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`'-\_\_\ Poetry Splash! /_/_/-'`
'Poetry Splash! E-zine' Issue **012**
Date : 30 April 2000.
Frequency : Once every 15 days.
Arvind, Sangita, Pushkin Passey
1. Forms Of Poetry (Kyrielle)
2. ...The Delectable, Memorable Poem... (my love...By: ee cummings)
3. Poetry In/From India (from 'The End of Imagination' by Arundhati Roy)
4. Your Requests! (Roy Eugene Davis & Bob Fiddaman)
5. Let Us Connect With Poetry (Jill shows us the way!)
6. A Poem For You All -- From Me (A poem by Arvind Passey)
7. Comments, Ideas, Contributions from Readers (Daithi Liam Maolchalann,
Bob Fiddaman, Gena, and Sudarshan Das share their views and poetry)
My heart hasn't been behaving very properly this month. Technically, the
ECG simply went haywire on the 5th of April and later, my Angiogram too
did not seem to be encouraging. The doctors themselves are in a
fix...surgery when you aren't much over forty doesn't somehow seem to be
the right solution. So I am on medication, I exercise, I'm lying low for a
But while I was at the hospital, I penned a few poems and limericks. The
heart surely knows when to pitter-patter, add a few beats, swell, roll,
dance, and have fun! So scroll down and read one of the poems that I wrote
--* Forms Of Poetry *--
This is a French form of poetry and is has lines written in syllables.
Each line must have eight syllables.This poem is written in Quatrain
Stanzas where the last line of the first Quatrain is the refrain, and it
appears as the last line of each Quatrain. A Kyrielle can have any number
The Kyrielle looks like this:
Line 4...xxxxxxxB -- refrain
Line 8...xxxxxxxB -- refrain
Have fun composing Kyrielles!
--* ...The Delectable, Memorable Poem... *--
(What better than this poem where April has such a delectable reference!)
By: ee cummings
thy hair is one kingdom
the king whereof is darkness
thy forehead is a flight of flowers
thy head is a quick forest
filled with sleeping birds
thy breasts are swarms of white bees
upon the bough of thy body
thy body to me is April
in those armpits is the approach of spring
thy thighs are white horses yoked to a chariot
they are the striking of a good minstrel
between them is always a pleasant song
thy head is a casket
of the cool jewel of thy mind
the hair of thy head is one warrior
innocent of defeat
thy hair upon thy shoulders is an army
with victory and with trumpets
thy legs are the trees of dreaming
whose fruit is the very eatage of forgetfulness
thy lips are satraps in scarlet
in whose kiss is the combinings of kings
which are the keepers of the keys of thy blood
thy feet upon thy ankles are flowers in vases
in thy beauty is the dilemma of flutes
thy eyes are the betrayal
of bells comprehended through incense
--* Poetry In/From India *--
(Note: There isn't much difference between poetry and prose that is
poetical. I have for you, a paragraph in prose...and you will agree that
it has lots of poetry in it. This is taken from 'The End of Imagination'
by Arundhati Roy.)
"The only dream worth having, I told her, is to dream that you will
live while you're still alive and die when you're dead. (Prescience?
'Which means exactly what.' (Arched eyebrows, a little annoyed.)
I tried to explain, but didn't do a very good job of it. Sometimes I
need to write to think. So I wrote it down for her on a paper napkin. This
is what I wrote: To love. To be loved. To never forget your own
insignificance. To never get used to the unspeakable violence and the
vulgar disparity of life around you. To seek joy in the saddest places. To
pursue beauty to its lair. To never simplify what is complicated or
complicate what is simple. To respect strength, never power. Above all, to
watch. To try and understand. To never look away. And never, never to
--* Your Requests! *--
(Some of you sent in requests to try and locate some motivating poetry.
Well, here it is...a few lines from LIVING IN GOD by Roy Eugene Davis.)
In the darkest of our dark nights,
the inner light ever shines.
To know that God is the reality of our lives
is to be imbued with hope,
to have faith that regardless
of any condition which may challenge us,
our highest good is assured.
The Intelligence-Power that produced the world
is superior to any situation.
Train yourself to be absolutely fearless
in the face of trouble of any kind.
Circumstances are only appearances
on the screen of space-time.
Their supporting causes can be modified or removed
by right understanding and skilled actions.
Life's processes are ever-becoming,
always flowing and changing.
(Bob Fiddaman from Birmingham UK (firstname.lastname@example.org) has sent
in these four lines to be shared with you all. Enjoy!!)
I have this little dog
his name is simply 'Fag.'
Every now & then
I take him for a drag!
