Lost brotherhood

Migrating Siberian Cranes over Himalayas 

white against white
    sky is an open road
       above ice-capped mountains

wild is the call of wind
    that rushes in our lungs
       as we cross continents & rivers

to where the sun greens
     every blade of grass, browns earth-
        worms, yellows fish in marshlands

we fear not the crossing
     the flock is brotherhood
        marking the journey old as sea

our wingspan fight
     against eagles and vultures
         yet we fear not
              as we smell rain clouds
       above the marsh & bogs
       
as we travel  
      on and on       
           don't lead us astray
                     with your hunting games
                 for our prized plumes
         for our tender meat

leave us 
      in our untamed earth
            dense, unsettled as clouds  
               with the wind as our choir      
                       we move as kindred souls 
                                   in silent geometry
                                     
                            Let this be not our  
                                                         last
                                                                 j o u r
                                                                             n
                                                                                 e
                                                                                      y

   

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - We are writing about ecopoetry ~  Sadly these long-lived cranes  is on the list of endangered species as its population has greatly diminished in the last 3 decades.     Thanks for the visit ~

Too many names

I place a spell on time
It knew not what day is today
Nor what hour is shaping 
It slurred like a hapless driver 
With no hands to tally
coins and bills
beginnings and endings
My clock danced with no shoes 
and threw pebbles across the pond

What of my given birth name
Tying me to a place
Where every girl born is given
the first name Mary 
And the last name is everyone's
last name in the town
And even if someone 
writes my name on the sand 
Ocean tide erases them
like rain cleansing away chalk marks
What am I called when I am newly born
like budding blooms in season
My mouth filled with rain & nectar

At night, I hang up 
all the labels I wear- wife,
mother, employee, citizen, daughter
And fold away
all the names & letters I have been called
I put on the color of earth 
And dabble on my cheeks 
the blush and perfume of flowers
The veil of the moon covers me

I, the unnamed one,
into the wholeness of sky-

Title and poem inspired by Pablo Neruda's Too Many Names poem.

Written for D'verse Poets Pub -Writing a Poem In response - Hosted by Mary ~

Thanks for the visit ~  Picture credit:  here

Dancing in the afternoon

Taste of nectar
Overpowers fresh blooms

Swirling above blue-stripped
sky, bees
wiggle and hum
rhythm of air & clouds

Sweet song of honey
captivates
running deep their veins

With quick beats, they fly
round and round
between heat & sugary dreams

I dance with 
buzzing choir  

Posted for D'verse Poets pub - Quadrille - a poem in 44 words ~ Hosted by Bjorn Rudberg
Bees "dance" as a form of communication to other bees about a source of nectar or honey ~

Picture credit:   here

Painting in the dark

I gather darkness at brush's end
         descend 
To deepest well, I mine a diamond  
         to silence
Pouring blue salt and golden wheat
         I paint 
Without pleats nor restraints 
My canvas glimmers as fireflies
skittering under olive-grey foggy skies
Descend to silence, I paint

Claude Monet

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Ovillejo hosted by De Jackson
Thanks for the visit ~

Nutty over this fruit

                                                             Dragon Fruit

Have you tasted this food?  
Dragon fruit
One with pink scales & pulp like grits  
Split it
The taste is a sweet kiwi & melon
Grab a spoon 
It's crunchy as nuts on cool afternoon
Imagine a strawberry pear
With tiny black seeds on skin so fair 
Dragon fruit, split it, (then) grab a spoon! 


Written for Poets United - Food, hosted by Sumana and  D'verse Poets Pub - Ovillejo, hosted by De Jackson ~ I am trying my hand in this form, which is a ten line verse.

Basically, broken down line by line, you’re looking at (aa bb cc cddc): 
1. A longish line.
2. A shorter line that rhymes with line 1, and will become the beginning of line 10.
3. A longish line. 
4. A shorter line that rhymes with line 3, and becomes the middle of line 10. 
5. A longish line.
6. A shorter line that rhymes with line 5, and becomes the end of line 10.
7. A longish line that rhymes with line 5. 
8. A longish line. 
9. A longish line that rhymes with line 8. 
10. Line 10 combines lines 2, 4 and 6, verbatim, into a complete thought.

Check out the full article later when the pub opens at 3pm EST ~  Thanks for the visit ~

In the land of the white elephants

A lone Burmese harp pierces the air
gentle strains as tall coconut trees swaying
outside the bamboo windows

I pin scented white flowers on my black hair
A reminder of my father, one whom I hardly knew
as he was killed when I was just 2 years old

My dead father's name is my amulet
I evoke it now as I steel my chest
for the vicious battles ahead, a long drawn out war 
against military rulers who have sought to silence my voice

Am I not your true daughter, motherland?
I have willingly stayed behind bolted doors
I have paid penance for leaving my 2 young sons and 
devoted husband, now dead, in England 
I turned my back, to blister my knees

After hearing the lament of your sons & daughters
Amidst betel-nut stained streets
Their blood mingled with dark nights of terror
I offered to my own dying mother:
I will not leave
beyond the shores of Bay of Bengal
for my destiny is here 

Am I not your true soldier, motherland?
Your General
A fighting peacock under the silk sarong
Your fearless lion charger
chanting to winds of change 
Come, come
the rice fields are ready
the fishponds are open to rivers

Step by step, and a thousand more 
By my iron fists & jade-stone heart,
I will stitch a truce in your land
abundant of birds flying beyond Andaman Sea

                                                     Aung San Suu Kyi                                                            Picture credit:   here

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Persona poem hosted by guest KB ~
I have chosen the formidable woman leader of Myanmar (formerly Burma), Aung San Suu Kyi, whose party won the elections recently and is now poised to handle and lead the country after more than 5 decades of military-run government.  She is also 1991 Nobel Prize Winner who has been under house arrest for more than two decades and was separated from her British born husband and family.

You can read more her love story with her deceased husband here and her estangement for 25 years from her two sons here.  I have always followed her journey in the past, and now I am happy to see her in the cusp of change.

A summer so far away

Purple yam ice cream drips over my hand as my tongue hungrily chases a dripping blob down the cone.    The afternoon sun casts a bright hue over the street filled with colorful banners and small food carts.   A woman calls out to pedestrians to sample her sugar-laced bananas on stick.   A man yells above the dim inviting everyone to taste the wood-fired chicken wings and salted duck eggs.   Commuters tarry as lazy balloons adrift on summer festival.    Music drums as the parade of eager young girls and boys march along paper-rice street lamps.  We drown in the town's fiesta mood until we wilted in the heat.   

i bloom,  pink of summer
memories as wind snares branches

into white-washed bone-yard

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Picture credit and Haibun Monday Hosted by Kanzensakura ~  Thanks for your visit ~

Chicken soup

There's a soup of tender bones
It is chicken butchered 
broth simmering with dumplings 
in fried garlic & coriander leaves

Vegetables swim with leeks 
and parsley, each ladle a hot
liquid on tongue, each sip
a flavor of long afternoon's sun

A chicken soup to comfort my aches
A chicken soup to celebrate my joys
My native motherland's soup
brims my stomach of fullness

incomparable  
Last night, I boil fresh chicken soup   
warming the kitchen of familiar scents  
as bitter winter of January blows & blows 

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub -  Poetics - Scents that Linger by Kelly ~   Happy New Year !!!!

Picture credit:   here ~ Here in Canada, we are feeling the winter chill at -15 C yesterday & -11 C today~