The World Literature Blog
Saturday, April 20, 2019
Glopowrimo #20
Glopwrimo #20
Two Malayalis speak to each other in two different local English Vinglish accents - the first from Thiruvanathapuram and the second more from central Travancore.
"I yam valways lait for vurk, Gopan"
"I am olways lait going bak to reech hom, Cheriacho"
"Vat to do?"
"Nothing. Cuming for a smol?"
"Smal? Vy note a large?"
"Cum"
"Now aye feel better but the verld is spinning, Gopo."
I so streing sites too. As if that gerl was vinking at me, Cheriacho."
"Vich gerl? The vun in the boster?
"Eggsact seim vun"
"Have vun mo' large, she vill be sinking also laik the Taitanic."
Hahaha, then ve vill both go dowun"
"Yus, but she vil lift us up, hehehe"
"Yus, yus, what goes up must cum dowun"
"No, no, what goes dowun..."
"What goes dowun?"
"Laik every akshun has an iqual end oposit reakshun"
"Haha, but she is still vinking."
"Vink bak."
"Swupose sumun in the bar thinks aye yam vinking et him?"
"Aiyyo, athu preshnamakum. athu venda, let her vink on."
"Vink on, Vink on, mai pretti vun, vink on, vink on, said 'e"
Hehehehehehehehe yu are fully drunk, I see
Hahahahahahaha so are yu, I see
"I yam olways lait for vurk, Gopa, Gopo Gopan saar"
"& I yam vallways lait going hom, Cheriacha, cheriacho, mon cherie."
Listener's note: Even their accents changed fully to each other's by the end of this delightful ramble 
Friday, April 19, 2019
Needs more work
Glopowrimo #19 - ABCDErian poem 2
Koshy's gallery of literary women - I failed in many places - maybe you can help me 
Alice in wonderland & through the looking glass
Beatrice who was Dante's muse so fair
Catherine whose love for Heathcliff was as wild as the hinterlands
Darling Wendy who made Peter Pan's heart flutter in bands
Elektra, who was in love with her father
?Felicity Porter, the TV serial girl so glam
?Gabriela Goddzer, her unknown TV sis
Helen whose face launched a thousand ships
I, the heroine in so many novels, including Jane Eyre
Judith and Juiet, both; who can forget
Kunti, the mother of Karna, son of the Sun
Laura who was turned into a laurel in Ovid
Magdalena Maria, famed, one of a kind
Nora, from Ibsen, who broke a doll's house
O, the mysterious woman in The Story of O
Panchali, the one who was everyone's pawn
?(Querelle of Brest, from Genet's masterpiece - a man!)
Rita, in Educating Rita, just great
Sita, who finally was swallowed by Ma Bhumi
?Tara, the goddess in Buddha's world, star
? Urania, the astronomy muse
Vina Apsara, from Rushdie's Groind Beneath her Feet
Wonder Woman, with her golden lasso
?Xanthippe, Socrates' wife
?Yekaterina, I am yet to create her
? Zinnia, the name of a flower.
Beatrice who was Dante's muse so fair
Catherine whose love for Heathcliff was as wild as the hinterlands
Darling Wendy who made Peter Pan's heart flutter in bands
Elektra, who was in love with her father
?Felicity Porter, the TV serial girl so glam
?Gabriela Goddzer, her unknown TV sis
Helen whose face launched a thousand ships
I, the heroine in so many novels, including Jane Eyre
Judith and Juiet, both; who can forget
Kunti, the mother of Karna, son of the Sun
Laura who was turned into a laurel in Ovid
Magdalena Maria, famed, one of a kind
Nora, from Ibsen, who broke a doll's house
O, the mysterious woman in The Story of O
Panchali, the one who was everyone's pawn
?(Querelle of Brest, from Genet's masterpiece - a man!)
Rita, in Educating Rita, just great
Sita, who finally was swallowed by Ma Bhumi
?Tara, the goddess in Buddha's world, star
? Urania, the astronomy muse
Vina Apsara, from Rushdie's Groind Beneath her Feet
Wonder Woman, with her golden lasso
?Xanthippe, Socrates' wife
?Yekaterina, I am yet to create her
? Zinnia, the name of a flower.
Needs more work.
