Walk in the rain - haiga

(photo taken at Gungahlin Pond, Canberra)

Walls

"I used to try to punch my way through people’s walls. I didn’t understand that they were there for a reason and often essential to their survival. I did the same with my own walls. Neither got me anywhere. The walls just got tougher, denser, more resilient. Now I have a different approach. I pray to walls. I honor their wisdom. I stroke them with kindness. I melt them with gentleness. And, if they still insist on standing firm, I leave them be. Walls have a time frame all their own." 

Jeff Brown

The alchemist

Alchemist - haiku

grass growing on Earth's 

brow. green on brown. the sun must 

be an alchemist

~~~

Day

Day - tanka

The sun slides across

the skin of the day in a

hot, searing caress.

What can I do but sigh in

voluptuous contentment?

~~~

NaPoWriMo 26 - Kennings

For day 26, some kennings. Bjorn at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads presented the concept of Kennings. Or compound noun combinations.

My impromptu attempt :)

~~~

A leaf-fall. A leaf
falls on to the forest floor.
Beyond that, silence.

~~~

A heart-knock. Someone
knocks on my heart boarded up.
Beyond that, silence.

~~~

A tune-lilt. Lilting
tunes slowly take me apart.
Beyond that, silence.

~~~

A death-wish. Dying
to the past my only wish.
Beyond that, silence.

~~~

NaPoWriMo 25 - Question

For NaPoWriMo day 25, a question

Silence - haiku

Silence always taunts
me with this one question,
what are you doing here?

~~~

NaPoWriMo 24 - Caves

For NaPoWriMo day 24, a confession -

CAVES  - haiku

I found there are caves
in my heart I didn't know about.
There be demons.

~~~

NaPoWriMo 23 - Autumn

For day 23, a haibun.

AUTUMN

As I enjoy the colours of autumn, it also reminds me to let go of old paradigms, worn and tattered beliefs, past-its-expiry-date relationships, outdated concepts that no longer serve. Yes, it's hard. For don't we all love the old and comfy, whether it be things or thoughts. The security blanket of the tried and tested.

Autumn sings hymns of
dissolution. Quiet death.
Spring smiling sleeps.

So, just like trees need to let go of the old and dying, lay bare their branches and go through a period of rest and slumber, for new buds to spring forth and life to begin anew, we need to empty ourselves of the old and outworn, so that life can replenish us with the fresh and the new.

~~~

NaPoWriMo 22 - Homecoming

For NaPoWriMo 22, a poem celebrating Earth Day.

Homecoming - tanka

It is always  pure
pleasure. Walking on grass, leaves, 
the bare-bodied earth.

As though my body-soul knows 
it has come home to Mother.

~~~

NaPoWriMo 11 - You

 For day 11, love talk.

The moon it seemed had
lit up the wings of the wind
pale ebullience

but my soul knows it is You.
Everywhere I go it's You.

***

NaPoWriMo 10 - Escape

For day 10, some moontalk.

The sickle moon hung
there like a fallen question.
How do I escape

the safety of gravity
for the nothingness of space?

***

NaPoWriMo 9 - A fragment of a dream

For day 9, a sweet, sad poem on a dream I saw the other day -


A terse dream this was,
broken, anguished, blurred,
of which a fragment remains
in my memory, embedded.

A wayward bullet strikes
at lightning speed your chest,
passing through it spears,
calmly, through my breast.

Locked in a gaze we stand,
as love flows out the wounds.
Caught tight in death’s hand
as the dream softly fades.

On waking, for long I ponder;
did our souls our bodies flee
at the same moment, together?
Did they merge to become free?

Did pain set our insides afire?
Is sorrow the bullet that incinerates,
torching our ignorance, our desire,
and into freedom thus liberates?

~~~

NaPoWriMo 8 - My second skin

MY SECOND SKIN

My house bathed in moonlight, rests,
silent and welcoming,
and I breathe love into its spaces.

It seems a reflection of me,
the way the furniture is arranged,
the chairs facing each other.

Do they talk among themselves, I wonder,
in the stillness of the night,
picking up bits of broken-off conversation?

Does the warm air twirling up the stairs,
or the slippers, discarded, under the bed,
remind it of us, when we are away.

Do the walls rejoice with the tinkle of laughter,
does the carpet hoard shards
of my shattered dreams.

Does it feel protective, caring,
shielding us from wind and rain,
silent witness to silent pain.

