sometime, it was in isolate ward,

 within the corner of my heart, soul’s room, 

  in its own ward, overcoming all temptations,

t times, yields no doubt some small tempts, harmless,

 yet, an awareness taps it, for  the soul to break

away, from the   little  show, to higher realm;

now is the time to rise skywards, 

soar higher in pursuit of  a philosophy.

 

Watch over pool

 

 

Watch over pool

 

Looking from atop

 So many  in our purview,

taking us by surprise, cool,

a  pool   comforting spirit,

where a frog  jumping ,

your jump too entwined.

Why there are  more in number

One after  another,  their homes;

Tadpoles breed, in calm,

 encouragement for writers,

a comparison with imitation

for their writing oeuvre;

 you see a whirl in water,

stirring in circles, big and small

a drawing in water perhaps;

dry roots are part and parcel

of life circle,  allowing predation

in multiples;  flora  and  fauna

all looking for  radiance.

Poem of the week: Wherever I Go … by Jennifer Rahim (After Guardian)

 

 

Wherever I go,

Land or river, or sea

keeps me and my being

afresh with a feel of cling,

a bond of not dilution

at any cost; nor digression;

I hold in esteem

the place, the soil, the ground,

always a merry go round,

those I left long ago,

or they that are far away ;

so many   washed eggs

on shore, so much white surf

break and splash, yet on the same

unique time-honored path;

after all travel, come back

to same home and peace.

 

 

 

Poem of the week: Homesick by Hugo Williams

 

Where  are these young and innocent

lost perhaps from their home towns,

Or hired for labor, escaping from servile

authoritative  handcuffs, landed here

with wounds or cuts or injuries,

could be in search of jobs in this hospital

where I am lying sick, similar to their predicament.

So much in their faces, I can read 

faces  are maps , depicting sad irony,

plights or missing their parental affection;

 now they tend  to care for me,  spirit

of dedication and  service, unquestioned;

 my nurses, these lost souls, me  longing

for change to go back to my village,

all sail in the same boat, going back

 to our villages ,our places of  roots.

 

After Guardian’s Rest.

 

 

After Guardian’s  Rest.

 

Oh! Earth, be close with her

Always wary and care for her well-being,

 Extend your hand of reason, a realm

Fair in times of distress  and digression,

Share  her merry laughter  and mood,

Till her time fate sealing her end,

 Slowly lead her to the moment of silence

and resignation, song and celebration

Serenity and lull for another move;

Still getting shaped and silent.

She  closes  her eyes, against her will

Her body unmoving on a cot,

All by herself,  only Eternity hugs her

For another world, realm, and garden,

Where she reaps plenty of peace.

 

Poem of the week: Montale’s Lemons by Ishion Hutchinson

 

 

Poem of the week: Montale’s Lemons by Ishion Hutchinson

 

 How much of lemon flows..

How much of lemon and   lemonade flow….

In her  home of  summer garden

 Yellow lemons as big as   big

as her jewel box, special mellow

coming out of orchard, where boys

buoyant with kites  play and aim

lemons, no longer they are toys to play;

 

lemons, trees, special aura from garden

as if from their jar just pounded lemons

with juice and flavor to serve a treat

of some VIPS and guests of gathering vital.

Majestic, the master of the house enters

Not askance at the boys, but with all

endeared looks of favor and affinity.

 

Swinging a   book of classics in his hand,

Master looks up at those of luminescent

Lemons hanging as if attached to the leaves.

All to feel at home, to feel the imbibe aura

of lemon and lemonade, a victorious flag  atop.

 

My home, my place of remedy and calyx

Where lemon blossoms are  handy in all shapes.

Glory of morn (for Oct 2021) RADHAMANI

 

 

Glory of morn      (for   Oct 2021)

 

His milking the cow

In the early morn,

when dawn and wisdom

Of  sunlight  merge

in his   agile fingers

managing the show.

Indeed a tough show

for the dead calf  all tied

made to stand before the cow

to give a fond affection, by lick.

