In Plain Sight

For the Meeting the Bar segment of Dverse Poets Pub. Bjorn gives the prompt today to write from a different perspective.

In Plain Sight
“When composing a verse let there not be a hair’s breath separating your mind from what you write; composition of a poem must be done in an instant, like a woodcutter felling a huge tree or a swordsman leaping at a dangerous enemy.” ― Bashō

well folks, here she is:
a woman who loves the ocean
and howls at the moon.
she observes the passing of the seasons
in the Japanese manner
and makes her own udon.
She has studied extensively Bartitsu
and is an expert at la canne.
She believes in brevity in poetry.
She hides in plain sight.

autumn moon –
the night is gone –
a crow awakens

toni and cat

Haibun: I am Lone Wolf

For Sherry’s Prompt on Real Toads “Answer the wolf’s call with your poems about wildness and wolves, domesticity and mothers, daughters and sons, or your own fierce love for your child. Allow the passage quoted to take you where it pleases. Bring us back whatever you find.” And for the Midweek Motif on Poets United: Authenticity

Haibun: I am Lone Wolf
“The wolves knew when it was time to stop looking for what they’d lost, to focus instead on what was yet to come.”
― Jodi Picoult, Lone Wolf

Most of the time, I prefer to be alone; not part of the crowd. I prefer to wander in the forest and sniff the smells there, feel the heat/cold/rain/snow on my back. I prefer an honesty in my words and actions. If something is shite (IMHO) I prefer to say so and not shilly-shally with polite words. This has gotten me into trouble in the past and so, I prefer to be alone, with my honesty. I am a lone wolf. I only kill to eat, to leave behind forage for the pack roaming behind me. I prefer feeding rather than being fed. I can feed myself. Sometimes I am shot at, sometimes I am smiled at, most of the time I am left alone. I prefer honesty, or authenticity if you will. I don’t put down pretty words and prefer actually, that you be authentic with me. Let’s smell each other’s butts and see where the other has been, what the other has eaten. Sometimes I put my head back and howl at the moon, even when it is hidden by clouds.
fall comes like a storm –
it can be smelled on the wind –
inhale it deeply

Haibun: The Watch

Haibun: The Watch
“Those we love never truly leave us, Harry. There are things that death cannot touch.” – Jack Thorne, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child: Parts One and Two

An early leaf burning: smoke wanders and its incense drifts to heaven. The voices of cicadas are silent now in the stand of cedars on the hill. I go to the pile of stones gathered from daily walks down to the creek and back. I bring one back and place it carefully on the pile. I began years ago with the death of friend, and then the death of my mother and the three suicides of friends last July and the death of my cousin Billy last October. I also place a candle in a gallon jar, that will burn though the night. The night will be cloudy, the stars unseen. But that doesn’t mean the stars aren’t there, just hidden from view. Like the loved ones gone before. I will sit on my back porch and watch the candle through the night, keeping watch, drifting in and out of sleep, of dreams. I sit entranced in the midst of the haiku I wish I could write.
the silent cedars
on the hill bear witness
to unseen stars

 

The Scarecrow

De hosts Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. We are to use the word “quiver” or a form of the word, in the body of a quadrille. Quadrille: a poem of exactly 44 words, sans title. I have done a combination of gogyohka and haiku. A quadrille is a poem, in any form, of exactly 44 words sans title using the given word by the prompter. A gogyohka is a five line Japanese form of poetry; it is five lines long. The only rule is that each line must be a phrase.

 

The Scarecrow
“We must all make do with the rags of love we find flapping on the scarecrow of humanity.” –  Angela Carter, Nights at the Circus

endless rows of dried cornstalks whisper
in the chill autumn wind –
a hunt lost beagle quivers as
I bend down to pet it.
It wags its tail as it follows me home.

a scarecrow almost
shredded – flaps its arms in the wind –
waving goodbye

Indgenous Southern Woman

For Haibun Monday at dVerse. Frank Tassone is the prompter. He wishes us to write about indigenous – “What does Indigenous mean to you? Is it your culture? Is there a time and place that speaks to you about the Indigenous? Or is there an experience of time and place that marks it as your own indigenous moment?”

Indigenous Southern Woman
“The truth is nobody can own anything. That was an unheard-of concept among indigenous people. We invented that.”  Tom Shadyac

A few years ago, I did one of those DNA test thingies. The results did not surprise me. Being a physical anthropology major, I knew of course, physical characteristics of Native Americans, particularly those from the Southern East Coast. My little fingers are crooked. I already had the making of a chef’s hands before I started. Another physical characteristic is hidden behind the teeth, a ledge that gives the teeth a shovel appearance. An inverted breastbone is also common, a trait that leaves an indentation in the chest; it is sometimes called a “chicken breast.” All of their unique characteristics are due to genetic mutations that have been passed down through the tribe over thousands of years. Modern DNA analysis has allowed these traits to be traced and tracked and can help to identify those with Cherokee or other Native American blood.

It was discovered that I am 28% Native American including the tribes of the NC Coast: Lumbee, Sappony, Meherrin Occaneechi, Waccamaw tribes. I am also descended from very early English Settlers. They were part of the pirate contingent who raided the coast and pillaged and some of them settled here, on the NC coast, in about 1640. In fact, some of the folks on the barrier islands speak with old English accents and use their words. My family has always been watermen and farmers – and pirates. That is where I get my love of the land, the seasons, the trees from. The rest of the DNA test revealed mostly English, specifically the east coast of England. I follow the seasons, respect the earth, and try to walk gently upon it. I was taught this by my family.  We all in our family believe in the lessons the earth has to teach us.
southern woman
born of tribes and pirates
lover of the seasons

 

Haibun: Everyday Life

For Poets United Mid-week Motif – everyday life

Haibun: Everyday Life
“Write it on your heart that every day is the best day in the year.” ― Ralph Waldo Emerson

Everyday is a day of peace. Before I retired four years ago, I grasped at the beauty on weekends like a drowning person grasped at a lifesaver, like a dying person grasps for the last look at a beloved face. I hungrily snapped up the vision of leaves, the feel of rain, the silken scarf of moonlight, the smell of French toast for breakfast. I binge cooked on the weekends making meals to feed us during the week, smells of bread and red sauce, pot roast and fried chicken, quick breads and cinnamon and ginger and onions wafting through the house. Now I walk daily – in the rain, the snow, the blistering hot sun. I visit my friend the Oak every other day and sometimes take my violin and sit in its upper branches sawing away for the birds and squirrels. Peace. A commodity more important than money to me. The quotidian details are there but now they are happily supplemented with all I had starved for before.
the autumn cool
says blessed and happy –
and the name of peace

Haibun: Hunter’s Moon

For Merrill’s Prompt at dVerse Poets Pub – a quadrille.  A quadrille is a poem of exactly 44 words using the prompter’s choice of words.  Today the word is “set”.

Haibun: Hunter’s Moon
“Always remember we are under the same sky, looking at the same moon.” —Maxine Lee

The sun has set and the air is cool. I watch the moon rise. It is a full hunter moon. An owl drifts overhead and I feel its passing in the air.
the moon is so bright
I can see like
a spotlight shines

Hunters Moon

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