Japanese death poem..

From seed to blossom,
bathe in one's place in the sun,
to the sea and timeless sands 
Orion awaits, 
the plight of twenty one grams


A Tanka to express my version of a death poem, suggested to us by Gayle and Grace and over at dversepoets.com

Lamplight

Anthony Desmond at  dversepoets.com is moving on with a new book in the works. He leaves us with several lines of his. We are to incorporate at least 3 of them into a new poem. His words are  underlined below; the rest is mine. Have a good day.























Once, your  sweet love enveloped me,
we played in the noonday sun;
golden grass has grown taller -
our story had just begun
Then you moved and I went away;

the sun departed and rain came to stay,

neon goldfish flashing 
in the pavement waterway
Shade like shadow engulfed me

and like a lioness with belladonna in her eyes,

I craved images of you

Today I felt the fluidity of your presence

when I heard the loons call your name 

It's been a long, long time -

but you are just like you used to be,
the same

You came back into my life for a day,

a lost love found me, in you

and flooded me like a lone streetlight 
amongst the darkness
to shine on what is true

Forgetting.

For dversepoets.com

This is a make-up for a prompt I missed two weeks ago to write a poem using the term "I forgot", "I forget"or "How we Forget".




I forgot what it feels like to be in love,,,
           yet I remember certain kisses
I forgot how the elephant raised the circus tent
           but remember I once kept a dime in my shoe
I forgot how Brando wept in "On the Waterfront"
           until I watched it again today
I remember when I was deliberately lied to 
           and when I learned to trust again
I remember when you carried me piggyback
          because I was barefoot over a rocky trail 
I remember your arms putting me gently down on the grass 
           like finding and losing the holy Grail
I remember the campfire songs so sweet
           I forgot candlelit small boats sent downstream
I forgot her birthday on Christmas;
           I'm sure she feels cheated each year
I forgot about the one Native American girl in our school,
           how alone she must have felt,
I remember her crippled, aged mother
           who always smiled at me
I remember the drive through the mountains
           as a young girl to the sea
I remember listening to a football game on the car radio...
           I remember it was U of W vs USC
I'll not forget the men I have loved
           How many have not forgotten me

A wisp of hair..

This is under 200 words...my first thought when it came to the subject of  "CHANGE', the prompt given to write about today over at  dversepoets.com   My, the possibilities are endless


Incredibly soft skin, a wisp of hair
a knowing look -
   wrapped in a blanket
Soft early yellow light gently fills the room
By mid morning the dew is gone;
a rusty bicycle slouches against a willow tree;
each day refreshed

By noon, citrine beams push up
a beanstalk reaching above a wall;
the playground explored,
lessons hammered in,
knowledge ricochets beyond the local fray,
Ideas are jettisoned across bridges of dreams,
to be spent or realized

Over time, joys and sorrows careen
in the blazing late afternoon sun
Much is given, much taken away
Passion and pride intact.
there is much to do,  one lifetime
to dance in the streets;
doors to the Library of Memories
are kept open late

Welcome evening shade slips
between streams of amber light,
bent upon a good heart
Moonlight trickles into eyes
incredibly deep, with wrinkled stories,
grey shades of light, veins of life
Peaceful rest, wrapped in a blanket,
 a knowing look,
          incredibly soft skin,
      .....a wisp of hair

Crab season

Home is the deep moss green water where eelgrass grows, where they walk sideways the floor. Their bodies are hard-shelled, spiny-backed, painted a blotchy raw umber with tinges of purple; they have cream-colored undersides. When cooked, they turn bright orange. I've looked into their beady-eyes, and wondered if they could see me and if they have thoughts or any idea of living dangerously.

Using a GPS, fishermen drop round, cage-like crates called pots from their boats, setting them 100 feet deep.  Filled with raw bait, they are left for hours. Crabs sense and follow the scent of chicken parts or anchovies, oblivious to the lines connecting the cast iron traps. Innocent of any crime, they are captured, prized for their delicate meat.

The men return no later than dusk, finding several crab, still pinching their claws, in each crate. Though females survive, are thrown back, so goes the life of many sea creatures. 'Tis the season of catching wild Dungeness in Puget Sound.

Without compassion,

nary any cause to weep,

boiled, broken to eat

For    dversepoets.com   today,  we are visiting the subject of Haibun poetry. First, in prose, a story of a couple of paragraphs. Then, ended with haiku which encapsulates the gist of the  prose. Referring to nature usually, and a more beauteous prose, but this is what came to my mind.

