The Owl

For Marian’s Fussy little forms prompt at Real Toads. A tricube form. three syllables per line, three lines per stanza, three stanzas per poem. Posted at Poets United Poetry Pantry


The Owl

full moon – an
owl glides in
the moonlight.

silent and
deadly – wings
extended.

mice scramble
for cover –
it’s too late.

Painted in Tones of Argent

For the weekly 55.  When I wrote this, my mother was dying. She has since died.

Painted in Tones of Argent
My backyard sleeps under
the full moon like a drowned Atlantis.
I sit on my back steps inhaling
the scents of honeysuckle and
a whiff of pot from my neighbors’-
A faint scent of petrichor:
the storm breaks
weeping on the trees.
My mother is dying.

The Deer

A second one for Margaret’s prompt.  this one has meaning.  THE REAL POEM IS NOT THIS ONE!!!!  My links are all mixed up.  sorry.  The Real Poem is Toni S The Real poem.  Sorry folks.  My brain has gone north for the summer.

used by permission. Toril Fisher artist

The Deer
He feels himself vanishing –
each day, each month, each year
he is diminished.
Every painting done,
every laser copy printed and sold
and framed in an elaborate artsy
or rustic frame.
He is not happy.
His world is vanishing in front of his eyes.
He wonders if each day will be his last.

Growing season

For Margaret’s prompt, Artistic Impressions featuring the work of Tori Fisher.

A John Tully & Tori Fisher Collaboration

spring growing season –
beets and carrots –
large lush delicious

 

Silent as Dust Falling

For the Tuesday Platform at Real Toads.

Silent as Dust Falling
“Maybe that’s enlightenment enough: to know that there is no final resting place of the mind; no moment of smug clarity. Perhaps wisdom…is realizing how small I am, and unwise, and how far I have yet to go. -Anthony Bourdain”

I lay on the sand
gazing up at the stars.
No ambient light –
just the stars above me.
I realize that when I am wiser
I will seek out these places of solitude,
the bowl of simple noodles in broth,
the tree in the middle of the forest.
I will find peace in the stars above me,
peace in the loneliness of the desert,
peace in the middle of the noisy rowdy city.
Listening to the waves whispering
is the only music I need –
The rain tapping the leaves,
the snow falling silent as dust,
the leaf falling from the tree,
the songs the stars sing as they travel through the darkness,
I breathe deeply, quietly
not wanting to disturb the music.

copyright kanzensakura

Red is the color of peace

For Paul’s prompt at Real Toads about Peace.  This is an old poem previously posted but reworked and tightened up a bit.  I truly believe that we carry peace around with us, that it must be found within and shared out like excess red tomatoes from my garden.

copyright kanzensakura

 

Red is the color of peace
Peace comes in many colors – like the rainbow,
like us humans or animals or flowers.
You may not think so, but red is the color of peace –
the tomato plucked from the bounty of my backyard garden
and handed over the short fence to the neighbor next door –
red of holly berries nestled among dark green clusters
of leaves hidden deep in the forest, with white snow
softly falling or the cardinal perched on the branch –
The red of maple leaves preparing for winter sleep
or the red of the rose given to a beloved.
Long blondeblackbrownred braids tied at the ends
with perky red bows.
Red is the color of peace – of units of blood donated
for someone about to undergo life saving surgery
for the child with cancer
or the service  person needing
emergency treatment.
The wild apples are red and hang down far enough
a herd of deer can satisfy their hunger.
Red are the azaleas planted by my father years ago
that continue to bloom after all this time.
Strawberries from my garden are rich and red and sweet.
Red is also the color in the jars of preserves
I make and give out as gifts to anyone.
Red is my generations old flowering quince
blooming in a freezing snow.
The heart your child drew and the words “I Love You”
hangs with pride on your refrigerator door
photographed and posted on Facebook so everyone would know
– drawn with a bright red crayon.
Peace is what we make it and it is colored by our souls,
our hearts our words and actions.
If our words and actions do not speak of peace and hope
how can we be peace and hope to a world
sadly in need of both?
You may not think so, but red is the color of peace.

copyright kanzensakura

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dead flowers

For Kerry’s Camera Flash prompt at Real Toads.

dead flowers
in the morning
the sadness of summer sun
seeps through the curtains,
warmth seen but not felt –
the soap smells of flowers
wilted and long dead

Morning by Clarence White 1906 fair use

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