Tribute: Rachel Sutcliffe

Recently Rachel Sutcliff died.  She was a consummate artist of haiku.  She was a member of the British Haiku society and often featured on Frank Tassone’s site about Haijin and writing of haibun, tanka, haiku.  She suffered from an immune deficiency disorder and died a little every day.  Her voice will be missed.

Tribute:  Rachel Sutcliffe
bitter winter day –
the sun comes out briefly.
pond ice melts slowly.


A poem of tribute

For Kerry’s Prompt on Real Toads – Instructions for Living a Life – A tribute to Poets of our Time. Write a poem in tribute.She gives us several names but of course, we are free to choose our own still living poet. I chose Shay Simmons as my contemporary living poet, posting two of her poems as an example of her work and my poem of tribute.

My Poem of Tribute
Imagine finding a jewel in the dust –
a glowing ruby red and rich
or a sapphire – blue as the autumn sky.
Of course you would bend down and pick it up
dust it off, hold it to the sun,
put it in your pocket filled with lint
and pencil stubs.
Take it out of your pocket to
watch it sparkle by starlight –
The inner fire still showing.
Would you leave it in a birds nest
and wait for it hatch?
Would you take it to the ocean with you?
I would. I would hold it in the waves
letting them wash over it again and again.
I would hold it up to a candle
and watch the blue red green lights
decorate my bare white walls.
Yes I would.
In a heartbeat.

What would you do if?

What would you do if the sky gave up its birds
on an afternoon
made of the name you used to use?

Could you go home?
Would you even want to?
Appearing there, could you sing white dust and 8 bar blues in equal measures?

A Love Poem for K
My house is small.
If I buy an orange,
And bring it home in a canvas bag,

I have to decide what to get rid of;
What object it will replace.

If I lose something–
My book of Whitman poems, or
The card from my friend in New York,

It’s bound to be right there,
As close as coffee to the cup.

Should the postman drop me a letter,
I must then send one out.
I dream only once each night, but richly.

There would seem to be no room
For Another
In my life,

And yet,
The sun comes through my window
Each morning,

And seems to belong there.
What about that?

Haibun: Farewell Major Tom

A second haibun for the prompt at dVerse Poets Pub.


And now, except for video, movie, recordings, his voice is silent. Often called a chameleon, often wondered about – copied but the copies resulted in pale fuzzy multi-generation images. The Thin White Duke in the end was simply another man, another father who faced death and moved through the door, alone, as we all do. No matter who is beside us, the door only admits one when it is time.

In the harsh storms of snow, black and white realities, criticism, innuendo – straight, defiant, and full of brave color, the man who fell to earth stands. I am awed to have witnessed such talent. Like all rare blooms, the petals will fall and paint the white snow with bits of red.

Defiant in the storm
rose glows among the mundane –
and too quickly fades.

copyright kanzensakura

copyright kanzensakura

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