 

 

it is not an easy show,

for  pity for dead  and alive

runs in between there;

  the owner and sweet

cute little girl   of five

witnessing agile the usual;

a custom she does not

want to miss, for the

taste of first sip of milk

child eager   NOT to miss

 

fresh and accustomed;

far  off   somebody stands

for a philosophy, to be

comprehended complete:

why almost  an adage

somebody’s toil

 elsewhere the beneficiary.

Happening  around us

Happening now unquestioned.

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

All by yourself Radhamani sarma

 

Poem of the week: Musings by William Barnes

All by yourself

A summer  to behold, to experience

With all flowers  and gatherings,

by pool and pond and kites and fishing nets

A joy pure in summer.

By my side, summer fair, dealing fair,

 Visits to city  fair  in colorful apparels

Unique  and till evening sharing all joy!

Sunsets  with colorful ambience,

But my mood of writing by river,

Unbated with my quill and flair,

no girl in the past, no love failed,

for home  and duty replete with care :

time’s calculation  in different compartment,

makes me set on another  journey,

coals ’coats  and jerkins in wintry bed

 make me ruminate on  different shed,

seasons  and shifts are there permeate,

but nothing like fair summer in bloom

and trees’ blossom with fragrance

all touch and go  your mood  and mind

summer  grand is on its bloom.

Poem of the week: Before the Map by Carola Luther ( guardian) Night’s warmth they are:

 

Poem of the week: Before the Map by Carola Luther ( guardian)

Night’s warmth they are:

We need our imagination,

We need our specific likes

to be explored and effected;

 I write, I sense a special 

sense of hills, their stay

by mound and by floors,

 I call them, cows, cattle,

 the waste, the mound

 the coil to roll, create

 a mood of mystery and awe.

In my mind’s map 

they keep rolling 

I keep assigning them

their own places, status,

smells and distance,

 my pastime, my pleasure;

in the world vast, they 

give me company immense

in their innocence, ignorance.

Multidimensional approach

 

 

Mystery surrounds us

My school days adventure

 by the riverside of gurgling pot,

the pond where  fish and salted pickle

for curd rice serve appetizer ;

my school days of charm and play,

sky changing color, sudden clouds

sweep into your nerve for your 

home without electricity, home

without the modern unfractured,

hurdle for your studies, inculcating

fear at the same time, for the nights

eerie and make you feel some spirit

around you keeps always watching;

  

A fear always runs through,

Fear for your living in and around

Your village where belief and charm

Mostly govern every move, every hour

arresting your furthering stand;

grandma’s stories, grandma’s belief,

akin to that of mysterious things

in life, water encircling, the currents,

the force and power, a redoubled mystery

 governing all .Eternity and death

already in and around the spirits,

where and why they lead, I know not.

Running after the sudden light

 

Running after  the sudden light

Where is the light from?

Where is the power from

to this floor of   keen and delve?

Nodding grass, the puffed wind,

The green smell in dawn’s wake,

the light,  my awareness that

we all fly on the wings of Time.

What you call, sudden awareness,

 A mood, salient best befitting your

 Line falling into mine, Time sets 

Everything right. I have sensed this

In a mood of rumination, a mindset

Converting this light into mine;

A sort of after life for both

Prediction a safe sail and move

When you and I will have  Time

 A different in its soul,

Merging with our soul.

Till my last my love for thee:

 Poem of the week: Love and Death by Lord Byron

Till my last my love for thee:

What can separate us both

clinging to each, so loyal,

So strong and sturdy, every moment:

I watched you in all my earnest.

Every distraction on your side

away from my genuine move,

every affectionate step unalloyed

from me, my words beyond  articulation.

Fever or earthquake or fury 

of nature in all its tides,

overpowering mankind, 

but you shall be away from all.

Me wrought in pangs and fury

 of convulsions, saddened by those

days of earning and love,

dipped in robe of loyalty, still;

I will rock in earthquakes,

Roll in drums of wars and vigor,

Whether you reciprocate 

Or not, still love you till my last.

Poem of the week: The Wife of Usher’s Well

 She was  a wealthy woman

of  care  and  caution and pure,

Who had brought up her  gifts,

three sons, whom she bestowed,

personal care and affection

unalloyed all along.

When one morning they left home

Hopefully for better prospects,

She waited with cool and positive

Patience, her  home always with prayers

and  chanting both morn and eve.

