What if? Can humans? Do trees?

For the prompt over at Real Toads, Magaly poses three questions in strange news. Which when you think about them, aren’t really strange at all.  This is also posted on Poets United Poetry Pantry.

What if? Can humans? Do trees?
“It seems to me that we all look at Nature too much, and live with her too little…I discern great sanity in the Greek attitude…They loved the trees for the shadow that they cast, and the forest for its silence at noon.” Oscar Wilde

I know things. It is what I do.
I cook and I know things.
A team of scientists in Austria
armed with lasers and spending much time determined:
Trees sleep at night.
Their branches slightly bow down as if weighted with ice
or rain. They emit carbon dioxide at night
when breathing. In their dreams
(for trees do dream)
they see birds flying over head,
fantastical creatures and they watch
as purple bears and green squirrels
wander past.
Humans wander into the forest,
blind creatures who smell their way through
the forest, who sniff the scent of rain
dripping off branches. Humans smell the beauty of
the soil and ferns. The trees peer
up at the empty night sky from which the moon
has disappeared. The trees waken
listening for the songs of shattered stars
in the black night. But the moon has
taken herself to the land of purple bears
and green squirrels. While nose alive humans
sniff and snort the scent of beauty like
cocaine. Beauty and absent moon,
sleeping trees.
The dreaming trees look at the black sky
and sigh, missing the moon.

sleeping trees

Haibun: In Your Eyes

For the Midweek Motif at Poets United – Love.

In Your Eyes
“In your eyes
The resolution of all the fruitless searches” Peter Gabriel

My husband has beautiful blue eyes. I didn’t realize until we had dated for awhile that one of them pulled to the left – lazy eye syndrome. His mother pointed it out to me and remarked how nice I was to not pay it any mind. I told her that I had not noticed it until she brought it to my attention. She prated on about it for awhile until I told her, I look at his heart, not his one lazy eye. He looks at me like I am a goddess instead of the short plump woman I am. We were married in August two years later, on the hottest day of the year. Our first dance was a rhumba to In Your Eyes. It always seemed perfect – in your eyes, I am complete.
hot August day –
sweat running down my spine –
we danced and were complete

Haibun: Winter Ocean

For De’s prompt at Quadrille Monday. The prompted word is kiss.  A quadrille is a poem of exactly 44 words and uses a prompted word.

Haibun: Winter Ocean

Walking along the shore, snow begins. The sky is grey overhead and golden sand becomes white. Broken shells roll in the surf. I hold my face up to the sky to be kissed.
lazy snowflakes kiss
the shore – ocean kisses back –
winter romance blooms





For Marian’s prompt over at Real Toads – one word:  sensation

the creek is still and reflects the bare winter trees.
the weather is bitter cold and sleet is falling –
circles over circles over circles
spreading about on the surface of the creek.
I wonder if the creek feels the sleet falling into it
the same way I feel sleet falling and hitting against my skin.
bits of cold fire sear my skin.
bits of ice making circles over circles
on my cheeks – the ice tapdancing against the fallen leaves.
bitter cold today.
spring-like Thursday.
The frogs are silent now.
I wonder where they are hiding
and if they feel the same sensation of ice falling
the same way I do.

Walkin’ in This Moment

Karin at Real Toads prompts us to write about this moment in time.  Everyday in all weathers, I walk,  I usually hum or sing while I walk.  I am glad no one is around to hear!

Walkin’ in This Moment
“And I sang with all my might
And she said
“Tell me are you a Christian child?”
And I said “Ma’am I am tonight”    Marc Cohen Walkin’ in Memphis

warm day in February
and drizzling rain.
Wearing my cowboy hat
with the silver band.
Down to the culdesac,
back up to the top of the hill.
Past the woods where my best friend lives
and down to the gurgling creek.
Hands in my pockets
and singing aloud with all my voice.
Walkin’ in Memphis…
But do you really feel the way I feel?

Haibun: Today’s Menu

For Susan’t prompt at Poets United Wednesday Motif: Zero Tolerance. Not one of my usual spare haibun.

Haibun: Today’s Menu
“Kindness is free.” Anthony Bourdain

Today’s Menu: Steamed cabbage, cole slaw, cabbage rolls made with deer meat, mashed potatoes, apples and oranges for dessert, white loaf bread. Tomorrow the meal will be tuna casserole with lots of noodles, cole slaw, restaurant donated desserts. All these items have been made with donated food – rotten pieces cut off from vegetables, meat donated by local hunters, dried milk to add protein in the potatoes. I cut and cook and serve along with the other volunteers. At 11:00 people begin lining up for their daily meal. They shuffle through the line – some of them with their eyes down, others bright and cheerful, some resigned, all of them grateful. No keto diets, no special needs meals, no no-carb meals, no I’m vegetarian or vegan. They are all hungry. They eat what they are given. They want some of everything. They eat it all and when everyone has gone through the line and all the places at the tables are filled and all are fed, they come back for whatever leftovers are offered. We smile at everyone. We plate the food carefully rather than slopping it on a plate. We try to give respect. I volunteer three days at week at a local food bank cooking food, making up bags of donated staple food, serving it and washing dishes afterwards. I look them all in the eye. This is the face of America. These are the invisible hungry in our midst. I have zero tolerance for hunger.
spring-like winter day –
the hungry come every day –
a chill in the air

Sweet Peach

For Real Toads Tuesday Platform. Something light.

Summer Love
“Never love anyone who treats you like you’re ordinary.” – Oscar Wilde

hot summer night – room full
of locals dancing to a local country band
and now they are playing a waltz.
Sweet peach of a man/boy
you glided across the floor and asked me,
Want to dance?
Oh yes!
Your arm around my waist
guiding me around
and in and out of other dancers,
swaying, sliding, feet making that
swooshswoosh sound against the
rough boards.
You, sweet peach of a man/boy,
my head on your shoulder
breathing in the smell of you –
sundried cotton shirt and Ivory soap
and the faint newly budding man-smell.
Even after all these years
these smells make my hips sway
and my lips curve into a lazy smile.
Oh yes! Sweet peach of a man/boy.

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