Glopowrimo 19 - 3 (women writers list) Please fill in
Auvaiyyar - Tamil Bhakthi poet
Beatrice Webb - little known, but potent
Chitra Divakarune - I haven't read.
Dorothy L Sayers - detective games!
Elizabeth Gilbert - eat, pray, love
Flannery O'Connor - Irish whey
George Eliot - stuck still with a man's name!
Harper Lee - the greatest, eh?
Irawati Karwe - forgotten but great
Jane Austen - who can forget?
Kate Chopin - Story of an hour!
Louisa May Alcott - Jo and her world
Mary Shelley - Frankenstein's mom
Nadine Gordimer- from South Africa came
Octavia E Butler - another not much famed.
Pearl S Buck - for whom writing was Good Earth
Qurrutulain an Hyder - River of Fire
Rowling JK - need more be said?
Sylvia Plath -though more may be named
Toru Dutt
Ursula K Le Guin
Virginia Woolf and her Waves
Willa Cather, the South's own daughter
X
Y
Zadie Smith - the eye of the tiger.
Beatrice Webb - little known, but potent
Chitra Divakarune - I haven't read.
Dorothy L Sayers - detective games!
Elizabeth Gilbert - eat, pray, love
Flannery O'Connor - Irish whey
George Eliot - stuck still with a man's name!
Harper Lee - the greatest, eh?
Irawati Karwe - forgotten but great
Jane Austen - who can forget?
Kate Chopin - Story of an hour!
Louisa May Alcott - Jo and her world
Mary Shelley - Frankenstein's mom
Nadine Gordimer- from South Africa came
Octavia E Butler - another not much famed.
Pearl S Buck - for whom writing was Good Earth
Qurrutulain an Hyder - River of Fire
Rowling JK - need more be said?
Sylvia Plath -though more may be named
Toru Dutt
Ursula K Le Guin
Virginia Woolf and her Waves
Willa Cather, the South's own daughter
X
Y
Zadie Smith - the eye of the tiger.
ABCDErian poem for Good Friday Glopowrimo 19
Abcedarian poem Glopowrimo #19
A is for Aramaic - the language that he used to speak that has now become extinct
A is for Alpha, that which was before the beginning
B is for the blind man who was so from birth he cured or healed
B is for our daily Bread that he wanted all to have
B is for the Bread of his Body that he broke for us
C is for Christ, the only one there is
C is for the cross that became a symbol for all suffering and the need to cross out the ego in our lives
C is for the Church, the ecclesia, called out, separated, to be like him
D is for the deep blue lake that he walked on, this Nazarene
E is for the Essenes who missed out on his ministry, reminding me not to
E is for Easter which shows one can resurrect and defeat death
F is for the Father whom he introduced to all
F is for the fish, Ichthus, in the lake of Galilee
F is for forgiveness, without which we can't go on.
G is for Good Friday where "Good" is the main thing
G is for the Gadarene swine who had to bear the brunt
H is for hyssop that washes all our sins clean
I is for Ieusus, King of the Jews
J is for Judah, whose Lion he is
J is for John, the Apostle of Love
L is for love that he said was all you need to learn to ascend
M is Messiah, of the world that believes him
M is for miracles done to show as proof to the world ready to believe
M is for the Marys, Virgin Mother and Magdalene
N is for the Name above all names
O is for the outcasts and lepers that he came to reach and touch
P is for Peter who was the one who most received
Q is for the huge queues that lined up to hear him preach the Sermon on the Mount
R is for the redness of the Blood that teaches sacrifice
S is for the Son, who is the Sun of the injeel
T is for the temple which now becomes our selves
U is for the union of God and you in him
V is for the vineyard mystic from which we our grapes with our feet do press
W for the wine that now we have to drink, and become, to others to giveng
W is for the Word that was in the beginning with God and was God
X is for the shortening of Christmas to Xmas which makes it commercial and for the rich
Y is for you all whom now I have to love as he did
Z is for Omega - as he is the Frist and Last, the a TO THE z IF YOU REALLY UNDERSTAND HIM
A is for Alpha, that which was before the beginning
B is for the blind man who was so from birth he cured or healed
B is for our daily Bread that he wanted all to have
B is for the Bread of his Body that he broke for us
C is for Christ, the only one there is
C is for the cross that became a symbol for all suffering and the need to cross out the ego in our lives
C is for the Church, the ecclesia, called out, separated, to be like him
D is for the deep blue lake that he walked on, this Nazarene
E is for the Essenes who missed out on his ministry, reminding me not to
E is for Easter which shows one can resurrect and defeat death
F is for the Father whom he introduced to all
F is for the fish, Ichthus, in the lake of Galilee
F is for forgiveness, without which we can't go on.
