My Next Door North Indian Drummer.

Dear noisy neighbour drumming next door.

Why punch your drum with such madness and might?

Every morning you get me yawning.

Could your thumps be cheering or mourning?

 

Do your bongs summon sultry Bollywood songs?

Do they douse out Big Ben’s brash ding dongs?

Do your drumbeats ignite Punjab’s heat?

Do they drown down others’ chronic chatter?

 

Do you miss orisons ringing in temples?

Do you desire dancing to drums in Carnivals?

Could they clatter like chains grand elephants wear?

While here, chains constrain, and clamp them tight.

 

Do they rumble your room like Baba’s loud laughs? 

Do they accelerate to replicate a snakes’ hiss?

Do they mimic monsoon storms roaring endlessly?

Do they feel like fireworks bursting each Diwali?

 

Could you crave puris pounding in hot oil?

Or the popping poppadoms’ Nani fries for you?

While here, oven beeps signal soggy samosas.

They don’t crackle like her Punjab samosas.

 

Do you miss Baba’s aloo tikka, fresh from his tandoor?

It’s crisp singe, zingy lime and tangy chaat masala?

But these English chefs serve you pallid potato spuds.

Their sauces never sizzle, and sing to your tastebuds.

 

Perhaps your potent punches and pounds,

evoke papri chat’s crunches and sounds. 

Oh, your rhythms rouse and drum up a desire,

for spicy pani puri and sharp papri chat.

 

Let’s sip a lime soda and a mango lassi.

Let’s share your Punjab payasam, and my Andhra arisa,

I’ll strum my sitar with your drum’s bangs.

We’ll play away our bitter pangs.

 

Please tell me how bells tinkle from young brides’ trousseaus.

I’ll tell you when a buffalo bit my Tata’s crops.

We will not just survive but also truly thrive,

if we reveal our fancies, fears, and our childhood lives.

 

I can resonate with your unfair fate.

I miss Andhra’s sounds, smells, and sights,

but perhaps after our music and munches,

your fists can endure less bruises and crunches.

 

Our inner battles should not rattle our hearts.

Though English, Shakespeare sold me strong advice.

He said, if music be the language of love play on.

I say, “if food be the fuel of our friendship, eat up”.

Toy Story Toon: Lucy's Love Letter to all Lost Toys

Dear all lost toys living on Earth.

Whether you feel bruised, broken or blue,

that none of them folks will ever love you.

Read my letter, then feel better.

 

I once had an owner called Sarah.

Life was bright when she loved me,

but life became better when she left me.

I'm loving Liberty, my new best pal.

 

Oh dear friends, out among the stars,

don’t tell me your dreams ended too soon.

We can sail our silver ship way beyond the moon,

but in kids’ cabins, we can't go sailing no more.

 

Why sleep in some kid's stuffy room?

Out here, kids' whines won’t break our ears.

No more sleep, snot, or slimy tears,

but endless fun and games for us.

No more coughing in kid's old cupboards.

No more crying in kid's cramped boxes.

No, we can wander like wild eyed foxes, 

to anywhere our hearts desire.

We are free from such sad things.

From those boring abodes, we can soar,

dance below the streetlights some more,

and just bask under their warm yellow glow.

 

We can awe at flashing fireworks,

embark on awesome new adventures,

unearth new treasures, gush at blue rivers,

pleasures kids' toy slaves can only crave. 

Oh I know, my own heart glows,

when UFOS flash on and fly by,

when dreamy rainbows beam from the sky,

but smeary windows subdue their hues.

 

We can race with Daredevil Duke,

zoom down slides for endless hours,

marvel at awesome meteor showers,

and shoot away to amazing milky ways.

Let's beat the baddies with Bo, and Woody,

ride round car tires and spinning tandems,

go off the beaten racetracks, be random,

and never bawl when kids skinned their knees.

 

Lets bounce with Bunny on light up booths,

and dance with Ducky below bright rainbows.

My heart glows, round those funny fellows,

they're the sweetest pals a doll could have.

 

Let's tell our pals, you got a friend in me,

whenever they weep for their nice warm bed,

whenever they crack in the road rough ahead,

and we'll rise on, to infinity and beyond.

Love, 

Lucy Libertine (nee. McLachlan)

(Sarah McLachlan's Lost Doll) 

💖 

Dear Readers. 

