Lake Moon

For Linda’s prompt at dVerse Poets, for “Prosery” Monday. Prosery is where prose and poetry collide, sort of like a haibun but fictional. Mine is true. I rarely write flash fiction.  It is ended with a landay, an Afghan poetic form written and sung by the women.

 

Lake Moon
“The winter moon becomes a companion, the heart of the priest, sunk in meditation…” Yasunari Kawabata

I sat wrapped in my grandmother’s quilt by the dark lake.  The full cold moon shone white in the black sky and reflected on the water.  Never have I touched anything smoother than the reflection of that moon.  A few wild dogs passed within a few feet of me and lapped up the reflection of that moon.  A line from a poem popped in my head – “A cow is screaming across the arroyo.”  Suddenly I jerked awake.  It was pre-dawn and the crows were waking, cawing.  The cow was far away in my dreams and the dogs had wandered away in their quest for food.  The full cold moon brings long winter days – animals burrow beneath the fallen leaves for warmth.

Cold Moon

For Sanaa’s last prompt at Real Toads. She is introducing us to the Landay, a traditional Afghan style of women poets and sung. Typically they are a single couplet – the first line consists of nine syllables and the second with 13. I got this information from Wikipedia. I am keeping mine short and traditional – a single couplet.

Cold Moon

the full cold moon brings long winter days –
animals burrow beneath the fallen leaves for warmth

Pacifico

A 55 for the Toads Prompt – Art Flash 55. I have done a 55 in honor of Galen and in honor of Kerry who visualized these beautiful oracle cards. I will miss all of you. Hope I see you around on the blogosphere.

Pharos ~ The Lighthouse
Kerry O’Connor
@skyloverpoetry

 

Pacifico
“We are tied to the ocean. And when we go back to the sea, whether it is to sail or to watch – we are going back from whence we came.” John F. Kennedy

the ocean is almost silent
but for the suck of sand and
snap of bubbles –
a heartbeat rhythm.
the body always a sea folded
in on itself,
a nautical chart folded into a paper cup.
it is peaceful most of the time.
glinting in blues and greens
reflecting the bright moon at darkest night.

The Chef

For Skylover’s Word List. A word list for thinking persons. I wrote poems about Dorian Grey and his life and times for my PhD in Fine Arts. This is an old old poem re-written using words from the Word List. And this one is for Shay who loves my poems about Dorian Grey. The List For December: https://www.instagram.com/p/B5hHd0alUQN/ And for the prompt at dVerse Poet’s Pub. I am not sure if it is an “apostrophe”.

The Chef
“A mind all logic is like a knife all blade. It makes the hand bleed that uses it.” Rabindranath Tagore

Dorian Grey watched the sun
sinking below the horizon,
lambent, flickering out of sight.
chained stars gave the illusion of light
and false camaraderie.
He took the needle filled with
heroin and injected it into his veins.
Beside the trash cans outside the restaurant
he looked again at the stars,
with no curiosity.
in this life he was a chef.
he wore the illusion like a tatty robe
and soon, in the dawn
he would strip it from himself.
indecision – should he hang himself
at dawn or continue to live?
he pulled the needle from his arm.
no. he would continue to live
cursed with eternal life.
he didn’t need to die.
he only needed to look at his portrait.
the chained stars needed to be set free –
he didn’t think he had the strength.
he went back inside to finish the night shift.

Ch-ch-changes

For the Midweek Motif at Poets United -Change

Ch-ch-changes
“Nothing is so painful to the human mind as a great and sudden change.” Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, Frankenstein
 
I stood at the foot of my grandmother’s bed
and watched her draw her last breath.
It hit me then,
I will never be the same after
experiencing this.
I stood by my father’s casket and I thought,
I will never the be the same after this.
I stood in front of the minister with the man
who was going to be my husband and I thought,
I will be different after this.
I watched my mother draw her last breath
and I though I will never be the same.
I am an orphan now.
I will have no children to watch me die.
I will have no children to be changed forever.
I watch the seasons passing
leaves and flowers sprouting,
Rose petals dropping,
Leaves changing color and dropping,
Snow falling in the woods.
I am changed forever.
I am forever changed.

