Issue 16

Poetry Splash! -

(((((((((((((((((( Poetry Splash! e-zine )))))))))))))))))))))

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'Poetry Splash! E-zine'          Issue **016**
Date : 15 July 2000.

Arvind, Sangita, Pushkin Passey
Alternate URL:

(((((((((((((((((( CONTENTS )))))))))))))))))))))
1. Forms Of Poetry (Somonka)
2. ...The Delectable, Memorable Poem... (The Loch Ness Monster's Song)
3. Poetry In/From India (The Door...By: Savita Singh)
4. Your Requests! (A poem by Dylan Thomas)
5. Let Us Connect With Poetry (Setting Fire To Regenerate)
6. A Poem For You All -- From Me ()
7. Comments, Ideas, Contributions from Readers (Seshagiri Babu, Jill,
Danielle Swain, and Pramila Venkateswaran share their poetry with us)

A Note From The Editor:


Allow me to start with this lovely acrostic that Jill has sent 'Poetry
Splash!' It is wonderful...and I am thrilled. Jill also wrote that she was
on the brink of leaving the shores of poetry forever and then 'Poetry
Splash!' came along...and she decided to re-establish her links with this
life-giving obsession.
Jill's Acrostic (
Across the divide of boundless seas
Removed from icy English breeze
Vast is the distance spanned by you
In order to help the hapless few.
Nothing is too much for your pen
Donating your time for lesser men.

Problems are many.  What can you do?
Against the odds, you battle through.
Stirring our souls with poems sublime
Searching the world for hidden rhymes.
Everyone can be a poet, you say.
Yes, I agree I'm a poet to-day.
Great poem!
We'd also like to share some more poetry URLs with you all:
sitename: this heartless WORLD's Poetry Pages
submitted by `doc (
submitted by Sandra Hendricks (
Common Sense began as a site to assist truck drivers with the tremedous
stress that they undergo and endure every day and it as really grown.  We
have poetry, mazes for children, recipes, computer paintings and
more...but the most interesting thing we offer is our Commone Sense
Simplified (free self-help workbook
We have also updated our site on Ruskin Bond. you'll like it. My son
Pushkin has worked very hard on Macromedia Flash and Dreamweaver to make a
few substantial changes in it.
As there has been something wrong with the rediff uploading system, we
have been unable to update Poetry Splash! for quite a while. In fact, for
a couple of days the index page disappeared! So we have uploaded the
entire site on another server and the alternate URL is:
Until the next issue...bye!
Arvind Passey.

           --* Forms Of Poetry *--

This is a Japanese form of poetry that is syllabic in nature. So it is not
difficult to master.
Somonkas require two writers. I'll explain how...
A Somonka is an epistolary love poem made up of TWO TANKAS (Syllable
counts: 5-7-5-7-7-) and written by two authors. The first is a statement
of love, the second a response.
(Note: One person can pretend to be be two...arent we all J & H?...but a
Somonka would be really effective if two creative forces interact.)
I am writing a statement of love...hopefully some readers will send me a
response. Let us create a Somonka for 'Poetry Splash!':
Bits in bytes must go
 to you through mail. I know not
and I can not see
 your smile. Your thought hyperlinked
to these lines will complete us.

 --* ...The Delectable, Memorable Poem... *--
By: Edwin Morgan
Hnwhuffl hhnnwfl hnfl hfl?
Gdroblboblhobngbl gbl gl g g g g glbgl.
Drublhaflablhaflubhafgabhaflhafl fl fl --
gm grawwwww grf grawf awfgm graw gm.
Splgraw fok fok splgrafhatchgabrlgabrl fok splfok!
Zgra kra gka fok!
Grof grawff gahf?
Gombl mbl bl --
blm plm,
blm plm,
blm plm,
('Notes to the poems' in the book 'Poems on the Underground' says:
"The author explained in conversation that the lonely monster rises from
the loch and looks round for the companions of his youth - prehistoric
reptiles - and, finding nobody he knows, he descends again to the depths
after a brief swearing session. This was confirmed by a nine year old boy
in a workshop, who said the monster was 'looking for a diplodocus'. When
asked how he knew that, he said, 'It says so.' It does.")

         --* Poetry In/From India *--

(Savita Singh is a Lecturer in Delhi University. Her poems have been
published in Canada, India and the UK. This poem was published in 'The
By: Savita Singh
There was a door here a minute ago.
There was the testimony of history winking at me
And when the recognition came,
It was all blood like history again.
It was a day along the weekend of one autumn.
Trees had started talking in abstract terms
And, I remember,
The maple trees had turned outright crimson.
But there was something missing,
Like goodness itself from nature,
And a moment of clarity just dropped on the ground
And the door revolved.
But it was gone,
Like the light from the eyes itself.
A blindness had taken over surrounding the jungle
In which we were merrymaking,
And leaves of the nearby trees were
Rustling with a cautionary haste.

            --* Your Requests! *--
hi ,
    could you possibly get me a poem by Dylan Thomas or Bob Dylan?
thank you,
Prarthana Jagannath
Though the more famous poems written by Dylan Thomas include 'The force
that through the green fuse drives the flower...' and 'Fernhill' etc, the
poem that I like best is:
By: Dylan Thomas
Light breaks where no sun shines;
Where no sea runs, the waters of the heart
Push in their tides;
And, broken ghosts with glowworms in their heads,
The things of light
File through the flesh where no flesh decks the bones.
A candle in the thighs
Warms youth and seed and burns the seeds of age;
Where no seed stirs,
The fruit of man unwrinkles in the stars,
Bright as a fig;
Where no wax is, the candle shows its hairs.
Dawn breaks behind the eyes;
>From poles of skull and toe the windy blood
Slides like a sea;
Nor fenced, nor staked, the gushers of the sky
Spout to the rod
Divining in a smile the oil of tears.
Night in the sockets round,
Like some pitch moon, the limit of the globes;
Day lights the bone;
Where no cold is, the skinning gales unpin
The winter's robes;
The film of spring is hanging from the lids.
Light breaks on secret lots,
On tips of thought where thoughts smell in the rain;
When logics die,
The secret of the soil grows through the eye,
And blood jumps in the sun;
Above the waste allotments the dawn halts.