G is for Good Friday where "Good" is the main thing
G is for the Gadarene swine who had to bear the brunt
H is for hyssop that washes all our sins clean
I is for Ieusus, King of the Jews
J is for Judah, whose Lion he is
J is for John, the Apostle of Love
L is for love that he said was all you need to learn to ascend
M is Messiah, of the world that believes him
M is for miracles done to show as proof to the world ready to believe
M is for the Marys, Virgin Mother and Magdalene
N is for the Name above all names
O is for the outcasts and lepers that he came to reach and touch
P is for Peter who was the one who most received
Q is for the huge queues that lined up to hear him preach the Sermon on the Mount
R is for the redness of the Blood that teaches sacrifice
S is for the Son, who is the Sun of the injeel
T is for the temple which now becomes our selves
U is for the union of God and you in him
V is for the vineyard mystic from which we our grapes with our feet do press
W for the wine that now we have to drink, and become, to others to giveng
W is for the Word that was in the beginning with God and was God
X is for the shortening of Christmas to Xmas which makes it commercial and for the rich
Y is for you all whom now I have to love as he did
Z is for Omega - as he is the Frist and Last, the a TO THE z IF YOU REALLY UNDERSTAND HIM
Glopowrimo 18 - Ode on the Death of a Favourite Mobile
"What female heart can gold despise
What cat's averse to fish?"
Asked Gray, in a fit of caprice
Unexpected, from one as he
But for men, we can't despise
'Gadgets', guns, bikes, and mobiles
You can add cars,comps and guitars
But mobiles are the latest craze
My golden Samsung Galaxy J 7
How snugly it fit in my palm
How many hours of gazing pleasure
Looking at its blue-black face
Till it fell down from my hand
Not once but seventy times seven
Stopped working
Visage shattered
Lies in a coma on my table
Cannot be resuscitated
Euthanasia is required
I vainly try to resurrect
Five years of my mobile life
'Who ever tried that did not fail'
Comforts me as I the corpse shake
Shed for me a few tears
For my Samsung J 7 Galaxy
While I keep on trying to
Make it work, at least rarely!
What cat's averse to fish?"
Asked Gray, in a fit of caprice
Unexpected, from one as he
But for men, we can't despise
'Gadgets', guns, bikes, and mobiles
You can add cars,comps and guitars
But mobiles are the latest craze
My golden Samsung Galaxy J 7
How snugly it fit in my palm
How many hours of gazing pleasure
Looking at its blue-black face
Till it fell down from my hand
Not once but seventy times seven
Stopped working
Visage shattered
Lies in a coma on my table
Cannot be resuscitated
Euthanasia is required
I vainly try to resurrect
Five years of my mobile life
'Who ever tried that did not fail'
Comforts me as I the corpse shake
Shed for me a few tears
For my Samsung J 7 Galaxy
While I keep on trying to
Make it work, at least rarely!
Thursday, April 18, 2019
Glopowrimo #18 Elegy 1 For Tina from her brother immediately elder to her
Someone put some mud in his extended left hand
He looked at it, uncomprehending
Put it in, down there, a voice said
He looked down at his feet
And as his eyes travelled, from left foot forward
There it was
A two foot by one foot hole, dug in the ground
Holding the small box of wood
In a shape he could not describe
Not having the word for it
Ten years old is too young to know much
(Elongated, hexagonal, it was, he knows now)
He could no longer see that face
Only the clean, almost white, yellow of the wood's grain
Around him the voices which he could not make out, in refrain
of sad song or funereal chant of prayer
Around him the milling crowd of people, people, faceless, faces, known ,unknown, everywhere when all he wanted was to be left alone, by everyone
What had drawn so many there?