Whereabouts of three  she is yet to know

Some said,   could be they were drowned,

Some opined, they were abroad,

 Some felt, collective business loss,

Hence, they would return after a long,

 Northward would she always pray,

 For the return of her blessed three;

She woke up from sleep and anxiety,

“That her children would come 

but will not stay along,”    was  it a mystery,

Or weird, a prediction from far off?

Her motherly affection wants 

at least once their face, their smile,

Their company, rest, leaving it to Time.

 

Poem of the week: The Concert by Edna St Vincent Millay

All  on a concert

This argument between them

equally agile and in fighting  mood

like a bouncing  ball in a fierce  hand:

all  for permission to go to concert

since music in her  blood, unabated;

she   pleads, cringes, stoops

out of affection and company in hall

where time spent with him will be time

precious and smooth; yet his concurrence

is awaited.

A singing   town can I imagine?

 Does  she  enact an  opera, does

She  hear  a military dialogue

Or love  and hate  throwing 

Weapons  and  bloodless  wound?

Winning at last with her winning

Words prevailing upon him,

till now  unyielding, she gets ready

dresses  up   for  a change 

only to come back smiling 

endearing for a fresh start.

Thames’ charm, a magic…

 

Poem of the week: Thames by John Challis

‘ Thames’ charm, a magic…

Thames! Oh! The very name sounds 

like a magician, like wonder working 

machine in my mind, triggers a salient

 norm running   through whole day;

All days’ accumulation, running in its pile,

gathering of waste and sagged iron,

rusty musty wooden carves, bolts, sediments,

boats and commuters, Thames unyielding

finds a space within its space, a lure 

 to visitors; reveling from unfading sight

of unbounded joy, pulsating within;

Thames resurrects the past, history, hidden

mysteries, “drowned possessions”, jewels,

 coins, submerged souls tied up to boats,

a belief all proved to be futile, nullified,

now the blessed hour, turn of Thames,

undogging all agile farmers, resurrectionists,

those  ill-fated with suicidal tendencies;

a time for mourning for Thames, how

to surmount the chaos, Nature’s wrath

all past and recurring bow? Still finding 

a space to sleep, or rest, or  in its own

dream world, where is there is no space.

HADE OR FADE AFTER ‘Poem of the week: Sonnet 65 by William Shakespeare’

 

SHADE  OR FADE 

AFTER  ‘Poem of the week: Sonnet 65 by William Shakespeare’

LOVE and love’s rays 

Sing a song of radiance 

 with its abiding notes,

in summer’s lasting day,

its rays prevail over young

those in deep love;

no stone, nor weapon, 

nor angered throw 

shall withstand their sway;

their love like tender flower

nothing can suppress,

yet  stubborn sway persists

what can undo the dying ?

  the young don’t believe in time

nor do they rebel, yet a will

carries them ahead, bend them

to annihilation in days 

resistance  and not yield.

 

Walking along the green path

 Poem of the week: Beer for two in Böckler Park, Berlin by Lucy Burnett

Walking along the green path

Walking along the green path

You asked me love poem

but I composed a voluminous 

book of writes running beyond

describes and my cherished feeling 

running every nook and corner.

Tiling my umbrella protecting

You, I promised I would always

Stand by you in rain and sunshine;

A ring for your ring finger, 

Smile pouring out from your

Jubilant face, hugging me

With all warmth and innocence.

Waiting for a great day 

When our two hearts and souls

and bodies in unison celebrate

HIS move, now a coke 

Would we revel in .

Not that easy to say good bye

 Not that easy to say  good bye

Not that easy  to say  good bye

Welcome, welcome, we all like 

  the note and tone, cordial and congenial,

 but to bid good bye is sad and severe,

strict to your heart to digest;

yet some moments and times,

testing and teasing beyond your patience

drawing you  for more solution.

The  sea is  calm, full of lull, 

As if to partake of my farewell,

 Not upsetting my mood and mindset,

A baggage full of memories 

Cannot be erased, still and steady

  Wherever I am , waves  and shores

Recall me, the same sail and spot.

