Ode to Dying Autumn

An ode in the style of Neruda.  Posted in Real Toads Tuesday Platform and dVerse Poets Pub: Meeting the Bar.

Nocturne in Black and Gold 1875 – Whistler

ode to dying autumn
here on this final day
before the first heavy frost,
the sun blazes through the trees
like a roaring wildfire
burning away the leaves –
sky and clouds,
turning into pitch-black night
before this final night
when heavy frost falls –
the *river of heaven flows –
the tiny lights of the stars
reflect off the wings
of the ghost owl
gliding through the night.
The night is an explosion of black and gold –
a painting by Whistler.
The day dawns grey
and cold with frost covering all –
a veil of hoarfrost –
The year’s dying bride walks down the aisle
of the church of trees –
The cloud mother weeps at her child
going down that long aisle to the end –
her raintears wash away the colors
of the leaves like so much paint,
disappearing down the ditches –
the trees reflect off the street
like an Impressionist painting,
I stand and watch the leaves make their way
to the creek at the foot of the hill –
little dinghies floating on the water.
And now it is day.
the frost is gone.
the bride is gone.
Autumn has left the building –
Winter is waiting its cue to enter.
cold and rainy day –
leaves fall like rain – colors fade –
silence descends like snow

*river of heaven – amanogawa – Japanese for the Milky Way – it is a seasonal kigo for haiku

Quadrille Monday: Kick

Monday it is Quadrille Monday. De is the pubtender. what is a quadrille? It is a poem of exactly 44 words, excluding the title. The quadrille must include a prompted word. today it is “kick” – kicked, kicking, kicks, kickle, a form of the word kick. Come join us for these fun and short poems.  The Pub opens at 3:00 pm EST Monday.

Kicking Leaves
I like my morning walks
especially in autumn –
leaves have fallen –
they lie stacked up on the sides of our lane.
I kick a group of them up in the air.
A snake goes flying.
Now, ain’t that a kick in the head?

copyright kanzen sakura

Dreaming November

This is for Angie’s prompt over at Real Toads. She found a wonderful book with suggestions for and lists of words for inspiration: Sandford Lyne titled, “Writing Poetry from the Inside Out:  Finding Your Voice Through the Craft of Poetry.” It seems a most excellent book I shall check out this afternoon. Come visit us at Real Toads: http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2017/11/get-listed-november-edition.html She gives us several lists with four words in each. I chose the list with November, layer, stones, throat to write a poem of 100 words or less.  I am also posting this today at dVerse Poets Pub for their Open Link Night. I am also posting at Poets United Poetry Pantry.

Dreaming November
rust-colored November
settles into the stones
in layers of newly fallen leaves
old leaves rotting leaves –
a smell that catches in the back of my throat
and makes me want to put down roots.
November is the calm before the winter storms –
stones sleep
beneath the leaves
beside the creek
flowing clear over rounded stones
before settling into the
pool at the end –
sleeping leaves dreaming of summer.

copyright Kanzen Sakura

Real Toads: Artistic Impressions

Today at Real Toads, Margaret is prompting us with various pieces of art work from the Asheville, NC county fair, all done by Amateurs! Come join us to look at the delightful pics and read the poems. http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2017/10/artistic-interpretations-with-margaret.html I have chosen to write a haibun finished with a real haiku – seasonal word (kigo) and cutting word (kireji) included in the haiku.

 

artwork – Asheville County Fair

Autumn has come at last to the South. The sky is the perfect clear blue of the season – aki no sora. A bit of a chill in the air but no frost as of yet. Leaves are starting to turn – slowly. There is more gold, red, and orange among the green than there was last week. At night, owls hoot gently and float silently through the trees, looking for food.
blue skies stretch over
trees – colors form a rainbow –
bright stars warm the sky

artwork Asheville County Fair

dVerse Poetics: The Smell of Chrysanthemums

Today Kim is prompting for dVerse Poetics: Autumn. I never get enough of autumn. Come join us and read. https://dversepoets.com/2017/10/17/poetics-the-smell-of-chrysanthemums/ This is also posted for Real Toads: http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2017/10/the-tuesday-platform_17.html

Silence of autumn
I sit on my back porch steps –
Autumn is silent this year –
insects are quiet at night –
The moon is a thin s(l)hiver
in the black sky.
I smell autumn coming –
I see autumn coming –
but this year
autumn is silent.
Golden leaves among the green
drop to the ground – dead
from a dry spring and summer.
Autumn is silent this year.
The first frost is not yet singing –
It waits in the clouds
for a cold dark night.
Autumn is silent.
Too many losses –
Too many tears.
The moon is a thin s(h)liver
in the black sky.
Autumn is silent this year.
My mother loved chrysanthemums.

dVerse Poetics: This one is for you.

I am allowed 15 minutes a day on the puter….bah!!! so I have bribed the 16 year old boy, Xien, boy across the street to type for me. And I am keeping this short.  I love my birthstone – topaz – deep and golden and rare.  When he read Lillian’s prompt, I knew I had to respond.  I will sneak back later to read some.  15 minutes allows a haiku.  You all take care!  BTW, I am a triple Scorpio for those of you who follow astrology.  http://dversepoets.com/2017/09/26/this-ones-for-you/

golden leaves – clear blue skies
rare amber and common blue –
perfect autumn day

 

 

 

 

 

 

Haibun Monday: Komorebi

I am doing the prompt for Haibun Monday over at dVerse Poets Pub. I have given the Japanese word komorebi to get people started. The word means light filtered through trees, specifically in spring or summer. I am asking them to write about the season-between-the-seasons, specifically summer into fall.  A classic haiku must end the classic haibun form. A classic haiku must have these elements: a season word,a cutting word, and 5-7-5 syllable form. I am not being particular about the number of syllables but I am being picky about the season word being part of the haiku. If there is no season word, you don’t have a haiku. You have a senryu or micropoem.

 

copyright kanzensakura

Komorebi
The cicadas are loud tonight. They clack and thrum, rattle and hum. The night is slightly cool and the dew smells of fallen leaves. Soon the cicadas will burrow down into the earth to sleep over fall and winter. An owl flies overhead, hunting for prey. I hear it in the woods accompanied by a squeal – some creature has become dinner. Small yellow sunflowers peek from the hedge and the butterfly bush has put out its last bloom. The blackberries have all been eaten by birds, squirrels and chipmunks and the bushes are bare except for leaves which are slowly fading to red – here, here, and here. Only the sunflowers have color in this deepened longer night. It is that strange season between seasons – not summer and not yet fall.  The days are getting shorter, the nights are getting longer.

I stood in my woods today. It is my church, my temple, my cathedral. The light filtering through the leaves give it a holy, hushed atmosphere. Komorebi – the Japanese word for light filtered through leaves 木漏れ. Between the world and the word are three small shapes, the signs for ”tree,” ”escape,” and ”sun.” A beautiful word. I look up and a few of the old oaks are beginning to turn their leaves from deep green to pale yellow. They are still holding tight, refusing to fall. The dead leaves underfoot are damp from the recent rain. They have a moist earthy smell rather than the dry spicy smell of autumn. I brush some of the leaves aside to uncover a large block of velvet green moss. Soon, the little flags they grow to reproduce will turn bright red. A small snake slithers under my boot. I watch it disappear into the safe place of ancient fallen trees. The cicadas are quiet today. But soon they will begin their clack and thrum, their rattle and hum. The moon is full this cool night surrounded by a halo of clouds. Autumn is taking the long road traveling to here.

voice of cicadas –
silent now in the stand of
pine trees on the hill

tani bucho 1817

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