"arumugam" poems
My aged mum excitedly points outside
White flowers burst open bright overnight
She says they look like popcorn
I love her metaphor and play along
Flowers white like popcorn bright
Tickled by the heat of the micro light
Mum speaks of small things in her big age
Sun, rain, wind, hot, cold, quite days
The unrelenting pain in her legs
and memories of things she could once do with ease
She speaks of the coming and going of mischievous monkeys
real monkeys - not metaphors
She tells of how they brazenly steal her fruit
when she is alone at home - teasing her
as they walk backwards out the glass door
slinging their stolen bananas like a colt 44
My mum sits across from me
the sun gently brushes her short silver grey strands of hair
Today she wears a pretty pink dress - patterned bright
with pretty pink and blue flowers - reflection
of the pretty flowers outside
She sits in serenity - she is at peace - inside
My niece pops corn in the microwave
My sisters biryani fills the hungry air
My brother in law awaits his birthday party
I am at home
The pretty white flowers
silently blossom in the yard
I sit across from my metaphor mum
My poet, my muse, my loving bard
Stanley Arumugam
Richards Bay
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 1:51 PM UTC
(a traditional Japanese ghost story, re-told by Raj Arumugam)
Preamble
Ogiwara sits in his shed
alone, sad
only memories sustain him now
in the lonely hours of his nights
and now it is the night of the obon
and he hears the light feet of women
just outside on the grass
just below the willow
it is a woman with her peony lantern
and beside her
through his window
Ogiwara sees the beauty that weakens his heart
young Otsuyu he sees
and Ogiawara comes out and bows
and he invites them in
on this the night of the obon
What Onatsaku saw
I saw the ladies come every night
and the woman with the lantern
sat out at the deck
while the young one went in
and Ogiwara as happy as in times past
every night I saw them
come as gentle as divine beings
and before the break of dawn
as I prepared for work
I saw them leave
and Ogiwara sad, as he is always now
What an elderly neighbor saw
toothless I may be
but ‘m still sharp of faculty
and I saw these two w'men
one young, and a beauty as one from Edo
and every night Ogiwara received her
and last night I went by his window
and I saw ‘m naked in his room
and the w'man he was making love to
was but bones, bones and smiling skull
and the two were entwined
limb over limb
so close in love making
and the w'man he was making love to
was but bones, bones and smiling skull
What the priest did
And the priest came forth
And warned Ogiwara of the danger
The ravishing young girl
was the ghost Otsuyu
And a prayer he placed on the door
so she can never come in
even when invited in
Otsuyu’s song
O Ogiwara
my heart and flesh
yearns for you
on previous nights
you welcomed me in
but now you have doors
shut against me
was all your love
false, false as our days?
O Ogiwara
my heart and flesh
trembles for yours
on previous nights
you cried as we made love
you cried that you had found
beauty and joy
but now you let me stand
crying out in the cold
was all your love
false, false as our days?
O Ogiwara
if I may not come in
open the door
and come with me
What the children saw
This morning we
went playing across the fields
and at the graveyard
And there in an open grave
there we saw Ogiwara’s corpse
breaking, rotting
but his blue cloak still round him
And we saw his corpse
embraced by a woman
but she was but bones, bones and smiling skull
and the two were entwined
limb over limb
and the skull-woman he was with
she hissed at us
and she said: “Go away, children…Go away…”
and she was but bones, bones and smiling skull
Sep 22, 2012
Sep 22, 2012 at 6:32 AM UTC
The First Apostle
Did you know your calling?
When He first met you
Demonized-Prostitute
Transformed by His healing hand
Your love-turned passion
Inseparably bound to his being
Scorned for your lavish yearning
Prophetically anointing perfume-blood
Head to hands to dusty broken feet
Your walk with Him closer to death
The rugged weight of dry wood
Heavy heart anointed in knowing tears
You stood by his side-abandoned
By pharisaical disciples cowards call
His love grafted into bone and sinew
The empty mocking tomb
Like your barren heart
Devoid-all you lived for
Rudely taken away
Then He touches you again
With glorious anointing
Head to heart to weary feet
With apostolic "Go-Tell" command
Demonized-Prostitute
Apostle-Evangelist
Stanley Arumugam
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 2:55 PM UTC
1
Dear Poet Friend at HP
(I don't know your name, as the name you use at HP is in a typo I can't decipher.)
