Creative February 10 - Low-key selfie

The Daily Post Weekly Photo Challenge is to post a selfie.

I thought I'd give low-key photography a try ...

Creative February 9 - The pear

I cut up a pear
an overripe pear
fetid-smelling and soft
and feed it to
the birds
the lemon tree
the earth

What a waste
my mind scolds
of food
of money
thinking in its pride
that the world exists
solely for my consumption

that trees
and fruits
and flowers
are there for my harvest
and enjoyment

but the earth knows
in her quiet way
that there is no
enjoyer nor enjoyed

that everything
returns to her
finally

that nothing is born
or dies
only transformed

~~~

Creative February 8 - Rain-kissed dahlias

It rained last night, breaking the long spell the sun had cast over us. Dark clouds rolled in last evening and distant drumrolls thundered. I slept to the sound of rain and woke up to the sound of rain. By mid-morning it had stopped. The air smelt freshly laundered. And also of green foliage and wet, satisfied earth. As though the earth was holding its breath in thirst and was now in a deep exhalation of contentment and joy. Everything was rain speckled, as though laden with gems. Photography was a double delight. These dahlias looked especially queenly, fitted out with raindrops.

Rain-kissed Dahlias (click on photo to view large)

Creative February 7 - The fruit of the earth

For today, a haibun.

One of the great joys of life for me is gardening. I have spent several happy hours this summer fussing over the flowers and planting and tending the veggie patch. Of course, weeding is painful, because democratically speaking, the weeds have as much right to grow as the veggies do, but it seems they like to overgrow and smother the rather more delicate domesticated plants. So, at the altar of self-survival, they have to be sacrificed. On the other hand, it is always with a sense of wonder that I watch the seeds put out shoots, then leaves, and grow and grow until flowers begin to appear among the masses of green.

nourished by water

and whisperings of earthworms

alchemy happens

And then the bees arrive. Busy little fellas. The elation I feel on the sight of all those flowers nodding in the breeze is further heightened by the buzz of tiny wings, flitting from bloom to bloom. Such a beautiful example of symbiosis. It fills me with awe, this wonderful dance of the elements, this magical alchemy wherein the sunshine, rain and generous helpings of sheep pellets, together call forth life sleeping within seeds. What was once possibility slowly takes form and shape and literally bears fruit.

it must be love

that turns earth into fruits, like

the kisses of bees

Needless to say, my joy is complete when I pick the beans, tomatoes, spinach, potatoes, chillies, blueberries and strawberries. The mandarin, lemon and pumpkin flowers are still being serenaded by those yellow and black striped busy buzzing super workers.

benevolent sun

seeds sprout in earth's womb, I reap

the fruit of the earth

~~~

 

Creative February 6 - Daisy textured

I decided to try my hand at adding textures to images. Not entirely pleased with the result but learned a lot in the process.

Daisy with textured background (best viewed large)

And this is the original image -

Creative February 5 - Bump-haiku

My friend delivers
bump turns into baby girl
twinkling angel eyes

~~~

because of the bumps
the brook babbles, murmurs, sings
songs of freedom

~~~

bump in the carpet
things tucked away forgotten
festering wounds

~~~

For NaHaiWriMo prompt - Bump

Creative February 4 - Cadence – haiku

Lub dub lub dub

Eddy and swirl of blood flow

Life humming

~~~

Rain, fall lightly rain

The sound of falling petals

I, in fragrant thrall

~~~

Your voice on the phone

And the song in my heart

Exquisite duet

