The Branch

For dVerse OLN 201 http://dversepoets.com/2017/08/10/openlinknight-201/ – one poem of our choice with any subject and the prompt at Real Toads – we are to write about things unseen.   I chose this picture I took last winter after a tremendous wind and snow storm.  The branch transfixed me then, it still does.  http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/

The Branch
I know this branch.
When last I saw it,
several small wrens were perched
upon it, settled among the
golden autumn leaves.

A drizzle of rain made
some delicate drips
and a light wind caused it
to gently sway.
The wrens rode the branch
like small sea birds drifting
on a peaceful sea of black wood.
Torn from the tulip poplar
the skeletal branch
pokes up through the snow,
carried by wind and snow
it ends up in this place
in my yard.

Now, it lies in my yard
encased in frozen snow.
When the snow melts and
I clean my yard,
I will take this branch and
move it to the verge
of the woods that border my yard.
I will lay it down gently on
the fallen leaves and pine needles.
Through time, ants will traverse its length,
tiny frogs will sit by its hugeness
blending in with brown leaves –
Their eyes round and shiny,
their tongues reaching out to
feast on small bugs moving about
the ground and on the branch.
A small spider will spin a web
catching gnats and no-see-ems.
On his way up from the creek
a small green snake will curve its way
sliding under the branch, going
about its green snake business.
The box turtle that explores my garden
and that small patch of woods
will make its slow sure way
under the branch.
The branch will rise and fall and slide
along the turtle’s back and
settle back onto the ground,
maybe at a slightly different angle.
Dew and rain will fall,
small birds will perch on
its fragile fingers.
Beetles, slugs, worms –
all will burrow beneath
and crawl upon it.
Time will pass and the wood
inside the black bark will begin
to rot and turn to dust.
On the ground, the black bark
of the branch will lie discarded
like the skin of an ancient snake.

I will be old.
I will make my deliberate painful way
across my yard.
There I will see the
remains of the bark.
I will, with effort
bend over and touch the bark
with my finger.
I will remember the day
I put it there.
I will say
to the trees around me,
I know this branch.

copyright kanzensakura

First Snow: Hatsuyuki

This is for Victoria’s beautiful prompt for Haibun Monday – Wabi sabi – the beauty of imperfection.  Come visit us and read the haibun inspired by this.

Hatsuyuki – First Snow
Midnight.  I walk to the trees at the verge of the woods. I can see against the rough black bark where bits of snow have settled into the crevices of the bark – like exotic plants on the steep side of the cliff. I touch the snow with my lips – soft cold against rough and then melting. I bow my head against the tree – I murmur 侘寂 wabi-sabi.

The stillness, the snow, the silence.   I am no longer here but there – years past on the viewing platform at *Ryoanji. On the wall sit hundreds of suzume – sparrows.  Like me, they are watching the rocks in the 枯山水, karesansui. Feathers fluffed against the cold, tiny bright eyes seeing all. The air becomes sweet and before the suzume begin to flutter, I know…snow. I feel them on my face before I see the flakes and soon, they stick to the gravel, to the moss around the base of the rocks. The birds flutter off to more sheltered spaces but a few stay for the crumbs the humans leave behind.

Ryoanji and hatsuyuki. I stay until the moss is white and the suzume have all left. Straight down and fast, the snow falls. I stand and bow the long, deep bow of deepest respect. As I leave, it comes together for me – mujo – impermance, wabi sabi – the beauty of imperfection, mono no aware – the deep sadness at the passing of things – the snow that falls, the snow that melts, the birds that fly away…and the rocks that stay behind.

snow falls – white **sho-ru –
silence drifts to cover rocks –
peaceful dragon sleeps

* Peaceful Dragon
**shawl

Snow

For Real Toads https://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2017/07/fireblossom-friday-bang-youre-dead.html Fireblossom Friday: Bang! You’re dead. Writing from beyond the grave….mwahahaaaaaaaa

Snow
drifting off
falling asleep
dreaming
opening the window
and gliding out into the snow
no footprints
no steamy breath
no weight no pain no sadness
walking into a dream
of slow falling snow
using the snowflakes
like stepping stones
walking up to the sky
walking on the tops of trees
of roofs of streetlights
covered with snow
slow falling snow
slow
falling…

dVerse Poets Pub – Quadrille Monday

Today is Quadrille Monday at the virtual pub – dVerse Poets Pub. Come join us for a day of quadrilles – a poem of exactly 44 words, not counting the title, and using the word of the prompter. Today, the pubtender is Kim Russell and her word of choice is “ghost” (or ghosted, ghosting, etc).

Windblown Birds
the winter day was sunny and warm
as a day in late spring –
And oh, so windy!
Birds were tossed into the sky –
they fluttered like windblown ghosts –
and rippled like long chiffon scarves,
snapping back and forth like pennants

dVerse Poets Pub: OLN #189

Today, I am linking up for Open Link Night over at dVerse Poets Pub. http://dversepoets.com/2017/02/09/openlinknight-189/ Come join us for some fine poetry writin’…

Laphroaig Night
It is February 8th.
February. 8th.
It is 75 degrees farenheit.
The last time the temperature was this high was 1925.
I’m standing on my back porch
Breathing in the night,
Sipping a good single malt
and listening to the peepers singing
down by the creek.
They are crawling tgrough the wet leaves
And doing their mating thang.
The high pitched bells of their tiny throats
each proclaiming:
In the midst of death we are in life.
In spite of myself I smile.
Politics, religion, wars, arguments,
Fights, battles, hunger, grief, sickness, anger –
All are silenced by their voices.
I finish my scotch.
I smile.
In the midst of death we are in life.

Open Link Night

A haiku based on Lillian’s prompt of Tuesday to turn words into verbs.  Join us at Open Link Night (no prompt, submit one poem of your choice).  Neve (nay-vay) is a wonderful word.  It means a field of granular snow accumulated on high mountains. It is also known as old snow.   OpenLinkNight #188

Closeup of snowfield winter background

winter indigoes
night skies – sequined with stars the
skies become neve

 

 

 
 

 

dVerse Poets: Open Link Night

Come join us at dVerse to read wonderful poems by wonderful poets today at 3:00 pm EST. http://dversepoets.com/2017/01/12/openlinknight-187/

watching the trees sway

standing on my back porch
I am confronted by the potting shed
at the back of the lawn.
Nobody’s Cat,
a crippled tuxedo boy
had crawled under it Thursday evening
unknown to me,to die.
his crippled arm had been swelling
and the weather had been getting more
cruel in its cold.
I took him a plate of food,
(I had been feeding him for a year)
and he gobbled it up.
Next morning and evening,
I took him breakfast and dinner,
through a quickly deepening snow.
Sunday, he did not respond to my urget
kitty, kitty, kitty, kitty –
none of the four times I had been.
nor on Monday nor on Tuesday.
the weather had dropped to -5F for several nights running.
now I stand on my back porch
being confronted with the potting shade.
my eyes travel past it to the woods beyond
down a slight slope.
I watch the trees swaying in the wind –
it is warm today, Pneumonia Weather
as the old timers call it.
I watch the trees swaying –
delicate whites, dark umber,
bland beige, light brown.
I watch them swaying
back and forth,
back and forth.
I know in the next big wind,
some of them will go down –
some to live sideways
and some to die.

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