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A Flower To Auroville Mother-78

Rangoon Creeper(Quisqualis indica)

A sudden sprout and you grow
Up my mind-walls so intent
Clamping my memoir to blow
To my vision a vista distant

In the childhood street mine
At the sixth porch opposite
White to pink to red blooms
Pendulous trumpets you there

Who's it? my curiosity asked
Fragrant with magical colours
Five lobed On hardy wood held
Elliptic leaves in huge bliss

Who's it? -you Rangoon creeper
Till now and always perennial
Golden and fresh in my memoir
Livening so nicely ornamental

poem by Indira Renganathan
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A Flower To Auroville Mother-86

Canna(Canna spp.)
Wild canna(Indian Shot,
Canna indica)

How can I forget those days
That still string golden
Of your beaded persona
Be beaded around my memoir
A treasury of your seeds

Lily-like but not lily
Plantain-like but not
Pink and orange and red
Catchy flora even sprayed
Childhood friend really

And of your use profuse
Of your bright staminodia
Green sepals tri-petaled
Indeed colourful friendship
A flowery field still sparkles

Will I ever forget those days
That still string golden
Of your beaded persona
Be beaded around my memoir
A treasury of your seeds

poem by Indira Renganathan
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Meet The Creeper

Creature core you cant ignore
I got a 5000 fingers of dead yeah
A rats are we you cant break free
Youre with the livin on your bed yeah!
Meet the creeper, take it deeper!
Meet the creeper, yeah!
Yeah!
I see the dead in your eyes!
I transform in the skies!
Stabbin out the citys crowd
Like a dagger fallin on your baby
Thrill the kill I know you will
Feed the monster and the lady
Meet the creeper, take it deeper!
Meet the creeper, yeah!
Yeah!
I see the dead in your eyes!
I transform in the skies!
Creature core you cant ignore
I got a 5000 fingers of dead yeah
A rats are we you cant break free
Youre with the livin on your bed yeah!
Meet the creeper, take it deeper!
Meet the creeper, yeah!
Yeah!
I see the dead in your eyes!
I transform in the skies!
Meet the creeper ahhhh
Meet the creeper ahhhh
Meet the creeper ahhhh
Meet the creeper

song performed by by Rob Zombie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I have always distrusted memoir. I tend to write my memoirs through my fiction. It's easier to get to the truth by not claiming that you are speaking it. Some things can be said in fiction that can never be said in memoir.

quote by Armistead Maupin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mine is Gopal

Mine Is Gopal
Mine is Gopal, the Mountain-Holder; there is no one else.
On his head he wears the peacock-crown: He alone is my husband.
Father, mother, brother, relative: I have none to call my own.
I've forsaken both God, and the family's honor: what should I do?
I've sat near the holy ones, and I've lost shame before the people.
I've torn my scarf into shreds; I'm all wrapped up in a blanket.
I took off my finery of pearls and coral, and strung a garland of wildwood flowers.
With my tears, I watered the creeper of love that I planted;
Now the creeper has grown spread all over, and borne the fruit of bliss.
The churner of the milk churned with great love.
When I took out the butter, no need to drink any buttermilk.
I came for the sake of love-devotion; seeing the world, I wept.
Mira is the maidservant of the Mountain-Holder:
Now with love He takes me across to the further shore.

poem by Mirabai
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Love is more by nature than by merit.

A creeper is very much attached to the tree that it climbs on till it lasts or the tree lasts, not by the merit of the tree
but by the nature of creeper’s fragility.
Any tree in its place makes no difference.
A loving wife, widowed, can equally be a loving wife when remarried.
If you have a loving wife, more it is her nature.
She can love others too if replacement is made.
22.04.2001, Pmdi

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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A Flower To Auroville Mother-83

Mayilmannikkam(Cypress Vine,
Ipomoea quamoclit)

Tiny trumpets twinkling
Pink and red and white
Feathery leaves fanning
Charmed humming' respite

And I can have her annual
Seeds she thence to seedling
Thence in cycles perennial
Lo, divine Cypress dappling

poem by Indira Renganathan
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I think Henry Miller has had huge influence not because he wrote about sex, but because the memoir or the nonfiction novel has become such a monumental force in American publishing, if not in literature.

quote by Leslie Fiedler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Flower To Auroville Mother-56

Violet(Viola spp.)

