A Winter Night

the moon is half drum as night unspools threads of velvet.  i love to watch the blue hour of sunset and inhale the fragrance of pines.  tonight, i cannot go outside as its below zero and very chilly.   last friday, after my hubby and i had dinner at the vietnamese restaurant, i saw an old man with full beard of white.   he is homeless from the way he carried paper bags of stuff.   he also looked unkempt and struggled to walk along the sidewalk. above, the sky was an endless map, empty of stars.  when I last glanced back at the old man, he has disappeared in the cold night. 

fresh snow on browning leaves-

dusk comes charging, a grey horse

belching clouds of white

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Haibun Monday - Hosted by Kanzensakura ~  This is our last Haibun before we take our 2 week holiday break in December.

These scars of mine

They are wells 
with tulip's skin   

not welts from  
reckless kettle-burns 
nor winter-slashes
on black mirrored ice
and not splintered-stones
moon-stitched, 
lifeless 

you say:   
my memories are treacherously 
frail 

but inside this battle-weary heart
I keep a  
purse of scars
burning 
& stars writhing (still) 

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Quadrille - 44 word post with the word SCAR - The pub opens at 3pm EST ~  Thanks De ~

Half moon in November

                                                         Grace@Everyday Amazing



my bony fingers
searched for your shoulder of green
under the half-sliced moon
but instead I tasted bittersweet
tang of the first snow flurries
pared by November's howling wind-



Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight ~  Thanks for joining us ~

One glorious morning

I saw the earth juggling 
between two crown jewels -  

sunrise at the heavenly east
and westward -where the star-lit ivory moon sets

But my eyes are riveted

to ancient trees 
with no fruits nor leaves, becoming bones 

sinking deeper to soil

I embrace this hour 
in silence -

all my senses awakening
as the morning ripens, 
greeting me
with all the light it has 
& can ever give me

Inspired by the original work of Rainer Maria Rilke.

The hour is striking so close above me

by Rainer Maria Rilke

English version by Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy
Original Language German

The hour is striking so close above me,
so clear and sharp,
that all my senses ring with it.
I feel it now: there's a power in me
to grasp and give shape to my world.

I know that nothing has ever been real
without my beholding it.
All becoming has needed me.
My looking ripens things
and they come toward me, to meet and be met.

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub  - Poetics - Cover Poems by guest Bryan.

Thanks for the visit ~

Darkness after the 9th hour

Your last breath is our cross
We are now shadows, unmoving 
as we gaze at your body on couch

That Death's hands touched you
Painting you common mortal
under heavy curtains of dusk 

Death is a thief
Robbing you of frail parting words 
Our hearts are shattered ivory

Do you hear our choir of tears? 
We implore darkness to hide our grief
Swallow us whole, bury us as sands 
beneath your swollen feet

Myrrh on your bosom, chin & cheeks
can't stifle the stench of death in air

We remember you, as we pray
Eternal Mother, our undiminished light

Death of the Virgin by Caravaggio

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Hosted by Bjorn Rudberg ~ Join us when the pub opens at 3pm EST.

The city by the Great River's mouth

I am yellow 
sparkling lights &
scribbling daring words

on turrets, 
walls and bridges,
bar stools and shiny mirrors 

But tonight,
instead of wine 
& trying out exotic food
& beating to samba beat

I look up
to inhale the sky's deep
mystery-  

the full moon
eclipsing my city neon signs,
car lights, highways, borders 
to one giant canvas 

unblemished as black
stones and wild wheat field
running the river's mouth 
with tide's harmony  

I wear 
the night with simple
reverence
unadorned but for the moonlight
just as it was  
with my Native Fathers

Overlooking Mississauga City, Ontario, Canada during the Supermoon October 2016

The name "Mississauga" comes from the Anishinaabe word Misi-zaagiing, meaning "[Those at the] Great River-mouth."

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Night time City Panorama ~ Hosted by Kim Russell

winter's first exhale

Grace@Everyday Amazing

flurries 
light as feathers
falling in November's whiplash wind 

howling sky is pewter
as leaves dance in tattered
remains of empty garden

in the tumult of winter's arrival
breathe the calm 
you must keep steady

blue fire 
blazing for all
that's good in us




Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Quadrille - 44 Word Post, with the word breath/e.   Hosted by Mish ~ We had snow flurries yesterday.   Thanks for the visit ~

Words of Division

The skin is thin
clover, delicate egg wash
whilst November's winter wind
is knife
screeching white swastikas
of hate
And language of fear
touches tongue
        ice
        or fire

The light bulb is busted
and painting is rust
Autumn leaves on my feet
is choir
creaking notes of discord
The voice of truth
is lost key
        paper or 
        rock

Exhale the burn
and myopic opinions of 
the arrogant crowd
Mute the noise outside
And listen
for the walls are coming up
       Inside our heads
       Inside our hearts

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight.  Perhaps I should say, that the walls have already gone way up.   A short commentary on the heated political discussions that is dividing families and friends in North America and beyond.  I am staying away from FB for the moment.

Thanks for joining us and wishing you a good week!~  

Three gardens

I.

This garden is bowl of seeds
for birds, snails and worms
Under the orange umbrella,
I watch the creatures
whirling, chomping, chirping-
content with gifts from the earth


II.

This garden is scratch of hope
a glint of tranquility in the city's grey
minted with medicine, not only
for tired bones
for damaged liver
for scarred heart
for torn ligaments 
but also for
spirit seeking solace
amidst the perfume of blooms, 
vines and buds-
pinking the hours full, sated
by good company 


III.

In the basket-
okra, eggplants, lemon grass,
squash, radish, peppers, pigeon peas-
await my grateful hands
to slice their roots
to boil their leaves 
to brew their stems
to bottle skin and sap
and finally
to fold seeds to sleep
in my garden, silted with rain 
& green peelings of hope  



Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Poetics - Johnny's Garden Hosted by Kim Russell -  Pub opens at 3pm EST.

Moon-struck

Many moons ago, I was looking forward to a celebration milestone.   A fun event filled with flowers, colorful banners and a giant birthday cake.  Instead what I got was bad news about a family situation.  My happy bubble burst like a balloon. I shied away from Facebook because the festive photos of my friends and depressing news were affecting me negatively.   

   

I stare at the glorious moon tonight.   Her light shining above city lights and lake. Steady is her gaze above the fickled frays of human affairs and changing seasons.   I realize that it was my expectations, my perspective that was making me unhappy.    I re-frame my blessings and simple joys in the serenity of the blue hours.   Refocusing, I see the glimmer of pink threads knitting the magical hour.

moon-dewed night:

birds fly along ancient routes

unrippled by tides below

Photo credit:  Gary Fraser

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Haibun Monday ~   Thanks for the visit.