The Future

For Magaly’s Prompt at Real Toads.  We are to take one of the 13 lines listed form Kerry’s Poetry, exactly as the line is written.  a beautiful prompt.  Kerry is a fine poet and an excellent artist, drawer of Tarot Card.  I fell in love with Toads when I found the site.  I thought some of the finest poets in the blogosphere posted their poems there. I still do.  I bow to Kerry in her greatness.  NOTE:  I used to live about 2 miles from the Dry Falls in the illustration.

The Future
“A weird time in which we are alive. We can travel anywhere we want, even to other planets. And for what? To sit day after day, declining in morale and hope.” ― Philip K. Dick, The Man in the High Castle

the future arrives just as water
turns into a dry fall
jutting from the side of the mountain.
we walked underneath it
looking through the water at the
river below us –
we stood in the cave behind it and
and held each other close
the future arrives just as water
turns into mist on a cold grey day
turning the trees into mysteries.
the future is there… looking back at us –
trying to make sense of the
fiction we will have become.

Dry Falls Highlands, NC

Rain Walk

For Midweek Motif at Poets United – weather.

Rain Walk
“I am a being of Heaven and Earth, of thunder and lightning, of rain and wind, of the galaxies.” – Eden Ahbez

It is raining.
Coming down hard and beating against my umbrella
like a slew of tiny drummers.
I am on my daily walk.
I walk regardless of the weather –
hot, cold, snow, rain –
it is hot summer and a sudden shower
is drenching me in spite of the umbrella.
Rain steam rises from the road.
It smells wonderful!
The wind is sweeping and throwing the rain against me.
I splash through puddles,
jump over ditches that have become mini-rapids.
I love sudden summer showers.
I love seeing things all washed clean and shiny.
My neighbors are huddled in their houses sipping coffee.
Not me!
I am walking.
Get out of my way!

Haibun: Things die but things live

For my prompt over at Real Toads – mono no aware. Mono no aware is the Japanese concept of a wistful sadness at the passing of things. It is also based on mujo – the Japanese word for change. Haibun is written in the classic style, less than 100 words. My haibun today has 52 words.

Haibun: Things die but things live
“Maybe that’s enlightenment enough: to know that there is no final resting place of the mind, no moment of smug clarity.” Anthony Bourdain

The rain is relentlessly falling, drenching everything. A hawk sits in the oak tree across the way looking hungry and cold. Suddenly it lifts its wings dives. I hear a faint scream. A small creature has met its end.

seasons change – things die –
but another creature lives –
rain keeps falling down

ko no ha no ame

Sound of leaves falling like rain is the Japanese title translated to English. Yes I know we are in the midst of hot summer *up in the northern hemisphere) but autumn is my second favorite season. I wrote this a few years ago and since it is a rainy day, I brought it from my notebook and did some work on it.

ko no ha no ame
rainy autumn day –
a burial of dead leaves
swept from branches by
bitter wind – even the crows
are silent – only the howls
of a stray dog breaks the grey
silence – I walk with the weight
of the heavens on my mind –
leaves fall – sorrow on sorrow.



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


The Japanese have over 50 – FIFTY – 50 words for rain. Today I am using one of my favorites: kisame 樹雨. This is the rain that drips from the tips of tree branches. I have used the traditional haiku for this.

summer passing – tree
branches weep rain tears
lost in pond below

shutterstock image

Haiku: White Wisteria.

Today Frank hosts the dVerse Poets Pub. He is asking for brevity as in Japanese poetic forms of haiku and tanka. All haiku must have a seasonal reference (kigo) but not necessarily a syllable count of 5-7-5. Haiku and tanka are not given titles. If it does not have a seasonal reference, it is a senryu.


white wisteria –
ghosts in the trees weeping with
the misty spring rain


woodblock by Kono Bairei 1844-1895

dVerse Poetics: Rain rein reign

Today Lillian is hosting Poetics at dVerse Poets Pub. She is asking that we rain on, rein in, reign over…just don’t rain on her parade! No doom and gloom, no politics, no naysayers – sounds like a plan to me! The Pub opens at 3:00 pm EST. Bring your best umbrella, your best scepter, your best horse!

Lovely Day
I remember when I was a little girl –
but then I’ve always been little –
Dancing on our front porch while
the rain came down.
Isn’t it a lovely day….
Spring rain happy,
summer rain quick,
autumn rain melancholy,
winter rain snowy…
I was by turns Fred Astaire
and then I was Ginger Rogers.
Dancing on the walkway in front of the house,
Dancing on the walkway around the house,
Dancing dancing dancing.
I remember taking you out into the rain
and dancing –
You threw back your head and laughed.
You had never danced in the rain before.
Like a summer rain you came and went.

I still dance in the rain.
I wear Wellies now –
Hello Kitty!

public domain photo


This is for the Mid-week Motif at Poets United – Flood. It is a poem I have been working on for a couple of years. I think I am finally through with it.