Going out of hand my heart
Questing for flora all over
And this Violet a divine art
When captured by manoeuvre
Bloomed a Violaceae-mart
Amazing me with a hang over
A hurried study did my heart
Of variety violas however
Just to end up with one Violet
Of whom small, shrubby some-some are
Perennial, annual some-some Violet
Of upswept four, lobed one lower
Petals of colours many to treat
Violet, blue yellow, white to flavour
Bicoloured some alongwith impart
All now in one hold to favour
Medicinal and culinary art
Heart and oval leaves to savor
Petaled perfume performing sweet

poem by Indira Renganathan
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Grow

Grow.
Difficult it is.
And in the doing,
It is magical too.
If you,
Allow yourself to grow.
And not gloat upon your sensitivities.
With emotions on your sleeve to show.

Slow and determine,
To acquire knowledge.
And not upon it sit.

Become more inquisitive...
About life as it exists.

Don't permit,
Given criticisms to stop your quest.
The more that is learned,
The more of them...
May just manifest.

Grow.

It will become easy to be embittered,
By all that appears stagnant.
But a patience that develops,
Will within you begin to navigate...
Over obstacles and things that irritate.

You can and will,
Grow.
Show it with defined purpose.
Grow.
Don't fear ignorance.
Grow.
Overcome it like hopping a fence.
You can and will,
Grow.
Don't sit and bemoan your fate.
Grow.
Ignorance is not bliss.
Grow,
Ignorance can twist,
An unconscious mind into bits!

You can and will,
Grow.
Like a flower that blooms.
And reaches towards the sky.
Grow.
Do not deny it as life passes you by!
Grow.
Learn to fly and soar!

You can and will,
Grow.
Make opportunities for yourself,
And unlock...
All of those locked up doors,
You allowed to close before.

You can and will,
Grow.
Difficult it is.
Grow.
And in the doing.
Grow.

You can and will,
Grow.
It is magical too.
Grow.
If you decide to...
Grow.
Grow.
Grow.
Allow yourself to grow.
And not gloat upon your sensitivities.
With emotions on your sleeve to show.

You can and will,
Grow!
And let that be your mission.
Grow.
Knowing it is your ammunition.
Grow.

You can and will,
Grow.
Grow.
Grow!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Carnations in the garden

There are carnations in the garden
in colours of ruby red,
pure white and blossom pink
and some pink with deep purple inside
and others purple-blue.

I smell the sweet fresh flowers
and look at colours
hue as if by magic
into each other.

Some grow in flowering pots,
some are planted in flowerbeds,
others even in the rock garden

and the flowers at places are mixed
to catch the eye
and everywhere there’s care
and a lot of love
that went into the tending of it.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Rangoon

ust a changing sea of colour
Surging up and flowing down;
And pagodas shining golden, night and noon;
And a sun-burst-tinted throng
Of young priests that move along
Under sun-burst-hued umbrellas through the town.
That's Rangoon.

poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Single In A State Of Mind

You've got your nights,
Doubled up with meetings.
And you say your days,
Are booked from dawn 'til noon.

But what about me and my time?
You've got me in a single state of mind.
And that's not right...
For the need I have for you.

You turn off lights,
When your neighbor comes to visit.
My jaws are tight!
But there's nothing I can do.

You've got your nights,
Doubled up with meetings.
And you say your days,
Are booked from dawn 'til noon.
You think I will hesitate in waiting?
To offer someone else a dried up prune!

You turn off lights,
When your neighbor comes to visit.
My jaws are tight!
But there's nothing I can do.
Except...
Bam on your door,
Until the lights turn on.
As I watch that creeper sneak,
Back across the street.

Bam on your door,
Until the lights turn on.
As I watch that creeper sneak,
Back across the street.

'Uh...hi.
You busy?
If it's not too late,
Would you like some company? '

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I read The Bell Jar, and then I read her memoir and her diaries, and a third book, an outside opinion. Just the way she made the pillows so neat on the oven door. It just seems to be the opposite of, if you're going to take your life, in a horrible rage it happens.

quote by Paul Westerberg
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mother...look At Your Nature:

Wrapped in green grass
And other green things,
Beautifully laced in pink
And white blooms,
A canopy of blossoms
For thousand of strollers,
Flowered heads fresh out
Of priestly cradle,
Perennial rite in spring,
Eastertime turns Mother Earth
Into glorious paradise,
Pink and white snowflake
On jackets and hats,
But all delay leaving
to stroll hand-in-hand,
Promenading
On
Floral carpeting,
Besieged
by
Brooklyn Botanic Garden’s
ritual of spring.

