Spring Rain–Frank Tassone’s Haikai Challenge #33

Photo: pixnio. Labeled for non-commercial reuse.

Rain Dance–Haibun

The bipolar weather does her spring dance. Early this week she offered temperatures in the high 80’s. Today, I glance outside my office window and watch drops of rain fall uncertainly on the fully developed leaves of the ornamental pear tree. Temperatures in the 40’s early morning.

This tree brings so much joy. She offers niches perfect for robin nests and in the autumn extends her arms, heavy with small, hard pears, pears more like berries than the fruit we know. Flocks of cedar waxwings and the occasional chickadee stop by to be nourished on their journeys south.

So welcome sweet spring rain. Bring life to this high desert.

spring rain droplets hang
from dancing leaves (like old breasts)
carmine hooded finch sings

Linked to Frank Tassone’s Haikai Challenge #33 where the Kigo is Spring Rain, harusame.

Dusk–dVerse Haibun Monday

Dusk

Photo: Victoria Slotto

 

Desert evenings have a beauty all their own. Most every day we enjoy a sunset that stuns us with its wonder. Hummingbirds vie for their place at our feeders, mama and daddy lead their ducklings for an evening swim as twilight colors dance on the water’s ripples. It is still warm, but cool enough to sit out on the patio and soak in beauty, sip a glass of wine and give thanks for the blessings of another day of life.

Photo: David Slotto

Have you noticed the beauty of an aged person’s evening hours? Fine lines, wrinkles tell stories of both joy and sorrow. Of life. Crevassed lips that have loved, whispered, cursed, blessed, sinned, asked forgiveness and forgiven turn up in smiles, down in sadness—likely both, at one time or another. But most often, it is in the eyes that you read the nuances of a life well-lived. There you will find clarity, serenity, wisdom and acceptance. Acceptance of loss, of failure, but especially of the realization that there has been love. May this be so for each of us.

hawk swoops in, alights
mama duck shelters her young
at dawn, three remain

This week I’m happy to host dVerse Monday Haibun. The Kigo is CHIJITSU, lingering day. Please join us with your Haibun of two or three terse paragraphs followed by a seasonal haiku.

 

dVerse Quadrille–Two for You

For dVerse Quadrille this week, I have the pleasure of hosting and am asking for a poem of exactly 44 words that includes the word poem or a word that is related. See the posting on dVerse for a list of possibilities and further instructions.

I am going to include two poems in one post: the first is for today’s prompt and the second contains all the words thus far in our second 44 word series.

Photo: David Slotto

Just a Click Away
A Quadrille

In this fast-paced world
can we hear hummingbird
sipping spring pollen?

Can we seize beauty,
shroud her in a perfect word,
simmer poetry?

How does silence grow
between autumn leaves
as they fall gently to earth?

Hurry, this offer
will go quickly.
Act now!

Mark Strand: Labeled for non-commercial reuse.

Poem-ing
A Quadrille with all the words to date: rock, crunch, leap, bounce, poem.

 

This is not a poem
about poetry, but rather words.
Words that leap into your soul
You play with them,
fall in love until they
bounce upon the page.
Crunch-tumble them
into meaning-fullness.
See how they disconcert,
rock. Toss you from
your comfort zone.

Arise–dVerse Quadrille

Arise

Blurred colors—rainbows bouncing
in prismatic waterdrops on palm fronds.
Think of oft-overlooked miracles.
Life wants to drink slowly, savor
the moment-to-moment unfolding of a flower,
the hatching, fledging, soaring of an eagle,
(of thoughts) heavenward, lifting
our world a step closer to joy.

drop-of-water-862316_96720 Labeled for non-commercial reuse.

Please join us for the Quadrille, a poem of exactly 44 words sans title, at dVerse Poets. De is asking us to use the word BOUNCE this week. 

The Sounds of Summer–dVerse Haibun

The Sounds of Summer
a Haibun

Last night, for the first time this year, we heard crickets’ song. Not that it hasn’t been hot. We are in the midst of record-breaking heat—37 days’ worth of temperatures in the upper 90’s or 100’s. My guess, though, is that smoke from the many wild fires in our area was subduing them. Or, more likely, until now, we couldn’t hear them because we couldn’t open our windows.

This morning I was greeted by the raucous sound of blue jays, asserting their command over the suet feeder in the pear tree. Robins sang counterpoint, defying stridency and filling the air with melody. The forlorn call of a dove echoed in the background. With thunderstorms predicted this afternoon, I pray there will be no lightning-induced wildfires. Open windows bring joy.

crickets sing freely
summer’s joy resounds above
deer flee raging flames

So happy to welcome Toni back to the pub with her wide-open haibun prompt. I chose to go with a situation that we are currently facing here in Northern Nevada. You have all week to join in!

Photo: afec.af
Labeled for non-commercial resuse.

The Poet Looks Out the Window

The Poet Looks Out the Window
Minute Poetry

Oh, bless this tree outside my room—
a home, a womb
where words are born,
a page adorned—
poet’s enclave,
creative cave.

