Like Humans

For Poets United, Midweek Motif – Human.

Like Humans
I love.
I weep.
I feel pain
both in my soul
and in my body.
I get cold.
I get hot.
I get thirsty.
I get hungry.
I walk among the trees
and look up at the stars.
I howl when the moon is full
just like the humans do.
It is amazing how much like us
these humans are.

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.

dVerse Poetics: Musical Muse

Mish is prompting for the dVerse Poetics today. She asks us to reach inside our musical muse and use lines from a favorite song to craft a poem. This is also being posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads – Bits of Inspiration ~ Keep Dancing
Susie is our host and wants us to write about dancing because everything nowadays is sooooo negative  http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2017/08/bits-of-inspiration-keep-dancing.html .  I have chosen the haibun form and Hall and Oates song, One on One…because long ago in a galaxy far far away…

One on One
Two a.m. – hot humid summer night. A fine drizzle of rain has coated everything with a fine sheen of wet, including me. I am sitting on my back steps unable to sleep. Sounds of insects, an occasional insomniac bird twittering – the soft whining and clacking sound as the rare car goes over the bridge across the verge of the woods. From a passing car I hear faint and haunting – one on one I want to play that game tonight…My mind blanks and supplies the internal movie: A hot summer day after we had done sword forms and were sitting on our back steps drinking lemonade and listening to the radio. A new song comes on – Hall and Oates, one of our favorites: one on one and the gold satin voice of Darryl Hall soulfully croons:
“Oh oh I can feel the magic of your touch
And when you move in close a little bit means so much”

“I like this song” , you suddenly say. “Teach me to dance to it” and we stand – I smile up at you and say, “I lead”.  I place my hand on your belly, feel you warm through your tee shirt. “Center of balance – here. Up on the balls of your feet.” I put my arm around your waist, my hand nestled in the small of your back. Taking your hand I move against you, pulling you after me; quick quick slow – quick quick slow. You are light and graceful. “Are we fighting or are we dancing?” I laugh into your chest, “Sometimes my love, it is the same thing.” One on one I want to play that game tonight….You bend and laugh softly in my ear. “Rhumba…you are teaching me the rhumba. You are a sneaky ballroom dancer girl.” I pull your hips tight against me and rotate against you. You sigh….”you are a cruel ballroom dancer girl.” The song ends and the radio on our steps blares out some song we care nothing about.  But later, we dance again, to our own music.

The movie in my mind stops. I open my eyes. Silence now except for the whisper of rain on the leaves of the trees.  The song is past, gone down a road of darkness.

dark music floats in
the summer night – lonely songs
that drench the heart like rain

Quadrille Monday: Quadrille #29

De is hosting our Quadrille Monday. A quadrille is a 44 word poem exactly, using a prompted word. De has chosen “balloon” for us today.  Come join us for these wonderful short poems.  Quadrille #29


Mama’s Balloon

Breath of God
blown into a pink balloon.
It grew larger and larger
and it soared and dipped
until one day,
My mother was told
her left ventricle had ballooned out
and it could burst at any minute.
I hope it is quick: aneurysm

winter solstice haiku

well, I write to escape…

l.
a hawk glides over
skeletal trees – winter blue
sky shows no mercy

ll.
silent neighborhood –
distant crows break the silence –
cold and still today

lll.
the grass is brittle and
frost covers everything –
at noon no melting

dVerse Poetics: Time

Today, Tuesday Poetics, Lillian wishes us to write about time – I had the time of my life, it’s about time to go! As long as we write about time and use the word time, we should be fine.  Sorry for the sad poem.  My mother is with me now and is slowly dying of Alzheimer’s and complications.  Tomorrow we discuss hospice.  It is a grey day in December.  Rain slowly drips.

Trees and Time
death knows no seasons –
death cares not about Christmas lights
or spring flowers or summer tomatoes.
death watches the first snow falling
and looks at the trees,
bare of leaves and rising like bones
in shades of grey and sepia.
death only knows when it is time…
and moves on.

copyright kanzensakura

copyright kanzensakura

dVerse Poets Pub – Old and New

Today Victoria is our pubtender and prompt giver. She asks us to take an old poem and rework it and to include both the old and the new poems.  I have taken one written in 1996 and reworked it.  It is now a Bussokusekika – older than tanka which is older than haiku – a couple of thousand years older and more deeply steeped in tradition.  The bussokusekika was discovered on an old stone in front of an ancient Buddhist temple and means – Footprint of Buddha.  It is like the tanka but has an extra seven syllable line added.  The form for this and tanka is strict – 5-7-5-7-7+7.  It is an obscure form and rarely used. For more information on tanka, please go to:  https://dversepoets.com/2015/11/30/japanese-poetic-forms-part-ii-more-twins/  The link to dVerse:  Let’s Kick It Up a NotchLet’s Kick It Up a Notch

New Poem
Age of Incense
The futility
Of burning incense – prayers
Unanswered ignored
Seem to be my fate in this
Time of rainy days –
The smoke cannot reach you and
Sadness remains – ashes fall
Dry tears upon the table….

 

free stock photo

free stock photo

Old Poem
Incense Days
you are gone
my ritual is this:
the burning of incense –
holy and fragrant.
the smoke travels in the wind
and I wish for it to reach you
to reach your mind to reach your heart
to say to you
come back. come back. come back.
the rain beats the smoke back down to earth
and only the wet grass hears.
I weep and light another stick.
more rain.
more sadness.
come back.

 

 

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