I pause on the edge of dark, on the edge of light, my direction halted by uncertainty. Between is a narrow ledge, a threshold balanced on an abyss. Am I coming or going? The end is also the beginning and all my questions are merely maps without roads.
I have become abstracted by an imagined journey in which seeking transforms into finding. In which the visions that ripple my consciousness turn out to be real. But what if matter is as transient as thought?
half-awake, spirit
splits, expands—crescent-mirrored
into cosmic tides
Frank at dVerse asks us to write a haibun referring to the Mezza Luna, the half or crescent moon. When I was looking for art for the post, I came across the collage at the top, which I used for another of Frank’s moon prompts a year ago.
I am always photographing the moon, so I had plenty of photos to choose from as well. The mirror effect in the first photo is caused by the window through which I shot the photo.
halfway
is never fixed–
merging not in a line,
but positioned between–
too brief to be
resolved
the madness of fate–
consummation and release,
sweeping life away
Another collage inspired by Elisa Ang’s painting, paired with the Badger and Kick-About poem, above, and my Pure Haiku Volcano contribution which you can read here.
puzzling
destinations–
the details repeated,
magnified, untraveled–
living outside
a map
random lines break down–
the page explodes, caught trembling–
from nothing, vast light
The Kick-About poem and collage and Oracle 2 Badger above serve as a prelude to my third Volcano offering at Pure Haiku, which you can read here.
noisy
this internal
growth–sudden burst of stars–
gigantic, wonderful–
an attack of
pure light
inside opens out
disintegrates unbound–
what was not, now is
You can read my second Volcano poem at Pure Haiku here. Do visit, as it complements the Kick-About poem and Oracle 2 Badger above.
what season is this?
dark, enigmatic, grown wild–
spilling from our eyes
don’t weep–
rings encircle
us inside life’s limits–
we must learn to accept
the turning of
the tides
Elisa Ang provided the artistic inspiration, above, for my series of volcano poems appearing this week at Pure Haiku. Serendipitously, the Kick-About recently hosted a prompt based on Turner’s painting of Mt. Vesuvius, for which I made a series of collages and wrote a cadralor of volcano-themed poems titled “In Search of Venus”. And Jane’s Oracle 2 words provided further inspiration for me to write five Badger poems to go with the volcano theme.
You can read my poem at Pure Haiku here. Thanks, as always, to Freya Pickard for her continued support of my work.
happy screams–
seafoam-washed children
collect shells
relentless–
sun blue sky cloud wisps
winding north
wind rising–
storm clouds press downward,
intersect
calmer seas–
surfers try to catch
dying waves
wispy clouds–
sky vast, bird-empty–
tide going out
For dVerse OLN, hosted by Mish.
where am I going?
dawn breaks slowly dense and grey–
blue jays are calling
It’s International Haiku Poetry Day.
constructing omens
out of wishes on the wind–
a crow’s silhouette
A small poem for the NaPoWriMo prompt of a very small thing.
My life–
How much more of it remains?
The night is brief.
–Masaoka Shiki
My hand traces invisible lines through each day.
Life has its endings, but I wonder again why and
how do we create so many boundaries? How
much do we know of what we call ourselves? And what
more is left, at this late date, to be discovered there?
Of what am I really thinking when, with sudden fear,
it seems that everything is impossible, that nothing
remains? Have I used it all up–the synapses firing,
the cells’ ability to regenerate rather than destroy? The
night and the day and the sky and the land? Why
is it so difficult to relocate the silence, that interlude of
brief completion when everything is being born again?
The NaPoWriMo prompt today is a reverse Golden Shovel poem–instead of placing the words from the selected poem at the end of each line and writing around it, the words are placed at the beginning. Either way, it’s a good way to approach writing when you’re stuck. I’ve chosen a haiku from Masaoka Shiki for my poem, but I’m adding a little afterward from Joan and Bob.
Tears of rage, tears of grief
Why must I always be the thief?
Come to me now, you know we’re so alone
And life is brief
–Dylan
Also for Muri’s prompt of a Golden Shovel poem with the theme of change.
K. 