why wait for now to pass?
always living in to be—
tomorrow is not where we are, ever
each minute, hour, a chance
encounter we can’t foresee
full of spans impossible to measure
where am I? here and now
and no place else—out or in,
over or under, it doesn’t matter
each fragment itself whole–
each moment contained within
the present completeness of forever
I haven’t written a kerf poem in awhile. The W3 prompt this week, a response to Burden of Time by A. J. Wilson, also has the restrictions of 12 lines or less, and the use of the word fragment. The kerf, a 12-line poem, was just right. You can read A. J. Wilson’s poem here.
Illustrations are two variations on the seed of life motif.
arise to witching hour,
the moon eclipsing the sun–
in afterlight crow echoes his own call
gathered clouds, a bower
of reflected light returned,
unwrapping into daylight from its pall
crossing time as well as space–
a hush that parallels the day’s forestall
twin umbras pause, passing–
opposites in brief embrace–
Aurora wakes, released to fly withal
Another kerf poem, for Colleen’s #TankaTuesday, where Gwen Plano has provided the words Dawn & Twilight. My apartment doesn’t face east at all, but the eclipsed sunrise felt very different yesterday, veiled and stilled, and the crows had a lot to say about it.
Another collage from the archives.
always digging deeper–
roots that grow below, restore–
listening through decay beyond stillness,
a place that is neither
dark nor light, yet full, aware,
gathered germinating into witness,
distilled light casting words
that linger as counterpart–
revealing mysteries in all that is
held on the wings of birds,
circulated through the heart,
absorbed into the spiraling axis
It’s poet’s choice of form at Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday, and how could I resist a syllabic form called “kerf”? I meant this also to be for the earthweal challenge this week, earthcraft, but obviously did not finish it in time.
Once again, art from the archives.