The silence here is wind, and far away
A barking dog and someone chopping wood;
The chimney echoes cooing pigeon songs.
From distant ocean wind laps with salt spray
Like dog tongue licking. Where the poplar stood
A pile of logs lies, and a blackbird sings
A song so right among a sea of wrongs,
Of pigeons nestled under feathered wings.
I haven’t written a san san in ages, so here’s one for the dverse open link night.
When childhood green runs only in the mind,
Those meadows, orchid-filled and full of bees,
The hawk hangs still, a phantom in the air.
Memories of home are hard to find,
Bee-sweet they hide among the fading trees;
The hanging hawk will stoop and find its prey,
The storm will lash the bee-filled meadow fair,
And who will call my ghosts and make them stay?
It has rained almost all day. My pulled muscle is still killing me. This san san describes this evening.
Evening falls, dark hides the falling rain;
Nightingale still sings in rain-dark hedge
That drips and water-trickles as light fades.
Songs and rivulets of water-sound fall
Bright, though day has gone, feather-soft and sweet
As birdsong in the hedge, brushed and hushed by dusk.
Sing the night away, brown bird; let music rain
With evening hues to smudge the sky with dawn.
No dverse prompt today, so here’s a san san instead.
Bird on the wing, I watch and see
The dip into the alder tree
Beside the stream where tulips grow.
Jays’ bold chatter draws the ear,
The eye into the alder tree;
Above the stream, a thrush’s nest.
Churring wild, a fury flies, polecat runs;
The yellow tulips bend like setting suns.
I wrote a very gloomy poem this evening, then read Damien’s Catch the colour poem and changed my mind. So, a colourful san san instead.
Take a handful of poppy seeds, cornflower
blue as the sky, toss them high, watch them fly.
Beneath the burnished sun a swallow swoops.
Red blows on the sunny bank beneath a sky
of cornflower blue, scattered with clouds
tossed on a breeze as sharp as swallows wings.
Scatter cornflower seeds of red to poppy
the sky where swallows swim on mackerel wings.
I’ve returned to the san san and am enjoying the way it links and repeats the same images. Here is a faintly (very faintly) creepy one for the NaPoWriMo prompt.
Slowly it creeps, furtive ink-seep of night,
sucks out the blue and bright gold from the sky—
I smell fungal breath of leaf mould and dead things.
Shadows with night fingers rustle dry leaves,
that once held the life-giving gold of the sun,
coaxing the purblind, the pallid, to walk
beneath the cold gaze of the glittering stars,
dead things that watch while night’s pale fungus grows.
It was brought to my attention the other day that I haven’t written a san san in ages, years. So here’s a san san for the dverse open link night. If it’s a new form to you, the rules are here, plus a link to the source.
The wind is cold that blows the April trees
And strews the blossom on the grass like rain;
Tossed back and forth, the swallows dream of spring.
An ocean wild of branches in the breeze
Is white with foamy petals, snow white stain
Of swallow breast—where did the warm winds go?
Clouds of blossom torn from boughs yet bring,
Like swallows, promises sweeter than snow.