A royal blossoming

Shades of Spring in Northwestern US

(photo by Sylvia Kirkwood)

The Spring exposition,
attended by
H. M. the Sun,
and his consort,
Mrs Breeze.


The Duchess of Green
adjusts her hat,
bending
to whisper,
to a tree-in-waiting
attired in pale yellow
who listens
and shrugs...




" These young trees,
will never learn....
Look
at all these
sensible greys,
deep greens,
conservative ,
woody ,
browns.
I never thought
I'd see
someone
in a flouncy white
and purple,
in the front row,
acting up like this !"

"Loo"dicrous....?

A comment on a wonderful blogpost by a keen observer of the-ordinary-and-simplest, made really complicated .....

(Photos by Kavi Arasu)





Arrows,
with illustrations,
instructions
to
look straight,
be brave,
determined,
charitable,
there is nothing
"officially winning"
about It..





A child,
in a crowded bus,
holding
a maternal hand,
waiting
to get down,
shuffling ,
uncomfortably
on each foot,
big eyes,
tugging,
and tugging again,
the maternal hand.

The conductor,
someone's Dad,
yanks a single bell,
and relieved,
she leads
the child out....

No arrows,
no illustrations,
no posters,
no looking straight,
no budgeting of sensible thought;
the conductor
remains,
the positive,
optimistic,
determined,
undefeated,
one star,
winner.....

Ode to a Mandapam....

A mandapa (मंडप in Hindi/Sanskrit, also spelled mantapa or mandapam) in Indian architecture is a pillared outdoor hall or pavilion for public rituals.


(photo of Mandapam by Kavi Arasu )
A flowing river
by a Mandapam,
a warm floor
cooled by a
gentle breeze;
And the Kanjeevarams***
and cottons
mingle
with the sounds
of music
performed by
those
whom the Gods like.....





The river too
would
wait to hear,
and bubble
and swirl with mirth,
carrying secrets to the
next town
on its schedule....

Today
only dearth remains;
dearth of flow,
dearth of voice,
dearth of mirth,
and
dearth of time,
as Gods own,
sit with a laptop
on an eroded bank,
tapping conversations,
that fly
high above the Mandapams
cocking a snook
at the
empty
hard
geriatric floors,
which earlier
had eyes and ears,
but now ,
have only
intuition left....

***kanjeevaram : Town in Tamil Nadu, South India, world famous for its textiles, particularly silks and temple sarees.

"Good Hope"ful Creation

Vivek Patwardhan does a Photo blog at PhotoKadha ...


(Photo from South Africa by Vivek Patwardhan at PhotoKadha)

When He created,
He splashed most
of the blue
and gave it waves;
undulating brown
and snowy white
reaching up
to the sky;
Colors and Smells
competing
for attention
in a flower
and fruit rich world.
Green valleys,
gold of the lion,
tiger in yellows,
stately grey elephants.




Tired,
after
an Era of creation,
He rested,
looked down His eyelids
and noticed
a set of uncolored young ones
frisking around
near places of Good Hope.

He dipped into
the remnant colors,
saying,
"Wait! be still,
else you will be all white..."
But the young
frisky ones,
danced
against the brushes,
getting grand streaks
in black,
saying,
"Don't know about you,
but we're Mandelian,
and
we really enjoy
being
both black and white...
and now,
if you excuse us,
we will cross the road !

Reaching out....

Tree spied and photographed by PNA in Lonavla
Rocks of the Ages
in the
Ghats of the West;
windswept,
grassy,
with
a lone tree
in
an undulating world.

She stands,
precarious,
on a
well eroded edge,
dreaming
of a young,
fun and
leafy past,
when monkeys
settled
at her feet,
their lips
purple with
jamun....




And so,
away from the valley,
fearful in the wind,
she leans back,
geriatric
in her bareness,
reaching behind,
yearning
for the
slopes
on high,
hoping
for
a quiet,
final
rest there,
when the
next
high wind blows...

Pithla Bhakri by moonlight

The Setting Sun at Mt Abu...