He opened his hand and let fall the earth
Watched it fall with no sound he could hear
And disperse into its tiny particles
Along with other clods of earth
'Dust thou art and to dust thou dost return'
Then he understood
Something wet his cheeks burned
He wondered had she discerned
The sound of the sand
Hitting her roof
That it was different
And from his hand
Then jerked
Out of that mad reverie
She was gone
Under, forever
Even her tiny face
Tiny, how funny, so close to her name
You just change one letter and a whole world shrinks and a person is gone
Only the hope was left
Of meeting in eternity or heaven
Or some other life
Or the memory
Or both, or whichever
Was more true
So with Nothing left to do
He left
Before they covered her and the box up
With spades and shovels and picks
Gravely, as befits a new grave
He does not remember if he turned and looked
One last time -
How lame! -
The scene to frame
Not knowing it would never fade...
He looked at it, uncomprehending
Put it in, down there, a voice said
He looked down at his feet
And as his eyes travelled, from left foot forward
There it was
A two foot by one foot hole, dug in the ground
Holding the small box of wood
In a shape he could not describe
Not having the word for it
Ten years old is too young to know much
(Elongated, hexagonal, it was, he knows now)
He could no longer see that face
Only the clean, almost white, yellow of the wood's grain
Around him the voices which he could not make out, in refrain
of sad song or funereal chant of prayer
Around him the milling crowd of people, people, faceless, faces, known ,unknown, everywhere when all he wanted was to be left alone, by everyone
What had drawn so many there?
He opened his hand and let fall the earth
Watched it fall with no sound he could hear
And disperse into its tiny particles
Along with other clods of earth
'Dust thou art and to dust thou dost return'
Then he understood
Something wet his cheeks burned
He wondered had she discerned
The sound of the sand
Hitting her roof
That it was different
And from his hand
Then jerked
Out of that mad reverie
She was gone
Under, forever
Even her tiny face
Tiny, how funny, so close to her name
You just change one letter and a whole world shrinks and a person is gone
Only the hope was left
Of meeting in eternity or heaven
Or some other life
Or the memory
Or both, or whichever
Was more true
So with Nothing left to do
He left
Before they covered her and the box up
With spades and shovels and picks
Gravely, as befits a new grave
He does not remember if he turned and looked
One last time -
How lame! -
The scene to frame
Not knowing it would never fade...
Wednesday, April 17, 2019
Lost and found
If no one writes it is okay by me
I can write enough to make up for the rest
If some don't read it is okay by me
There is always someone else who will and tell me he or she
likes it all the same, and that is all one needs
to keep going on in the way I used to do or be
when you were there. I just pretend it is still the past
close my eyes. It's yesterday and your poems and comments
Come in waves and memories
Like perfumes of Araby
To soothe the fears in the child; the little, lost, and lonely me.
I can write enough to make up for the rest
If some don't read it is okay by me
There is always someone else who will and tell me he or she
likes it all the same, and that is all one needs
to keep going on in the way I used to do or be
when you were there. I just pretend it is still the past
close my eyes. It's yesterday and your poems and comments
Come in waves and memories
Like perfumes of Araby
To soothe the fears in the child; the little, lost, and lonely me.
Just a blurb
Seventeen days - 21 poems.
Muse, I finally feel your presence with me
I am back in the flow, I am raring to go
I miss you as much as you miss me
Together we made such a team
Five each day if you were there
Now I have mellowed and come down to two
But today as the pressures increase
I may write five, and this is now two!
I am back in the flow, I am raring to go
I miss you as much as you miss me
Together we made such a team
Five each day if you were there
Now I have mellowed and come down to two
But today as the pressures increase
I may write five, and this is now two!
Glopowrimo 17 - Shifting points of view/ for Leonardo di Caprio and Kate Winslet
In the movie she was nude
In reality it was only to the waist
In the movie he drew her
In reality he was just getting to know her
In the movie they made passionate love
In reality it was rather hot in the studio
In the movie and out of it
He could not resist telling her her breasts were hot
In the movie they stood on the prow of the ship
In reality she was scared of how
In the movie they fell in love
In reality they told each other of their loves
In the movie the water filled the ship
In reality she wept at the tragedy of the Titanic
In the movie he died and she was left
In reality they were happy it was a huge hit
You can replay but not change
the ending, but in reality they did.