“I love storms. Primordial. Every bit of civilization gone. Everything true coming out.” Vanessa Ives, Penny Dreadful

Hot. Smoldering hot.
The sky like molten bronze.
It is amazing the stones of the buildings do not explode in the heat
or melt and run in the gutters.
Rain coming. Soon. Soon.
And then the first breath –
The rain begins and
the skies rip and before I can open my umbrella
I am soaked to the skin –
The rain like cold needles drives into my skin,
stabbing into my heart and emptying it of secrets.
Steam rises from the street,
the buildings
my skin.
In the rising steam and driving rain
people move, barely seen, like wandering ghosts.
I have tried to chase away the memories.
In my mind I hear your voice
like a call that crackles from a bad connection
and disconnects before I can interpret your words.
A man bumps into me and for a moment
I think he looks like you.
But he disappears into the mist and rain
…and I accept I will never see you again.
Every time it rains, it reminds me of you.

public domain Utagawa Hiroshige People Sheltering From the Rain 1857


dVerse Poetics: Come fly with me

Today Victoria is our guest prompter at d’Pub.  She is asking us to write of feathers.  What a wonderful thought!  Come visit us for this intriguing prompt.  Post your own poem and/or just simply read and enjoy.  It has been a long dry summer.  the other while walking, the trees were filled with cawing from crows.  My haiku is based upon this.  Native Americans believe the crow feather restores balance and release from old beliefs.  Come Fly with Me–dVerse Poetics

cawing fills the trees
black feather drifts down – gift from
the crows – rain begins


royalty free image

royalty free image


Haibun Monday: 50 Shades of Rain

Hello. I am the Pubtender over at dVerse Poets Pub today, Monday. I am using as my prompt for the haibun, one of the more than 50 words the Japanese have for rain. That’s right, 50 words for rain – at least. They are seasonal, regard intensity, night or day rain, drizzle – you name it. Rain in all its many forms. I have chosen the word “kisame” which means the rain that drips down from tree branches. It is one of my favorite of the Japanese words. Come join us at dVerse to read more about the haibun and this haibun in particular. Or at least come and learn the words!

Summer was turning to fall. It was still hot but one could see the difference in the angle of the light. You had been gone for several months and I was learning to live on my own. It was raining and had been raining for several days. I stood under the old oak tree with my eyes closed, breathing deeply – listening to the rain falling around me. The sound as the soft rain tapped on the tree leaves and branches, the grass, the roof of the house – all was a steady soft shush of sound. Sometimes a bird called, lonely and distant. I pulled my katana to begin my forms. I swung the sword in the first form and noticed droplets of rain scattering from its edge as it sliced through the rain. Plop! On my forehead. I looked up and saw the droplets dripping from the leaves, sliding to the edge of the branch and drip drip driping down. I noticed then that around me, the trees and bushes were weeping. Drops of rain fell from them to the earth – tears I could not shed. I sheathed my katana and silently bowed to the weeping trees. They wept for me. I closed my eyes and felt the hot tears sliding down my cheeks. Like the trees, I wept silently. “Anata ga okonatte imasu” You are gone.

rain drips silently
from branches – trees weep for
the ones left behind

getty images

getty images

Spring Bridge

Today is Haibun Monday at dVerse Poets Pub. Gabriella has given us four of her photos. We are to choose one and write a haibun to it. Please come and visit us! Four photos + great poets = endless possibilities!

Spring Bridge
After two years, we both had time to take a trip together.  Without any debate, we decided on England and then to your home of Hakone in Japan.  I had places to share with you in England, you had places to share there as well including Oxford Town and University.  I wanted to explore their school of Anthropology and you wanted to show me where you had boarded and studied as a medical student.

April in England is beautiful but April in England shared by two lovers is magic.  We drove from Heathrow – you a careful and precise driver, me giving you a hard time about being a Crazy Asian Driver.  You laughed and when it was safe, would lean over to give me a kiss or make the car swerve in its lane while you sang alternating between “Call Me” and “I May Be Crazy”.  No surprise, it began to rain.  We timed our singing to the windshield wipers and I played the console like bongo drums.  By the time we rolled into Oxford, we were hoarse and sedate.  After checking into our hotel, we ate dinner in the hotel restaurant and went upstairs to bed.  We sang again and did a small dance in the shower until soap got into my eyes….”When your heart’s on fire, you must realize, soap gets in your eyes…” you crooned as you washed my eyes clear of the soap.

The next day after breakfast we went exploring.  We rented bicycles and rode all around the university.  You pointing the various buildings to me, and reverently, we went into the Bodlean Library.  I wanted to clap with delight but respected the ancient silence.  From there we went to the Cairns Library where you came across a former professor who was delighted to see you again.  He took us to lunch and the two of you talked while I respectfully listened.  I loved the glow in your eyes and the respect the professor had for you.  A Ploughman’s Lunch with a malty ale – and heaven help us, a wonderful dessert with a horrible name – Spotted Dick.

A sudden April torrent began making rivers of the gutters; people continuing on their business under big black brollies.  We went back inside to drink coffee and talk and as quickly as it began, the rain ended.  We walked our bikes back to the hotel and crossing over a stone bridge, the usually sedate stream now raucously bubbling and running under the bridge to who-knows-where.  We stood in the middle of the bridge looking down at the water.  You leaned across the bikes to tip my face up to yours.  “Make a wish.  If you make it in Japanese, it will come true.”  I had to think a bit. My mind swirled like the water beneath us until finally I said, “Itsumademo issho ni itai.”  The silence between us deepened – sound of the water, birds chirping, bells from the University, distant traffic.  You took my face in hands and put your forehead on top of my head.  “itsumademo issho ni itai.”  you repeated.

But I must have said it wrong. Or maybe the rain washed away the wish.   For years now, we have been apart – you back in Japan, me back in my deep South.  “I want to be with you forever.”  Words folded like an origami boat, rocking on the water of a stream until it capsizes and sinks.

spring rain in torrents
beating down new spring grass
and drowning white blooms.


Photo credit: Gabriella

Photo credit: Gabriella

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