Content, replete, joyous,
I settle into its calm stillness,
and it wraps itself around me.

~~~

NaPoWriMo 7 - My Lord calls to me

For Day 7, a hymn -

My Lord calls to me
in the early morning light
‘kuhu-kuhu’ she sings
in joyous dulcet tones.

My Lord enfolds me
in the early morning mist,
ethereal and uplifting
like mother’s love.

My Lord sings to me
from the violin’s bow,
gliding on the strings
in heartrending melody.

My Lord looks at me
from beggar-child eyes
in desperate hope,
for alms, for love.

My Lord comes to me
in hands that help,
voices that comfort,
and hearts that hug.

My Lord whispers to me
amid the clamour of worship,
“Be still. Just be. ”
“I am in the silence”.

~~~

NaPoWriMo 6 - Number games

For day 6, a pensive poem.

A NUMBER GAME - haiku

age, birthdays, death days
number games the world plays, ending
in nothingness

~~~

Nothing like one's birthday to ponder over the ephemeral nature of life.

NaPoWroMo 5 - Silence

On Day 5, I was silent, so had to write a poem on Silence.


The sound
of a heart breaking
is always silence.

Broken dreams
walk about with
footfalls of silence.

And yet,silence
also holds within its folds
pearls of hope.

Like shards of moonlight,
breaking through clouds
on the darkest night.

~~~

NoPoWriMo 4 - My heart is a shrine

For day 4, a love poem.

My heart is a shrine, it seems,
loves come and go like pilgrims.

Some come seeking solace,
some to unlock the joy in their hearts.

And yet others come with footsteps heavy with sorrow,
and I wait for them to undam their pain.

Until release comes in torrent upon stormy torrent,
all pain washed clean by blessed tears.

And yet what can I give,
but the God that is within me?

This lamp of love you have lit with your hands, Oh Lord,
and sheltered it from innumerable storms.

My song of praise is my only offering,
and my heart lifted up in gratitude.

~~~

NaPoWriMo 3 - Rapture

A haiga for day 3.

NaPoWriMo 2 - Treeless

For day 2 of NaPoWriMo I tried my hand at a tautogram.

TREELESS (tautogram)

Today,
the tree talked
through
truncated torso,
torn twigs,

telling traumatised tales too
terrifyingly true.

Terrible
treeless
terrorscapes.

~~~

NaPoWriMo 1 - Light

April is National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo). The intention is to write a poem a day for the whole month

I begin with a haiga.

Easter Sunday

EASTER SUNDAY - haiku

(From the perspective of countless hens, sheep, cows, pigs and other animals that got slaughtered to celebrate the Prophet of Love's rising ....

Yo! Jesus dude
now that you have arisen
show us the trick too


***

Sunset - haiga

To my Valentine

Clearing

CLEARING

by Martha Postlewaite

Do not try to save
the whole world
or do anything grandiose.
Instead, create
a clearing
in the dense forest
of your life
and wait there
patiently,
until the song
that is your life
falls into your own cupped hands
and you recognize and greet it.
Only then will you know
how to give yourself
to this world
so worth of rescue.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Just what I needed to hear .....

~~~

Puppy eyes

Puppy eyes - haiga

Unperturbed

Sensuous Sundays - Leaves

Leaves - haiga

Dear Joy

Dear Pain

Dear God

Dear rain

Music

Resurrection

Dusk - tanka

the day ripens from 

pale yellow to bright orange

into dusk's bowl falls

someplace else a fresh dawn blooms

in my garden, night jasmine

~~~

Absence- haiku

It rained all day and
Through the night. But I only
Heard your absence

___

Sensuous Sundays - Walking on grass

Grass kisses my feet
With soft, moist, cool lips
In my heart lovesong

___

NEW YEAR’S DAY

Lying on a hammock under

trees brimming with summer

I gaze at the undersides of leaves

and birds’ nests. An inverted

green dome.  A cathedral of calm.

Caressed by breezes laced with

the fragrance of wood smoke,

jasmine and river-breath. Trees

drop their leaves and birds their

song. Little gifts of benediction.

The sun through the leaf-lattice

twinkles like bits of broken, yellow

glass, like the deity in a stained

glass window, playful not solemn,

playing hide-and-seek with me.

Blissfully unaware, unmindful

that on its third satellite the

inhabitants have broken time

into pieces and labelled them

for convenience and celebration.

And so, we send fireworks into

the air and make resolutions,

forgetting, quite ungratefully 

it is the fireball in the sky that

got us through yet another orbit.

~~~