Winter's first kiss

You arrive - first dance -
Shower of crystals - magical -
Yet, a kiss of death 
On fallen leaves, yellowed frail
Throats of birds are silent - black -


~0~0~


The sky keeps greying
Over your relentless crossing-
Make my words a flint
Hungry for air and roses 
Longing for lips petalled by rain




Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight - Hosted by Frank Hubeny.   Join us when the pub door opens at 3pm EST.

No crying over the bridge

I cross the bridge several times that I have lost count.  But today is different.   As I prepare for the long journey, I say goodbye to what has been been my home for many years. In my mind, I am burning the wooden bridge to fire, casting away familiar roads and comfortable routines.  As the airplane lands at midnight on the new country,  fears for the future rises like dark clouds.  There will be storms.   And long winters of sadness. But there will also be springs and waterfalls to discover.   I inhale the air of uncertainty -it's electrifying.

Rushing waters cascade

over rocks & shallow pits-

wind trills and croaks

as I take a leap of faith

and ride the wings of change

Grace@ Albion Falls, Hamilton

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Haibun Monday.  The theme is about bridge/s.   Please join us when the pub opens at 3pm EST.   See you there!

Tu-lips

Izziyana Suhaimi

Scribble the sky blue
I'll warble the air with colors
Thread wayward wishes 
with new spring, skirted with glee   
I'll dance in rain, tulips-armed  



Posted for D'verse Poets Pub- OpenLinkNight - Join us when we open at 3pm EST ~

Our nice weather is holding up towards spring, smiles ~  Thanks for the visit ~

Under the sea of stars

In the thick forest
the night is a celestial field
of stars in ribbon silver
where every tree is a nest
and moon, a dream catcher

~0~0~


Violently, we hurl
towards each other, each step
a blazing firestorm- 
this is the dance of death
Until only one emerges, a new star


~0~0~



Streaking above the sky 
I catch the star light
Luminous as tiny glass crystal
I feel very small
On palm of the universe

                                                        Galaxy, Stars, and Dust 
                                  Image Credit & Copyright: Eric Coles and Mel Helm
                                                     Astronomy Picture of the Day



Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Star Light, Star Bright, Hosted by Kanzensakura
Join us for  our last poetics  for 2015 as D'verse is going on a two week holiday break.
Happy Holidays ~  Thanks for the visit ~

Winter's shattered sky

first blush of snow
tinges white porcelain dust
on shriveled earth,
loud hateful words tangled with smoke-
where is south wind to lift gloom away?


~0~


night chills our bones
tired with drawn out war striking
streets to ghost towns,
winter comes with shattered sky-
where is blue moon to drown our aches?


~0~


take these broken parts
and hammer them to a canvas
with winter's fire,
your hands are a gardeners'
blooming each fragment to petaled sun-

Israel Artist Zemer Peled

Posted for OpenLinkNight - D'verse Poets Pub ~  I am on a short study break but will be around to visit ~   Happy Thanksgiving to our US friends ~

The land of giant beavers

carve me

with mighty heart of caribou

under mustard sky

I will fly with northern geese

to settle down with my spears 

~0~0~0~

                                                         

we mark trails

crossing the river of hundred fish

the sun is tempest bee

yellowing the fields to maple honey

we cast nets wide in a single wave

~0~0~0~

we stamp our feet 

to furious beat of sticks and drums 

come to prairie 

where the soil is black 

and every stone is alive with our blood 

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Hosted by Bjorn Rudberg who shared with us these petroglyphs, stone carvings from Sweden.    

Gifts of African Night Sky

By Beth Moon

by barren land
ancient trees gnarled by storm dust
rise with garland 
& dress shimmering of silver raindrops-
tonight, she dances under diamond-lit sky



~0~0~



love the trees 
as your beloved children,
said her grandmother to her-
so she planted trees until her last day
tonight, she hears their music for the gods




~0~0~


think for yourself
and question everything,
her teacher told her-
so she broke bread with friends & strangers
tonight, under sea of stars, she writes





Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Gifts hosted by Ahbra Pal ~
and Poets United - Teacher, hosted by Susan 
Thanks for the visit ~

Black and White

Photo credit to Noell Oszvald

My tears fall silently
as half-moon recedes by redwood
The lone owl hoots
As I gather tallowed threads 
stitching days & nights to black & white 


~0~0~


Rasping breath
against black phone, then
ominous silence
sharp as rooster's crow 
on yellowed field of bones

~0~0~


Pewter sounds of rain-
drops pelting the roof tiles
I close your eyelids
gently as a petal fold
of last summer's blooming



Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - We are writing Jisei or Japanese Death poems in haiku or tanka style.

Thanks for the visit ~

When time is a mirror of the past

Crawford Lake, Milton, Ontario

by Grace@ Everyday Amazing

Not a breath of wind nor cawing of  black birds can rustle the lake's deep deep sleep.  It cradles time on its belly, pregnant of memories of the first people and creatures who once lived beside it.   By the lake's end, a garbled cedar tree watches over the lake, marbled in blue mystery. It is estimated that the lake is 10,000 years in the making and the remnant of the last ice age.