In reality it was only to the waist
In the movie he drew her
In reality he was just getting to know her
In the movie they made passionate love
In reality it was rather hot in the studio
In the movie and out of it
He could not resist telling her her breasts were hot
In the movie they stood on the prow of the ship
In reality she was scared of how
In the movie they fell in love
In reality they told each other of their loves
In the movie the water filled the ship
In reality she wept at the tragedy of the Titanic
In the movie he died and she was left
In reality they were happy it was a huge hit
You can replay but not change
the ending, but in reality they did.
Glopowrimo Dramatic Monologue 2
Fateful women - Dramatic monologue of Vincent talking to Dr Gachet for the last time in his absence
So where was I, Dr Gachet?
May.
Yes, then I was not a painter.
But I was. Already. Effects appeared to me in colours
So when she rejected me I felt everything swallowed up in browns.
The Dutch school is very dull and full of dark and turgid colours and that must have influenced me unconsciously.
The miners at Rouen were all shades of black, green, and gold but strangely vivid like the night sky seen when one is having a fit of epilepsy
The women looked out of shape or carrying.
Perhaps there was something wrong with meto see them as they are, suffering, and try to draw them to evoke sympathy for them.
Later, there was that model Christine but she tortured me.
So I painted her in venomous blues and yellows that were not sun or sunflower or cornflower sky blue.
I painted my impressions, my thoughts, my feelings, I never looked at the brush or the colour something exact
I applied knife to canvas or squeezed the paint directly on
It lay thick on the world like a bad case of rash
like semen or food, left-overs at that
delicious and sometimes gone bad
And Rachel, she was orange and red
"Fou-rou" she called me but I made her bronzed
While I bled, tired of prostitutes and every one else
Strange sounds buzzed in my ears corresponding to colours
My head reeled as in the days of sun-stroke and heat haze and of my fights with Gauguin
I missed my brother, Theo
I missed my painter friends
I missed my miners
I missed May most pitiably
I missed my childhood and my family
I missed Paris but loved Arles more
I missed even the commune and the gospel
Now I have come to the end of days
This is my shot gun
I am in a daze
Talking to you
And will put things in place
The sun is in a mighty blaze
But even you are not here
Let me pull the trigger
May.
Yes, then I was not a painter.
But I was. Already. Effects appeared to me in colours
So when she rejected me I felt everything swallowed up in browns.
The Dutch school is very dull and full of dark and turgid colours and that must have influenced me unconsciously.
The miners at Rouen were all shades of black, green, and gold but strangely vivid like the night sky seen when one is having a fit of epilepsy
The women looked out of shape or carrying.
Perhaps there was something wrong with meto see them as they are, suffering, and try to draw them to evoke sympathy for them.
Later, there was that model Christine but she tortured me.
So I painted her in venomous blues and yellows that were not sun or sunflower or cornflower sky blue.
I painted my impressions, my thoughts, my feelings, I never looked at the brush or the colour something exact
I applied knife to canvas or squeezed the paint directly on
It lay thick on the world like a bad case of rash
like semen or food, left-overs at that
delicious and sometimes gone bad
And Rachel, she was orange and red
"Fou-rou" she called me but I made her bronzed
While I bled, tired of prostitutes and every one else
Strange sounds buzzed in my ears corresponding to colours
My head reeled as in the days of sun-stroke and heat haze and of my fights with Gauguin
I missed my brother, Theo
I missed my painter friends
I missed my miners
I missed May most pitiably
I missed my childhood and my family
I missed Paris but loved Arles more
I missed even the commune and the gospel
Now I have come to the end of days
This is my shot gun
I am in a daze
Talking to you
And will put things in place
The sun is in a mighty blaze
But even you are not here
Let me pull the trigger
Tuesday, April 16, 2019
Glopowrimo #17 (another one presenting another point of view)
For Antonie de Saint Exupery.
The little prince
sat on the beach
made sand castles so many, many
for the waves whom he loved.
sat on the beach
made sand castles so many, many
for the waves whom he loved.
The waves came up to him
surrounded
licked liked loved
embraced
caressed
washed bathed wetted pampered him
then withdrew
leaving
taking the sand-castles
with them.
surrounded
licked liked loved
embraced
caressed
washed bathed wetted pampered him
then withdrew
leaving
taking the sand-castles
with them.
Only
bubbles sinking
of froth into the darkening sand
as his companions, remained.
bubbles sinking
of froth into the darkening sand
as his companions, remained.
