Creative Experiments and More

Apart from air and water, sand is the most used natural resource on our planet.  We can’t take sand for granted, as it is a precious commodity, and it will not last forever.  Climate change has forced coastal communities to constantly replenish their beaches with dredged-up sand because of erosion from storms and tides and a rising sea level.  Eventually, we will run out of sand and then kids will have to dig in the mud with their sand shovels and sand buckets.  A beach can be made up of small smooth pebbles, cockle shells, coral-like fragments, or mud, but there is nothing like a beach that is full of glorious sand.  Sandy beaches are easy on our eyes, and they feel great on our feet.  Scientists estimate that Earth contains anywhere from 5 to 10 sextillion (10 to the 21 power) grains of sand on all the beaches, and…

Reena’s Absolutely challenging Challenge –> Welcome back! RXC PROMPT #233 ravaged inner space unable to account for entries and exits who came, who destroyed, who left? a soul transformed forever 

It had happened. The event that all of us had trained for.

“This will never happen…” Our O.T. said loudly to our group.

“Why are we doing this then?” An intern very young, very inexperienced had asked.

“They always ask us to do things that they cannot explain the rationale for…” A very seasoned staff person chimed in.

We went through the drill. Most of it was what you would expect; it was the immediate shut-down no matter who was in the facility that bothered us.

“What happens to civilians?” One of my co-workers whispered.

“Hopefully they are in the unit when close-down initiates or they will be radiated.”

“Even kids?”

I gulped not wanting to answer the affirmative.

“But…

“Many stories which are not on paper are written in the bodies and minds of women.“ – Amrita Pritam

in our weakness we find strength

to be a woman is to weep
love hurts because our hearts love deep
and for love’s sake, women lose sleep

to love and nurture is part of our nature

monthly cycle of cramps and blood
hormonal emotions of changing mood
endometriosis, cervical or breast cancer too

even childbearing brings tears of joy and grief

belly stretch marks, skin tags and bags
age and gravity means beauty sags
hot flash sweats feel like dishrag

have women not bourn and mourned enough?

must we also suffer the shame of porn,
abuse, rape, abortion, sexual scorn,
abandoned by lovers in the morn?

godly women clothe themselves in dignity and honor

______________

Linking to dVerse Poets where Punam introduces us to poetry of Amrita Pritam.

Their Stories

Browse the archives, finger-brush ancient tablets
looking for their names—

you may find a few,
the chattel and relicts of men,

repositories of seeds, like the Earth,
their roots in deep-time connection,

they whisper stories–
conquest, war-spoils, love, and loss,
their children, don’t forget.

A double dVerse challenge:
a poem inspired by a line from the work of Punjabi poet Amrita Pritam, and a quadrille (44-word poem ) containing the word “browse.”

Some of you know I’m a historian. I’ve spent a lot of time in archives trying to uncover women’s stories.

(There are) many stories which are not on paper,
they are written in the bodies and minds of women.
— Amrita Pritam

I hear her each morning
before she rounds the corner
heading to the well.

It is a shuffling, almost furtive,
where her worn sandals
scuffle hard-packed dust.

It would have been kinder to kill her,
but he is not a kind man.
Something about her scuffle
excites him. Reminds him of
the strength it took to take her —
to break her.

Yet there is something else
there in her sound that
rounds the corner each morning.

It is determination.
It is refusal.
It is victory.

Punam is today’s guest host for dVerse’ Poetics. Punam says:
For today’s poetics I am sharing five lines from various poems of Amrita Pritam. Use anyone of them as an epigraph, or as a springboard for your verse. Write in a form…

(There are) many stories which are not on paper, they are written in the bodies and minds of women.
Amrita Pritam

his, “will you cook for me forever!”
that had seemed the most romantic question then, was my undoing
as I happily immersed myself in pots and pans,
tied to the invisible post of domesticity; I lost my true ‘self’

my turmeric stained fingers had no time to stain paper
measuring lentils and rice, I forgot to weigh in my views
relegated to the background
I became a mere prop; useful but useless

every night i braid pain, pillowing my head on it
uncoiling itself, it slithers on to my chest
humming a mournful berceuse to lull me to sleep
the moon wanes dolefully behind pewter clouds
smudging my cheeks, as i forbid the tears from falling

oblivious, uncaring and narcissistic
he sleeps deeply, purged of his angst and…