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.

Tanka Tuesday: Winter beauty

An etheree for Colleen’s tanka tuesday challenge—Cold & Safe.

Erratum: Reading this again, I’m struck by how not an etheree it is! I must have been having a brainstorm when I wrote it. Far too many syllables. The second poem is the etheree. Sorry about that Colleen.

 

The sky was clear last night and full of stars,

grass was furred with white, a rime of frost,

and every sound as brittle as breaking glass.

In morning sun, silver turns to gold,

melting night time chill, mist rises

into pearly blue. The sky,

moonlit still beams, fluttering

on scattered feathers­—

winter, no

haven.

 

The sky was clear last night and full of stars,

grass was furred with white, a rime of frost,

every sound brittle as breaking

glass. Mist rises, pearly blue,

sky, moonlit still glows with

light, fluttering on

scattered feathers­—

winter, no

haven

here.