Tuesday, November 20, 2012

One of my favorite poems


SWIMMERS 
                   -- Louis Untermeyer

I took the crazy short-cut to the bay;
Over a fence or two and through a hedge,
Jumping a private road, along the edge
Of backyards full of drying wash it lay.
And now, the last set being played and over,
I hurried past the ruddy lakes of clover;
I swung my racket at astonished oaks,
My arm still tingling from aggressive strokes.
Tennis was over for the day -
I took the leaping short-cut to the bay.

Then the quick plunge into the cool, green dark,
The windy waters rushing past me, through me;
Filled with a sense of some heroic lark
Existing n a vigour clean and roomy.
Swiftly I rose to meet the cat-like sea
That sprang upon me with a hundred claws,
And grappled, pulled me down and played with me.
Then, held suspended in the tightening pause
When one wave grows into a toppling acre,
I dived headlong into the foremost breaker,
Pitting against a cold and turbulent strife
The feverish intensity of life.

Out of the foam I lurched and rode the wave,
Swimming, hand over hand, against the wind;
I felt the sea's vain pounding, and I grinned
Knowing I was its master, not its slave.
Back on the curving beach I stood again,
Facing the bath-house, when a group of men,
Stumbling beneath some sort of weight, went by.
I could not see the heavy thing they carried;
I only heard : 'He never gave a cry-
'Who's going to tell her?' 'Yes, and they just married-'
'Such a good swimmer, too... And then they passed,
Leaving the silence throbbing and aghast.

A moment there my frightened heart hung slack,
And then the rich, retarded blood came back
Singing a livelier tune; and in my pulse
Beat the great wave that endlessly exults.
Why I was there and whither I must go,
I did not care. Enough for me to know
The same persistent struggle and the glowing
Waste of all spendthrift hours, bravely showing
Life, an adventure perilous and gay,
And death, a long and vivid holiday.

 Makes you ponder only to conclude that don't stress it, life is short,make the most of it .
 Let me know what you liked.

Thursday, November 1, 2012

Leave your workplace early ! :D


   My first job right after college saw me squirming to leave my seat when I can and get home faster. It was new and difficult to get used to a 9am-5pm(or more) job. So when I did get a chance early,I pinged the rest of my friends this poem .

Children lets leave,
to frolic in the field.
To fasten a used tyre from the tree bark,
and laugh and swing ,until it gets dark.
To go down a mighty slide,
and run up the wrong side again with immense juvenile pride.
To gyrate on the wicked merry-go round, with full speed,
Like a bound bird dying to be freed.
Lets climb the 'A" "B" and "c",
and talk about toys ,books and genie.


Tuesday, October 9, 2012

MUD

When do you know if you've dug into the earth enough?
Is it time to bury the chest of thoughts.
The assortment of memoirs,feelings,promises and bluff.
Should I be convinced that my heart will then be free of clots.
I tried to return my treasures to their rightful owners,
But they had long forgotten what I had soulfully guarded.
I tried to immortalize the candid whispers,
But the ephemeral  voices only faded.
Digging out the mud and burying my chest,
Seems heavier than expressed.


Tuesday, June 19, 2012

Project 2 : Write the Right way.


Posting my draft version of  Project 2 speech of Competent Communication Manual (Toastmasters). I'm a part of Smedley's Speakers Society and we meet every Sunday mornings.

           Last thursday evening while I was travelling in the bus back home. The weather inspired me, I had the biggest urge to write.I took out my small notepad,flipped over to a new page and began to write in bold letters,"SPLENDID SHOWERS". Stared at the words long enough to scratch them. Not poetic enough. "The rapid raindrops awaken my mind". Scratched the line. Not original enough.After dinner, I sat up all night ,trying to draw inspiration from the silence,but uunfortunately it silenced my mind further.

         Good morning fellow toastmasters and guests,if you havent already guessed I was suffering from a mild form of WRITERS BLOCK.A writers block is a condition faced by writers,in which he loses the ability to produce new work,in my present context,it was just a temporary inability of free creative thought flow.There are many reasons why writers and the like face this issue.Many famous writers have also faced this issue. One of the authors I admire,Scott Fitzgerald,of the "the Great Gatsby" fame,suffered from a Writers' block once,that he was threatened to abandon writing. I'm glad he didn't. But in my simple context,I concluded that there were two specific reasons why I was facing this issue. 
                        First, clearly the well is empty.My right brain is plain dead!It had been so dormant for such a long time,that it fails to get the neurons working in a creative way . With work and technical jargon eating up all my brain space,I hardly have the time to indulge in something creative, romantic, inspirational,motivational.Secondly,I was losing faith in the process. When no creative juices are flowing,should I really spend this valuable time in writing?Maybe I could get some work done or learn up on the next big technology.Do I need to probe my brain for poetic language ,allegories and similies.