The sun, of another planet not his, in front of him
into the wine-dark alien sea, sank.
into the wine-dark alien sea, sank.
Glopowrimo #17 (mixing up two prompts from yesterday and today.)
I could say they reminded him of his mother
I could say they made him reach out for a cigarette
I could say they made his mouth develop a nervous tic
I could say they made his hands agitated
They wired his brain and unwired his mind
They made him lick his attractive lips
They made him lick his meaty chops
They made him run his tongue over his lips
They made him go mad
Did it want him like that?
Did it want him vulnerable, and dangerous?
Did it want him down on his knees, begging me please?
Did it want him to take them in his hands?
Did it long for his mouth and his lips and his tongue?
Did everything hang around this centre of bliss?
Did it or didn't it, Freud be hanged!?
It wanted a head to rest on it
It wanted a hand to be gentle to it
It wanted hands, later, to be harsh to it
It wanted whispers to run tremors through it
It wanted attention, it screamed for it
It wanted to be freed, to be seen, to be appreciated
It wanted to be taken or left to be. Just as it is.
It wanted more than the whole world could give
It was the tip of his unexplored planets
He was the waiter and he wanted his tips
It was an obsession, lack of control, possession
Was it only lust or more than it?
It wanted to be wet, to blow hot, and hot-cold
It was a poem with no end to it
"Oh, do not ask what is it."
If it lets you, come, go, make your visit.
Glopowrimo #16 - An Alarm Clock and a Glow Toy Sends You all a Poem 
I begin teetiteetittiteetiteeing
at him
at six
Sometimes he lets me go on
for an hour
before he stirs
My numbers glow green
in the brightening...
before his hand
stops me
hitting me on the raised promontory of the back of my head
white
square
glass-faced
CASIO box
that I am
from 'alarming'!
at him
at six
Sometimes he lets me go on
for an hour
before he stirs
My numbers glow green
in the brightening...
before his hand
stops me
hitting me on the raised promontory of the back of my head
white
square
glass-faced
CASIO box
that I am
from 'alarming'!
When he was a new
father
at night from the open carboard or wooden toy-box
would climb out
Glo
and glow
see him and her
sleeping
with their two girls
all somehow squeezed rough and tumble
in on a small bed rumble toss turn and mumble snore
turn toss and grumble snort
Glo would laugh
as in the day time
he had heard him tell them
stories
of how in the night
the toys
would come out of the box
playing
in the moonlight
and starlight
and Glo's light
if there was no light
on a dark night
not knowing
it was so
nightly!
father
at night from the open carboard or wooden toy-box
would climb out
Glo
and glow
see him and her
sleeping
with their two girls
all somehow squeezed rough and tumble
in on a small bed rumble toss turn and mumble snore
turn toss and grumble snort
Glo would laugh
as in the day time
he had heard him tell them
stories
of how in the night
the toys
would come out of the box
playing
in the moonlight
and starlight
and Glo's light
if there was no light
on a dark night
not knowing
it was so
nightly!
The fluorescent Glo
&
the phosphorescent hands of his alarm clock know
things are not as they seem
We, not them, seen from what they are
who they are
their side
their eyelessness
their non-being;
are illumined, luminous
joyful, joyous
weird
us human
beings
defamiliarizing our 'mundane'
and listing
our antics.
&
the phosphorescent hands of his alarm clock know
things are not as they seem
We, not them, seen from what they are
who they are
their side
their eyelessness
their non-being;
are illumined, luminous
joyful, joyous
weird
us human
beings
defamiliarizing our 'mundane'
and listing
our antics.
Teetiteetititeetiteeing.
Monday, April 15, 2019
Glopowrimo #15
An Elegy and an Ode to Notre Dame as a monologue
"Paris is burning" - Dominique Lapierre and Larry Collins
"Paris is burning" - Dominique Lapierre and Larry Collins
If a church burns
it can be rebuilt
but if faith is lost
it is difficult to retrieve
A place of worship
can be big or small
here or there
great or humble
but it can be replaced
or even not...
