the reckless places
like newborn constellations
exploding the dark–
by merciless force,
adrift in the orbits
of recurrent night—
these seas of hope?–light
storms searching for ports
A shadorma chain for
words, grace and style, inspired by Amaya at Colleen’s #TankaTuesday , who asked us to think about birth. dVerse
I’m definitely a storm searching for a port at the moment, so I’ll be around irregularly for awhile, but I won’t completely disappear.
it is not
early nor late–
it is not never
it’s located where
it can’t be seen
but it is not lost–
that is nowhere
or perhaps elsewhere
it’s a series of endless
clues in a game
without an end–
a spiral upended
ending up as
A poem using the repetitive technique of
, the challenge from Frank at polyptoton , for dVerse , above. Sue Vincent’s photo prompt
I tend to use a lot of repetition, but not exactly in this way. An interesting exercise.
who will solve
the sorcery of
dreams and wishes like a feast
of dazzled delight?
A shadorma for Colleen’s #TankaTuesday words spell and treat.
A haiga for Colleen’s
, below, from artist Michael Seibt #Tanka Tuesday picture prompt , chosen by last month’s poet, Diana Peach.
Inside the earth, it is always green.
What do I see with
out seeing? What sounds reflect
The Other becomes objectified–
the truth barren, ruptured, hollow–
the path clogged and narrowing–
the pieces shot, scattered,
A nonet for
words, empty and space. There is so much of it that needs to be filled these days. Colleen’s #TankaTuesday
I had a vision for this watercolor, but the paint had its own ideas. Obviously acquainted with the Oracle.
Every year fall foliage surprises us with its clichés. Fibers yellow on the edges, becoming brittle and brown. Scarlet fire burns itself into a colorless ash.
Memory preserves the departed colors, waiting in darkness.
We have been to this place many times before and yet still it catches us, wheeling us with the wind. Time contracts, translating itself into a hidden refuge, a seed to hold and protect through the long nights.
Life turns inward now–
sleep opening like the wings
of migrating birds
, fall foliage. Frank Tassone’s #Haikai Challenge #107