* I welcome your question and comment as it gives me an opportunity to explore this issue of plagiarism. It will indeed be useful for everyone.
* This is my modus operandi: I take a joke from online and I convert it to poetry. The language is mine; I give the joke a context, even alter its spirit, create characters and by the time I'm finished with it, it is a new and original product.
If I took the words exactly as they are and passed them off as my own, then that is plagiarism. I never do that.
Plagiarism is taking another person's words and phrases and work and passing them off as one's own. That is not what my work is about.
* Take the example of Shakespeare. His "Julius Caesar" is actually based on various sources. So is his "Romeo and Juliet" and other plays like "Othello". Do we charge him with plagiarism ? No, as he has used his own language and puts each material from various sources into his own style. I have taken many jokes and I have put them in poetry, in my own style, in my own narrative. It shows a great lack of understanding of Literature to call that plagiarism.
* You might ask why I do not have a note at the end to indicate the poem is based on a joke found online. I used to do that (see my older poems) and decided for purely aesthetic reasons to keep notes to a minimum.
Kind regards
Raj Arumugam
2
Would it be fine with you if I posted your comment along with my reply as a separate post on my page? It will benefit everyone to consider this issue.
If you are not agreeable to my including your view in such a post, then I will simply post my reply possibly entitled "Reply on being charged with plagiarism".
Thank you
Kind regards
Raj Arumugam
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 11:48 PM UTC
HE:
It was a long while ago
since I left my village
There’s been no word
no traveller with news –
and I am dying for any song
from the girl I left behind
SHE:
It's been some time ago
Since that boy left me behind
Where he is, nobody knows
There's been no news to find
I would like to just sing him one more song
About how he's the boy that I've loved for so long
Maybe he'll come to me, in my dreams
But in reality, he's nowhere it seems...
HE:
The day’s work offers diversion
but the quiet evening
brings back the pain
How is she now
the one I left behind?
I see her still in my mind –
across the river
and she would not wave goodbye
SHE:
I regret not waving to him
On that dreadful final goodbye
I wonder if he thinks of me
On that last day, did he see me cry?
Daily chores and family
Offer me some solace
But nothing feels the same
As when him and I were US
BOTH: (Chorus)
Staring at this glassy water,
Our eternal hearts divide
Do you stare at the same moon’s reflection
From the other side?
I hope you find my love one day
Floating across this wayward water
Until then, I will pray
Our hearts are broken no longer
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 9:37 AM UTC
*The Clothed Maja, sister of The **** Maja (both painted by Goya, and both enjoyed by Raj Arumugam), speaks:*
Hey, you boys…yeah, you…
OK, all of you good boys, if you like…
come see me in my white dress and golden shoes;
see me reclined in my luxurious couch…
Look here…I’m in this room…
Oh, you adorable, silly boys;
I’ve been hearing you the last hour
as you searched one room after another
and all you grown men giggling like little boys…
while I’ve been waiting here all the while…
And you’re Frank? And you?
Sean? What a **** name you’ve got baby…
Oh, hmmmm…you should be…O Patrick,
you think I’m cool?
I was made by Goya, how can I not be?
And come on other boys at the door, don’t be shy…
Ravi, Kesav, Eliot, jp –
my, my, what a short name you got;
you can get it long too? ...jp…lovely name…
and Jack Chappell, and Sean Critchfield –
and why didn’t cheeky Raj come?
Oh, leave him, he’s probably just best left ogling
at ***** shunga pictures
from Hokusai…
So welcome boys all…
Yes, yes, you can come close
You can’t resist the scent can you?
O, my name? Just call me Maja -
Maja pretty and well-dressed
and I just love good company and wine
and pleasure and fun
…what?
You guys think I’m sweet, and seductive?
Oh, that’s nice of you…
**** too?
Oh, boys! Oh, you boys!
If you think I’m ****
Oh wait till you see my sister, my double –
Oh, yes she’s always reclining in a bed too
unlike that stodgy Mona Lisa
Well, my sis didn’t want to come
but really, I’ll tell you a secret -
my sis, she doesn’t wear clothes -
and she hasn’t been in clothes since 1800!