Poppies ( after guardian)

 After  guardian

We  are called poppies, 

Red in color, large  and boom

Governed by our own norms

and ethics, growing strong

we  are  like humans, share

our feelings, be it summer

or winter, but man is yet

to understand our moods;

our leader from above, 

the sun shines bright  and 

we have special   cordial 

note of permission to view

and imbibe warmth from sun;

 we  like to have the same

openness from mankind,

same colorful cordiality

ever lingering among us;

urge in us always  there

but humans lag behind;

one among is bold, make

us shine in group and bolder;

but growing depredation

killing us, taking our breadth 

away, we only seek solace

only from leader sungod.

n the eyes of the old and aged,

 

 

In the eyes of the old and aged,

all new and strange with warp

taking  a  mould  out of tune

and out of times, their own course,

 

where  questioning and quarrelling

grow bigger than reasoning

like sediments stuck up in zinc,

a process  hard  and difficult to remove.

 

handy wool in  dexterous ambience

yet  grandma’s eyes  synthetic  transparent

 getting torn pieces lie like abandoned

puppy in porch curled up  its future bleak.

 

grinders  and  mix  advanced yet

tongue and taste the same for all those

who believe in tradition  not short course.

She  believes not being vociferous.

 

What  about those days of carts

not cars when life dragged  by poor

and struggled :  now luxury eating

man’s conscience and control.

 

 

 

 

Once upon a time

 

Once upon  a  time

 

Once upon a  time

tossing up a  toy

Waiting for its return

Catching up to throw back

was  his  feat  and pastime.

 

Now he is in a different world

Not ruled by toys  and kites,

Nor small cycle rides, nor

On rocking horse when flying

With wild imagination high.

 

In a room of his own,

Desires  not his, but ruled

by instincts, dominated 

by jealous multiplied

quick turns of money making

 

rackets, mirage or miracle

only Time should descend

to prevail upon. All around

fake discipline intruding ,

questioning his spirits “why” ,

 

he is in doldrums,

knows  not how to convert

the whyness   into wellness,

no toy around , but only

mugs  and key boards ;

 

waiting  for his Muse

to spread  around

her  magic wand

so that he will be back

to childhood days innocent.

 

 

 

 

fter Guardian :Phantom or Fact: A Dialogue in Verse

   After  Guardian :Phantom or Fact: A Dialogue in Verse

What is that form that set in

Surreptious by my bed, cool 

and tender, nearer to my sway,

me wondering, if it  is a sudden 

angelic beauty with a silken cloth

wooing me with  endearing smile,

so sudden its arrival, a mystery

evolves around questioning if

it is   the doings of heaven or earth;

or gentle  bewitching into my soul,

sometime   back, it coiled around

in not so beautiful form, effacing

my youthful jollity and mirth,

into my mirror often, tapping 

its source; wait for both;

now comes a different form

friendly   shape, awakening 

dream or time playing  cards,

a game of strife or emotion

still a world of  conundrum 

Leaf color ( guardian)

 

Leaf color  ( guardian)

What greater grin and your pain 

of morn can you see than in gathered

leaves   spread in garden, once your

copious flow of green and verdant full; 

 now shining yellow with dimmed brown

swallowing green, borders on pond,

what do they teach us, tell us in this

fast decadent world, intense loosening

our hope, artificiality in seeds   dipped

by pests  and withered corners; not 

much swallows nor crows with cries

echoing the fields parched now;

our days are gone, with colorful

fruits hanging quench thirsts then.

Now only shadows in parchments.

Look up to skies for mercy and pour.

After Guardian ( …. It was my destiny to live long.

 

After  Guardian ( …. It was my destiny to live long.

Ten years of  cancer 

Struggle with drive and alone,

At times with rumination 

in  corner with lymph nodes,

Doctors’ notes on prescription

With chemo, death chasing me 

Slow and steady, fear running 

Across, eating me alive.

Death chasing me down

Not knowing that equally 

With vigor and will  I am 

Fighting back; Death chasing 

Me down ;with a warning

My days are numbered.

My deaths every minute

 unfulfilled like lines

extending in artists’ sketch

unabated  sill; desires,

 ageless norms, debts 

 and unsolved mysteries,

death chasing me down,

death on its adamant

steps giggling at me

me , reciprocating

with a reconciliatory 

smile, embrace sleep.