Summer breeze

is a gentle tap on my shoulder-

I stir not, nor lift

my giant hands from bed

filled with bones of my lost children 

Posted for Imaginary Garden for Real Toads - Poetry Time, Hosted by Karin
& Poets United - We visited this lake yesterday and toured some conservation parks as weather was summer perfect.  

Notes:  A 1971 study revealed Crawford Lake to be meromictic –  because the lake’s basin is deeper than it’s surface area, the lowest levels of water are very rarely, if ever, disturbed by wind or temperature changes. Without an annual turnover of water, there is little oxygen present in its depths and minimal bacterial breakdown, which preserves the layers of sediment that have built up over time. This build up provides an accurate record of the human and natural history of the lake and its surroundings. Studies of this sediment revealed the agricultural history of the Iroquoian people, and the presence of a pre-contact village. 

Umbra

At night, she wakes up caught in red threads, forgetting 
where, who she is, as sky dissolves. 


In the mirror
Two faces of moon stare back
Mercury rises
Flock of geese has arrived
Who bounded her heart to garnet stone? 


The sea swallowed her garden of carnations, tea-
cups, even her words, in one gulp.  



Notes:    There is a form called haibun which is a combination of prose with haiku.             For this writing exercise, I combined American Sentence (20 syllables, structured into two lines instead of one straight line) with Tanka (unstructured with a total of 31  syllables).   

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Hosted by Brian Miller ~  We are writing and breaking poetry forms!

Falling Apart by

Brooke Shaden

Sayuri-san

Behind bamboo wall 
She powders her cheeks white
As wooden clogs bound her feet 
How she dreams to be a bird
not a doll with cursed red lips 

Photography by Totomai Martinez

Photography by Totomai Martinez

What lies beneath your wintered eyes

Are you hiding a jewel, black as pain

From a hundred lashes of an errant word?  

What secrets guard your wide gold sleeves

when night comes spinning out of orbit?

Has bitterness tinged your blood to rust?

Here is the spark & grit of desire

Or would a venom of revenge be fair game?

Once, your laughter was raven’s delight

As you bargain with harvest moon for its tales-     

Rise & dispel this silence of ghostly chant –

This dearth of burning fire & biting moths-

Press your red lips against the stone

Unbound your robe & step into light   

Posted for D'verse poets Pub - We are writing to the muse of Totomai Martinez photography.   thanks for the visit ~

Pink in my mind

Pink Lake Hillier, Western Austrailia

I change the snowdrops

with sunny skies & lush trees

Here, my mind is pink

Tiding of flamingo calls 

And my feet, greening with buds

~0~0~0~

I float away

My eyes tracing the sky 

The lake bears me soft

as mother's hand on my cheek

humming a half-lullaby

Posted for Imaginary Garden for Real Toads - Transforming Friday Hosted by Hannah

and Poetry Jam - Quiet Hosted by Peggy ~  I am trying to get back to my writing groove after a break ~  Thanks for the visit ~

Queen of the night

Epiphyllum oxypetalum
Queen of the Night

Photo by M. Penaranda

in darkest of nights

my hands open to receive you-

burst forth as lightning

unfolding every jagged line bold-

you are beautifully made

~0~0~0~

when the sky is dry

her hands are water
when night is cold, 
her hands are catching fire opals-
mother, thread my hands with yours

Posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Queen of the Night

and Poetry Jam:   Hands - Trying my hand in tanka form as its been some time since I wrote one ~  Thanks for the visit ~

Shadows & light in the deepest cave

layer upon layer 

pearls grow white-cancer

boning every space

left empty by sea, and you

here, my words are granite

~0~0~0~0~

what the light touches
what the soil breathes under cave
become seed, forest
greening grey stones, every hurts-

here, my heart is a bird song

Inside Son Doong Cave, World's Largest Cave, Vietnam

Posted for Imaginary Garden for Real Toads - Hannah's Challenge

and Poetry Jam - Magic

Two tankas: Nemophila Harmony

in sea of blue blooms

a million eyes unfold, spring

how do I measure you? 

is it 1 sunrise to 1 sunset 

or is every breath equal to sky?

Credit:  Teerayut Hiruntaraporn

Hitachi Seaside Park is where 4.5  million blue flowers bloom once annually around April in an event referred to as the “Nemophila Harmony.”

~0~0~

baby blue fields

dazzle my eyes, I'm moonstruck

 under the lone tree

 how does my hand measure time ? 

with tear drop for each dying bloom   

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Time and Time Again Hosted by Mary

Picture credit:   here

Bokavar, Tales from the story fires

June 1725

What runs in my blood
is deep love for this land with rolling meadows
& soothing river 

It is month of green corn, golden as sun
I remember my mother & grandmother's gnarled hands on soil
seeding and nurturing each corn stalk like precious
bread for tomorrow

I am a grown woman now (14 years old), with a husband
and a new baby
and the most beautiful patch of green corn

I walk back to my small cabin and carry my baby
out in the warm summer sun.