                      But I was determined to write,it had been a long time since I poured out my compositions onto paper.Over the next two days,I tried many ways to stimulate my brain. I found three effective ways,which I would like to share. In short, TRY!
  1. Talk to others – Talk to other writers,poets,creative people. Have a healthy conversation,exchange of ideas,opnions.Learn about experiences,talk about the block itself.One brilliant example is TOASTMASTERS. After every sunday session,I feel enrinched and inspired ,after conversing and listening to so many highly creative and inspirational people. It expands my brain.
  1. Remind yourself why you started writing in the first place - I did a small exercise of reading my older blog posts and it filled my heart with joy . It helped me boost my self-confidence. I had a rush of feelings of how it is to produce something your own,original,form your thoughts. So,remind yourself of why you started writing in the first place.

  2. Your new habit – We all have some many ideas brewing up inside our heads. Francis Bacon, an author and a great man said, "Write down the thoughts of the moment.Those that come unsought for are commonly the most valuable ". So, carry a small notepad or even type down in your phones. Any trivial idea,anything that catches your attention.
When your faced with a block, just TRY. .

These three methods proved effective for me. I finally had a poem by Saturday. If I may, Could I share it with all of you.
*The Doors are Jammed *- I recited the poem I had written. Refer to previous Blog posts.  :)


   Go ahead then. Don't get stuck. In the words of William Wordsworth's , "Fill your paper with the breathing's of your heart".

Tuesday, June 12, 2012

Painted my wall

After months of thinking  and bothering many people to think of ideas.My wall has been successfully painted. Most of it,thanks to my sister.
  Being a morning person,this wall reminds of the birds chirping in the morning (Yes,in my area ,you can hear the chirps). It's good. A feel-happy wall!


Sunday, March 18, 2012

Catcher in the Rye

One of the more interesting books I have read in quite some time. Interesting to an extent of completely disliking it yet contemplating about it.To write about Holden Caulfield , the main character in this book,needs an inspiration i.e., he is such a uniquely troubled young man whose character can't be conjured up in the head ,he can't be entirely fictional.J.D Salinger ,mentioned ,in one of his interviews , that Catcher in the Rye , that Holden holds resemblance to his adolescent years.
As I flipped through the first two pages , I noticed that the book was dedicated to his mother, for what the reason was, I wouldn't be justified to comment on,but i find it wicked to have dedicated a book about a slightly depressed adolescent who ,as you read on, shares very little relations with his own mother.On the contrary,he could have been symbolically dedicating all the fame and popularity this book bought him,to his mother.
The psychological battles of the main character is rather depressing. The aspects to his sexual exploration, perception of adult behavior,impulsive spending and suicidal thoughts is intriguing.For someone to understand the character's thought process, I frankly believe you should have been an adolescent ,living in America,around the 1950's.Else there's very little to relate to for me.
Ceratin qualities of the main character left me with a bad impression . The author speaks of the main character's struggle to accept adult behavior and the eventual wearing out of child like qualities within us,as we grow older.The main character has very strong biased opinions of adults. He labels most of them as 'phony' meaning to imply their pretentious, superficial attitude. One thing that I noticed,the main character's behavior towards certain character was bordering on pretentious and he was being a hypocrite in many situations as well. As an adolescent ,his maturity levels seem below par. But that's a critical aspect to include in the overall character analysis of Holden.
The language used,the style of writing,in my opinion is very dry,over-colloquial and rather monotonic to an extent that you can guess Holden's next usage of words.The use of "too hot" was very hard to understand initially ,but only after repetitive usage of the same words in the same context made me understand it.The usage of other words such as "Phony", "that killed me","flit" were in something,I wouldn't enjoy reading.The language can get very annoying after half the book,I wouldn't be surprised if you stopped reading further.The inappropriate usage of over-emphasis was evident. Holden would mention some opinion ,..probably " I really hated it.Really". This patterns of over-emphasis was misplaced in context. The reader needs over-emphasis when only in doubt !
The main essence of the book is Holden's conversation with Pheobe,his kid sister whom he adores.
"Anyway, I keep picturing all these little kids playing some game in this big field of rye and all. Thousands of little kids, and nobody's around - nobody big, I mean - except me. And I'm standing on the edge of some crazy cliff. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff - I mean if they're running and they don't look where they're going I have to come out from somewhere and catch them. That's all I do all day. I'd just be the catcher in the rye and all. I know it's crazy, but that's the only thing I'd really like to be." ~J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye, Chapter 22, spoken by the character Holden Caulfield".

Holden wants to save the innocence of little kids.He wants to catch them when they start going off the cliff,as they lose their innocence as they enter adulthood.He wants to guide them to become young adults without losing their cherished innocence.

Overall, an ordinary book with a different yet true moral.

" Every act of rebellion expresses a nostalgia for innocence and an appeal to the essence of being. ". -Albert Camus.



Sunday, January 22, 2012

Ambitious Ants

All the ants have scurried away,
leaving the unstable mud anthill to crumble.
The other older ants are slowly turning grey,
From grey to black,non poisonous and feeble.

Crimson red ants bursting with colorless blood,
Driven by pure prejudiced hunger.
to carry heavier loads,more food ,till they collapse under the burden,
Their ambition ,now,more fiercer.

The grey ants peculiarly fat,dumb and happy,
Oblivious to the scurrying soldiers.
Waiting to be submerged under the fall,to be perished entirely,
Paving way for the red running dots to disperse.

A solitary ant suddenly stops scurrying,
to WAIT
for,they say,patience will conquer all worrying.