The Mine

The words. I did not use all of them. solitude, cage, moonless, identical, circle, gravity, canary, root, platitude, apparition

For Skylover’s Word List.

The Mine
“Grief is like living two lives – One is like pretending everything is alright, and the other where your heart silently screams in pain.” Anonymous

January 3.
the smell of petrichor rises
from the roots and
moist air circles me
in the moonless night.
solitude cages me.
an owl drifts across the sky
like an apparition.
I look up from the depths of a mine,
a caged canary beating my wings
against death.

Curtain of Night

A quadrille for De who hosts today at Dverse Poets Pub. A quadrille is a poem, any form, sans title, of exactly 44 words using the prompted word. The word today is “crack” or any variant of the word crack.

strong>Curtain of Night
“I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet.” – Jack London

the earth passes through the remnants
of Tempel-Tuttle asteroid.
Fire flies past quicker than thought,
in the blackness of the night,
the curtain cracks
letting the stars pour forth.
sit motionless and silent
becoming one with the stars.
gaze through the window of night.

Dark Country Road

This is for dVerse Poet Pubs, Prosery.  I don’t get Flash Fiction.  I hope I did okay.  I thought this had to be written in prose form but apparently, it doesn’t. I will do as I will next time.

Dark Country Road
“A swift rhythm is played out by my hands, a cadence known only to those who have strung tobacco. To many, the meter and rhythm of stringing is the only poetry they’ve ever known.” ― Brenda Sutton Rose

Hot night in July – needing to be out of the city, rolling down a smooth country two lane blacktop, Black countryside, no lights showing in the few houses. All are sleeping the sleep of exhaustion. Folks have to get up early go to work in the surrounding tobacco fields. Rolling past rows of tobacco broken only by the dark houses.  Past another small house, dark. Ahead off to the right a dirt road. I pull off and go down it slowly. Dust invisible but I can smell it, thick whiffs of sharp iron and sweeter lime. In the headlights the road is pale pink but in the daylight, it will be red as blood. A meteor shower explodes in the night sky. I stop in the middle of the road to stare, amazed. If it’s darkness we’re having, let it be extravagant.

 

tobacco farm and barn

Night Comes

For Kim’s prompt over at Real Toads, about the poetic form pastoral. She wants us to write a poem about night coming in the style of Jane Kenyon, ‘Let Evening Come’, “to inspire your pastoral poems this weekend” No more than six tercets. I have tried. I love writing about the night in the summer, any time of year!

Night Comes
“In the trees the night wind stirs, bringing the leaves to life, endowing them with speech; the electric lights illuminate the green branches from the under side, translating them into a new language.” ― E.B. White

in the afternoon the day winds down –
the shadows grow long winds gently slough
and the bees return to their hives.

toward the dark of the day
owls awaken and their sleepy eyes grow bright!
they stretch their wings and shuffle their feet.

rabbits cease their nibbling and head to their nests,
shadows grow longer and cross the road
to meet the cows lowing in the fields, heading to the barns.

the shadow of the moon glows white in the indigo sky
and early Venus glows. the bats come out to hunt
along with the owls and cicadas begin their buzz.

now the stars glow in the black night sky
and a rustle of the bushes as a possum
comes to the join the other night creatures for dinner.

lights snap on in the houses, bright yellow in the night.
the owl swoops down and grabs a baby rabbit
its squeal joining the buzzing of the cicadas in the night.

the night after holding its breath exhales.

 

The Moving Moon

For the prompt at dVerse Poets – movement, moving.

The Moving Moon
“The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas.” – Alfred Noyes

People think the moon stands still.
that is up there in the sky like
a light bulb in the ceiling.
On and off,
Light and dark.
but the moon moves,
in it’s course.
The stars move around it
like a moth or flies about the light bulb.
The earth moves rotating on its axis
and in its orbit.
Only I am still as I stand and look up.
Owls, bats, birds,
deer, rabbits, coyotes,
stray dogs, wolves, cats,
snakes, lighting bugs, cicadas.
They all move too.
They dance with the moon as
it moves at night.

