Hands pause—you whistle between. White bridge slips through your fingers. Who can number the space of days? To cross them, you must open. The gate shapes all beginnings, all answers, to equal zero.
Lisa, at Tao Talk, supplied Colleen’s #TankaTuesday image, above. I wanted to try a sijo, which is the Wombwell Rainbow’s form this week. I think I’ve done one before, but it was a long time ago. I like the way it encourages the writer to think about different aspects of the same thought.
I’ve used some embroidered circles I did for a Kick-About prompt as illustration–the Eames Powers of Ten film, a barrage of images, made me think of zero, Lisa’s photo reminded me also of crossing the circles of space and time.
This week’s Oracle 2 words from Jane gave me a starting point–whistle. Which made me think of whistling in the wind. The human condition. Nevertheless, we continue.
You can read the story of the photo at Tao Talk here.
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.