How beautiful he is
suckling my breast as we rest
under the sugar maple tree

I wish him to grow tall and handsome
as his father

I still recall the first time I saw him
Wheat yellow hair 
Eyes so blue as the sky
His skin so fair against my earthly color

His words, so strange to my ears
But his tongue, how swift to learn of my tribe's words
As he bartered fur & tobacco with my brother, Cunnawehala 

Israel, my husband, would be happy to see the baby now
He had gone after the baby's birth
to speak with Governor and that had been a full moon ago

I miss the chatter of neighbors and
spring bread dance with the arrival of baby
to thank the creator for the abundance of corn

A cluster of swans came into view
preening noisily by the meadow, their wings 
immaculate as dancing clouds

River of Swans, I muse
Their cacophony stirs memories of my own family

I long to speak to my grandmother and show her
the beautiful baby and inquire about proper name.

My son will be the first of many blessed children
I will stake our roots

Here, in this isolated meadow 
I am learning patience 
& price of love

June 2014

church bells chime
as i step up subway stairs
pedestrians amble like ants

under cherry tree, i inhale  

river tides, fearless as budding leaf 

Process Notes:   The title is from the book I was looking to buy but it is unavailable.  This is a short blurb:

She was a Shawnee girl who lived beyond white settlement. She fell in love with a Swedish trader named Israel Friend. Together they built a good life in the place known to the Shawnee as the "River of Swans."    Bokavar is the wife of my father's ancestor, Israel Friend (1690-1748).    

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Poetics - Family HiSTORY  - Growing up in the Philippines, I have a very unusual surname, Friend. I already knew my grand father is half-American.

In tracing my father's roots, I read that my ancestor came from Sweden,  Nicolas "Nils" Larsson.  He came to America in 1648, to trade tobacco and fur with native Indians.   The locals liked him and treated him as "blood brother" and called him "Frande" (meaning kinsman in Swedish).     Under English rule, his adoptive surname was anglicized to Friend. 

Israel Friend, the grandson of Nicolas "Nils" Larsson Friend, was also an Indian fur trader and interpreter, like his father Anders and grandfather Nils.   According to the Friend oral tradition, he married the daughter of an Indian Chief, Bokavar.   The Friends were Christian (Lutherans) and Bokavar, though a native American, also had an english name, Sarah.

The Israel F. Friend house was built in 1737 and is located near Bakerton,

West Virginia (USA) .The land was a gift to Israel from the Indian Chiefs of the Five

Nations with an addition of a regal grant from the Governor of Virginia.

Picture credit:   here

Winter tanka

Freezing rain by Mike Giovinazzo

Outside my window
smoky clouds veil the full moon
        to fading star light     
but snow falls whitening ground
        to a thousand lit candles   

 
~0~0~

A truck rattles by
salting the road wrapped in frost 
        Above window's edge
        crystals drip slow thin daggers
Morning melts like ice cream cone  


~0~0~

Houses are skull capped
with thin ice crystals  
Trees twist under bed of snow 
    Morning paints everything white   
    but for dead leaves, amber framed - 








Posted for Imaginary Garden for Real Toads - Tanka form
Shared with Poets United

Thanks for the visit ~  Happy Holidays ~

Light the candles

Grace @ Everyday Amazing

Amidst darkening sky 
Cold wind cracks a whip
Rousing black birds to flee
Fluted ash, billowing wings- 
Arc of silver from street lights 

~0~0~

Snow dust spinning threads
white on white, soft as feathers-

inside, we wax stories:  old, new
beside brick chimney
  fire settles in our bellies   

                                        

~0~0~

Early morning mass
I listen to choir in red bows  
Incense fills the air      
Your words are my candle
Banishing winter darkness 

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Poetics hosted by Mary ~  We are having a snowy day ~
Wishing you all Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays ~  Cheers ~

The gift

Resurrection by JeeYoung Lee

When first light of dawn

Pinks the lotus blossoming

Above muddy waters

Leaves swaddled in dew, open

     I rise, gifted with new eyes    

Posted for Poetry Jam - Gifts
And Imaginary Garden for Real Toads - Poetry form:   Tanka

Happy to be done with studies and writing again ~  Smiles ~

Season of autumn

morning fogs garden 

mulch of yellow leaves & 

bug-bitten blooms -

everything bows to autumn rain:  

trees, petals, even my words    

     

~0~0~

a maple leaf falls 

on empty playground 

its descent, an arc 

 unsteady in cool breeze - 

sunset fills my eyes      

And in honor of Ghanian poet, Kofi Awooner who died in Kenyan shopping mall over the weekend in hands of the Al Qaeda linked terrorists, I was inspired to write this:

autumn never came for you:

your words are always spring

& rain & drumbeats of hope-

now the black birds are silent

& elephants are weeping a river 

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight - Thanks for the visit ~  
Shared with Real Toads - Tanka poems 
Picture credit:  here