Blue Skies

Laura’s prompt at dVerse Poets Pub is “Less is more”. With that in mind, I have written an American Sentence.  So less is truly more.

Blue Skies
I never get tired of the blue sky.” – Vincent van Gogh

A cloudless blue sky gives hope even to the birds that fly through the storms.

copyright Toni Spencer

Haibun: Autumn Leaves III

Haibun: Autumn Leaves III
“Autumn’s the mellow time.” William Allingham

The dead leaves drift in faded tatters. I can see their spirits rising in the rain. The green leaves are now gone. Leaves float in the river of goodbye.
trees wave in the wind
saying goodbye to their leaves
half past autumn has arrived

Like the waters

For Rommy’s prompt at Real Toads, Words to Live By. I read this in my early teens. These words have held my mind all these years.

Like the Waters
I heard the old, old, men say ‘all that’s beautiful drifts away, like the waters.’
William Butler Yeats

We cast the ashes of our regrets
into the waters.
We cast the ashes of our sorrows
into the waters.
We cast the ashes of our dreams
into the waters.
All of our beauties we cast into the waters.
They ride the currents to the ocean
and become one with it.
We watch them drift away from us,
we say goodbye and look up at the sky.
The clouds drift by in the water
of the sky and drown themselves
in the horizon.

Abandoned Kitchen

For Carrie’s Sunday Muse Blogspot.

Abandoned Kitchen
“Did you ever wonder Why abandoned houses looked so sad Much like the people Their exterior was only for the function.” Maria Lehman, The Dreaming Doors

the door opens.
The smell hits you –
dampness, mold,
cold lifeless things.
there is a darker sort of silence
as if the kitchen is holding its breath,
holding it for so long
it had forgotten how to breathe.

Sleeping Bee

I went out to check on my bees because there have been some very cold nights. I put the stethoscope next to the hive and listened rather than breaking the hive open and letting in the cold air. To my satisfaction, my bees are fine. This is for Kim’s challenge on Real Toads, The Uncertainty of a Poet. I don’t know if I did this right. It isn’t my style at all but it is interesting.

Sleeping Bee
“We ought to do good to others as simply as a horse runs, or a bee makes honey, or a vine bears grapes season after season without thinking of the grapes it has borne.” Marcus Aurelius

I am a bee in a hive.
I am a sleeping bee.

I am a warm bee safe in the middle
of other sleeping bees.

other sleeping bees are warm
and snuggled together.

I am a snuggling bee sleeping through winter
winter is outside the hive

outside the hive winter roars
let the winter roar

I am safe within my hive
I am sleeping in a hive

I will awaken in spring
I will sleep no longer

sleeping bees

Lost Leaves

For Poets United Midweek Motif – Longing. An American Sentence. Also for dVerse Poets Pub Open Link Night.

Lost Leaves
“To ask why we fall in love is to ask why the leaves fall.” ― Jimvirle/Jinvirle

Autumn deepens; faded leaves swirl in the cold wind searching for their tree.

Poison Ivy

I was in hospital for several weeks while I was six due to a horrible poison ivy infection.  The first thing I did when we bought our house was to search out all of the poison ivy on the place and use a special weed killer to end it.  For Kim’s prompt on dVerse, Sylvia and Ted. Writing about useless things that grow.  Tersets. I guess.  Write in the format of Sylvia Plath or Ted Huges.

 


Poison Ivy

“Inside leaflets like mittens will itch like the dickens. Leaves of three, let it be.” Old Time Thymes about poison ivy.

poison ivy is sneaky
lying in wait for
the unaware

horrible itchy rash –
covering your body
from head to toenails


Poison Ivy

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