Secrets

For Open Link Night at dVerse Poets Pub.

Secrets
“And stare through the wet branches of an oak
In winter, & realize I am looking at the stars
Again.” Winter Stars by Larry Levis

the stars in winter hold secrets
close to their hearts.
their silence tells of sleeping bees
and bare trees and falling flakes of snow.
they hold these secrets close to their hearts –
telling no one except the night sky.
they wait for pink spring
and the waking of the bees.

Lake Moon

For Linda’s prompt at dVerse Poets, for “Prosery” Monday. Prosery is where prose and poetry collide, sort of like a haibun but fictional. Mine is true. I rarely write flash fiction.  It is ended with a landay, an Afghan poetic form written and sung by the women.

 

Lake Moon
“The winter moon becomes a companion, the heart of the priest, sunk in meditation…” Yasunari Kawabata

I sat wrapped in my grandmother’s quilt by the dark lake.  The full cold moon shone white in the black sky and reflected on the water.  Never have I touched anything smoother than the reflection of that moon.  A few wild dogs passed within a few feet of me and lapped up the reflection of that moon.  A line from a poem popped in my head – “A cow is screaming across the arroyo.”  Suddenly I jerked awake.  It was pre-dawn and the crows were waking, cawing.  The cow was far away in my dreams and the dogs had wandered away in their quest for food.  The full cold moon brings long winter days – animals burrow beneath the fallen leaves for warmth.

Cold Moon

For Sanaa’s last prompt at Real Toads. She is introducing us to the Landay, a traditional Afghan style of women poets and sung. Typically they are a single couplet – the first line consists of nine syllables and the second with 13. I got this information from Wikipedia. I am keeping mine short and traditional – a single couplet.

Cold Moon

the full cold moon brings long winter days –
animals burrow beneath the fallen leaves for warmth

Haibun: Bee Vigliant

For the Midweek Motif over at Poets United – Vigilance

 

Haibun: Bee Vigilant
“The bee collects honey from flowers in such a way as to do the least damage or destruction to them, and he leaves them whole, undamaged and fresh, just as he found them.” – Saint Francis de Sales

I am being vigilant and keeping watch over my bees. There are still wild flowers about from which they can feed but, I am monitoring their hive and their comb pattern, getting ready for the cooler days of autumn and the cold days of winter. My bees are healthy and some of them are a bit drunk on early windfalls from fruit fruit trees and grape vines. Silly bees! Next month I will begin feeding them and preparing them for winter. I will be blocking off the hive to protect it from cold air and snow. Last year I only lost two bees and it was a harsh winter.

They still travel around the neighborhood and take nectar from a neighbor’s flowers or from the last blooms in the garden. I will begin collecting honey next month for personal use,  making sure I leave enough for them to feed from and weather the winter. A few jars of golden honey and some comb for me, a lot for them. I will leave fruit out along with dishes of sugar water to get them all fed and happy for the winter. I am allergic to bee stings. Go figure that I court death when I look after the bees. But without them, we would all die.
ever vigilant
I keep watch over the  bees –
they wait for spring

Talking on the Back Steps

Day nine of NAPOWRIMO – prompt on Real Toads

Talking on the Back Steps
“The root cause of all life’s problems is looking for a simple fucking answer.” Anthony Bourdain

you sit on the back steps with me.
I look up at the stars and several meteors
flash across the sky.
it is cold and your breath
clouds as you speak.
I cannot hear you
but I feel the words in my heart –
this is just a dream.
you turn into light and join the stars.
I know this is just a dream
but I wish it wasn’t.
I wish it wasn’t.

Haibun: Winter Ocean

For De’s prompt at Quadrille Monday. The prompted word is kiss.  A quadrille is a poem of exactly 44 words and uses a prompted word.

Haibun: Winter Ocean
Walking along the shore, snow begins. The sky is grey overhead and golden sand becomes white. Broken shells roll in the surf. I hold my face up to the sky to be kissed.
lazy snowflakes kiss
the shore – ocean kisses back –
winter romance blooms

 

 

 

The Blood Moon

For dVerse Poets Pub, Lillian has the prompt there. We are to write a poem using the word shed. This is also for Real Toads Tuesday Platform.

The Blood Moon
“He is burning, burning in the twilight.
He is burning, turning to face us.” Wang Chung Fire in the Twilight

last night the blood moon shed its skin
peeling off its pale yellow skin
to proudly display the blood red underneath.
Under the trees in the forest
the wolves ran –
the strong alpha male breaking the snow,
at the back of the pack
the beta male bringing up the rear,
the females and cubs strung out behind
the rest of the pack circled around them,
shadows against the snow –
the blood moon above casting light for their path.
the leader stops and howls.
a bitter windless night.
The moon gazes without pity
and sheds its skin

Blood Moon 2019

 

Haiku 1/19/19

For Magaly’s prompt at Real Toads ,  poem in the manner of Mary Oliver. We lost a great poet and a better person

Haiku 1/19/19
icy scabbards hang
from the forsythia bush –
wintry arctic blooms

The Moon on the ocean

For Bjorn’s prompt on dVerse Poets Pub. Today he explores the sonnet. I have written a modern free form sonnet for the prompt as rhymes and I don’t play well together.Also posting on Poets United Poetry Pantry.

The Moon on the Ocean
The moon lies upon the ocean –
a sleeping dragon curled about itself,
one eye half open observing the world below.
Snow falls like meteors – a shower of cold fire
doused in the black water heaving itself
Upon the shore. This moon is red as blood –
The dragon’s eye carnelian in its glow.
Bits of phosphorus twinkle on the sand.
A crab washes ashore and walks a few paces
before being swept back into the blackness again.
Farther from the shore early breaking waves
show white in the blackness and ladders
from the moonshine track back to the moon
undulating gently upon the water. The
moon on the ocean is a mysterious thing.

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.

Haiku 12262018

day after Christmas
lies in tattered shreds
covered with heavy frost

12252018 haiku

For Pat’s hosting Tuesday Platform on Real Toads. MERRY CHRISTMAS TO YOU ALL

pale blue winter sky –
solstice sun blazes its last –
lonely crow caws