Solitude

For my prompt at Wednesday Muse and for the Wednesday Motif at Poets United – Solitude

 

Solitude
“Don’t be afraid to walk alone. Don’t be afraid to like it.” Zhangjiajie

walking through the woods alone
I revel in the sounds of the woods –
birds, leaves rustling, small creatures scrabbling.
I hug the solitude to me
like I would a lover.

 

copyright kanzensakura

 

Haibun: My Tree

A haibun for the theme of solitude at dVerse. This is in the style of the original haibun created by Basho – not a lot of description and words. Just the experience.

My Tree
“Love the trees until their leaves fall off, then encourage them to try again next year.”
― Chad Sugg

Being alone in a tree is heaven to me. There is one in our woods I climb on a regular basis. I sit there enthroned in his branches watching the clouds, listening to the sounds of woods creatures around me. In any weather I love sitting alone. Sometimes I take my violin and play for the tree. I think he likes it.
birds fly and make nests –
a fox passes at the base –
seasons pass in my tree.

 

The Atlantic in January

For Sanaa’s prompt on Real Toads – Get listed.  I have chosen these words for my poem: January. snow, wind, clouds, poems.  the optional words of my choice are mysterious, Atlantic, and lover.

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The Atlantic in January
“There’s something wonderful about drinking in the afternoon. A not-too-cold pint, absolutely alone at the bar — even in this fake-ass Irish pub.” Anthony Bourdain

The winds blew the clouds about in the
January sky – like poems written on tissue paper.
Bits of sea foam snagged on the sand
and then were swept back into the ocean.
Snow fell slow and steady.
The grey Atlantic heaved to the shore and back again –
breathing like a sleeping lover –
chest up and chest down,
chest up and chest down.
The Atlantic in January is a mysterious thing.
Fifty shades of grey –
In the sky,
The sand,
The water,
The partial whelk shell holding firm in the sand
as the water washed over it.
The Atlantic in January is a mysterious thing.
It is the kiss of lovers,
The words written by a poet in her mind,
A glass of beer drunk in an empty bar
on a Tuesday afternoon.
I walk along its edge and wonder
at its quiet beauty –
the things hidden in its depths.
The Atlantic in January is a mysterious thing.

The Doe

For Karin’s prompt at Real Toads, What is? I don’t know if I met the bar but….here is my poem. I don’t use metaphors. I only write what I see and feel.  Also visiting dVerse Poets Pub open link night with this.

The Doe
“And to die is different from what any one supposed, and
Luckier”. Walt Whitman Leaves of Grass
Now that we speak of dying, And should I have the right to smile:” T.S. Eliot Portrait of a Lady III

I don’t know why I have been thinking of death,
sitting up here in my tree.
Maybe it is the suicide of Tony Bourdain or of a friend a year ago
or maybe it is the death of my mother,
almost a year ago.

The tree bark is warm and rough behind my back.
Green shadows dance about my head
while birds sing and fly and fluff
and squirrels chase each other,
some of them coming perilously close to my head.
I had dropped down some withered apples from
my pantry for the forest folk to forage.
I heard the faint crack of a branch and looked down
to see a doe nibbling on the apples.
She looked up and for just a moment
almost fled.
But then she resumed her eating.
Perhaps she had seen me sitting
on the back porch as she wandered through our yard.
Her eyes reminded me of my mother,
large and pansy brown
looking up with innocence,
looking up with knowledge of her dying.
looking into my eyes with sorrow
at leaving me behind.
I’ve been thinking a lot about death.
I wonder what it is.
I don’t know what death is.
I only know what it isn’t.
Today it isn’t the blue sky and green trees
and the doe eating apples
at the foot of the tree.

Tuesday Poetics – American Southwest

Today, our newest team member at the dVerse Pub, is prompting our poetics. Out of her love of photography and the Southwest, she is prompting us to write of it. She has given us several of her incredible photos to use. I wrote this poem a couple of years ago and have re-written several times. It is based on several of my forays into the Mojave desert and visits to Mesa Verde – for solitude and to view meteor showers. Come out west with us today!  http://dversepoets.com/2016/05/03/poetics-sentiments-of-the-southwest/

Desert Lights – 1990
Silent climb to the
Top of a seif dune. Sliding down.
Moaning. Booming.
wind ripples – Dry ocean waves.
Bristle cone pine stands.
Reminder of life –
Skeletal. Lone.
Distant mountain ridges
reach white snow to touch
blue sky white clouds.

Cold night moaning.
Dunes whisper secrets
To the listening moon.
Mystic explosion
Of light – Leonids bombard
the darkness – heavens fireworks –
front row seat at best show
off earth.
Orion sets in western sky.
Lighting bolt emblazons darkness.
Storm races down the canyon.
I lie in blackness.
My horse softly whickers.
Flutter of bat wings.
Serene.
I slip deeper into
My sleeping bag.
More stars than Vegas light the sky.
Alone. Alone. Alone.

photo copyright by Mish. Used by permission

 

Quadrille Monday – Shimmer

Today Victoria is giving us the prompt word for Quadrille Monday.  We are to write a poem of exactly 44 words (not including the title).  Our word is “shimmer”.  Isn’t that a wonderful word?  Come visit us at dVerse Poets Pub and read the Quadrilles for “shimmer”.  Because the poems are only 44 words, it won’t take you long to read and enjoy.  I am using one of my favorite Japanese season words (kigo) – Amanogawa – the Japanese word for the Milky Way  – the River of Heaven. dVerse Link for Quadrille #6 http://dversepoets.com/2016/04/04/quadrille-6/