Spongebob Squarepants ..and the "I'll see you in September" song...

                                                                                               






                           

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      
Today we are asked to write about returning to school...it is right around the corner again already. Such a broad subject. I started with a serious theme but a different idea emerged as I was writing. See what others come up with over at dversepoets.com  




Young sponges 
absorb everything around them -
stimulated by their environment,
are fed stories early in life
Kindergarten has them playing
with crayons, building blocks 
They play on the swing 
and merry-go-round


At the next rudimentary level 
they soak up geography, math, 
emphasis on reading
Curious, eager and thirsty, 
they take home work to study
They do all the prep work, 
hone their skills
to get passing grades, 
to 'get somewhere', 
Their world expands beyond the classroom 
they decide which path to take,
discover who they are
That knowledge gained, 
life ought be that much more manageable 
later, one would think

But the longest learning curve 
is maturity, notwithstanding 
peer pressure, daydreaming,
and one's still growing brain
Social life becomes the light 
that shines through
Young sponges take in music and sports, 
write term papers,
find what interests them most 
They become educated about 
the opposite sex -
no lessons on family planning, 
raising children, those sudden feelings 
they experience, 
hormones urging them to explore 
that part of themselves
Teen sponges 
emulate upperclassmen 
For me, it was their hairstyles, 
full circles skirts, sweaters 
and saddle shoes they wore 
We idolized cheerleaders, 
honor students, 

husky football players  

We loved summer vacations,
but, oh, those Septembers were sweet!

Young adult sponges can become 
waterlogged, which causes 
risky behavior
They need to learn to float
before it is too late, 
Sometimes this means 
some form of rebellion;
they might join the military,
drop out, or fight for a cause -
some go straight to work
Full of language and equations,
they are equipped for college

They become rulers of their domain
while their earliest imprints 
are sometimes trampled on,
tested or.. possibly they can be enhanced

No one knows the odds 
or chances of survival as they 
tip and falter for a a time
They are squeezed by perceived
unrealistic expectations
They are still children
when it comes to their frontal lobes

Their character formed,
talents defined, young adult sponges
advance to college,
into adulthood,
learn accountability
The school of life takes on w
worldly meanings
Students choose to follow a star,
find their passion or bliss  

The energy filled sponges find jobs,
live in a world ever changing,
no longer able to absorb
as they once did

They filter information and events
at their own discretion,
discard what they don't need
They find chance and circumstance 

can crash their domain
Moments of joy are interspersed 
with pockets of sorrow,
unresolved issues,
and black holes of the unknown
They develop pot-marks 
and rough edges,
as they continue to strive and create,
pursue their dreams
Success, however, 
is undetermined at this point 
in a sponge's life
Hopefully they learn to love 
and understand:

         Amid the thrills 

         of discovering and learning,
         elements of faith and hope 

         are involved

         Before life wears one down,
         or one runs out of steam

         what book will they write

         before they graduate 
         from this life?

Book woman

For http://dversepoets.com we are writing "echo" poems, something I had not heard of before.  Easy to rhyme, but difficult to tell a story. I enjoyed this.



Her lips, chapped by the hot sun, kept closed now
how
Her eyes search toward the northernmost sky
sigh
Their affair need not have ended but for
wore
thin his stubbornness, her buttermilk style,
while
when neither would swallow their foolish pride
lied
She packs his bags and puts them on the porch
torch
along with his hat and satchel of clothes
loathes
She tossed his dusty boots outside the door
floor
Familiar tunes echo in the wind
rescind
Coalesced clouds of white birds take up flight
light
She walks back to her log cabin in peace
cease
She lives a world apart surrounded,
fed
by books she had meant to read and began
can
build her own life down the Book Woman Road
load
She watches and sits in the summer swing
wing
She is sheltered from the storm of warm rain
sane
For her life has become her own to live
sieve
She intends to live it as she sees fit
knit

Sunrise, sunset, summerness

dversepoets.com


Gold filigreed sun descends as,
at the same time, rises the moon...
looming full blue, spanning the quay
Moonrise, sunset, kiss gingerly,
a quick goodnight, on the same day
For hungry eyes, it's much too soon

Searching for the fleeting feet of
a fiddler, his slant silhouette
prancing o'er rooftops impishly
His wink of an eye shows the way
to calm an angry, fearful heart,
put all trepidation away

To celebrate for a fortnight,
swiftly before the disarray..
a child's fable of catching stars
Taking time to welcome the sight,
their simple glory in artful play,
for summer fairs, summers' best night