I look for light where there is none,
taste the wind
for a salt memory of the sea
and touch the wild grasses
for the fleeting presence of a hare
full of damp grey ribbons of cloud
streaks and shafts of steely grey
rain-wet and dew-wet
and a scattering of noisy finches
dusk seeps and creeps
beneath the cloud
between the rain drops
among the raggedy grass soldiers
The season is changing. The rich summer ending and memories of bitter winter ruffling feathers and fur. The trees around the house are full of songbirds again and a blackbird has made his HQ above the nail where the bird feeder will hang. A hare appears now each evening, coming closer to the house, squirrels chase beneath the oak trees where deer shelter, and in the evening, the dark is charged with owls’ cat-calls and foxes barking at the new moon.
heat gone from the gold
dance with birds
all finding their place
Green the rushes by the lake
and green the oak leaves hanging
still through lashing rain
and through the gale that scatters
the golden dust of summer
the red and russet debris
of another fading year.
A tanka for Ronovan’s weekly haiku prompt.
Painting by Rajasegar
sky empties of rain
dry rivers flow again
from dust to sea
red leaves weave with silver fish
the cycle complete
I know ‘Ireland’s Call’ gets a lot of flack for being an awful song, but I like it, and as a message for a united Ireland, starting on the sports’ field, written by a Derry man, it does the job. Ireland beat (battered) Scotland this morning, and the tune has been trotting in my head.
Come the day and come the hour,
Come the last days of September,
When the leaves are falling thick and fast
Tossed by rolling winds in from the ocean.
Come the storms, their black capes billow
And poplars bowing in the tempest,
When the night is full of the sky’s dark waves,
Hear the parched earth whisper to the raindrops.
Come the dawn and come the morning,
Come the longed for deluge pouring,
Dry tongues lap the rain wished for summer long,
And the earth turns slowly into autumn.
night and the stars
air summer warm
but the leaves are still falling
tomorrow we will tread
on a golden carpet
For the Secret Keeper’s five word prompt.
LEAF | HOME | ALTER | LIGHT | FRONT
A red leaf drifts home
in the changing light
from day to night,
and peace and happiness slump
like weary faces,
letting the façade slip.
The night will be cold,
the winter long,
and who knows if the spring
will remember to return.