Evening drifts

For the dverse prompt.

 

Sinking sun sweeps

with broad brush

swallows

 

dip drinking deep

of rain-washed air

golden motes

 

fly gnat-winged

into dusty dusk

of gilded light

 

night brings wings

soft silent

owl-flutter

 

I watch the first star wake

rocked in the cobalt cradle

of the cosmos.

Three line tales: Soaring

For Sonya’s Three line tales prompt. A poem. I loved the image.

photo by Claudio Schwarz via Unsplash

tltweek227

 

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.

May evening

 

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

local exotica

 

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.

Sea

Thoughts inspired by John Masefield.

bluemorning1

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?

south window looking west

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 poised

 

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.

Dark earth

Moon

 

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.

 

 

Short and silly

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

she says

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.

Tanka Tuesday: Peace & Tear

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

800px-Krokussen_(Crocus),_Locatie,_Tuinreservaat_Jonkervallei

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.