beginnings fall in
to ends—threads of song braided
into rainbowed clouds
light and form cascade, flying
in tandem—mist layered sky
the language of gone–
a call without a response,
so loud it can’t be
heard—a silence entombed in
itself—on the other side
My poem “Obituaries”, is one of the responses to Joaquin Torres Garcia’s painting, “Pintura” (below), posted on The Ekphrastic Review today. The three poems on this post were composed from parts of it.
Frank at dVerse challenged us to write some 5-line Japanese form poems. I must confess that I like the 5-7-5-7-7 form of the tanka, now considered by purists to be false. Whatever you call it, I still think it works well as a way to focus thought and express feelings.
the language of absence
language of gone
the before of never
the language of death
The new definitions for writing tanka and haiku confuse me, and I have no idea how to write something that will satisfy the powers that be, although I keep writing 3 and 5-line poems. And although I recognize a well-written gogyohka, and understand the single line-single breath idea, I have difficulty naming anything I’ve written with that label as well.
But and so…in my continued pruning mode, I’ve taken the posted poem (which was itself severely pruned several times) and turned it into three 5-line poems. Hopefully they fit the dVerse prompt in some manner.
My thanks to editor Lorette C. Luzajic for once again featuring my work. You can see my poem “Obituaries”–the original from which these 5-line poems were taken–and read all the other responses as well, here.
I consulted the Oracle while considering Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above. This morning I was up as the sun was rising and even though there are no trees nearby I could hear the birds waking the day as they do every spring. It was a welcome sound.
I did a lot of fiddling myself with the art–first I painted a soft background, and then I did some more intense stripes on a separate piece of paper. I cut those up and tried a number of arrangements. It wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I started, but satisfying nonetheless.
as morning returns
light fiddles with sky
mist, the thousand green forest
languages, blue wind
whispers of pink moon gardens–
dream shadows swimming through time
almost a shadow
almost an echo between
hidden voices wandering
the uncharted borderlines
This is a watercolor with a moon photo collaged on top.
I’m going to be absent from posting for awhile, though I will try to check in with what everyone’s doing. I’m moving into a small temporary space, putting most of my stuff in storage, and hoping to move into a permanent home before 2020 is through. I won’t have a drawing table and not sure how many supplies will fit into the space, but I’ll be back to doing more work of some kind as soon as I can.
My January grid turned out to be a circle. The words were taken from a NY Times section that summarized the 2019 year’s top stories. I tried to take all the negativity and give it a more positive spin.
The birds may have been climate-changed out of their respective states, but they are still here.
in opposite images
anything can be portaled
where borders cross into birds
The Oracle’s message for Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above, and the New Year.
ancient moon roots murmur
through earthnight offering life–
breathe the colors of darkness
as light reflects skysong
this persistent grey
magnifies the compressed dark–
dawn heavy with dusk
squirrels search for buried treasure–
seeds in wait for light’s return
For Frank Tassone’s #Haikai Challenge #117. I was going to do a completely different collage, but once I pulled out the handmade paper, I decided that stitching some together was what was needed. I haven’t done any stitching for awhile, and it was good to get back to it.
The squirrels have been very busy lately.
The Oracle gave me a glimpse of a feeling this week
like a half-remembered dream
breath on a window–
the rhythm of starry air
exploring the night
listening to secrets born
in dark sky voices of trees
I consulted the Oracle about Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above. I’m not ready for snow, but a snow garden is a nice thought.
light frosts earth’s shining
treepaths, following dawnsong
through fresh snow gardens
winter listens deep, breathing
sun secrets to spiritwinds
are your wings broken
or are they merely hidden,
a secret composed
of rags, following the wind
unfurling as the crow flies?
For Frank Tassone’s #haikai challenge #109, scarecrow. Also inspired by Van Gogh.