For the dverse prompt.
Sinking sun sweeps
with broad brush
dip drinking deep
of rain-washed air
into dusty dusk
of gilded light
night brings wings
I watch the first star wake
rocked in the cobalt cradle
of the cosmos.
For Sonya’s Three line tales prompt. A poem. I loved the image.
photo by Claudio Schwarz via Unsplash
She raised her arms and leapt into the morning sky
breaking bonds that fluttered useless
in the wind of dreams
treading free air with feet
that dripped with the centuries
of mud and blood of her cage.
Another golden day
and blackbirds duel in their singing
fescue waves like banners
an oriole a flash of buttercup
yellow flutters in the willow tree
light is soft
when rays slant low
skimming daisy heads
I wonder is the blue
too much too bright and hot
a steel drum
the tractor trundles home
and bird silence falls
a cascade of quiet.
Thoughts inspired by John Masefield.
I miss the sound of the sea
the smell of salt
the wash of waves on silver sand.
We were all water once
woven warp and weft from ocean whisper
and the deep dreams of whales.
I will go back at the end of the day
before the dying of the light
and linger in the salt blue sun.
Once when we were water
we knew what was true and what lie
why we must go down to the sea again.
Can I write words of more than peace,
other than the hush of evening,
when the sounds of people cease?
Will the blackbird finish singing,
when the sun sets in the west,
and all the birds are homeward winging?
Can I, will I, should I, want for
more than hush and evening falling,
to hear the dark in owl-voice calling?
There is a place among the grasses,
where hares sleep and flowers flourish,
time’s last golden moment passes.
Time hangs, a kestrel poised
while winds blow, the river flows,
and I wait.
I wait for the widening gyre,
the ripples and dipples on the stream,
the grasses that bend.
All hang, waiting for time to pass,
the moment and all the wealth that is in it,
songs, scents, sights,
so we can regret, mourn and look back
and in regretting make sense
of what was, is, and is to come.
Owl glides, nightingale sings,
stars hold their breath,
and I watch for the dawn, hoping.
Days of rain and nights of storm
the world is spinning, water flowing
while in the dark the rain clouds swarm
Nights of rain and wind trees blowing
storm of clouds and glow-worms glowing
hear the restless night birds crowing.
Rainy nights of moonglow hidden
memories that come unbidden
all are worms in dark earth growing.
Photo credit: Taco Meeuwsen
from dawn the thrush sings
repeating trills with touching
crawling among delpiniums
from his concentration
ocean of wind
sways the poplars—thrush’s song
flows never ebbs
To dispell the blues, a series of short verses inspired by Claudia McGill’s masterly absurdities.
I held out my hand
you took it
blood drips on your shoes.
Take me away from it all
to the bus driver.
She watches the washing
going round and round
her eyes on those red socks.
I heard her say it
he gets up to feed the cat
at three in the morning.
At the checkout
she picks up a dozen disposable lighters
then another one just in case.
For Colleen Chesebro’s Tanka Tuesday. The theme is Peace & Tear. The first haiku is thoroughly depressing so I wrote another, a bit more hopeful, and a third to shed a bit more light.
Photo©Dominicus Johannes Bergsma
Tear up planted earth,
let no spring green the furrows,
we have war to wage.
Let tears of peace fall,
spring rain in war’s desert wastes—
blood blossoms open.
When all is swept clean
by winter winds, pure as ice,
hidden seeds will sprout.