Home perhaps

An etheree for Colleen’s weekly challenge. This woodpecker is part of our evening ritual, watching out for her/him to come back to the dead tree to roost, the hare to come up from the stream bank to browse, and the blackbird to roost in the lime tree outside the window.

In the hollow tree a bird, an old nest

with memories draws her back before

the sun sets. The comforting dark

echoes with cries of fledglings,

flown when summer still filled

the air feather-soft,

warm as a bird

mother’s breast.

She calls­—

silence.

Another day

 

Another day of fierce weather brewing,

Trees moan above the meadow-ocean,

Where rippling stalks, seed-heavy sway,

Searching for a sun not there.

Behind the window glass,

We hear the wind break

In a lament

For summer

Drowned in

Rain.

Calculating worth

Colleen might not be back yet, but that’s not a reason to shirk. An etheree, because she likes us to keep counting syllables. Short enough maybe for the NaPoWriMo prompt too.

 

They say there is no value in grass or

ditches running with bright rain water;

the sun, the sky, the lark singing

cannot be owned. Yet at the

end, when the last dark falls,

the nightingale’s song,

sweet stream pouring,

will be worth

more than

gold.

Spring is acoming in

An etheree for Colleen Chesebro’s Tanka Tuesday.

The NaPoWriMo prompt is to write a poem based on questions, ending with a further question, leaving the debate open. Since I wrote a question poem yesterday, and the etheree for Colleen’s challenge also poses a question, I think this double version will do for both prompts. Maybe tomorrow I’ll have some answers.

 

How many times have these wide skies clouded,

cold wind risen bringing sheets of rain?

Spring marches, shod in mud, bearing

spears of green and leaf banners.

When petal storms strew white

the meadow, blackbirds

sing the louder,

calling back

the new

sun.

Will spears

and pennons,

in wild flutter,

toss their raw thrustings

to the spring breeze and wave

white blossom banners of peace

and plenty? Or will this one be

the year the earth closes iron fist

and turns her wounded face to the dark void?

Butterfly-sipping

An etheree for Colleen Chesebro’s Tanka Tuesday challenge not to use the words Hobby & Play. And count syllables.

 

In

the field

butterfly-

sipping we dip

from scented flower

to deep riverside shade

as if summer never ends

and it is not winter we hear

trumpeting in its jackbooted dance

to the martial beat of the turning year.

Waiting for the fire

An etheree for Colleen Chesebro’s weekly prompt—meaning & passion

 

At the wind’s mercy, we watch the clouds pass,

from the east with Siberian chill,

the north with Arctic snow and ice.

Birds, essence of misery,

hunch on  still-black boughs, rain-

wet and stark, waiting

for the sun’s

ardour to

kindle

spring.

New Year etheree

An etheree for Colleen Chesebro’s weekly challenge.

There is fog in my face, mist in my mouth,

a chill chases shivers down my spine.

Cat’s paw, cold as the North Sea, sharp

as claws raking hardened earth

exposes worms and grubs

for famished birds. Light

dims early here

in winter

silence

bleak.

River runs

An etheree for the Secret Keeper’s five word challenge.

BED | FLARE | WAVES | GAIN | SEEK

 

Winter stream runs cold, leaf-littered and bright

with sun-glitter. Rippled and dimpled,

rain-swollen, it seeks the river,

rolls to the wave-haired mother

in a water-carved bed,

cradled by tree roots.

All life runs home

to the arms

of the

sea.

Fire magic

For the dverse prompt. An ordinary branch etheree.

 

In the damp grass, among the fallen leaves,

a dead branch lies, fallen in some gale,

lichen green, speckled with fungus,

home to hundreds, an insect

metropolis. Borne home,

laid in state in the

grate, a funeral

pyre will blaze—

orange

blooms.

Red berry, red planet

A double etheree for Colleen’s free word choice syllabic poetry challenge.

 

I wander lonely, not as a cloud

with billows of company, crowds

of water wisps and bird wings,

but as only I can,

no touch but the wind,

beneath my feet

damp grass, lush,

hushed green

life.

Above,

around, spreads

a vastness—touch

a red berry, Mars—

sky enfolds this capsule

of bright woven life-tangle,

where each destiny walks alone;

we reach for stars to find only thorns.