It is fragile and imperfect
like the people in it
and a work always in progress
with a sign on its knocker:
construction and alteration going on
There have been churches
built with love
and churches built
with hatred too
love to those within
love to those without
hatred to those within
hatred to those without
and different combos of these four
A church is not
just a major, historical, significant, cultural landmark!
or only a mythical, archetypal warehouse you can ransack for images
but living
It is supposedly
a refuge for humans
made of people whose hearts are temples
given to
the service of God, and all
The bells and spires
the stained-glass art
the naves and kneelers
the pews and pianos
the pulpit and the baptismal font
the cross and the hanged man
the rock and the Rock
the martyrs and saints
& all that aspire
to a higher eminence
came much later
only, into being
as symbols and icons
of something much deeper
First they - were - lived
and, yes, greater
which truth was also
found in the East
in the sermons of Buddha
in the words of Nanak
in the wandering minstrels
and their madrigals
in the sages who wrote
the Vedas and the Upanishads
All who aspire for the Light of God
and towards it
know that a church
is a place that is for it
open and skywards
founded in the earth
the symbol for Nature
and reaching for the sky
which is a symbol of heaven and the Universe
and full of treasures
made by man
to show his longing for the Divine
The art work in the Notre Dame
the writings of Hugo
and his hunchback
and the bishop and his candlesticks
are treasures
that will live on
never die
as long as time...
Nortre Dame will be rebuilt
as a call to all people
to return from their sins
of colonialism
imperialism
racism
patriarchy
gender bias
class differences
linguistic chauvinism
paedophilia, nun abuse, excesses in poverty, celibacy and obedience among and to the clergy
instead of purity, marriage and co existence while loving God
misguided nationalism, jingoism, fascism, fanaticism or zealotry
hatred of other sects and denominations
and other religions
all to be washed away
Again it will be filled
with songs and choristers
with incense and candelabra
with the signs of newness
for even our evil times
and the old Notre Dame in the mind
in memories
unvisited, but remembered
continue to be a hope
that what was can again come to be
to be a beacon of a lighthouse
of culture for the world
without its stains
but full of faith and love.
it can be rebuilt
but if faith is lost
it is difficult to retrieve
A place of worship
can be big or small
here or there
great or humble
but it can be replaced
or even not...
It is fragile and imperfect
like the people in it
and a work always in progress
with a sign on its knocker:
construction and alteration going on
There have been churches
built with love
and churches built
with hatred too
love to those within
love to those without
hatred to those within
hatred to those without
and different combos of these four
A church is not
just a major, historical, significant, cultural landmark!
or only a mythical, archetypal warehouse you can ransack for images
but living
It is supposedly
a refuge for humans
made of people whose hearts are temples
given to
the service of God, and all
The bells and spires
the stained-glass art
the naves and kneelers
the pews and pianos
the pulpit and the baptismal font
the cross and the hanged man
the rock and the Rock
the martyrs and saints
& all that aspire
to a higher eminence
came much later
only, into being
as symbols and icons
of something much deeper
First they - were - lived
and, yes, greater
which truth was also
found in the East
in the sermons of Buddha
in the words of Nanak
in the wandering minstrels
and their madrigals
in the sages who wrote
the Vedas and the Upanishads
All who aspire for the Light of God
and towards it
know that a church
is a place that is for it
open and skywards
founded in the earth
the symbol for Nature
and reaching for the sky
which is a symbol of heaven and the Universe
and full of treasures
made by man
to show his longing for the Divine
The art work in the Notre Dame
the writings of Hugo
and his hunchback
and the bishop and his candlesticks
are treasures
that will live on
never die
as long as time...
Nortre Dame will be rebuilt
as a call to all people
to return from their sins
of colonialism
imperialism
racism
patriarchy
gender bias
class differences
linguistic chauvinism
paedophilia, nun abuse, excesses in poverty, celibacy and obedience among and to the clergy
instead of purity, marriage and co existence while loving God
misguided nationalism, jingoism, fascism, fanaticism or zealotry
hatred of other sects and denominations
and other religions
all to be washed away
Again it will be filled
with songs and choristers
with incense and candelabra
with the signs of newness
for even our evil times
and the old Notre Dame in the mind
in memories
unvisited, but remembered
continue to be a hope
that what was can again come to be
to be a beacon of a lighthouse
of culture for the world
without its stains
but full of faith and love.
Copyright Koshy AV
I wanted to put two pictures of before and right now but poetry is/speaks better.
