The Moon in the Water

For Marian’s prompt at Real Toads today – “and you and I” is the prompt.

The Moon in the Water
A hot august night –
We’re sitting on the rocks by the creek.
here in this spot the creek has wandered
and just before plunging over the branches
And rocks and such
the water has pooled into a small pond
about eight feet wide and two feet deep.
Pebbles and rocks and sand
form our own private beach.
Except for the night visitors –
We are alone.
We are silent and so still a raccoon
comes up and drinks and then starts
and waddles away when he sees us.
We quietly laugh and agree
“He’ll be back” said ala Ahhhnold.
The moon flutters on the surface
of the pool – pure white on pure black.
I put my feet into the water and the moon
ripples even more, as it were laughing.
You put your arm around my shoulder
and I reach into my small shoulder bag
and give us another spray of insect repellant.
The cicadas whir and click,
an owl hoots.
A soft flutter of wings as it drifts overhead
and a soft rustling as it lands on a branch.
You and me and the moon in the night sky
and the moon in the water
and the owl in tree
and the night creatures –
Oh yes, and the neighbor’s dog
that followed us down the hill.

stock photo

Faded Landscape

This is for Poets United Midweek Motif – Color.  It will also be posted for Open Link Night at dVerse Poets.

Faded Landscape

The second day of spring is
a faded black and white photograph.
Shades of grey, black, and white –
No red from the rising sun,
No yellow from the huge forsythia bush at the edge of the woods,
No green from the pines and cedars.
The light was softened, almost blurred.
Snow is falling,
silent and still is the air.
From down by the creek in one of the large oaks
a soft hooting broke the silence.
I stood in the cold and looked
at the trees and the snow that fell.
In the yard,
a Japanese plum tree blooms –
soft and barely pink.

copyright kanzensakura – not a black and white photo


For Paul’s Prompt at dVerse – soul searching

Katsumoto: The perfect blossom is a rare thing. You could spend your life looking for one, and it would not be a wasted life.  The Last Samurai

Trees blooming in the spring –
cherry, pear, plum –
their blossoms last for a day and then die.
Petals drift and fall to the ground –
pink and white snow of petals.
My lover called me “*onnabugeisha”
And so I am.
I fought my way through grief
through rape, through death
and even through ovarian cancer.
I swung my katana
and cut through them all.
And the timeless prayers
to an Ancient Hebrew God
I know healed me.
I learned that I did not need to fight.
All I needed was to bloom –
To soak up the rain and sun
and gaze at the blue sky.
I should have died I know.
But my petals hung on.
I continue to gaze at the sky
and to allow my soul to bloom.

*Japanese for female samurai or warrior*


see blog for copyright information of poems and photos

Haibun: Who and why

Today I am hosting at dVerse Poets writing about why I write poetry and who inspired me.

Who and Why
I wrote my first haiku when I was six. Our next door neighbor, the last of his line, was a professor of Asian Studies at Duke University. I came and went freely in his home, looking at the antiques, the momentos from his journeys to Japan, and sipping lemonade on his generous front porch. Jamie Pollard was prissy, opinionated, and not afraid to speak his mind. Although I was six and he was 40, we became fast friends. His factotum was a Japanese man who kept the house in order, the vehicles running, and his employer looking perfect. He was also Jamie’s live in lover. At a time when such things were “not spoken of”, Jamie lived his life large. Often in the summer, as I lay on my stomach coloring in my coloring book, he would read Basho and Issa to me and we both sipped lemonade. I suspect his had some liquor added.

When I was 11 and totally bored, my grandmother stopped her preparation of dinner and went to the house library. She came back with several books – T.S. Eliot, Emily Dickinson, and H.D. Thoreau. She put them down in front of me and said, I think these will keep you busy for a couple of weeks. I was inspired by all three writers. Thus began my interest in writing about nature in the form of “snapshots”…haiku. The Viet Nam war was ramping up. I wrote of poems about peace, love, and later, about drugs. Once when I was practicing my cursive writing, my father took out a lovely fountain pen and gave it to me. He said to me, “write your heart”. And I did. I took it with me everywhere I traveled – from the Coast of North Carolina to the summit of Mt. Fuji. I loaded it up with peacock blue ink. I write my heart, my soul, my feelings, my questions about life. I write simply. Like spring rain or snow or the ancient trees in the forest. Inspired by poets and people I love, I write. I will always write about life and how I perceive it.

spring comes in slowly
scattering snow and cherry blossoms –
legacy of love in verse

March 3 – March 17

For Hedge’s 55 and Poets United

March 3 – March 17
March is the cruelest month –
I disagree with my favorite poet,
But then, he did not lose
in the same month of the same year –
From lugubrious third to sad seventeenth –
Funerals abounded
Funeral meals fed
Funeral flowers scented the house –
Funeral I’m sorry cards piled up
like spring snow
or dead cherry blossoms

7000 Pairs of Shoes

For Poets United Midweek Motif – Scream. Since Sandy Hook School shooting in 2012, 7000 children have died in gun related violence – domestic violence, gang shootings, school shootings, accidental shootings…how many more of our children need to die by a gun? I read this today in the Washington Post.  I went outside and chopped wood and screamed…The shoes will be donated to children in need after the protest is over.

news copy photo

7000 Pairs of Shoes
14000 shoes on lawn in front of the Capitol
7000 pairs of shoes on the lawn in front of the Capitol –
Each pair equals one dead child –
A child that died of gun violence
A child that will no longer wear the shoes
to play, to skip rope,
to walk home from school with friends
t run to meet a parent home from work
to have both feet planted on the floor
to listen to teacher, to watch tv
or tt read a book, to sit at table,
to wear them while fishing with a friend or dad,
to wear them playing hopscotch,
to climb trees and jump for joy,
to eat dinner and crack jokes
to take off the shoes
and crawl into bed and sleep.
One of the protesters travelled
to set out his son’s pair of shoes –
He only realized after Columbine
He and his son wore the same size shoe…
I think of these  empty shoes…
Children killed since the shooting at Sandy Hook –
7000 children dead
7000 shoes without their child,
7000 families with a hole in their lives.
I want to scream.
I can only cry…
Some of the shoes are so very small.

news copy photo

Haibun: Snow like fire

Today is Quadrille Monday at dVerse. A quadrille is a poem in any form with exactly 44 words (excluding the title) and using the prompted word. Dee (Whimzy Gizmo) is the pubtender at dVerse Poets Pub. She has given us the world “fire” to use in the quadrille. I am actually doing non-traditional in the ending haiku with not keeping to the 5-7-5 syllable count.  I am publishing on dVerse Poets Pub

Snow like Fire
It started out as rain but quickly turned into heavy snow. Daffodils show like flames against the white. My flowering quince smolders like a slow fire in the falling snow.

snow falls like freezing fire–
flowers show against white –
burns slowly in the cold

copyright kanzensakura



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