My soul yearns and pines
for the courts of the Lord.
My heart and my flesh
cry out for the living God
Even the sparrow finds a home,
and the swallow a nest
in which she puts her young–
Your altars, O lord of Hosts,
my king and my God.
Psalm 84, 3-4
You who dwell in the shelter of the Most High,
Who abide in the shadow of the Almighty,
Say to the Lord, My refuge and my fortress,
My God in Whom I trust.
Psalm 91, 1-2
On December 27th we went to a “Straight No Chaser” concert. They are an acapella group with a brilliant range of voices. I was as caught up in the lighting and stage production as in the wonderful music. I will post more of that evening, linking to Becky’s #JanuaryLight Photo Challenge.
She sips poetry,
gulps color, texture,
She covers cold-
ness, emanates warmth
strokes coarse, jagged bark.
She shields innocence,
shelters the poor,
embraces the wonton.
She revels in birdsong,
delights in tender moments,
blesses beauty’s gifts.
She sips life.
She sips death.
Written for dVerse Quadrille, including the wonderful word “Sip.” This is the first poem I’ve written this year. It’s good to be here with you after a long drought.
No Ko Me—Tree Buds
Outside my office window, on the second floor of our home, an ornamental pear tree shares the seasons with me. In summer, her leaves are full and green, offering their shade in the southwest, yet still allowing a view of the setting sun as he hops over the Sierra Nevada. A robin perches in her fluffy nest.
Autumn paints my landscape in glorious tones of gold and orange and crimson…a final shout-out before the now-brown leaves let go, returning to nourish the earth, revealing the tiny, inedible fruit that appears to be a berry. An influx of migrating cedar wax wings stop by to eat of her offerings, along with an occasional chickadee.
But it is in spring that promises pop out on all the gnarly little branches and as I wait for them to open, the return of wrens and finches fill the room with poetic song. This is the first movement of another year’s symphonic beauty.
brace themselves, appear anew
soon, a crescendo
Today, I’m hosting the Monday Haibun at dVerse. The prompt Kigo is No Ko Me–Tree Buds. To learn more and to join in HERE is the link.
Do falling leaves ache with the pain of letting go? Or do they revel in the freedom of floating and of the taste of earth? Did they boast of glorious colors that they wore in days before releasing their hold on life?
And the trees—do they grasp obsessively to their robes of glory, regret the day that finds them stripped, exposed and naked—vulnerable to cold and rain.
I am October now, buffeted by aging. I hurl my somethingness into the great unknown, one gift at a time. I face the imminence of winter, move beyond the sting of loss into the joy of unknown expectations. I am old but full of hope, in the springtime of new life. Beneath the soil life pulses.
Je suis depouilée
stripped bare like October trees
richness lies hidden
*The French word depouillement means stripping. The verb depouiller is to strip. The first line of the haiku translates : I am stripped.
Happy to be able to jump in for OLN this week. I have tried to consider some of the wonderful prompts I have missed related to personal events–this one, especially, relates back to Kim’s prompt for Tuesday’s Poetics.
Summer begins to fade.
Trees share foliage with earth
Vegetable garden spills its seeds.
When he appears I hold my breath,
taken aback at beauty new to me.
Ruddy-headed, spotted Northern Flicker.
Summer begins to fade
but shares her gifts with us
Welcome back to the pub, everyone. I hope you all enjoyed your break. Today, for dVerse Quadrille Monday, Grace is asking us to use the word FLICKER in a poem of exactly 44 words, excluding title. I write of the appearance of this woodpecker that I’ve never seen before in our region–a Northern Flicker. He surprised us last summer. I grabbed our bird book and David, the camera, and we got several photos of him. His visit lasted only a few minutes but he had his fill.
Be still and know that I am God. Psalm 46, 10
All is still this morn—
the pond outside my window
mirrors palm trees and mountains
sends ripples through this quiet time,
butterfly slashes blue sky
with gold flight,
two small wrens
attack a crow.
all is calm this gentle morn
This week’s Quadrille at dVerse, hosted by Grace, asks us to write a poem of exactly 44 words, exclusive of the title, using the word STILL.
the color of longing
early winter doldrums
sky heavy with payne’s gray clouds
birds silent, gone
leaves weep while chill
seeps into old bones
but then a vibrant flash
an incongruous spark-
ing of a flame
on this cold scene
(so like your touch)
Today, for our wonderful quadrille prompt at dVerse Poets, we are invited to submit a poem of exactly 44 words, no more, no less, that uses the work SPARK in any of its forms. Please join us for this prompt. The link is open all week.
This rose opened this last week, smack dab in the middle of our flower garden, defying the withering of everything else. I’ve cut back all the other rose bushes so this is truly “the last rose of summer.”
I will also add this to Cee’s Daily Flower (photography) prompt.