Autumn Contemplation

Autumn Contemplation
“The upper reaches here and the lower of the river – the friend for the moon.” Matsuo Basho

Meigetsu,
the harvest moon is fading –
Bright gold coin in black sky
now dims and wanes to a partial dish of cream.
Hatsu arashi – the first storm of autumn
has washed clean the sky.
aki simu – autumn is clearing,
brilliant blue,
luminous white clouds drifting, silent. peaceful.
Autumn’s voice whispers –
breeze across dry leaves on the grass,
wind in the reeds at the creek,
The little priest – the tiny cicada delicately
moves his wings, a small voice
among the raucous pine and bell crickets,
an alto to the larger cicadas
and their metallic thrum.
Shinryoo – new coolness in the air.
The coming of autumn is somnolent today.
No rise or fall,
A steady tone of almost silence.
The morning glory twines
lovingly around my plum tree
and shows her blue face,
echoing her sister,
aki no sora – the autumn sky.
The small grey tabby across the way
sits beneath an oak
watching the occasional
slow falling leaf.
Her eyes stay upward
and she does not move for she wants to see
the leaves as they float and fall around her.
An early leaf burning –
smoke wanders and its incense drifts to heaven.
my wondering heart sit entranced
in the midst of the haiku
I wish I could write.

Will Autumn Never Come

Will Autumn Never Come>
“August rain: the best of the summer gone, and the new fall not yet born. The odd uneven time.” ― Sylvia Plath

it is still summer –
the trees are filled with cicadas
all sawing and cracking
as if they were all members of
the End Of Summer Band.
Leaves are starting to fall –
a few at the time,
gold and crisped at the edges
like sugar cookies fresh off the cookie sheet.
The blackberry canes are bare of berries
except for a few withered ones missed by the birds
and human pickers.
I wait for that autumnal nip in the air.
I wait for the dog days of summer
to go to sleep – to curl up
on the hearth.
will autumn never come?
the night stars still sing summer.
will autumn never come?

Emperor of the Dawn

For Real Toads, Kerry’s Art Flash/55  An American Sentence.

Emperor of the Dawn
Quincy Washington
used by permission

 

 

Emperor of the Dawn
“Loneliness will sit over our roofs with brooding wings.” ― Bram Stoker, Dracula

Bat winged dawn awakens me –  among the nightmares lonely flowers bloom.

Cedars on the Hill

For Sherry’s prompt at Real Toads, the art of Emily Carr, an artist from British Columbia, Canada.  A very interesting artist.

Cedars on the Hill
Cedars are terribly sensitive to change of time and light – sometimes they are bluish cold-green, then they turn yellow warm-green – sometimes their boughs flop heavy and sometimes float, then they are fairy as ferns and then they droop, heavy as heartaches. – Emily Carr

I watch the cedars on the hill across the way
like I watch the changing of the seasons.
the deep blue green,
the paler green,
the red of the dying branches.
I walk among them
and brush my hands against them
taking their scent unto myself.
small creatures live beneath them
and birds build their nests in them.
I love them most when it snows
and creatures hunker for warmth
in them and beneath them.
beneath the heavy sky
they stand in groups
and are their own community.


Cedar – Emily Carr 1942

 

 

 

 

Haibun: Escape

a haibun in the style of Basho, 44 words exactly, a quadrille

Haibun: Escape
“And into the forest I go, to lose my mind and find my soul.” – John Muir

The day is so very hot – 105F at high noon. I walk into the forest which is about 20 degrees cooler. My old friends always welcome me to enter and rest.
through the cool forest
a walk on sun freckled path –
escape from summer’s heat

 

 

Night Comes

For Kim’s prompt over at Real Toads, about the poetic form pastoral. She wants us to write a poem about night coming in the style of Jane Kenyon, ‘Let Evening Come’, “to inspire your pastoral poems this weekend” No more than six tercets. I have tried. I love writing about the night in the summer, any time of year!

Night Comes
“In the trees the night wind stirs, bringing the leaves to life, endowing them with speech; the electric lights illuminate the green branches from the under side, translating them into a new language.” ― E.B. White

in the afternoon the day winds down –
the shadows grow long winds gently slough
and the bees return to their hives.

toward the dark of the day
owls awaken and their sleepy eyes grow bright!
they stretch their wings and shuffle their feet.

rabbits cease their nibbling and head to their nests,
shadows grow longer and cross the road
to meet the cows lowing in the fields, heading to the barns.

the shadow of the moon glows white in the indigo sky
and early Venus glows. the bats come out to hunt
along with the owls and cicadas begin their buzz.

now the stars glow in the black night sky
and a rustle of the bushes as a possum
comes to the join the other night creatures for dinner.

lights snap on in the houses, bright yellow in the night.
the owl swoops down and grabs a baby rabbit
its squeal joining the buzzing of the cicadas in the night.

the night after holding its breath exhales.

 

The Ocean

The Ocean
“What would an ocean be without a monster lurking in the dark? It would be like sleep without dreams.” ― Werner Herzog

the ocean is honest.
it does not care where you vacation
or even if you do.
it does not care if your heart is broken
or if it leaps in your chest with joy.
the ocean does not care about
the mansion you have built on
its sands or the one room hut
in which you sleep and fry your fish.
The ocean does not weep at the death of your lover –
it only returns the body to you
wet and sandy and crawling with crabs.
it lets you walk in the waves
and gaze at the reflection of the moon
on its undulating surface.
the ocean nurtures it creatures
yet it crushes them in its grasp.
it takes the love you give it
but it feels nothing in return.
The ocean will gift you one perfect shell –
a sand dollar or a scots bonnet or
a sunrise colored scallop shell.
it lets you sit at its edge
like a lion in a cage that paces back and forth,
daily, watching your every move.
it shows its moods without filters or warnings.
you walk into it until it covers your head
and your feet leave the surface of the sand,
like walking on the moon.
it takes your sacrifice without utterance
and returns your body
wet and sandy and crawling with crabs.

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