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