dVerse Poets Pub: Meet the Bar with Expressionism

Bjorn is hosting the Pub today and prompting us to write poems based upon Expressionism.  Whew.  I hope this one comes close.  Come join us at:  Meet the Bar with Expressionism

Cuts like a Knife
The sky is so blue overhead
And the clouds so white.
Yet the wind cuts through you like…
a hot knife through warm butter
scissors through paper
a katana through silk…

And you. You.
You go through me like a
hot knife through cream cheese or…
like a katana through that thin branch
On my cherry tree –
you slash and slice and
and the blossoms fall
to the ground.
the birds peck now among them
finding the worms that burrow
underneath.

a lone crow circles overhead
in that blue winter sky.
he cuts through the sky
like a katana slices through fog.

still from Last Samurai

still from Last Samurai

dVerse Poets Pub: Quadrille Monday

I am linking this to dVerse Poets Pub, Quadrille Monday.  This is the second Quadrille.  The first one I will not be linking up as planned because….I was not happy with it.  Come join us at the virtual pub, dVerse Poets Pub for quick poems of exactly 44 words using the prompted word. http://dversepoets.com/2017/02/13/quadrille-25/  The concept of chinmoku on the top level means, silence or reticence.  It is more than that – it is a way of communication, of feeling the space or silence between the notes, like the scale played on a piano. One has to be totally immersed in the Japanese culture to truly understand chinmoku.

Chinmoku 沈黙
The silence between the notes
stretches out like long silk scarves
twisting around posts
fluttering in the winds
of now and then
of rain and sun.
like ghosts of long gone laughter
the silence between the words
wrap around your heart and pulls…tight.

dVerse Poets Pub – Quadrille Monday

Today is Quadrille Monday at the virtual pub – dVerse Poets Pub. Come join us for a day of quadrilles – a poem of exactly 44 words, not counting the title, and using the word of the prompter. Today, the pubtender is Kim Russell and her word of choice is “ghost” (or ghosted, ghosting, etc).

Windblown Birds
the winter day was sunny and warm
as a day in late spring –
And oh, so windy!
Birds were tossed into the sky –
they fluttered like windblown ghosts –
and rippled like long chiffon scarves,
snapping back and forth like pennants

dVerse Poets Pub: OLN #189

Today, I am linking up for Open Link Night over at dVerse Poets Pub. http://dversepoets.com/2017/02/09/openlinknight-189/ Come join us for some fine poetry writin’…

Laphroaig Night
It is February 8th.
February. 8th.
It is 75 degrees farenheit.
The last time the temperature was this high was 1925.
I’m standing on my back porch
Breathing in the night,
Sipping a good single malt
and listening to the peepers singing
down by the creek.
They are crawling tgrough the wet leaves
And doing their mating thang.
The high pitched bells of their tiny throats
each proclaiming:
In the midst of death we are in life.
In spite of myself I smile.
Politics, religion, wars, arguments,
Fights, battles, hunger, grief, sickness, anger –
All are silenced by their voices.
I finish my scotch.
I smile.
In the midst of death we are in life.

Poetics: Muse Mixology

Today De (the lovely and talented WhimsyGizmo) is our prompter for Poetics. We are to use in 33 words or less(hopefully):…”today I’d like us to mix our muses up a bit by throwing some pub and drinking terms in the blender:
shaken,stirred, rum, vesper, name your poison, drown your sorrows, sour, whiskey, last call, etc. etc. etc.
Ah, but here’s the kicker: try to use these words in ways that have nothing to do with the bar scene, alcohol, or drinking. Use as many as you like; pour your poem as tall, short or neat as you like, and come back for another round. And if none of these words or phrases speak to you, go prohibition on us: write anything you want. Just make it short enough to fit on a cocktail napkin. (Keep it at 33 words or less.)” Alas! I went over the 33 words.

Summer Day
Grand Marnier sunrise,
Grenadine sunset,
Laphroaig night.
And flowing from the bottled day
a perfect Southern Comfort
kind of day – I pull a summer tomato
from the vine and take a bite.
Oh glorious Bloody Mary!
I laugh up into the sky
drunk with joy.

tree to produce stand nectarines

summer heirloom tomatoes – copyright Kanzensakura 2010 – 3010

Open Link Night

A haiku based on Lillian’s prompt of Tuesday to turn words into verbs.  Join us at Open Link Night (no prompt, submit one poem of your choice).  Neve (nay-vay) is a wonderful word.  It means a field of granular snow accumulated on high mountains. It is also known as old snow.   OpenLinkNight #188

Closeup of snowfield winter background

winter indigoes
night skies – sequined with stars the
skies become neve

 

 

 
 

 

dVerse Poets Pub – Haibun Monday #29

We have a guest prompter today at dVerse.  Come find out who….hint:  he’s from Australia.  The theme is “waiting”.   https://dversepoets.com/2017/01/23/haibun-monday-29/

The Waiting Game
You are gone. You got on that big plane and it took you back to Kyoto. You had lived in the US long enough to teach medicine at Duke, to move to Richmond and become a forensic pathologist, long enough to rescue me from an abusive relationship and for us to fall totally deeply wildly in love with each other. Twenty years in the US and then you moved back to Kyoto. What were you waiting for? Why did it take you so long to return? Was it me? I waited long nights for you to come home after taking apart the dead to find answers, to give names to the nameless, to convict the guilty and vindicate the innocent. You stayed long enough to teach me kendo, to use a katana, to properly cook rice, to learn the sensation of cherry blossoms falling on naked skin. I taught you to properly fry chicken, to savor a fresh summer tomato, the sensation of ice cube held within lips slipping over your skin.  I waited for you to return; day after day after month after year after season. You wrote every week and I threw them all away. You waited on my reply. I waited for your return. We waited and waited and…

cherry blossoms on
naked skin – lips on mine –
seasons wait forever

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