dead flowers

For Kerry’s Camera Flash prompt at Real Toads.

dead flowers
in the morning
the sadness of summer sun
seeps through the curtains,
warmth seen but not felt –
the soap smells of flowers
wilted and long dead

Morning by Clarence White 1906 fair use

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.

Open Link Night #170 – Hazasakura

This is posted for Open Link Night at dVerse.  Come visit to read a variety of poems by some talented writers!

public domain image

Hazasakura*

so long we wait for the blooms –
through the long winter watching the
tiny bits of reddish brown bud grow larger –
through snow, dark days, moonless nights
the buds grow larger and one day
they burst into bloom.
Too brief their time of beauty.
By the end of the day blossoms fade
and blow away in the wind or drift
to the ground in sakura snow.
A hard rain this morning.
Petals washed down and ground into the mud
by the relentless raindrop armies
churned into oblivion.
A walk down the lane to the creek this afternoon –
fresh smell of pine needles and cedar
from the surrounding woods –
the usually clear water muddy from the rain.
I try to see my image but only see shadowy
reflections from the trees.
I return home already missing the cherry blossoms.
I stuff my hands in my pockets
having to accept the truth of cherry blossoms:
the blossoms have to die so the green leaves can live.
It’s a long wait until next Hanami.

*hazasakura – term for green cherry trees after the blossoms have fallen.

落ち葉

Sodden ochiba
Lay listless in cold rain. No
Longer bright banners.

Part of the Journey

Into the autumn sunset
Colors explode against the windshield.
Driving, but never reaching
Until darkness envelops.
Quiet,
Tires humming.
My inner conversation
Finally ceases.

月見 tsukimi

bittersweet. harvest
of longing, loss and tears. I
weep as the moon sleeps.

Shades of Grey

Grey day

End of day

Malaise

Inside weeping

Searching for

Sun

But only find

Melancholy

Ennui

Even the nishkigoi

Are sluggish

And lethargic

Under my fingers

As the food floats

On the water

I use a finger

To ripple the surface

And one grabs a bit

And goes to the bottom of the pond

Tears well as I

Look up to the grey ski

I sigh deeply.

It is 4:30 pm here

In Hakone it is 5:30 am

You are sleeping.

I close my eyes

And in my head

I see your face

Calm

I wish I could touch

Your cheek