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Fog – Notes in thinking | pogamanchu.wordpress.com Reviews
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Notes in thinking
pogamanchu.wordpress.com
Meaning – Fog
https://pogamanchu.wordpress.com/2016/12/29/meaning
December 29, 2016. December 29, 2016. In the bus the tiny girl suggested many levels, layers of meaning filtering into a cozy bus from the information spread about in the bus around the driver seeing in the rear view mirror and passers-by who vaguely whizzed past him. It was for me to make meaning synchronizing my plane of existence with hers. At another level a fuzzy sun set on the still lake as if the collected lake had to speak for the day without orange sun blazing in other side. Fog in the throat.
The steadfast canine – Fog
https://pogamanchu.wordpress.com/2016/12/13/the-steadfast-canine
December 13, 2016. The sun is up above a winter breeze , in gray clouds. A silky brown dog is tugging at a master’s leash ,generally curious about wayside grass. In Melbourne the sun rose five hours ago in WhatsApp . The sun might have got into the metro, holding gleaming handrails. Here, in my mornings I have poetry words stuck from desultory readings in the cyber wastes. Straggler words do make a poem or two and bring up a gleaming image from the bottom of night. A low hanging fruit. You are commenting...
Good bones – Fog
https://pogamanchu.wordpress.com/2017/01/01/good-bones
January 1, 2017. January 1, 2017. The loved one’s bones cannot be all that good when in the clay-pot. The clay-pot cannot be all that good if hurled in mid-waters, with a promise not to turn back. The promise cannot be all that good if the boat has turned back from eddy. The eddy cannot be all that good if it closes too. You can make it beautiful. Referring to Maggie Smith’s poem “Good Bones. 8221; that went viral recently). Leave a Reply Cancel reply. Enter your comment here. Address never made public).
Mapping our space – Fog
https://pogamanchu.wordpress.com/2016/12/19/mapping-our-space
December 19, 2016. December 19, 2016. A fine warm line goes forward, in a single track and then loops and turns us toward the sky as if the earth were sky with our footprints missing or erased willfully by winds. We first map country homes with electric poles and the abandoned substations with bat-homes. We then enter casuarina trees in their tall homes. Beyond them is a rise of the sea with no map, only a dull ocean sound for our cartography. Canada is immigrant’s map of a maple leaf. A low hanging fruit.
A low hanging fruit – Fog
https://pogamanchu.wordpress.com/2016/12/14/a-low-hanging-fruit-2
A low hanging fruit. December 14, 2016. Behind the saree waving tree, the sun is a low hanging fruit . In the morning ,the words recalled a body, its journey from the darkness of a mother’s inside to a white wall. The body had banged its whiteness and a horn duly sprouted ,a head bump on human aliveness. There was some ice at night on the floor .In the morning ,rice flakes were strewn outside a van. Leave a Reply Cancel reply. Enter your comment here. Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:.
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templesandfortsofindia.wordpress.com
2016-11-16-3735-01 – A photographer's diary
https://templesandfortsofindia.wordpress.com/2016/11/24/kuldhara/2016-11-16-3735-01
A photographer's diary. Notes towards making of photo-images. Leave a Reply Cancel reply. Enter your comment here. Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:. Address never made public). You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. ( Log Out. You are commenting using your Twitter account. ( Log Out. You are commenting using your Facebook account. ( Log Out. You are commenting using your Google account. ( Log Out. Notify me of new comments via email. I and The Body. Poetry of the moment.
January 2017 – Indian Metaphor
https://indianmetaphor.wordpress.com/2017/01
Poems with Indian motifs, Indian cultural expressions. The Hibiscus: The hibiscus. Light grew less in his eyes and other poems. Light grew less in his eyes and other poems. A phototographer's diary. A poet's diary. I and The Body. Poetry of the moment. The language of thought. What goes on inside. Follow me on Twitter. Then, at the dead of the night. A river’s waters rose , swelled. And spilled over to the village. The mountains then looked on. As a flying chariot-in-flames. Had sheared the edges smooth.
fragmentsofpoems.wordpress.com
When you are outside saying it « Fragments
https://fragmentsofpoems.wordpress.com/2017/01/09/when-you-are-outside-saying-it
Where fragments are wholes. When you are outside saying it. Who says this with your mouth. That did not know this before? When you are outside saying it,. You go quiet puzzling about it. Your mouth never knew words. Only sounds like mouth steam. Escaped when you opened it,. Touching different, each time. On reading Rumi’s poem “ who says words with my mouth. This entry was posted in poems. And tagged when you are outside saying it. Leave a Reply Cancel reply. Enter your comment here. I and the body.
fragmentsofpoems.wordpress.com
Years « Fragments
https://fragmentsofpoems.wordpress.com/2017/01/12/years
Where fragments are wholes. See the moon hung on a branch of tree. It is sad moon-face,a pie-face in cloud. It used to jump each time a wave came. You are reading in years, with big holes. Eaten in by silver worms, that eat them. So nice and to such a round perfection. The years have eaten bits of your moon. This entry was posted in poems. Wind in the pass →. Leave a Reply Cancel reply. Enter your comment here. Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:. Address never made public).