(photo by Nupur Phatak )

The Sun
sniffing a bit
through the
pollution,
so fashionable
in the atmosphere;
a last look at
the still trees,
the dusty kachcha** road,
and a jeep
rushing home,
rough shod over
tough
hilly terrain.

She looks out
amidst the
jai -jui ***
languid over the doorway.
a flavourful aroma
wafts in
from the
onions
on the
wood fired stove.

She rushes back
to sizzle a
tawyavarcha pithla****
as she measures
the bhakri***** flour.
a fist crushed onion,
a teasing green mirchi,******
and the
sound of brakes
at the door….

Dinner for two
by the light
of the waking Moon,
and the Sun
sighs,
and retires
in jealousy,
to try
the next morning,
once again,
thinking,
“Ayushya he asach asta…..”…..*******

** Kachcha : not tarred, mud road

*** Jai Jui : fragrant white flowers that grow as creepers on bowers

**** Pithla : spicy garbanzo flour concoction etaen fresh of the gridle (tawa)

*****Bhakri : maize tortilla

****** Mirchi : jalapeno pepper

********Ayushya he asach asta… : marathi for "life's like that..."

Wimbledonic Life....

The picture conveys to me a very "proper" audience standing behind ropes at a distance , like they show when they have state visits at the White house, or when they show those noble folks at Wimbledon, in hats and coats, enjoying the game...)


(Photo by Sylvia Kirkwood)



Organized spectators
heads covered
in the approved
British Milliner's style
like
green box hats
and stuff;
crowding together,
standing in heels
feet together,
hands clasped in front
of their
top coats.




The mild breeze
swishing leaves
this way and that,
as the necks
move in Unision
watching,
not a tennis ball,
but
free birds
and squirrels
an occasional
kid with a frisbee....

All
watching
on a great summer day,
the
Wimbledon of life.....

The Magic of "Y"

Photo by Nupur Phatak at Kausani in Nov 2009

Not Why ,
but “Y”;
Yes,
it’s sunny;
Yes,
it’s blue;
Yes,
it’s another great day;
Yes,
the blossoms bloom;

It takes
a lot of guts,
to stand upright,
with
the bare minimum
in the face
of a biting wind.

But,
then you
get to dream,
about a summer
when the leaves
appear,
enriching that “Y”,
with a bouquet
of
green,
white,
pale pink,
and lots of love…….

Racing through the sky....

The Lord notices everyone who photographs His wonders....

(photo by Sylvia Kirkwood)
The Formula One
streak
across the skies,
as
The One In-Charge,
sets up,
a night here,
a day there,
a cloudy moment
for a burning day,
occasional
and
monsoon leaks
elsewhere,
as he hits
some dark
loaded clouds.




Energy Spent,
foot off the
world accelerator,
He relaxes,
somewhere over
Seattle,
looks down
through
the white exhaust ,
spots someone,
with a camera
and says,
"Sylvia,
well , I never ....."
:-)

The Networked Proletariat

(Photo by Kavi Arasu)




At the top
of it all
is the
Unequal Sign....

Two parallel
horizontals,
minding their own
connections
and a huge pillar
shoots up





Wires,
Reaching out to
brother pillars,
sister connections
to virtual houses ,
Power ,
stolen,
from those
perceived to have
too much of it.

But as in politics,
those
who actually
use the network,
succeed;
while those used
when it was being
fixed,
always end up
being shocked in the end.

High on Spring

Spring comes to Seattle a month early . Photo taken on March 3, 2010.

(Photo by Sylvia Kirkwood)





Madame Earth,
coming out
of a wet
and cold winter.
Bare bone branches
and white outfits
sometimes
dripping
with joy
on sighting
a weak winter Sun.




Then,
Seasonal departures
of the
Cold and Bare;
and
she enjoys the
arrival of
a time of birth,
Spring.

Bursting high
into blossom,
greening
the Bare,
High Kicks
from Madam Earth
in her pink and green
Head costume,
celebrating
Folies Bergere
beneath an audience
of wispy clouds
applauding
in a Blue Sky....

