Light falling through leaves

A haibun for Colleen Chesebro’s Tanka Tuesday prompt. A haiku and a tanka frame a piece of prose.

Photo©Domenico Selvagnin


From light, dark grows, night,

scattered with starlight, moonlight—

midnight precedes dawn.

This path leads between waking and sleeping, light and darkness, dusk and dawn. We follow its meanders from spring to deep winter, round and round, until the earth stops turning.

All that keeps me to this path between the deep shadows of night and the misty haze of morning, between the leaves that burst fresh and green and those that tumble in a blaze of autumn fire, is the touch of your hand.

Hold tight to my hand, feel how its clasp is both cool as spring water and hot as summer sunshine, twist my fingers in yours like tresses of light falling through new leaves into the rushing stream.

At dusk, we two walk

bathed in sun motes, golden, soft,

petals at our feet.

Spring blazes from stark black boughs,

already its beauty fades.

Red Balloon

There will always be only one balloon for me, a red one, from the film; Le Ballon Rouge.

Here are two quadrilles for the dverse prompt. The subject is, of course, balloon.


Lonely child dreams

of fat trout streams

and wild moonbeams.

In his hand, the string

tight holds, stars sing,

in the night sky ring

the songs of spring.

Balloon pulls high,

with birds into the sky,

he laughs, he can fly,

will never die.




Clutch the string tight,

like the moon in the night,

balloon in its flight,

absorbs the pale light,

red glow turns white.


Cast wide your dreams,

let flow the sunbeams,

that fall in bright streams,

burst at the seams,

with life the earth teams.


A hare I’ll be

For the Secret Keeper’s writing prompt, a villanelle using the words:


I have been a bit free and easy with the use of synonyms and the relationship is a bit tenuous for ’cause’, but close enough, I think.



In cloistered shade hate grows apace,

I take me to a sunny bank,

A hare I’ll be so full of grace.

In sunlight with the mayflies race,

I shun the cold and damp walls dank,

In cloistered shade hate grows apace.

With salmon swim and perch and dace,

In water bright, or on hill’s flank

A hare I’ll be, so full of grace.

I’ll run the line from dark disgrace,

Through open fields, eyes wide and frank,

In cloistered shade hate grows apace.

When clouds change from grey wool to lace,

And twilight pinks the grasses lank,

A hare I’ll be so full of grace.

On this wide earth, I’ll leave a trace,

When waters cloud with choke weeds rank,

And in the shade hate grows apace,

A hare I’ll be, so full of grace.

Three Drops from a Cauldron: Issue 13 (March 2017)

Poems. Lots of lovely ones.

Three Drops from a Cauldron

Happy spring, readers, writers, and other good people. (Or happy autumn to our friends in the southern hemisphere.) This month we’re pleased to bring you our usual blend of the surreal, the beautiful, and the terrible as expressed in myth and folklore. If you’ve come here looking for those things, you won’t be disappointed.

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