Haibun: The Balloon

For Merrill’s prompt at dVerse – a quadrille.  A quadrille is a poem in any form with exactly 44 words using the prompted word, sans title.  The word today is “rise”.  A haibun in the manner of Basho.

 

Haibun: The Balloon
“Perhaps wisdom… is realizing how small I am, and unwise, and how far I have yet to go.” Anthony Bourdain

The day I buried my mother’s ashes was a hot summer day. I untied the balloon from my wrist and let it go. I watched it rise quickly to the sky.
balloon rises to heaven
and clears the trees –
my heart goes with it

The Girl With Kaleidoscope Eyes

Day 19 NAPOWRIMO  Kerry’s prompt at Real Toads – your muse

The Sensitive Plant Frank Dicksee

The Girl With Kaleidscope Eyes
“Look for the girl with the sun in her eyes And she’s gone.” Lennon/McCartney

Sitting in the ancient oak
pondering,
thinking –
his empty eyes
as he hung from the ceiling,
remembering the look in my mother’s eyes
as she lay dying.
Hearing the birds in the forest
and across the way,
the one lone crow.

Haibun: Summer Tomatoes

A haibun of exactly 75 words in the manner of Basho for my prompt at Real Toads, Day 15 of NAPOWRIMO. A haibun is a Japanese poetic form consisting of a true autobiographical part and ended with a seasonal haiku.

 

Haibun: Summer Tomatoes
“It’s difficult to think anything but pleasant thoughts while eating a homegrown tomato.” Lewis Grizzard

It was the middle of July; mama had died mid-June. She is the one who taught me all of my gardening and canning skills. The tomatoes hung thick from the vines. To encourage more blooms, I buried the fertilizer spike.
soft like my mama’s cheek
I held the tomato to my face –
watered it with my tears

blood is blood

A Poem for Magaly’s prompt on Real Toads: three titles one poem. Today is Day 13 of NAPOWRIMO, There are eight book titles in this poem. At least three have three or more words. Titles: The Nasty Bits, Blood is Blood, Some Danger Involved, The Violet Fairy Book, The Secret Life of Bees, The Perks of Being a Wallflower, Road to the Deep North, The Witch’s Gift, Pet Sematary

Blood is Blood
I often referred to my trip to the farmer’s market
as the road to the deep north because of the distance.
I started up the side steps and stopped –
a rabbit ear lay in the center of the top step –
a little chewed –
all was gone, even the nasty bits.
I looked at the seven pair of golden eyes
staring at me – the feral cats I feed.
Did one of you do this? I asked sternly.
the witch’s gift, I muttered.
I went into the house and came back with a sheet of paper towel.
I carefully picked it up and grabbed the shovel.
I shook the tears from my eyes and contemplated.
this bunny had started life not knowing
there would be some danger involved.
I went to the edge of the woods,
to the area I called the pet sematary,
dug a hole and inserted the ear,
covered with violets and dirt.
Take this child oh Mother for blood is blood
you take it unto yourself.
I walked back to the house and sat on the back steps.
This spring the back yard exploded in violets –
like the violet fairy book, they spread everywhere –
white, deep purple, lavender and rare pink.
I watched the bees going back and forth
between the violets and the hive.
I gained peace watching the secret life of bees.
The front lawn was perfectly smooth
the back yard was wild with clover and wildflowers.
The perks of being a wallflower,
Alone, living and growing under the sun,
drinking the rain and dew.

Talking on the Back Steps

Day nine of NAPOWRIMO – prompt on Real Toads

Talking on the Back Steps
“The root cause of all life’s problems is looking for a simple fucking answer.” Anthony Bourdain

you sit on the back steps with me.
I look up at the stars and several meteors
flash across the sky.
it is cold and your breath
clouds as you speak.
I cannot hear you
but I feel the words in my heart –
this is just a dream.
you turn into light and join the stars.
I know this is just a dream
but I wish it wasn’t.
I wish it wasn’t.

Sunday Muse #47

Sunday Muse #47 Posting also on Poets United Poetry Pantry. Also on March 27, the Sunday Muse will expand to the Wednesday Muse with prompts. Sunday Muse will remain Pictures.

I Hate St. Patrick’s Day
“You can open for me the portals of death’s house, for love is always with you, and love is stronger than death is.” Oscar Wilde, The Canterville Ghost

In the same month of the same year,
My grandmother, father, and grandfather
had all died.
By St. Patrick’s Day
three of the people I loved dearly were dead and buried.
I hate St. Patrick’s Day.
And as I am neither Irish
nor Catholic,
I only love the natural greens,
the greens of trees, grass, birds.
Sing me a sad song birdie.
Sing me a sad sad song.
Today I will wear blue,
the blue of my loved ones’ eyes.

Harbingers

For Sarah’s prompt at dVerse: Harbingers.  During the olden days in Japan and today actually, cherry blossoms are important.  They are signs of beauty in the spring but they are also part of death.  A tree will be full of the blooms and a week later, all the blooms will have fallen to their death – cherry blossom rain.

Harbingers

“As you move through this life and this world, you change things slightly; you leave marks behind, however small. And in return, life …-leaves marks on you. Most of the time, those marks–on your body or on your heart–are beautiful. Often, though, they hurt.” Anthony Bourdain

An owl ghosting through the darkness,
A hawk sailing on the thermals.
A small cat giving birth for the first time
In the freezing rain,
My mother holding up her hand,
Reaching for her long dead mother
That only she can see.
Harbingers of death –
It comes for us all
Sure as the cherry blossoms in spring.

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