Brides of the Sky

Photo by Kavi Arasu, from his album, "Sunny Moods"
on Facebook

Eartha Bai,
dressed
to the nines
in a
bottle green salwar,
greyblue kurta,
and a
gold ,pink, and yellow
dupatta,
carelessly thrown
across the shoulders.

The gold ornament
adorns her neck,
shining
for the world to see.




You see,
for Brides of the Sky,
the entrances
and exits
are what
are celebrated,
daily,
on the horizon,
enjoyed
both,
by the East
and the
West .......

All for a nice cup of tea.......

Reproduced from this post from Iyer-n-higher : Pot calling the kettle black

A man feared his wife wasn't hearing as well as she used to and he thought she might need a hearing aid. Not quite sure how to approach her, he called the family Doctor to discuss the problem. The Doctor told him there is a simple informal test the husband could perform to give the Doctor a better idea about her hearing loss. Here's what you do," said the Doctor,"stand about 40 feet away from her, and in a normal conversational speaking tone see if she hears you. If not, go to 30 feet, then 20 feet, and so on until you get a response."

That evening, the wife is in the kitchen cooking dinner, and he washing the den. He says to himself, "I'm about 40 feet away, let's see what happens." Then in a normal tone he asks, 'Honey, what's for dinner?" No response.

So the husband moves to closer to the kitchen, about 30 feet from his wife and repeats, "Honey, what's for dinner?" Still no response.

Next he moves into the dining room where he is about 20 feet from his wife and asks, Honey, what's for dinner?"

Again he gets no response so, He walks up to the kitchen door, about 10 feet away. "Honey, what's for dinner?" Again there is no response.

So he walks right up behind her. "Honey, what's for dinner?"
"James, for the FIFTH time I've said, PIZZA!"


The fine kettle,
spout-
a bit uppity;
the pot,
grandly boiling away
puffing some steam
at the kettle....

The vase on the
side,
brushes aside a
fern
blocking the view,
looks
through the roses,
and says,
"At the end of the day,
its all
about
making
a nice cup of tea,
together ,
isn't it ....."

Learning from Soup

My friend Lilly, from Australia, recently posted about Astasia Dubrowski, an amazing 84 year old Australian woman of Polish descent, who , for the last 28 years has been single handedly running a Soup Kitchen at the Canberra Ciy Centre, to feed the hungry and have-nots, every Friday, getting up at 4 am, to cut 150 kgs of veggies, and she stands there, week after week, ladling out soup, stressing the vegetarian aspect. Alone in her old age, read about it here :





Flavoured
by the sharp onion,
the cooperative tomato,
unbending carrots,
she stirs in
the pungent green peppers
as the dawn sun
peers
across the Canberra sky.




Errant clouds
hanging around
to see the soup,
are politely
pushed,
for the day
must dawn
clear and warm
and full of hope.

Just like
Stasia's Soup,
a wonderful
orchestra of veggies,
bringing hope and warmth
to some of us
lonely souls,
all so worried about
me, me and me.

Like the carrot
said to the pepper,
"we're not so great
by ourselves,
but in Stasia's soup
we bring out the best
when we stay together...."

Nobody's world

(photo by Sylvia Kirkwood)



Sometimes,
brown and black
lie low,
a troubled surface,
a dig here,
a lump there.

White
appears to thrive,
mixing with
those in the pink
and cream of of Life





Its nobody's world;
the brown and black,
sucking
the rain water
for the roots,
cool down there;
the whites and pinks,
facing a mositure-ous new day
and the green,
opening
up to the world,
as if to say,
"We really can't live without each other,
can we ?"

Dreamtime of a Troubled Sea

(spotted by AB, photo by Pins N Ashes)




The sea
Off Mumbai,
settling down
after a tumultous day,
patted to sleep
by the lullaby
of the setting Sun.



Quiet,
resting at ease,
the tree stands guard
on the shores
shsh-ing the birds
chattering there
after a long day.





As the Sea sinks
into Dreamtime,
disturbed
by visions
up there,
of a black crcodile,
a faceless cat;
the Sun
spreads
a blanket of dark,
patting the waves asleep,
saying,
Rest now,
don't worry,
tomorrow,
will dawn again,
a brand new day!