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

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.

onenews.com

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

 

Our Home

overgrown Detroit

Our Home
“I’m a radical environmentalist; I think the sooner we asphyxiate in our own filth, the better. The world will do better without us. Maybe some fuzzy animals will go with us, but there’ll be plenty of other animals, and they’ll be back. Anthony Bourdain”

The moon is a peach in the sky.
The stars are sparkling grape tomatoes.
The cicadas are singing now.
They’ve emerged from their underground homes.
Watching the garden grow
in the dark of the universe.
I hear the nightly owl fluttering overhead.
With all the beauty around me
I mourn.
The orca’s skull can be seen beneath her blubber
as she carries her dead calf on her emaciated body.
The calf kept sinking as the mother
tried to push her towards the surface of the water.
So much beauty in this earth
and it is rotting beneath our feet.
The earth is an overripe peach
long past its maturity.
One day maybe we will be gone
and all that remains will be the skeletons of cities
poking through the overgrowth
with whales and deer and wolves
living in our place
roaming free and safe.

local peaches

You Don’t Know Me

I will be posting this on Real Toads Tuesday Platform.

You don’t know me
As you move through this life and this world you change things slightly, you leave marks behind, however small. And in return, life — and travel — leaves marks on you. Most of the time, those marks — on your body or on your heart — are beautiful. Often, though, they hurt.”Anthony Bourdain

You don’t know me.
I have listened to men making crude comments
about women in the kitchens I have cooked.
I have been beaten, stabbed, raped and robbed.
I have lost people I love due to
Illness, murder, and suicide.
I have been in the depths of despair,
I have danced on rainbows of joy.
I have loved deeply and been loved in return.
I have eaten the food from a James Beard Award winner,
I have eaten beans and beans,
I have starved.
I watched my mother dying
and identified the body of a friend dead by suicide.
I walked out on being a chef after having won an award
and almost hung myself that same day
but was saved by my little needy cat.
A year later I watched that cat being stomped to death
after my home was invaded and she hissed at the invaders.
I have seen lonely days and nights
And I have been alone by choice
And I have chosen my few friends wisely.
I learned the languages of water, trees and stones
and the language of the French and Japanese kitchens,
the language of the heart,
the language of cicadas at night.
I have dwelt in darkness of spirit
and darkness of the sweet night.
I have scars on my body and soul.
I have wept and laughed.
You don’t know me.

copyright kanzensakura
Kanzen in the snow 1957

ko no ha no ame

Sound of leaves falling like rain is the Japanese title translated to English. Yes I know we are in the midst of hot summer *up in the northern hemisphere) but autumn is my second favorite season. I wrote this a few years ago and since it is a rainy day, I brought it from my notebook and did some work on it.

ko no ha no ame
rainy autumn day –
a burial of dead leaves
swept from branches by
bitter wind – even the crows
are silent – only the howls
of a stray dog breaks the grey
silence – I walk with the weight
of the heavens on my mind –
leaves fall – sorrow on sorrow.

 

 

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