Grannie's roses...

Haibun prose is composed of terse, descriptive paragraphs, written in the first person singular. The text unfolds in the present moment, as though the experience is occurring now rather than yesterday or some time ago. In keeping with the simplicity of the accompanying haiku, all excessive words should be pared down or deleted. Nothing must ever be overstated.

Haibun Monday - designated day for writing a short prose story, today of a childhood memory, good or bad. This I wrote last summer and thought it fit today's prompt over at dversepoets.com. The pics are from the small farm my grandparents had during the 40's and 50's in Underwood, WA. This is my great-grandmother, Blanche, born in 1877, who once was a nurse and married a Baptist minister when living in Pennsylvania.   

GRANNIE'S ROSES

My Grannie's garden boasts deep colored roses born of richly toiled soil. Their heirloom scents fill my nostrils. Reds, yellows and whites, shades of pink, orange, and mauve, we cut flowers for vases to put in the house. Some climb over the split rail fence where wind flaps dry pillowcases and sheets hanging from the laundry lines spread between two wooden poles. Crows perch there and loudly caw their song.

Her wrinkled hand touches my brunette hair, pushing back my bangs. She wipes my nose and kisses my cheek. After we pick peas for dinner, we fill a bucket with raspberries. Her arm around me we sit on the old porch swing; she reads while we rock. Sometimes we sit under the moonlight.

It was where I planted my first pansies, sweet peas and beans and stepped on an angry bumble bee. Grannie measured and marked my height by that of a lilac tree. She nurtured and mentored me in those early days as we washed and wrung clothes on the old washing machine. My dreams and ideas grew from there. No wonder I love to be in a rose garden.

A young Irish lass

grew from Grannie's rose garden,

herself now a rose

Seasons of a gang of elk...

Today we are writing  a Choka over at dversepoets.com ...it has a long Japanese history and is made up of un-rhymed lines or  5 and 7 syllables and can be any length.  Nature's four seasons are represented in the one I wrote below.

Sunshine's cutting bent 

on snow, sounds of surefooted

elk moving closer,

finding where the group gathers,

striking a still pose 

Winter bells ring in the spring;

when hearts break in spite 
of flowers' desire to grow,

 supported at both 
ends by millions of stars on 
strings of gold. When it

must rain we need umbrellas
so as not to miss 
hearing the band when malaise

sets in for summer

Only God knows what colors, 
hues, shades and shadows to use

Steal away time to

look for the hidden rainbows,

hear the crunch of fall

Back to the Drawing Board...

Beginning the new year at dversepoets.com today, Misky asks us to write a poem for any of the art titled 'beginnings' by various artists she has posted.  I chose this "Daliesk" painting by Shay Davis :

Back to the Drawing Board...

I fell in love with you when 

you were newly born,

captured on camera

outside the window in a tree,

through the lens of history

I watched your snowy head and

fresh bawdy limbs crack open 

the shell, set yourself free

Little did you know 

how important you would be

You've already born 

our battle scars; your keen eyes 

have seen it all, the entire 

picture unfolding, 

the damage done across the land 

Flora and fauna wish you could 

save our planet from dying

We have a brave new 

generation of 

babes in the woods waiting

The world is in their hands; 

the job is immense,

but you are an icon of 

resilience

You know how to keep 

our homeland free, you will lead 

us back to our beginnings

Across the firmaments you 

will soar to restore the spirit

that built this nation before

Paint what you will on 

a new blank palette,

colors of a more perfect union

In all realms of justice, 

take away the face of evil; 

erase acts of bigotry,

undo the pain and wrongs

We are at your regal side,

ready, determined to take on

monikers of hate and inequality

Since the time the constitution was 

signed by giants of men in wigs,

  never has there been such a 

dire threat to democracy; 

those extraordinary keepers of dreams 

 gave birth to a nation of 

great hope and expectation

So don your hero's cape 

and humble fez, my eagles' son, 

and lead us in our revolution