No more Dear Life Radhamani sarma

 

Poem of the week: Dear Life by Maya C Popa

 Dear Life

 

No more Dear Life

 

So much I have dived,

so vast enamored by beauty,

a keen desire to put all that

into my pocketful of glee

glamour in the limited scope;

 

both injury to body and soul,

all unforgivable and unforgettable

wounds lie deep beyond articulation,

still somewhere something forms

to surface  all to the  forefront.

 

Not knowing I should not cross

The boundary, not being aware

I would not pluck before ripening,

Not realizing, norms are more

Significant than nuts and bolts;

 

 In the rush ever, I cringed,

Craved for more than needed,

Now tightening ropes are there

around me, my neck and self,

unbelieving bent for more time;

 

all I wanted only nullification,

of the worst, restoration of all

lost, a grief with repentance

to redress  all  is  gone with wind.

A blissful nod of gratitude

To the Maker, my avowal now.

 

 

 

 

 

a poem after ( poem of the week: To … by Percy Bysshe Shelley

 

 

Poem of the week: To … by Percy Bysshe Shelley

 

Mind is clean, calm and not for chattering,

 Neither profane and soiled, giving way

Only for salutary endings and   positive

Beginnings with aura blithe and bright.

 

World of pity seems far off,

World of hope too elusive,

Yet hanging on a rope of faith

by your side I am steady and serene.

 

It is not mere love, nor longing,

A worshipful veneration for you,

Undisturbed and unquestioned,

Times will not change or check.

 

The night  does not prolong,

Desires for  the day amplify,

 Seek for Sun and serene

 for seduction Of sorrow .

 

Let us long for day ,

Bright star in our hands.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Not a victim to that false bait A take by Radhamani sarma

 

 Not  a victim to that false bait

 

Poem of the week: An Ode to Himself by Ben Jonson

 

Where am I  now?  Where was I ?

It is still bewildering to know

If ease  and sloth had their share

Equal in shaping me.

 

A desire to trample the “common moth”

Always lurking in me, but time

had its own measure and meter

to slow down its path and rectify.

 

My complex and greed

had hooked to a bait

until a call from above

Unleashed descends quick

 

to protect and guide

with a magic wand

of strength and assured will

on body soul and my Muse.

 

Make me not a victim

to  censure  and  praise

for all that is  gifted

is endured  and blessed

 

 

 

Broken things

 

 

Poem of the week: #family by Romalyn Ante

 

Broken things

Some  precious time I allocated

reading on broken things,

broken toys, broken window panes,

distorted for all purposes.

Why exception for bones, collar bones,

Fractured bones and bones beyond redressal.

 

Mother always comes to rescue;

When her anointed hands

touch my ribs and back bone,

no longer pain, a moment of pain

converted into boon. Waking up

gently after  hours of medication,

now  in a mood of meditation.

 

Broken things can be mended

But broken hearts beyond our ken

 Redressal. I go in search of something

 Which will stay, abide by my instinct,

My future safety and feel. Look into breakage,

Loss and gain, that is where my solace

Begins, sustains and strengthens me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Poem of the week: Please Do Not Touch the Walrus … by Caleb Parkin

 

 

A take after…

I decide to clamber up, despite my receding will,

After crossing so many mediums,

Stumbling blocks too, a fiberglass pathway,

Reaching destination of iceberg, a difficult

to describe. How   to describe thick cold ice

thawless, as human heart, especially in times

of distress and dilemma, bugging ever.

My imagination ever expansive as

Boat on widening path, woods floating,

Catamaran still catching our eyes

for the day, moving there. Islands

and beaches, merry spots as we read

in our books, volumes, surpassing our

imaginations. How fantastic our luxury

boat with all luxurious crew, sightseeing,

last to appear is walrus, our pride and delight

beyond our speed of flight into high regions.

 

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