Night Music

For my prompt at Wednesday Muse

Night Music
“And the night shall be filled with music…”- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

in the summer night I listen
to the cicadas singing to the moon.
down the road apiece
a dog howls in response.
the sound of my breathing is loud
in comparison.
the moon and the stars listen to the music
of it all and say nothing

Sevenling: A Little Night Music

Sevenling:  Night Music
“Listen to them, the children of the night. What music they make!” ― Bram Stoker

in the warm summer night
music unites the voices of frogs, crickets,
cicadas and flying bats.

stars sing tales of travelers
and lovers and magicians
and lonely folk like me.

And every night they sing just for me.

The Season of Fireflies is Past

For Reat Toads Tuesday Platform.

The Season of Fireflies is Past
“There is no Final Resting Place of the Mind.” Anthony Bourdain

The season of fireflies is past.
the shade from trees is getting longer –
days are becoming shorter –
nights are growing cooler.
It is so silent
The sound of a train whistle
several miles away carries
faintly over the tops of trees –
it moves like a slow river and pools
on the black grass of my back yard.
I’ve seen one firefly here at the end.
It winked at eye level
and a few minutes later it winked higher up
and still a few minutes later it winked
up in the top of the old oak.
The train whistle awakens the insects –
the cicadas and crickets –
it awakens the tree frogs who begin their
treble belching – and the old bullfrog
in my dying garden sings
basso profundo – the cicadas
ratchet it up a little bit louder.
I can feel it in my soul and in my bones –
Summer is taking her shower and soon will
be in her jammies and sleeping.
autumn will awaken and begin his
royal progress throughout the land
trailing clear blue skies, deer, and golden leaves
in his wake.
The season of fireflies is past.

The Moon in the Water

For Marian’s prompt at Real Toads today – “and you and I” is the prompt.

The Moon in the Water
A hot august night –
We’re sitting on the rocks by the creek.
here in this spot the creek has wandered
and just before plunging over the branches
And rocks and such
the water has pooled into a small pond
about eight feet wide and two feet deep.
Pebbles and rocks and sand
form our own private beach.
Except for the night visitors –
We are alone.
We are silent and so still a raccoon
comes up and drinks and then starts
and waddles away when he sees us.
We quietly laugh and agree
“He’ll be back” said ala Ahhhnold.
The moon flutters on the surface
of the pool – pure white on pure black.
I put my feet into the water and the moon
ripples even more, as it were laughing.
You put your arm around my shoulder
and I reach into my small shoulder bag
and give us another spray of insect repellant.
The cicadas whir and click,
an owl hoots.
A soft flutter of wings as it drifts overhead
and a soft rustling as it lands on a branch.
You and me and the moon in the night sky
and the moon in the water
and the owl in tree
and the night creatures –
Oh yes, and the neighbor’s dog
that followed us down the hill.

stock photo

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

d’Verse Poetics – Guest Prompter: Healing of Nature – tanka

Today at d’Verse Poetics Pub, CC is our guest “bartender”. She is speaking to us about Nature and the healing of Nature so our poems are being written around that theme. So many of us, I know, find that peace and healing in Nature – no matter how busy the day or how much stress, some time in our gardens, walking in a park, sitting on a porch in the summer night and listening to the night sounds, always seem to soothe us and help heal our hearts. I have included a video from YouTube of a summer night in East Tennessee. it is like the summer night sounds around here. The video is 3 1/2 minutes long, but the first few seconds should give you a good idea if you want to listen. There are no visuals, just darkness and summer sounds.  These sounds remind me of my childhood and sitting out at night.  I still do that – sit on my back steps at night to rest, recycle, reclaim my inner peace, being restful with Nature.

Come join us at d’Verse Poetics today and read about healing Nature and please, feel free to contribute one of your poems along that theme! We are not a bunch of snobs and welcome all to participate in the discussion and to link up your poem and comment.  http://dversepoets.com/2015/07/28/poetics-in-tune-with-nature

cicadas singing
summer night lullaby – warm
darkness surrounds – day’s
distractions all disappear –
soft night’s healing peace

Equinox 11:58 p.m. 12:06 a.m.

Warm air

Like bathwater.

Dog day cicadas susurrate.

The woods are silent and dark.

Green smell of grass

Seems to fade.

I feel the seasons changing.

A coolness brushes my cheek

And crickets begin their sawing.

Cicadas fall silent as they burrow

Into the earth.

Subtle but detectable change.

The spicy smell of maple leaves

And dried pine needles:

Brown smell, no longer green smell

In the air.

My pulse quickens.

The lethargic breeze of hot humid summer

Leaves my body

And is replaced by

The quicker breath of

Autumn wind.

So still I stand

The heavy dew of autumn

Coats my hair

And clothing.

I shiver but the shiver

Is the uncomplicated cool of autumn

And not the hostile shiver of winter

Nor the slight vibration of summer.

Summer sighs and goes to sleep.

Autumn awakens.