Mom’s watch – Indian Metaphor
https://indianmetaphor.wordpress.com/2016/12/11/moms-watch
Poems with Indian motifs, Indian cultural expressions. The Hibiscus: The hibiscus. Light grew less in his eyes and other poems. Light grew less in his eyes and other poems. A phototographer's diary. A poet's diary. I and The Body. Poetry of the moment. The language of thought. What goes on inside. Follow me on Twitter. She was our mom , big mom. In green, fond of wrist watch. She gives us mixers to make. Our truth and hers palatable,. Keeps ticking watch with her. Let watch be buried as truth.
fragmentsofpoems.wordpress.com
Sleep « Fragments
https://fragmentsofpoems.wordpress.com/2017/01/12/sleep
Where fragments are wholes. Many times, sleep is heavy thing. Lying flat at the bottom of a night. The muddy brown thing crawling. With several sleazy sleep creatures. At times it floats away like clouds. Around airplane, scraps of songs,. With melody of eternal memories. This entry was posted in poems. Leave a Reply Cancel reply. Enter your comment here. Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:. Address never made public). You are commenting using your Twitter account. ( Log Out.
Wasp | Momentary poems
https://momentarypoems.wordpress.com/2017/01/04/wasp
Fragments of life, contextual experiences viewed as brief intersections of time and space. My wasp flies in to its mud-house. On this my computer table where. Poems are made like mud-houses. Wasp re-lives the imperial novel,. A passage to the subject country. With woman talking to its wasps. Here is wasp in a room with man. On computer typing wasp poems,. A mud-house for its future wasps. References are to William Carlos Williams’ poem Man in a Room. And Forster’s novel A Passage to India). I and The Body.
thelanguageofthought.wordpress.com
About – How thought goes
https://thelanguageofthought.wordpress.com/about
Language is what pleases. You, how thought goes. Not what pleases reader. In fact there are readers only contingent. It is language as thought.Or rather thought as it is conceived in language. Thought is not material,only language.Because thought is not pleasing but language is. Thought is process but language is product. Suspended from the other side. Language is for its own sake. Because if we have to fill gaps for the reader , it mars the beauty of language. Leave a Reply Cancel reply.
thelanguageofthought.wordpress.com
How thought goes – Page 2 – Words hard pressed
https://thelanguageofthought.wordpress.com/page/2
February 14, 2017. February 14, 2017. Two kids play ball , a red round ball , the holiday ball. When the Assembly is not functioning. Says the kid. This morning we thought of how time curved around our bodies in a vast green space. Around the parrot green cement bench while the kids tossed a big round ball. Please do not throw ball at speed, says the little girl. The red round ball curved around an Assembly not functioning, a holiday from a politicians time. He is a jolly good fellow. February 13, 2017.
thelanguageofthought.wordpress.com
Serial reader – How thought goes
https://thelanguageofthought.wordpress.com/2017/01/11/serial-reader
January 11, 2017. I am now a serial reader . Like a serial killer .I started killing Russian literature bite by bite , as they say . You cannot bite beyond what you can chew. So each issue is bite-sized and your smallness of mouth is taken into account deciding the bite-size. Bite by bite,I look into the goings-on in the Idiot’s mind. The idiot has just reached General Epachin after an invigorating conversation with the servant in the ante-room. Poet-photographer View all posts by perspectives. You are c...
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Fog – Notes in thinking
January 12, 2017. The earth shook three times and it took a whole minute to realise I was not in Gangtok of the Himalayas but right on the pillow. Behind eyes, that is. The eye shook in disbelief. It was a vast plain and we were not in a building. Then why were we exhorting everyone to lie down? We should have run outside. The cunning fox comes slyly and my poem is made for the new day. January 5, 2017. We were hardly free to fill it the way we would. January 1, 2017. January 1, 2017. But the world is fi...
పొగమంచు - డా. సంగుభొట్ల సాయిప్రసాద్ కవితలు
పొగమంచు - డా. సంగుభొట్ల సాయిప్రసాద్ కవితలు. మంచు కురిసే వేళలో. అంచులేని దృశ్యం. గాయపడ్డ గుండెకేక. మంచు మీ ముంగిటే కురిసేను. పోస్ట్లు. పోస్ట్లు. అన్ని వ్యాఖ్యలు. అన్ని వ్యాఖ్యలు. అనుచరులు. 10, సెప్టెంబర్ 2009, గురువారం. చివరి పాట. ఎప్పటికైనా ఖాళీ చేయక తప్పదు. బతుకు చుట్టూ అల్లుకున్న. మమకార బంధాలను తెంచుకొని. చివరి క్షణంలో ఒంటరి ప్రయాణమూ తప్పదు. ఈ కోరికలెప్పుడూ ఇంతే! ఆశల పల్లకి ఎక్కించి ఊరేగిస్తుంటాయి. దూరాన్ని సమీపించే కొద్దీ. కొసకు చేరిన ఆయువు దీపం. ఇక ఏ కోరికా వుండవు. వద్ద 4:00 [PM]. కవిగా...
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