I hope you enjoyed this poetic love letter. It is inspired by Toy Story 4, an amazing and aesthetically pleasing film that still awes me to this day. I wept, seeing how Woody was trodden, and neglected constantly after all he did for Andy and Bonnie. However, it was so lovely to see him find his long-lost sweetheart Bo, new friends (e.g., ducky, bunny, daredevil duke – see poem), and finally travel the world with them. Toy story 4 taught me that lost toys can help others and enjoy life just as much as owned toys, and that every toy deserves respect for their life choices. 

I realised that lost toys can enjoy so many benefits that the previous films ignore such as playing anywhere at night, enjoy rainbows, UFOS, and stars. Plus lost toys are not as lonely and friendless as other toys in the previous films assume, as I saw lost toys (e.g., Bo) playing with each other, and many other children in toy story 4. 

I also observed that owned toys suffer many maladies that the previous films mention get brushed aside in favour of happier times (e.g., children hugging and playing with their toys). For example, some owned toys such as Wheezy in toy story 2, ended up alone on the shelf. Many toys such as barbie in toy story 3 got dumped into the donation box, or worse, in the incinerator – this heart-breaking scene happened to Woody and his friends the end of toy story 3. I chose to list and explore some of these under-explored nuances more in this poem.

My fictional narrator is a lost toy called Lucy, who was recently abandoned by her previous owner, Sarah McLachlan (playful reference to the singer of When She Loved Me). Although she loved her life with Sarah at the time, she discovered how much more bright, beautiful and better her life is now as a lost toy. Now that she is lost, she can wander away to any place she pleases. Plus she can enjoy certain freedoms (e.g., glowing streetlights, dreamy rainbows...) she could not enjoy when stuck in Sarah's stuffy room. However, now she could mostly remember Sarah's whines, slimy tears and cramped cupboards when being with her. 

However, she came across other lost toys who felt lonely and depressed about their situation. As a free agent, just relishing her life, this saddened her. In response, she wrote this empowering poem, reminding lost toys of all the pains owned toys must endure (e.g., kids' whines, slimy tears, cramped cupboards...), their newfound joys, and to comfort other lost toys in this earth.

Here are the songs I have referenced in this poem:

-Toy story 1: You have got a Friend in Me by Randy Newman: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zIYOJ_hSs0o 

(lines 3, 45, 46, 47, 48)

-Toy story 2: When she loved me by Sarah McLachlan https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-31VzjC50dY

(lines 5, 6, 7) - I named Lucy's owner after Sarah the singer. Lucy too donned the family surname McLachlan. However, after Sarah left her, she CHANGED it to Libertine, to reflect her newfound liberty (personified as her 'new best pal' in place of Sarah in line 8).

-Toy story 1: I will go Sailing no more by Randy Newman: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C2Y7Iz-ePOg 

(lines 9, 10, 11, 12)

I just HAD to end this poem with Buzz Lightyear's classic phrase: to infinity and beyond. It also revives the poignant conclusion in toy story 4, where Woody and Buzz bid farewells by reciting this phrase.

Again, I apologise if anyone is confused or offended by this poem. I just fancied sharing MY thoughts circling my brain when watching the films. But I would love to learn about YOUR thoughts on this poem and toy story in general. Please feel free to share any feedback, ideas, and relevant resources on the comments below. I am always looking to learn new things and improve my writing :). 

Thank you again for reading and I  hope you all enjoy your days :)

From Rithika Nadipalli.

Chain of Lights in a Christmas Market - Free Verse

I wander in a Christmas market,   

deeper into pitch-black darkness.

Rain ripples across the ground,    

where the booth bulbs cast a chain of lights.

Wending in the wet like a bracelet,  

glowing gold like grains of wheat, 

it gives enough heat to warm my heart.

Unflappable Flags at our Majesty’s Funeral

A bunting of flags billow above us trimmed in blue.

Below, march mourners for their dead Majesty.

While some folks belabour with the press over her bad news, 

and some folks flap in fear of their future, royal free,

those blue flags still act unflappable to all issues. 

We triumph at her topple-down her pedestal,

after all, her Majesty never paid her dues.

We taunt her mourners fiercely at the funeral.

As their faces tear up like melted glue,

our faces flush feeling so free, frisky and full.

The Flight of Seim's Songbird

I muse moraines and misty glens,

as Brenda, the songbird of Seim.

I steep rosebay tea, out by the rocks.

I sip tea and sing with all my friends.

 

I mused many drafts this morning,

for I'm a poet who presses on.

I always ink all my instincts,

But now it's evening, and I’m yawning.

