Haibun: Bitter Kisses

For Sherry’s prompt over at Real Toads, Homecoming.  We are to write about the nostalgia of lost faces, lost loves, gone places.  She offers up one of my favorite songs by the Beatles. I am using it for my haibun here.  As the new usual I am writing in the old abbreviated form of the original haibun by Basho.  this one is rather long – 98 words.

Bitter Kisses
When I was a child I pulled green blades of a daffodil still wet with rain. I wanted to see how it tasted. I placed the green blade between my lips – slowly pulling using my tongue to feel the sharp edge of the bitter green blade.  Years later after kendo, my lover and I stood in the rain and kissed. He had daffodil lips. I drank in their cool wetness and my tongue probed the sharp edges of his teeth and the slightly bitter taste of his lips.

hot kisses –
bitter daffodils –
love withered away

Frozen Stars: a tanka

Today for Tuesday’s Platform at Real Toads: A tanka.  Tanka are not titled.

nbc news – public domain

 

December night sky –
snow like frozen stars silent
as dust falls to earth –
no wishes on these lost stars –
summer photo fades with time

 

 

I am published in this fine anthology of poetry from contributors to dVerse Poets Pub.  An incredible gathering of most excellent poets available at Amazon US and UK.

No Return

Today Ahbra is in charge of Poetics at dVerse. He wants us to write about returning – perhaps. I feel you have memories, good or bad but you can neither go back nor come back. Come join us for this interesting prompt and all the takes on “What would I be if I could come back” or going back to a time or place. I’m in a cynical mood today! http://dversepoets.com/2016/02/02/poetics-coming-back/   The poetic form is the Bussokuseki. –

public domain of old southern home

No Return
streets are smaller and
trees are fewer – someone else
lives in the homeplace –
all is faded into mists –
the past has passed no return –
look forward angel to now –

NaPoWriMo3 – Once Upon a Yesterday

Today, NaPoWriMo3 calls for a “fourteener” – a poem with fourteen syllables per line, like the classic “Casey At the Bat”. I may have missed a syllable or two in this first effort.

Thank you Wikipedia

Once Upon A Yesterday
Once upon a yesterday there was a green meadow here –
A meadow that swept and rolled held in the arms of old trees
And blackberry brambles surrounded by a laughing creek.
I walked this meadow in the spring while birds soared overhead

Once I happened upon a hidden nest of cautious quail.
Nestled in a dip of the field shuttered by golden grass.
As the mother tucked her chicks beneath her wings, I said,
Stay in peace, I mean no harm as I swiftly backed away.

Wild pears fringed around the edge – a fragrant fluttering snow.
Wild rabbits would break and run in front of me and
Field mice hid under dandelion leaves, tiny and brown.
A doe and her fawn stopped in their tracks gazing at me, eyes wide.

And as I walked on, I think they thought that I did not see.
I turned to look back and their grazing picked up where they stopped.
Tender spring greens, clover and grass – a meal for royalty.
I continued to walk through paradise under an azure sky.

Once upon a yesterday there used to be a meadow here.
The summer sun beat on my shoulders as I walked at high noon
Or tagged along behind me in that blue hour at twilight.
Sunset blazed and for a moment silence reigned supreme.

Birds, mice, and frogs – All the small people who flew, danced, sang here.
Dandelions, wild iris, yarrow, bluets, and borage,
And wild magnolias like small stars in their dark green sky
All these citizens lost as machines chewed up the meadow.
And spit out into dump trucks to be taken….somewhere.

Once upon a yesterday there used to be a meadow here.
Golden with autumn flowers and weathered grasses and leaves.
Tiny chickadees hanging on to the dried stalks of grass
As they ate their frugal meals of seeds under a blue autumn sky.

Trees of all hues – with some created just for this season
Colors now lost and never to be seen ever again.
Once upon a yesterday there used to be a meadow here –
Silent under an iron winter sky where hawks hunted
For a sparse repast that barely gets them by ‘till tomorrow.
My silent feet left no footprints on the hard frozen earth.
Deep winter and the field slept buried protecting snow.
The only tracks were those belonging to the deer, raccoons,
Curious cats, scampering squirrels, and nomadic dogs

Like a murdered corpse the meadow lies open to the sky
And the indifference of men and their ravenous machines.
I can smell it from across the way – the earth ripped open
And smelling sweet and metallic like freshly spilled blood.
I stood there at the verge of my woods gazing at what was
and is no more- the lone mourner weeping without a sound
At the funeral of all that was and is no more
Once upon a yesterday there used to be a meadow here.