--* Let Us Connect With Poetry *--
>>JILL SHOWS US THE WAY<<
Some time back I got an e-mail from Jill (email@example.com)
that also had two poems besides encouragement for me. When I read the
poems I realized that they they were wonderful and had in them the
essential ingredients that not only make or form a poem but ones that
encourage others to fall in love with poetry. The 5-S logic of poetry:
Jill has the power to SEE within herself,around her, and stroll in the
arms of time to pick and choose some moment that she wants to SHARE with
others...or even herself, if she chooses. Very deftly she then SIMPLIFIES
the complex molecules of emotion and situation, re-arranges their SPELLING
so that they make sense (or cast the right spell, one may say!) and then
SWELLS this trimmed moment with the right amount of words to give it form.
And thats it! She knows how to connect with poetry.
Read her two poems...you'll agree with me.
**FRIENDSHIP IS YOU AND ME**
Friendship is you and me and the years
of finishing sentences, and noting fears
no one else could comprehend
that threaten to paralyse. When you send
your quiet sympathy with loving eyes
and greet old revelations with surprise.
Friendship is woven delights and cares
of past and future years, when we compare
inner thoughs and exchange dreams
of grandiose and unrealistic schemes.
When each day brings unexpected treasures
resonant with anticipated pleasures.
I'm reconciled to life's sorrows and flaws,
As long as friendship such as ours endures.
**SCHOOLDAYS ARE THE HAPPIEST........**
I sit, seemingly alert and aware.
Want to know the truth?
I'm not there.
'Cos when I try really hard, I find
I can leave my class behind.
Miss's voice grows really dim
And I disappear somewhere within.
She can never reach me here
far away from number-fear.
"Silly, stupid little dunce
Just listen. Listen, now for once.
How can four and six be nine?"
Beats me, it happens all the time.
Does it matter? Not to me.
In my retreat, I'm home and free.
You see, they think I'm still around.
But no, like a fox, I've gone to ground.
They can't reach my hidden lair
Scream all they want - I don't care
I'm not there....
--* A Poem For You All -- From Me *--
**AS I LAY IN A HOSPITAL WARD**
When all around are oxy masks
And heaving sighs astride some groans
To write some rhymes seems like big tasks--
How to give words to lonesome moans?
And then one sees the nursing staff
Flit busily from here to there
With silent smiles, whiffs of a laugh
Floating, spreading a lot of care!
They roll the trolleys full of drugs
And monitor what must be done
They silence moans and such-like bugs
For all the time and yet have fun.
Once in a while they do go wrong
And hear harsh words from visiting docs
Or the matron will come along
With strictness in her voice as locks.
In spite of all this they retain
Their spirited zest, injecting life.
Not for a moment they refrain
>From tackling well a patient's strife.
And this is what I must now share
And this is what we all must learn:
To care, to bear must be our fare
Despite what waits at any turn.
Comments, Ideas, Contributions from Readers
Daithi Liam Maolchalann (firstname.lastname@example.org) writes:
"Limericks are considered French in origin according to many sources,
including "The New Book of Forms" by Lewis Turco. This book is considered
a reputable source."
...Thanks Daithi. I'm sure our readers will appreciate this info. Remain
in touch...and do keep sending your poems & suggestions.
Bob Fiddaman 1998 (email@example.com) has sent this lovely
poem for us all:
GOD'S THUMBPRINT IN THE SKY
God's thumbprint in the sky alongside
Stationary pinpricks of light,
Some blinking, twinkling.
A black duvet with countless punctures
Hiding the light beyond infinity.
There's a question mark tilted,
Maybe it holds the answers?
When the sun sleeps
The sky explodes with dot to dot images.
Tonight they are clearly visible,
The cotton wool balls are somewhere else,
Sprinkling their waters, putting up blinds.
Someone, somewhere, shoots bullets across the sky,
I see them flash by.
There's only one colour behind the duvet,
Where there is no night, no darkness.
Light beyond the realms of understanding,
The holes giving us hope.
God's thumbprint a continual reminder
Of what we are and where we are going.
Beautifully done site, I loved all the wonderful poetry. Thanks for
bringing all these poems together in one place. I especially enjoyed the
Indian poets, so much passion! I have a poetry site. Of course nothing
that compares to these but, nice. Visit sometime if you like. The URL is
Peace and prosperity to you.
...Thank you Gena! Encouragement is something that is always welcome.
Sudarshan Das (firstname.lastname@example.org) from Delhi has sent a poetic vision
of what we all have encountered at one time or the other. Read on...
His address is:
Ratna Sagar P. Ltd
Sale, sale, sale
It is a grand sale
Quality is nice
Very reasonable price.
My eyes are for sale.
You will be happy to uproot their dreams
And you will have great opportunity fill them in tears.
Come on, make me blind.
Sale, sale, sale
It is a royal offer
Price is fine
You will not lose anything
My blood is for sale.
Its group is OUniversal donor
You will be able to extract rubies.
Sale, sale, sale
It is the sale of the millennium
You will be surprised
It costs no price
A gift item
For those who purchase
Both my blood and eyes.
It is my heart.
You will have the finest chance
To kick it hither and thither
And you will get a great pleasure
To crush its love into dust.
It is the millennium offer
You cannot lose it.
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Until The Next Issue
Rhyme away your time!
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