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.
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.
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.