~~~

Stardust and darkness

The hum of the universe

Expanding worlds

~~~

For Haiku Heights prompt - Cadence

Create February 3 - The man at the funeral

THE MAN AT THE FUNERAL  (a short story)

She has just joined the funeral party and is standing at the fringe watching as the priest prays over the coffin and the family look on grave faced. Mr.Mills had been one of the founders of the small company in which she was an admin assistant and she had come out of respect not because she was required to. She had met him a couple of times at company meets and he had seemed kindly though astute. Once, when she had car trouble, it was raining heavily and no taxis could be found, he had given her a lift home and waited till she had safely entered her apartment before driving away.

She finds herself standing next to a young man who when she glances at him seems to be staring at the coffin bright-eyed, as though he was fighting back tears.

'That's unusual', she thinks. She had never seen him at the office and he was standing too far back to be family.

"Did you know him?" She asks softly, half turning her face towards him.

"He was my father,” he says simply and just as softly.

Her shocked, full-faced gaze at him is involuntary. Yes, he did have Mr.Wells eyes, clear blue and kindly, almost vulnerable.

"Then why are you here and not with the family?"

"He didn't know I was his son."

"Oh!" She is stunned out of speech. The priest's intonations weave in and out of the silence.

"And you knew all along? And chose to keep quiet?" Her curiosity finally forces her to speak.

"No, I found out only this morning." He pauses for a deep breath. "When my mother called and told me to look at the obituaries page for a Mr.Mills. Then she said 'he was your father'."

He takes two more deep breaths, the second coming out in a long sigh.

"That seemed strange because all these years I was told that my father had died in the Gulf War when I was still unborn. She said 'No, I lied. I met Mr.Mills when I had worked as a call girl for a brief period."

"But you could be the son of any one of her clients."

"Yes, I did ask. She said she had done it for a very brief time during her final year of college when she had run out of money. And she had had only one client who had taken a liking for her and had helped put her through college. After she graduated she got an office job and they didn't meet again, but meanwhile she had become pregnant with me."

"Couldn't she have married him, they probably liked each other?"

"He was already married."

"Oh!" She is thinking how life's a bitch sometimes.

"He could have at least supported your upkeep."

"Yes, but she didn't tell him about me because she was a call girl not his girlfriend and it was her mistake not his. If she had asked him, he would have probably given her money but he had just started a business and she didn't want to burden him with the consequence of her mistake."

She was quiet for a while, chewing upon this.

"Why didn't she tell you all this earlier?"

"She felt it would be better for my self-esteem to have a soldier for a father who died in a war than be an outcome of a mistake."

She nods to herself, thinking about the soundness of the logic. Sometimes a lie is certainly better than the brutal truth.

"Then why tell you now?"

"She somehow heard a few weeks ago that Mr.Mills .... my father's health was deteriorating, so she decides it's time to tell me, just in case I wanted to meet him. She was summoning the courage to tell me, waiting for the right time. She hadn't expected him to go so quickly."

He lets out a deep sigh, bumpy and broken.

"That must have been one power conversation you had this morning." She says trying to sound light.

"Yes, life changing it was."

The casket is now being lowered into the grave and it gives her a chilling thought.

"Did you get the chance to say goodbye?" She looks wildly from the casket to him and back and forth. “Maybe your should throw some earth into the grave, just to give you a sense of connection.”

“I was at the church service. Even though no one knew me, I went up and kissed him on the forehead.” His voice begins to crack. She moves closer and places a hand on his arm. “I wanted to hug him badly, this father I had but never had. I wanted him to fill up all the empty spaces in my life where a father should have been.”

She glances at him and again his eyes are bright with held-back tears.

They stand like that, quietly, till the grave is filled up and people begin to move away. Two strangers held together by something greater, more profound than either of them have experienced in their short lives.

She wonders why he had bared his heart to her, a total stranger. The secret must have been too overwhelming for him to bear alone. They continue to stand there till everyone’s gone. She pats him on his arm as if to say goodbye. There is now peace on his face as he continues to gaze at the mound of freshly moved earth.

“Your father may not have known you in flesh but his spirit will be with you. In a way, his death has brought him closer to you than his life would have.”

He turns to look at her and as though the thought has turned on a light switch within him, a smile slowly spreads across his face. It spreads and spreads until his entire being is filled with radiance.

As she walks towards her car, she is glad she followed her impulse to attend Mr.Mills’ funeral. 

~~~

Creative February 2 - To bee or not to bee

Today's creative attempt is an haiga / haibun

The bees have been extra busy around the beam stalks and everytime I go into the veggie patch to pick some veggies or take photos, I find a few buzzing around the bean flowers. Quite unafraid of humans. They're very difficult to photograph, never alighting on a flower for more than a second, and all the bee photos I've got are blurry approximations of bees. Thanks to them, I've got a bumper crop of beans this year. We're going to be eating beans for a long while ....

