On the night lake

Another of Paul Militaru’s photos with the lovely title of Night and snow over birds prompted this poem. Thank you, Paul!

night-and-snow-over-birds

On the night lake, grey gulls glide,

While snow falls thick upon the ride,

Where foxes pad and pheasants hide.

In summer waters small boats plied

Across the lake so smooth so wide,

Where mallards swim and grey gulls glide,

And many came here, sat and sighed

For lovers lost, for lovers died.

While snow falls thick upon the ride,

As cold as tears I’ve shed and dried,

Like stone I sit in lonely pride,

Among the gulls that drift and glide,

And wait for turning time and tide.

 

Gull glitter

This extreme haibun erased is for the Secret Keeper’s writing challenge, to use these words:

CITY | GRASS | PLAY | RANT | WATER

I have borrowed Paul Militaru’s lovely photograph again for inspiration. Thanks Paul!

flight-over-the-stars

On the water, sunlight plays, a steely scimitar slicing the city’s heart in two. Gulls shatter the silver mirror and send ripples flying, feather-soft and rapid as the silent fishes that dart among the frond-waving grassy pastures of the sea.

 

too bright this light

that splintersgull plunges

into green depths

 

Water ripples

flying fishes dart

among sea splinters.

What can you see?

Another triolet inspired by nothing in particular except an effort to rise above the bongos beneath the window and the rumba over the wall. So no complicated poetry forms for me today, sorry NaPoWriMo.

Sunset_sky

What can you see through the gap in the cloud,

Is the sky still as blue where you soar on white wings,

Is the crash of breakers beneath as loud?

What can you see through the gap in the cloud,

Do our towers of steel and stone stand proud,

Though they cannot reach where the starlight sings?

What can you see through the gap in the cloud,

Is the crash of breakers beneath as loud?

At the ending of this day

Sangbad reminded me I hadn’t written a villanelle in a long time. Probably because they’re difficult. I’m chuffed no end to have actually written one, so here it is.

1024px-the_cliffs_lacma_37-18-11

We wander at the ending of this day,

The stony path that overlooks the sea,

Where grey gulls dip and skim across the bay,

 

We stand so close, to watch the sunlight play.

Above the waves that beat against the scree,

We wander at the ending of this day.

 

When twilight drains all day’s bright hues away,

Tomorrows’ hopes fade, with the daylight flee,

Where grey gulls dip and skim across the bay.

 

We toss white pebbles as the pious pray,

You ask for signs, I send a final plea,

We wander at the ending of this day.

 

The pebbles sink; you say you cannot stay,

The far horizon calls you to be free,

Where grey gulls dip and skim across the bay.

 

Your fixed gaze says there is no other way,

Already you are gone, that I can see,

Sundered at the ending of this day,

Where grey gulls dip and skim across the bay.

Haibun: Gift

This is another attempt at a haibun for the dVerse poet’s pub. The theme is ‘free’.

CGulls1

In the streets where the stores with glitzy names stand shoulder to shoulder, their doors proudly open to the bitter winter wind, crowds surge and press. So much glitter, so much music, muffled jazz or chic silence in the thick-carpeted exclusive boutiques, insinuating into pockets and wallets. Guards on the doors, bored and heavy-jowelled, watch impassively. So much glitter fills hands, touching and caressing to weigh the worth. Feet shove into too-tight shoes, bellies sucked in, huffing and puffing the sea moves through the treasure trove of the sales. Toc. Tat. Too much and not enough. I turn my back and watch the gulls sailing with the river.

Cold sun glints on glass,

credit cards flash and twinkle,

brown bird sings for free.

Along the misty river

It’s open night at the dVerse pub, so anything goes. The photo is one I took this morning. The poem, a triolet is inspired by it.

mistyriver

Along the misty river fly

The ghosts of gulls with strident calls,

And I can barely see the sky.

Along the misty river fly

Shades of the lost, I hear them cry.

They search the banks as twilight falls

Along the misty river. Fly,

The ghosts of gulls with strident calls.

Gulls, sunshine, and daisies

I took some photos three days ago when the sun came out but my phone still hasn’t coughed them up so I think we can assume I’m not going to get them. Here are the short poems written for the pictures.

 

No snow in this tepid clime

where grass stretches livid green the winter long,

basking in the diamond-scattered light,

prismed and damp, of rain drops.

Wind blows cold,

tossing gulls, grey as fog

and strident as a traffic jam,

from wave to wave

of the restless river.

 

Grass glitters in the winter sun,

and daisies raise white frilled heads

in a field of diamonds.

Suddenly the sky is full of gulls,

and the air rings with their laughter.

 

Supple as silk,

colour of winter clouds,

gulls hang on the breeze from the sea,

blinking at snowflakes,

snapping at tossed scraps.