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.

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.

Water Moon

For Sanaa’s prompt, “Water” at Real Toads and for Hedge’s 55.

Water Moon
She’s a water moon
hiding behind clouds.
The stars are silent.
Their lights are dimmed.
The moon sighs behind the clouds –
Her bitter tears fall
Lightly tap tap tapping
On the leaves the roofs the roads.
Faster her tears fall
jumping like grasshoppers –
high the raindrops leap –
slightly surpising
a swooping owl.

non-commercial use

Night

Today at Real Toads, Fireblossom has the prompt. She discovered that she is related to the great American Impressionist artist, Edward Simmons. She has given us a few images to pick one and write about or to find another image. Being me, I did some research and found many wonderful paintings by this prolific artist. the one that spoke to me was Night.  Thank you Shay for this wonderful and meaningful prompt!

Night
As usual I can’t sleep.
I sit on the beach watching the sleeping ocean –
Listening to its susurrus…
The smell of honeysuckle mixes with the smell
of the sleeping ocean – like an artist mixes his paints.
The honeysuckle is magnificent this year
Climbing in fettered freedom on the
growth of trees and small bushes, fences.
On the drive down here today
the car in front of me hit a bird –
A small bird dipping down for a bit of something
in the middle of the road.
I looked in my rearview mirror and saw it flopping.
I pulled over to the shoulder
and ran and quickly scooped it up in my hands,
Where it immediately died.
A bit of blood on my hands
with its eyes still open.
I wonder does it have a nest of babies somewhere?
I go back to my car and put it into a paper bag.
Later that night I bury it in the sand dunes.
The sleeping ocean sings it a lullaby.
I look at the moon on the ocean. One day
I think,
I shall walk into that ocean.
The honeysuckle is magnificent this year.

public domain Night by
Edward Simmons 1889

Starry Night

For Izy’s prompt at Real Toads for day 26 of NAPOWRIMO (ha! gotcha!): a list with a twist. List five things!

Starry Night
Starry night –
Peepers down at the creek,
The owl in its flight – silent as dust,
A fox and her kittens going single file
in my back yard,
the raccoon seeing what mischief he can get into
(not to mention our garbage bin!)
And of course,
The stars –
The stars in their infinite glory
Flowing through the sky –
Amanogawa*

*amanogawa – Japanese for river of heaven, a kigo often used to denote the Milky Way

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: The Grey

Haibun Monday at dVerse.  Bjorn is our host and enjoins us to think of grey.

The Grey
I am a porch sitter from ‘way back. I sit on the steps of our back porch in all weathers and watch the night. The last full moon was bright. The light changed the world into shades from ash to argent – trees were blacker shapes against the black starry sky and the lawn was palest silver. An old photograph it looked to be. I walked around the yard clothed in grey – the dark grey shrubs, the light silver of dried grass, the middle tones of my skin. The whole world had been transformed into grey by the magic of the moonlight.

I went back to the steps and sat. The frost glittered in the moonlight like faceted hematite. Stretching out under the moon like a grey tabby cat, the lawn flexed and flowed down to the woods. As I watched this silent grey night, from the old potting shed came a small black and white cat followed by two young kittens. I held my breath and watched them go the plate where I had earlier placed food. They didn’t notice me at all, silent and still. I watched as they ate their fill and then returned to the potting shed. A bit later, a red fox crossed the yard at a trot, intent upon his own business looking neither to the right or left of him. The grey holds so many secrets. I get to watch them all unfold – like an old silent movie. When dawn began to come, the world was transformed into lighter grey – everything the same color. I stood up stiffly and went back into the house to awake my husband for work. The inside of the house was warm. The lace curtains in the bedroom changed into a solid sheet of grey, the patterns of the lace growing together. My husband’s face was still and calm, deep into sleep. I gently touched him to awaken him. In the grey pre-dawn, he pulled the quilt over his head and went back to sleep.
grey of winter night –
the moon changes all the dross
into purest silver

stock photo