Haiku for Ronovan’s weekly prompt
Leap into the tide
hearts pulsing with spring fever
salt tears washed away.
Tag: tide
A vision
Still trying to catch up on the prompts. This is for today’s Daily Post prompt: Vision.
painting ©Georg Königstein
What do I see amid the swirling hues,
Coloured sand, sea mist in mauves and blues,
Or a vision of a dream not meant for mine?
Dissolving faces, scenes of noise and light,
Happiness and laughter in the night,
Twist and curl and climb, a flowered vine.
I tip the misty contents on the sand,
They seep away, I touch with trembling hand
The stain they leave as blood red as dark wine.
A gull screams at the racing tide,
I search but there is nowhere I can hide,
The dream has left me at the high tide line.
Haiku sequence: Beach at night
Haiku sequence, my contribution to a twitter exchange with Alfred, @the_release_101
Painting ©Fernando de Gorocica
Dimple in wet sand
wave-washed sun-baked bone-white shell
sings songs of the sea.
Furrows filled with tears
sunset pours its bloody light
earth sighs as night falls
And in the darkness
Gentle, moonlit, pain slips
between the night stars.
To sleep, dream, perhaps,
rocked on the dark midnight waves
beneath silent stars.
River and the tide
River runs its ceaseless course
From yesterday until the end of days.
We stand on the brink above the tossing waves
And watch the way the dappled sunlight plays.
Waiting for the call that never comes
The beckoning to leap into the dance
We hover undecided while the tide rolls back
With the little silver skiff of life’s best chance.
River runs regardless of our états d’âme
It has no arms to open and embrace
No honeyed voice to persuade of this or that
No soft expression on its changing face.
River runs into the unknown realms
Of perhaps and may be in the misty light
The place beyond the bend we cannot see
The dreams that lie beyond our feeble sight.
We plunge and follow as best we can
Bound in ropes of water current fast and strong.
We leap and catch the parting tide
Or linger with regrets our whole life long.
The wind in the poplars
The wind from the sea
Soughs in the trees
Its sinister hiss
Like the song of the surf
As it rakes through the debris
Left by the tides
And spits out the pebbles
That stick in its craw.
Wind shakes the branches
Playing the dirge
Of drowned souls and dead stones
Full fathom five
Where cold water rolls
And above the wind cries
With their voice in the leaves
To the wide open sky.
Jane Dougherty Writes 