Sunday, April 14, 2019
Glopowrimo #14
His name was Dick. Now don't laugh. Isn't it better than Dirk, or Dirt, you carp? A single syllable is enough, it seems. To make some people want to barf. Barf it is, not bard, I swear. And her surname, it was Kant, not C*nt. Yes, as in the philosopher Kant. Don't know what you will do with such a dirty mind! If I said wussy, you would hear *ussy. What can I do if English is crazy? Now Dick and Daisy, - yes, it was not *ussy! - were about each other totally crazy. He was a square and she, well, a skirt. He, crazy about her skirt, and she, about his shirt. He was quite flirty, and she pretended to be shirty, till he lifted her skirt and she took off his shirt. They were a pair, and she had two pears he wanted to eat, so she gave him her seat. When it was night he said "I am your knight", and she gave him a slap on the tip of his... cap. Nightcap, I mean, you reader who can't keep your thoughts to yourself, and want me to write what is not right, to laugh at my gaffe. Now Dick and Daisy went for a ride, as Dick was 'in' Daisy's.., car, not care. Dick was a poet and Daisy a stripper, so to the bar they cavorting went, where Dick would read homonyms and homophones and Daisy let folks write homographs on her while they stuffed her stockings with cash as she suspendered herself or upended her legs on a pole. They play Johnny Cash in that joint and smoke joints.
Then a man called Sick tried to put coins in her bra. Sick, not sic. Dick had a gun and he took it out. He knew where to show his beef. A gun, dear reader, not his wussy, in truth! He shot Sick in his potbelly and Sick died. Sic. And sick! Daisy did not know whether to laugh or to cry. They took Dick away to the gaol next day, but he swore he would reach his goal next time. Sick to the morgue they took in a hearse driven by a horse for his last rite and Daisy was left. But Daisy was right, to love Dick and not Sick, though the course of true love runs wrong pretty quick. What's with that and homonyms, and homographs and homophones we write? No telling, but no one can help standing and staring when beauty cums by. You gotta hold on to it, through thick and thin, you gotta ride it, baby, hard and fast.
Then a man called Sick tried to put coins in her bra. Sick, not sic. Dick had a gun and he took it out. He knew where to show his beef. A gun, dear reader, not his wussy, in truth! He shot Sick in his potbelly and Sick died. Sic. And sick! Daisy did not know whether to laugh or to cry. They took Dick away to the gaol next day, but he swore he would reach his goal next time. Sick to the morgue they took in a hearse driven by a horse for his last rite and Daisy was left. But Daisy was right, to love Dick and not Sick, though the course of true love runs wrong pretty quick. What's with that and homonyms, and homographs and homophones we write? No telling, but no one can help standing and staring when beauty cums by. You gotta hold on to it, through thick and thin, you gotta ride it, baby, hard and fast.
Long, long ago I had put a story on storymirror on Gaza which also came in my short story book Scream and Other Urbane Legends by Dr Koshy AV
Today was amazed to get this stats from story mirror - can't say I am not pleased! Would be lying - I am damn pleased! I mean 26225 reads and 540 likes! What on earth! Though it took a long time!
STORYMIRROR
LITERARY REPORT
11th April, 2019
Dear Ampat Koshy,
LITERARY REPORT
11th April, 2019
Dear Ampat Koshy,
We are glad that sometime back you stepped into our army of literary warriors and began your journey to protect literature and reach out to millions of civilians. Your journey so far in the literary army battalion has been highly appreciated and we would love to share a glimpse of the same with you:
1. Number of contents written:
1
Contents Submitted
1
Contents Submitted
2. Number of views [All contents]:
26225
Total views
26225
Total views
3. Number of likes [All contents]:
540
Total likes
540
Total likes
4. Total minutes your contents have been read on SM [All contents]:
131125
Total reads
131125
Total reads
5. Average Editorial Score:
8
Average Score
8
Average Score
After taking your work into consideration, we would like to formally designate you as our Literary Colonel.
Congratulations for the same.
As the Literary Colonel you are responsible to keep promoting heartfelt literature to millions of civilians and preserve it for the endless years to come.
Once again, congratulations on your new designation!
We look forward to keep reading and listening your stories & poems.
We look forward to keep reading and listening your stories & poems.
Here is the story if you want to read it.
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