Almedia Knight-Oliver

poem by Almedia Knight Oliver
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For Him I Know Not: Ii

and then the jasmine creeper
that bloomed in the extreme
north west corner of the house
whispered many a smiles to
the full bright moon last night
i don't really know what conspired
between the creeper and the moon
the moon bathed in the perfume
crawled into my room with a few
petals still hanging down the neck
i stretch my moon-cuddled hands
for you to rest your weary head
in the scented softness and i
i blew the petals with
as much strength as i could
that you bathe in the scent
on this cool summer evening...

30apr2010
18.59hrs

poem by Indira Babbellapati
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There once was a man from Rangoon
Who played, in the late afternoon,
On his battered guitar
In the conservatoire
With a wish that it was a bassoon.

(Written Oct 2012)

quote by by John Carter Brown
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Letting in the Jungle

Veil them, cover them, wall them round--
Blossom, and creeper, and weed--
Let us forget the sight and the sound,
The smell and the touch of the breed!
Fat black ash by the altar-stone,
Here is the white-foot rain
And the does bring forth in the fields unsown,
And none shall affright them again;
And the blind walls crumble, unknown, o'erthrown,
And none shall inhabit again!

poem by Rudyard Kipling
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A man with a pink umbrella

Pink day
Pink hedge
Pink porch
Pink balcony
Pink woman
Pink ghost on a pink road!
Pink door
Pink hello
Pink dream
Pink sparrow
Pink night

poem by Framarz Bagheri
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Bought Just For Fourteen Annas..

If antiquity can account even trivial things
Then I open my first trunk box
Put in my first school-slate
Ink-pen, music notebook, comb, mirror
Teen-age style of a goggles, a thakli-spindle
Little-torn my first pink nylex saree
My college photos, this and that all one by one
Until my memoir-plane is almost emptied..
But except one..
That holds wholesome fragrance
Of Mysore Sandal, Rexona, Hamam, Pears
Margo, Medimix, Chandrika, Lux, Lifebuoy
Johnson's, Dove e.t.c
Over a run of fortyfive years..
A soap box.. bought just for fourteen annas
Richly fragrant is its loyal antiquity
Like those branded ones

poem by Indira Renganathan
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From The Upland To The Sea

Shall we wake one morn of spring,
Glad at heart of everything,
Yet pensive with the thought of eve?
Then the white house shall we leave,
Pass the wind-flowers and the bays,
Through the garth, and go our ways,
Wandering down among the meads
Till our very joyance needs
Rest at last; till we shall come
To that Sun-god’s lonely home,
Lonely on the hill-side grey,
Whence the sheep have gone away;
Lonely till the feast-time is,
When with prayer and praise of bliss,
Thither comes the country side.
There awhile shall we abide,
Sitting low down in the porch
By that image with the torch:
Thy one white hand laid upon
The black pillar that was won
From the far-off Indian mine;
And my hand nigh touching thine,
But not touching; and thy gown
Fair with spring-flowers cast adown
From thy bosom and thy brow.
There the south-west wind shall blow
Through thine hair to reach my cheek,
As thou sittest, nor mayst speak,
Nor mayst move the hand I kiss
For the very depth of bliss;
Nay, nor turn thine eyes to me.
Then desire of the great sea
Nigh enow, but all unheard,
In the hearts of us is stirred,
And we rise, we twain at last,
And the daffodils downcast,
Feel thy feet and we are gone
From the lonely Sun-Crowned one.
Then the meads fade at our back,
And the spring day ’gins to lack
That fresh hope that once it had;
But we twain grow yet more glad,
And apart no more may go
When the grassy slope and low
Dieth in the shingly sand:
Then we wander hand in hand
By the edges of the sea,
And I weary more for thee
Than if far apart we were,
With a space of desert drear
’Twixt thy lips and mine, O love!
Ah, my joy, my joy thereof!

poem by William Morris
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