 

I lie on my Rya, and inhale,

up I rise, to Scandi skies.

Sol's gold carriage holds me safe,

she sings to me her timeless tale.

Her fire and strength I so admire.

When she started as a wee spark,

she shot out from hot Muspelheim,

that scathing pit of fear and fire.

This songbird here just so reveres,

how Sol vanquishes Skoll the wolf.

From all his snarls, and bloodstained claws,

Sol whisked away and disappeared.

I savour Sol’s cold, spicy mead.

It cools my throat and warms my heart.

We 'wade through' 'heaven's' rainbow bridge,

Me, goddess Sol and her swift steeds.

 

These Scandi skies, those rainbow glows,

Those frosted fronds, this heady mead,

I hope my soul stays warm and whole,

I hope my onward journey grows.

 

I respire and rise, in a daze.

Oh, how rosebays sparkle in these airs!

My, how they whirl with all those winds!

I yearn to stay in this Rosebay haze.

Their rosy colours, their fruity flavours,

colouring my life, devouring my strife.

My rapture swells like the Rosebay tea,

I steep back home, and slowly savour.

Reluctantly, I do release,

and land beneath 'a tall, green tree'.

'Showered with your shining loam',

my spirit sings with so much peace.

O'er your mounds, great Odin prayed,

nine days and nights for wisdom's light. 

What more lores, do your roots store?

Oh mighty tree, please tell me more!

Hello everyone. Thank you for reading this poem, inspired by Norse culture and mythology. I hope you all enjoyed it. I conceived it during a long car ride home. 

When inhaling, I imagined skyward scenes such as flying chariots, treetops, rainbows, birds, whirling rosebays and glowing sparks. When exhaling, I imagined grounded scenes such as rosebay fields, rocks, rya rugs, ash trees, lush meadows, and loams.

 

To clarify, the ‘Songbird of Seim’ is not actually a bird in this poem. The songbird actually refers to a fictional lady poet called Brenda, who lives in Seim. She likes to write poems, steep rich fruity rosebay tea, and catch up with friends in the village. One day, Brenda felt worn out, so she sat on her and starts breathing. As she breathes, she imagines these Nordic gods and places.

 

My first reference to Norse Mythology shines through Sol, who is the Nordic Sun Goddess, born in Muspelheim. She rides a golden chariot in the sky, like Lord Surya, the Hindu male sun god. In the original Norse mythology, Skoll the wolf devoured poor Sol. However, Brenda worships Sol so much, that she fancies that Sol always defeats Skoll in her dreams.

 

Read more about Sol (Norse sun goddess) here: https://kids.britannica.com/students/article/Sol-and-Mani/313604  

My second reference to Norse mythology glows through the ‘heaven’s’ glowing rainbow bridge Brenda and Sol ‘wades through’. Its original title is Bifrost, a bridge that transports gods from Earth to Asgard (realm of the Gods, such as Thor). 

 

My poem’s line 15 referred to Poem Edda’s two lines below:

Line 8: Shall Thor each day ‘wade through’ – Thor crosses this shimmering bridge every day in the original poem. In my poem, Brenda holds her breath, and crosses it with Sol.

 

Line 10: For 'heaven's bridge' burns all in flame – This tragedy happened one day, when many gods crossed the bridge in the original poem. However, in my poem's quatrain 8, Brenda dreamt that the rainbow bridge remained whole and unspoilt.

 

Read more about bilfrost (rainbow bridge) here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bifr%C3%B6st

 

Brenda then respires, rises and gets whirled up within the most rapturous rosebay haze, as rich and fruity as the rosebay tea she steeps back home. She then releases her breath and lands safely near a tall green tree.

My third reference to Norse mythology shines through a 'tall tree, showered with shining loam’ near where Sol drops an exhaling Brenda from her chariot. Its original title is Yggdrasil, a sacred, ash tree growing in the middle of Earth, bridging the Nine Worlds, like Muspelheim, and Asgard.

 

My poem’s line 22-23 referred to Poem Edda’s lines 3-4 describing below:

‘a tall tree, showered with shining loam’.

 

Read more about Ygdrassil (sacred ash tree) here: https://skjalden.com/yggdrasil/

Brenda prays to stay and listen to more lores from the wise and mighty tree. Does the tree grant her wish, or does it whisk her away to her tired old home?

If you arrived here, thank you so much for reading everything. Right now, Asgard rings in deafening applaud, for your showmanship, strength, and sacrifice. May the Norse Gods bestow their boons upon you.