Beauty and Innocence

For Kerry’s artistic impressions prompt over at Real Toads. A 55 word poem.

Beauty and Innocence

“She looks like a sweet little lamb from afar, but when you get close, you find out she skinned and ate the damn thing just to use it as a coat. She’s a beast.” – J.J. McAvoy, Ruthless People

Strange beings walk the forest at night.
death in their hands,
evil at their back.
death looks beautiful
but it ensares you
in its grasp.
You walk with innocence
until the snake wraps around you
and the maiden draws the knife
slowly across your unwitting throat.

Eli Edward Evangelidis (2018)
Used with Permission

Haibun: Forest Peace

For my prompt at Wednesday Muse and for Poets United, Midweek Motif: Peace

 

Haibun: Forest Peace
“Come to the woods, for here is rest. There is no repose like that of the green deep woods. Sleep in forgetfulness of all ill.” John Muir

These woods do not care about my problems, my joys. They have seen my tears and heard my laughter. They exist and have existed long before my great-grandfather’s grandfather. Deer walk here unafraid, birds nest and raise their families, small animals live and die. Owls hunt and crows observe. I stand in the middle of it all and breathe – in, out, in, out. I lie down against the damp fragrant earth and look up at the roof of leaves, the straight strong trunks, the fragile twisted trunks, the rain dripping from the leaves. I store up strength and peace and calm like a spiritual battery. I cannot stop smiling.
forest temple lures –
cedar incense – cardinal bells
peace reigns in this world

copyright kanzensakura

Memorial

copyright Kanzensakura – my father, far left, Paris, 21st birthday

Memorial
“The soldier above all others prays for peace, for it is the soldier who must suffer and bear the deepest wounds and scars of war.” – Douglas Macarthur

My father, aged 21, in Paris. He had left the horrors of Omaha Beach behind him. This was his 21st birthday and his two best friends celebrated it with him. I look at his smile, insouciant, not showing the future of night terrors he had until he died. The flag was folded and given to my mother at his funeral; it was inherited by me when she died. When I think of sacrifice, I think of those bodies floating in the bloodied water that he said they walked on to get to get to shore, when they landed on that horrible beach. When I think of memorial, I think of those of us left behind who remember those we love who have traveled on before us.
Memorial Day –
the sound of Taps floating
across the cemetery

The Angel

The Angel
“In heaven an angel is nobody in particular. George Bernard Show

the angel looks as confused as I.
it’s been looking over this cemetery
for years.  and all it sees are the same dead
put into holes – and covered with dirt
that doesn’t grow any flowers or grass.
tacky silk flowers adorn each grave,
faded in the sun and blown by the wind
to another grave or across the road.
It ponders the people planted in this garden –
a garden that produces no fruit
or vegetables, no flowers or trees.
in rain or sun,
snow or heat.
it just looks and ponders
and continues to look confused.

used by permission of Susie Clevenger

The Kitchen is Empty

If you or someone you know is having thoughts of suicide, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255 (TALK) or go to SpeakingOfSuicide.com/resources for a list of resources.

The Kitchen is Empty
‘I’m never a reliable narrator, unbiased or objective.” “I have a tattoo on my arm, that says, in ancient Greek, ‘I am certain of nothing.’ I think that’s a good operating principle.” Anthony Bourdain

the boy at the beach has traveled to places
we could not imagine.
the stars no longer follow his parents
as they drive through the night to their home
from the Jersey shore he so dearly loved.
The kitchen is empty –
his great story telling voice like
dark chocolate ganache is silent.
his narrow face no longer wrinkles with laughter
or sorrow nor do his eyes peer out to the end
of the horizon, seeing things only
he could see.
The kitchen is empty –
the knives lying in their coffin drawers,
stories are silent –
no longer being told with
understanding and humor,
with sorrow and truth.
the kitchen is empty.
the kitchen is empty.

Magnolias

Today the form at dVerse is to write a ghazal – pronounced guzzle, which is fitting because it is a poem about drunkenness and/or romance.  Of course the drunkenness can symbollize the rapture of God.  I prefer my poetry brief, to the point and in the style of the Japanese. I don’t believe in using 500 words when I can use 50. I will do my best with this form and also with the prompt at Toads – Summer’s End.  Celia was the name of my mother and great-grandmother. A guzzle (ghazal) is made up of non-connected couplets using a repeating line or phrase in the last line of each couplet.  Which is actually, a pretty neat poetic device.

Magnolias
“Summer in the deep South is not only a season, a climate, it’s a dimension. Floating in it, one must be either proud or submerged.”  ― Eugene Walter, The Untidy Pilgrim

the southern summer night is like an obscene phone call
lowly whispered in tones of moist hot tones here at the beginning of summer.

the full moon floated on the clouds last night
and magnolias opened their blooms here at the beginning of summer.

magnolias perfumes the air and gifts us with its incense,
and I think this is all the beauty we need here at the beginning of summer.

blooms like fragrant plates at a feast, petals spreading wide
and showing their golden hearts here at the beginning of summer.

but the feast soon ends and petals turn brown and scent fades
as their hearts fall like solid tears here at the beginning of summer.

we had dreams once when we were young and beautiful
and we lived our dreams here at the beginning of summer.

the night closes fast Celia, and fragrance dissipates into dew
at the end of summer, here at the beginning of summer.

 

 

Anniversary

For my Wednesday Muse prompt at Sunday Muse Blogspot. The topic today is “anniversary”. There are all kinds of anniversaries: wedding, enagagement, the death of a loved one, adoption of a child or pet, buying a house…one for every day of the year and to spare.

Anniversary
“Maybe that’s enlightenment enough: to know that there is no final resting place of the mind, no moment of smug clarity. Perhaps wisdom … is realizing how small I am, and unwise, and how far I have yet to go.” Anthony Bourdain

the days run fast
as a shooting star,
dropping through the blackness
of time.
You put the noose around your neck
and jumped –
falling through the blackness
of time.
I watched my mother dying,
her light dimming as a star
falling in the black ocean.
I remember these times
with tears in my brain.
I remember these times as I remember
the scent of faded gardenias
turning brown in the summer sun.

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