The Eternal River
The river of heaven shimmers in the night sky.
its shape seems to be asking eternal questions
or flowing to the answers.
when I look up at night,
seeking or finding –
I am the impermanence,
the one who changes.
The river flows – eternal.

free public domain image Milky Way

 

d’Verse Poetics – Open Link Night #152

Today is Open Link Night at the d’Verse Poetics Pub. This means we submit a poem of our own choice of form, subject, etc. without following a prompt. Come join us today – add a poem of your own or read submissions by extremely talented folks. It has been brutally hot and so, optimist that I am, I am looking forward to cool weather and snow. My poem today reflects my love of snow – anytime, anywhere.   http://dversepoets.com/2015/07/23/open-link-152

January at the Beach
January – alone at the beach.
Gone are the self-conscious preening teens,
The children like raucous birds, their waists
Encircled with neon colored plastic swimming tubes.
Gone the sun worshippers – glistening with oil
And inviting skin cancer and admirers with equal aplomb,
Vendors wheeling carts of ice cream, cold sodas, beer –
The wave splashers and wave riders and wave surfers –
All of them gone.

January – alone at the beach.
Just myself and the dull tawny sand,
The gunmetal grey sky above, sea birds wheeling
In the limbo between grey sea and grey sky.
Into the salt air comes a breath of sweet –
I close my eyes and inhale, knowing.
Sitting there alone waiting…
Now the sea birds become silent as they dip into the ocean
For luncheon and even the waves, loud in the silence,
Seem to subdue and grow quiet.

January – alone at the beach,
Sitting on my blanket huddled in my down jacket –
I listen, I think, I inhale and then…
Like an errant feather from a high flying bird
The first snow flake circles downward and
Lands on the shell beside me.
More fall – large at first and then
Smaller and faster falling.
I stand and walk to the edge of the surf
Letting it brush against my boots.
Against the horizon, the snow is more plainly seen.

In the deep cold, the snow feathers coat the shells
Pebbles, seaweed, sand – mostly melting but making
fuzzy outlines on the forgotten artifacts
castoff from the abandoned ocean.
I hold my face up to the sky and laugh and stick out my
Tongue to taste the snow.
Snow falling and disappearing in the ocean,
Snow falling and slowly melting on my coat.
I haven’t spoken to anyone in several days.
The ocean, empty sand, birds, discarded shells
Are more than enough company.
I hold out my hand and snowflakes fall on my glove.
They stay long enough for me to fall in love
With each and every one before they disappear.
January – alone at the beach.

01/15 1:15 am – iteboshi

I sit
wrapped in my grandmother’s quilt.
Cold night,
sweet smell of impending snow
crystalizes my breath
into faint ragged clouds.
Silent, still, black night.
Alone
I gaze into the sky above me,
ragged clouds exposing scattered stars
and a bit of the full round moon.
I sit
wrapped in my grandmother’s quilt
waiting for the stars to fall
to the ground in
drifts of glowing white.

12/12/12 12:12 am

This has been a time of contemplation, changes….I had a birthday 11/16. A group of friends/family I call the 11/16 Society, also celebrated as well. We few, happy few…I hope you all will search out some of the posts about this unique crew. Happy birthday my dearly loved band of brothers. And blessings to all of you who seek light in the darkness and who give light.

kanzen sakura

12/12/12  12:12 AM

 

Alone at my post –

My Household snug in warm beds.

Neighborhood silent.

 

Warmly wrapped I gaze

At the night sky.  The Twins

Glow and pulsate to

 

Their own stellar beat.

Fireworks stream against the black

Sky.  Celebrating

 

Celestial joy.

White yellow blue red green – My

Eyes cannot follow

 

The steady bursts of

Glitter strewn by their Maker

To dazzle the few

 

Like me who look

For joy and light in the dark

Places – and find it.

 

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January Solitude Part II 2:14 am

I awaken.

Lying in the warmth of the bed

I orient myself to the strange room.

I snuggle in with satisfaction.

I am at the beach.

I am alone.

The sliding glass door

Off the balcony is cracked.

Ocean waves slough softly.

The air has a sweet smell

In addition to the salt.

I breathe more deeply

Testing the smell.

Sweet with salt?

Out of the bed and into my robe

And slippers.

I open the balcony door completely

And step outside.

It is snowing.

I stand and watch the flakes

Hurrying down to nestle on the sand.

Flakes gather on my hair

My robe

My hands and face.

Snow and ocean.

Sweet and salt.

Back into the room

And I rush to put on my clothing

And down jacket, gloves, and hat.

I grab the door key and out

Into the night.

No one is around.

I cross the sand and

Go to the edge of the surf.

Black waves, white foam

Dark sand, white snow.

I wave my arms and jump up and down.

Snow snow snow snow!

Ocean snow ocean snow!

I laugh and hold my face to the sky.

Flakes settle on my skin, my glasses.

I stick out my tongue and taste snow.

I walk along the edge.

Because of my boots,

I walk close enough

For water to touch me.

Snow and surf.

Snow and sand.

Darkness to my left.

Hotels barely lit to my right.

After awhile, I turn and head back.

Shells on the sand

Are fuzzy with snow.

Snow melts on the sand.

I turn back to the surf.

The flakes are falling faster,

Disappearing into the blackness

Of the ebbing waves.

I stand until my face is numb

And my nose runs with the cold.

I hold out my hands to collect

Flakes on my gloves.

They stay long enough for me to

Fall in love with each one

And then they disappear.