I think I have a bee fetish :)

Creative February - 1

Creation for February 1  

I have waited all summer for flowers to appear on this plant. Today I finally found one hidden behind the rather large, dramatic leaves. Rather a small but dainty flower for all the showy foliage

:)

Creative February

January had come along and I had said to myself, 'I am going to post a creation daily on the blog, a photo or a poem or haiku, haiban, an insight, anything .... but something I had created that day'.

Well! January slipped by and from time to time my New Year resolution would surface and poke me in the ribs, but I would give it the royal ignore. Until February arrived. Not one to give up even though a month had passed, I decided to go ahead with my New Year resolution and so Creative February was born.

It's a bit of a cheat :) as February has only 28 days but I figured let me start with a nearer goal. So, come sun or cloud or stormy weather, I am challenging myself to post something creative daily for a whole month.

Three cheers to Creative February :)

Zen for today

Useless - haiku

a quirky question -
could it be of any use?
writing poetry

~~~

regret, guilt, useless
both purveyors of darkness
plunderers of life


~~~

cold and lifeless
shorn of beauty, shorn of fame
just a useless shell

~~~

is not so useless
the maggots think, fattening
turning death to life

~~~

for Haiku Heights prompt - Useless

Sharp - haiku

sharp is the night that
births the day in which babies
are killed in the womb

~~~

instead of pencils
children sharpen shooting skills
somewhere a womb aches

~~~

the phone had rung sharp
as though it had been wounded
by the news it brought

~~~

for Haiku Heights prompt - Sharp

Photo of the day - New shining baby toms

Baby tomatoes sparkling in the summer sunshine ....

Photo of the day - Beans at sunset

A bean stalk against the sunset sky (best viewed large)

Grimace - haiku

one more factory
the earth grimaces under
its grimness and greed

~~~

walk in the forest
city heart sheds its grimace
sparkling joy remains

~~~

eight plus nine times ten
math-is-such-a-bore grimace
the boy yearns for play

~~~

Haiku Heights prompt - Grimace

Rescued by a pineapple

The voices of things-to-do
swarm like hornets inside
my head. A swirling eddy
trying to pull me in like
yelping, pesky puppies
piping ‘me-me-me-first'.

Outside the window, light
slides off the surfaces of
leaves like giddy, satiated
lovers. The trees nod in
farewell. As the tui sings
sonorous sonnets to spring.

So, I cut up a pineapple.
From Thailand. In pique.
Tropical sun escapes from
prickly skin in yellow-hued
fragrance pressing warm
against my fingers. As the
knife cuts through the fruit
cells burst in choruses of
lusciousness that trickle
and flow. Sparkly light
turning to golden honey.

Out comes the crystal plate
meant for festive occasions.
I place the discs of the sun
each glowing soft-haloed.

And bite into golden dawns
damp with the smell of
rich earth. The humid air
redolent with the sound
of bees. My brain flooding
with a million impulses of joy.
There is nothing else to do
but celebrate the now.

~~~

Clap - haiku

concert in the sky
lightning-struck with wonder
thunderous applause

~~~

clothes flapping on line
applaud monarch butterflies’
summer mating dance

~~~ 

Haiku Heights prompt - Clap

(Image source - http://www.sabisabi.com/blog/1827/the-butterfly-effect/)

New Year station

It seems to me
on this train ride called life
every New Year arrives
steaming and station-like

I first feel it from a distance
rushing towards me
gleaming with untold promise
my skin prickly with anticipation

my heart weighed down
by a strangely unexpected sorrow
realising suddenly that
the moments had slipped past me
unnoticed, like the landscape
had rushed past in a blur
that could hardly be called life

and then, it is here
this station so optimistically
and bravely called New Year
with its brightly lit pause
of cacophony and celebration
its perilous air of adventure
its heady attraction of journey

in its steamy air of forgetfulness
I quickly disembark regrets
embrace in welcome
oncoming hopes and remap
my course for a destination
that resolutely stays unknown

as I chug off into landscapes
unexplored, my compass uncertain
I wonder about storms
now sleeping in the mist
and dreams that taste of tomorrow
and if the next New Year
will find a new, improved me
or find me at all.

~~~