Oh, you guys got to go?
Reluctant, but you must go?
Yeah, you can always see me – just google Goya
and I’ll always be there
and my sister?
Oh, you naughty boys, that’s who really want to see,
don’t you?
and that’s the reason for your sudden hurry?
Well, she’s always placed beside me –
I’m always The Clothed Maja and she the Naked one…
See you soon, guys –
see you at Goya...
Hey, come back here boys –
the least you can do is to kiss me goodbye…
Aug 7, 2011
Aug 7, 2011 at 2:32 AM UTC
I am learning to listen
to what's not said
to read between the lines
to see the invisible sights
to feel the silent heartbeat
I am learning to listen
to the moments of friendship silence
to hear you dive deep in our dialogue
and come up floundering breathless
I have to resist being your saviour
Just watch you go up and down
up and down but you do not drown
I am learning to listen
to your unspoken presence divine
in the quiet of my lonely night
when my mind is taken over
with a million unanswered questions
regrets, shame, hopes and dreams
painted on white walls of ****** frustration
I am learning to listen
in the times you do not speak
in the times you embrace me
with all of my deep uncertainty
my fear - my doubts - my pain
In the moments I think you absent
and nowhere to be seen
you sit across from me - silent
listening and not to be heard
I often neglect the greatest gift you
give to me - as my lover-friend-divine
to enjoy you as the one
who does not want to be heard
but the one who just wants to listen
Stanley Arumugam
17 April 2013
Mar 20, 2014
Mar 20, 2014 at 2:27 PM UTC
I write what I cannot speak
Words - held captive
in the depths of my soul
slowly, silently, suffocating
Words - I'm afraid of saying out loud
Words - hiding my heart desires
my fears, my despair, my hope
I know this to be true
when they are heard by others
They will be judged
I will be judged
I've learned this over time
It's safest to keep my words
imprisoned - out of sight
in the dungeons
of my soul
But they keep crying out
needing to be heard
Crying out in the still of the night
Words - heard only by me
It's in these moments
when their voice Is louder
than I can bear
It's in these moments
I write to you - in secret
I write to you - my words
that cannot be spoken
Stanley Arumugam
Sandton 26th April 2013
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 9:32 AM UTC
I can spill
well and good
Can you spill?
Let me advise you
you should learn
how to spill -
and to spill well
You see, a lot of people can’t spill
and so we know they are not educated
But if you can spill
like me
so well and so good
and when people read what I write
they know straight away
I’m educated, very well educated
So you see I can spill
and so I’m known all over the world
as educated and polished
and let’s not forget, refined
So can you spill?
If you can’t,
never fear
we are all friends here
I can help you –
I will send you a CD, a DVD and a guide book
and other educational material
(Yes, all written and produced by me –
I told you I’m educated, and polished!)
so you can learn to spill like me
Of course nothing’s for fee –
you must pay me a free
and once I got your money
I will send you all the material
And you can start to spill
just like me!
And all the world
will ask you:
“Oh how did you learn to spill
like this? ”
And you can tell them:
“There’s a learned man Down Under
the famous Raj Arumugam
(Oh, have you never heard?)
and he taught me how to spill
But of course he made me pay a free
for Raj Arumugam as a matter of wise policy
never gives anything for fee
and now you see
I can spill just like Raj Arumugam
both us with much pride and glee
So I can spill. Can you spill?
No? Shame on you! ”
Feb 3, 2012
Feb 3, 2012 at 7:33 PM UTC
The monk
received
a box
on his birthday,
and it was
a special gift
from his brother monks,
so, he knew
that it was something special,
so, with a little nervousness,
he carefully opened the box
and saw that it was empty,
and with great joy
and happiness
he exclaimed,
"Nothing!
Just what I wanted!"
Jul 5, 2015
Jul 5, 2015 at 11:03 AM UTC
Help me read between the lines
To see the whole - not just the parts
To understand your wisdom ways
that speak parables and paradox
If I could but grasp the difference
between temporal and eternal
I'd listen out for the story within
Words unspoken - meaning found
Treasure hidden in sacred sound
Stanley Arumugam
28th May 2012
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 12:51 PM UTC