      --* Let Us Connect With Poetry *--

An article by Arvind Passey
The regeneration of the land by setting fire to it is an ancient technique
which does not find favour with everyone today. Instead of acres of clones
of worthless weed and a soil that seems to have sagged itself into a
wrinkled and barren existence, one gets renewed release of life! All that
is needed is a scintilla.
A spark.
Leading to a conflagration.
A conflagration that bleeds life from space, time and unproductive DNA.
Spreads progenitivity all around.
All that is needed is a spark.
A spark to create a park!
Of flowers and scents and romance.
And why should so much gore and blood be associated with poetry? Because
it is ideas and forms that get fixed on to your thoughts that need to be
sparked out of existence.
What is needed is a fresh way of looking at things.
You do not have to spread the fire. As I said, a spark is all that is
needed. Fire flies on its own to directions that need it. Fire destroys to
promote creativity.
In objective terms all that is needed is:
~Be aware that the first thought that comes to your mind may seem
brilliant but may already be stale. Put a spark to it.
~Stale thoughts and ideas have a knack to smoulder angrily, but the ashes
will create for you a field that is like no other field.
~Whatever you decide to grow there in whichever way will belong to you as
your thought, your poetry.
~Others will create their own fields out of your thought. When that
happens, you will be pleased.
Happiness is when you recognise the mangled and burnt remains of your
thought in a poem that suggests yet another direction.
Quite possibly you will create another field from....

    --* A Poem For You All -- From Me *--

By: Arvind Passey
I wake
To make
As mine
A rhyme
That joins my soul
To all!
A word
In herd,
A word
When heard
Will be the head
When read.
But that
Or this --
Like splat!
Or miss,
Are things not known:
Just sown.
So I
Must eye
Each lie
And try
To purify
my cry.
Comments, Ideas, Contributions from Readers
On reading 'An Atheist's Garden' I felt the same magical fascination that
I experienced when I first read 'Warning' by Jenny Joseph. Jill's poem is
one that warms the interstitial spaces of the mind for prolonged periods.
Thank you Jill. Don't stop writing.
By: Jill

I love the rustle of the wind in the trees,
Even the nuisance of knee-deep leaves.
I love the pearl-hung spider's lair
Gracing my beckoning garden chair.
I love the jumble of miss-matched flowers,
The result of neglected afternoon hours.
I love the hum of mower and bees
As my husband toils, and I take my ease.
I love slow Sundays' sonorous bells
And children's muted street-side yells.
All this I love and highly rank
My only problem - whom do I thank?

Pramila Venkateswaran from 4 High Gate Dr.Setauket, NY 11733 has sent us
her poem 'Desert Journey'. Dreamy - Abstract - Physical - Down-to-earth
-Truthful - Meandering - Strong - Musical....but most of all, - Poetry.
Hopefully there would be more lined up for Poetry Splash!
Thank you Pramila.

By: Pramila Venkateswaran

Dust devils disappear
as suddenly as they begin-
Are my words chaff?
Is even ambition a mere wisp?
So much for writing out
of the turbulence of my life!
To hoard dust within dust is madness. 
You cannot be a tree or a dog. 
Even they act out their being.

I want the space beyond
this imaginary line, I dream
about it,  until my being
glows with the idea of possession.
My words spew out and shape
a grotto on the page-
but lushness is also subject to forest
fires and hurricanes. 
My lush creation isn't even real!

Why do I think that my loved ones
won't remember me or my words
when I am a handful of dust?
Even I imagine the pages of my life
breaking away from the stem.
Don't ask if the moral
of our story is to be unambitious
dust devils.  My answer doesn't mean.


A perfect example of the way some poems take a 180-degree turn and you are
face-to-face with your own being. The curves, gradients, colours, textures
and that gentle wisp of familiarity like what you see. I
liked what I read!
Thank you Danielle. We'll look forward to more poems from you.
By: Danielle Swain

The calm breaze
The soothing seas
The whole wide world
And then theres me.

I am not important,
I am a nobody,
I am an infant
In a ugly little body.

Someday you'll turn around
Someday you'll look down and see,
I am a person with feelings,
Someday you may be worthy of me.


Seshagiri Babu wrote this poem after he saw a sunset from aboat cruise.
Thank you Sesh for sharing your happiness with us all. Sunset is a
sensitive poem that I liked because of its stark honesty.
Hope you will keep contributing your creative output to Poetry Splash!
By: Seshagiri Babu

I donno what it is, that is so enthusing,
To gaze afar from the railing, and see the sun set
>From the rocking boat, on the high seas cruising,
But sure is a feeling I would never regret.

Is it the flight from dreary work,
Or just missing the beats, of the tranquil nature
Which bring to the lips a smirk,
Why, even from a lush green pasture

I think I can’t really say,
What indeed it is, but of one thing I’m sure
So majestic, is the view at bay
To fill memories, that long endure

As the sun shied and sought to hide in the western sky
Behind the horizon of the endless sea,
The rays glistened in the orange tide, by and by
Stretching down afar, to the mysterious sands of glee


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