Summer is Ending

For Kerry’s prompt at Real Toads. She uses the poem, Trees by Joyce Kilmer. The line of departure is: a poem as lovely. It is to be a micropoem,, 12 lines or fewer.  I also have redone my About page, in case anyone is interested

Summer is Ending
Butter yellow sun is spread
luxuriously on grass, leaves, trees, and our deck –
soft sounds of cicadas and crickets humming –
the quiet sound of summer winding down,
Today the first feeling of autumn is in the air –
a bit of cool instead of humid heat,
the garden is fading, jars of veggies in rows,
the last cucumber picked and pickled,
the smell of drying grass and leaves is in the air.
I stand in the midst of it soaking it all in –
no poem can be as lovely as a day like today.

canned veg and pickles

Hate for School

I hated school. Truly hated it. I loved going to university though and went for a total of 8 years. I hated school so much that at my advanced age, I still shudder at the words “back to school”. I have no nostalgia, no wistful thoughts of back to school. Until I graduated from high school, I hated it. In Junior high, my mother started letting me take one day off a month to just not go.  God bless Mama.  For Amaya’s prompt at dVerse.

Hate for School
Back to school –
Pencils backpacks school bus –
To this day I still shudder.
I watch the school buses
carrying the children to school.
I cannot help but laugh and sing:
nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah
you have to go to school and I don’t.
nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah

Haibun: Housing Insecurity

Here in Richmond, as in most cities, there are lines of cheap motels that become nominal homes to the almost homeless. At the foodbank where I volunteer time, the people with their children come in for their daily meal. They are always polite, the children often shy or charming. You learn a lot working among the poor. A quadrille from De today using the word box or forms of box at dVerse Poets Pub.  Will also be sharing at Real Toads Tuesday Platform. A quadrille is a form unique to dVerse with exactly 44 words excluding the title and using the prompted word.  Also today at Poets United, Sherry has an excellent feature about the grieving orca. I have a poem or two in it:

Housing Insecurity
She and her brother from another father sleep in boxes on top of the dresser in the hotel room shared with her mother and four siblings. Roaches run over them at night.
hot summer days
they play behind the hotel –
toys from dumpsters

photo from the Richmond Times Dispatch

1000 Miles Later

for Poets United Poetry Pantry

1000 Miles Later
Seventeen days 1,000 miles later
Talequah has dropped her dead calf.
Perhaps she is no longer sad and has
accepted the inevitability of death and life –
Perhaps she was where she wanted to bury
her dead calf – perhaps her heart said
Let go.
I picture the dead calf slowly sinking
to rest upon the bottom on the sand
asleep and at peace at last.
Talequah is healthy and leaping in the ocean.
The heart can only take so much grief
before it kills you
or sets you free.
We humans saw and wept with her.
Now perhaps she is telling us to move on,
to leap with joy, to wipe our tears.
I have been carrying my dead mother
for over a year.
The heart can only take so much grief
Before it kills you or sets you free.
I am sitting on my back porch
listening to the birds singing,
taking in the warmth of the sun,
watching the clouds dance overhead.
It is time.
It is time.
It is time.

Hidden Perseids

Sherry at Real Toads is tasking us to take a line from a poem and make it the first line of a new poem – a piggy back poem.  The first line is taken from Sweeney Among the Nightingales by T.S. Eliot, one of my favorite poets.

Hidden Perseids
“Writing anything is a treason of sorts.” Anthony Bourdain

Gloomy Orion and the Dog are veiled;
Dog days. Sweltering hot and steamy.
The night is cloudy covering the moon
and hiding the stars.
I was hoping to watch the Perseids.
The Swift-Tuttle is hiding its face tonight.
No grains of sand being set afire
as they fall to earth.
I wait for the fires in the sky.
The Dog wanders willy-nilly trying to get
Orion to play.
It is too hot and Orion is all out of fun.
I sigh deeply.
I put my head down on my knees
and listen to the mocking bird copying
the blackbird. The fire is there.
I just am blind to it.

Perseids – NASA


August Moon

For Suman’s midweek challenge at Poets United. We are to write a poem about poeming. Also posting on dVerse’s OLN.

August Moon
Under the full August moon
I listen to the cicadas singing.
Their rasping and sawing pulls apart
the silence like an old woman
pulling apart the curtains of her bedroom window.
I sit on the back steps listening
to their music.
*Amanogawa flows by silently.
In my head
the poem begins to form.

*Amanogawa – Japanese for River of Heaven or, the Milky Way

copyright kanzensakura


The Wake

orca with dead calf

The Wake

Talequah carries her dead baby gently –
either by the fin or on her nose,
refusing to let go of the calf who died
within a half hour of her birth.
The mother kept using her nose to push the baby to the surface –
She is hungry.
The bones of her skull can be seen through her depleted blubber.
Salmon farms are starving a race of beings out of existence,
Talequah carries her dead baby,
day after day.
Her pod is helping her carry her baby
mourning the loss of her baby with her.
They communicate with each other
in a complicated language only they can understand.
They mourn in their unique rituals,
forming circles around the mother –
Like a human wake.
Like mothers holding close the mother
whose baby has died,
crooning and holding the mother close.
We are starving this race,
We are depleting this race,
We are lessening their birth rate.
We are killing a race
more human than we are ourselves
who think only of courselves,
not caring who we kill
in our killing of this planet.
Talequah carries her baby gently.
The mother continues to mourn.

Previous Older Entries

%d bloggers like this: