it is not
forever not
everlasting neither
early nor late–
it is not never
not now
it’s located where
it can’t be seen
but it is not lost–
just somewhere
that is nowhere
or perhaps elsewhere
it’s a series of endless
clues in a game
without an end–
a spiral upended
down into
bottomless time
whereupon
it returns
from nevermore
to anywhere–
ending up as
it began–wherever
A poem using the repetitive technique of polyptoton, the challenge from Frank at dVerse, for Sue Vincent’s photo prompt, above.
I tend to use a lot of repetition, but not exactly in this way. An interesting exercise.
who will solve
the sorcery of
synergies
that mirror
dreams and wishes like a feast
of dazzled delight?
A shadorma for Colleen’s #TankaTuesday words spell and treat.
A haiga for Colleen’s #Tanka Tuesday picture prompt, below, from artist Michael Seibt, 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
terra’s transcendence?
The Other becomes objectified–
the truth barren, ruptured, hollow–
the path clogged and narrowing–
the pieces shot, scattered,
abandoned—the heart
fallen empty,
divided,
broken—
lost
A nonet for Colleen’s #TankaTuesday words, empty and space. There is so much of it that needs to be filled these days.
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
For Frank Tassone’s #Haikai Challenge #107, fall foliage.
to set in stone–
the whiteness of marble
polished, glowing,
rendered with light
an image meant to be immortal
plundered and abused
by the movements
of men and time—
faceless and unlimbed now
the imperfection of decay–
reassembling beginnings
over shadows
of the end
Merril is the host for the dVerse quadrille, using the word “set”. I drew this Greek sculpture torso a while ago, and added some watercolor on top of the drawing. What remains of the original figure has its own beauty.