These branches beckon many birds
with songs sans words.
They bring us joy,
distress destroy,
plaintive cries, too,
to mourn with you.

And there above, I spy a nest.
Robin Redbreast?
Perhaps a Jay?
Oh look! Today,
sweet finch I see.
Inspire me!

Photo: Victoria Slotto
View from My Office “Treehouse”

Today at dVerse MTB Frank Hubeny invites us to try Minute Poetry. Don’t be afraid of this very fun form. It seemed daunting to me at first, but when I diagrammed it, I found it to be easy enough with the help of Rhymezone.com. My ornamental pear tree looks a bit shabby right now because the harsh winter and severe winds was causing it to damage our house and we had to have it pruned. But when it’s at it best, in autumn, it is truly a delight and the migrating birds love the tiny pears that are just for them, not humans.

Please join us–give it a whirl. BTW, this poem is also inspired by Lillian’s window prompt from Tuesday Poetics.

 

Bless You, Little Things

 

Photo: Victoria Slotto

Bless You, Little Things

I bless you, all you little things—
you gifts, ignored by humankind.

You, honey bees and tiny blooms,
Eight-legged spider in my room,

your lacy web and stealthy style,
you may stay here just a while.

I bless you, bird’s nest in our tree,
just cached beneath a bunch of leaves,

and wee blue eggs that nestle there,
concealed from Jays, yes, take care.

I bless the sun’s first ray of light
and slivered silver moon at night.

You, chipmunk, scurry ‘cross the grass
and disappear. You are so fast.

And bless the seed beneath the soil,
nature’s largesse to bring us joy.

I praise the Maker of all things.
May we find you in all life brings.

(Even earwhigs?)

Today’s prompt at dVerse Poetics, offered by Paul Scribbles, is to write a blessing, something our poor world needs now and always. Please consider writing one and linking it to our poetry community. A little something positive goes a long way.

Golf–the Sport of Fools–dVerse Haibun Monday

Photo: David Slotto
A few years ago we were so lucky to win a trip to golf Pinehurst #2. I drove the green on Hole 16 but missed my 4 foot birdie putt. :0(

Golf— the Sport of Fools
a Haibun

If you are serious about golf, I recommend that you stay away from any opportunity to join a foursome of which I am a part. It will take me about three strokes to catch up with your drive. I’m too old and too skinny to do otherwise. Frankly, I doubt if I have an athletic gene in my DNA. Ask any member of my 9-hole golf league. Or ask my long-suffering husband.

Why do I golf, you may ask. That’s a question I ask myself each morning I awaken and know that I have a scheduled tee time. But as soon as I walk approach the tee box on the first hole, look down the fairway at an expanse of green surrounded by trees, standing like a guard of honor to welcome me, as soon as I hear the songs of mockingbirds, wrens (and even those crows just waiting to really mock me), and as soon as the words of encouragement of friends raise my spirits or I hit that unexpected long fairway shot or make that troublesome putt, then I remember. Plus, I’ve golfed with 90-plus year-old’s. How better to keep our older bodies agile and alive. When I post my score at the end of the round, I only pray that no one waiting behind to do the same is peeking over my shoulder.

my drive soars skyward
boosted on by spring breezes
sun breaks through the clouds

This week’s Haibun challenge at dVerse Poets, hosted by Bjorn, is asking us to write of sports. Well, the Warriors beat out Cleveland last night for the NBA Championship, and that makes me happy (Sorry, Cleveland cousins and other fans) but, lets just say I never excelled in any sport other than swimming–that happens when you grow up in Southern California. But there is one sport that does keep me moving, other than dog-walking. And now you know.

 

Blowin’ in the Wind–dVerse Meeting the Bar

Today, I’m hosting dVerse Meeting the Bar where I’m sharing a modern version of an old French form called the LAI (pronounced Lay). I would love to see you join in. The rhythm of the form begs me to be a bit whimsical although the original purpose was quite different. Lean more here.

Photo: Lansingwbu
Labeled for reuse.

Blowin’ in the Wind

So windy outside,
the birds seem to hide
in trees.

They just seem to glide
like kelp on the tide.
Strong breeze.

I will stay inside;
I think justified.
Oh, please?

I Must Poem–dVerse MTB

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I Must Poem

of color
how the blur of blue and mauve
the melt of orange and red and gold
fold gently into summer skies

of sunshine
the way sun slips above the eastern horizon
pulls himself up on a span of lenticular clouds
to wink-wake me through half drawn shutters

of movement
of spindly-legged spiders crawling ‘neath a rock
and birds in flight that soar up to the moon
or human dance that stretches my imagination

of water
its touch, so sensual, immersed in crystal lakes
the battering of rain upon the window pane
or cooling draft upon desert-dry tongue

of texture
the roughest touch of eucalyptus bark
or satin-smoothness of a marble slab
and wonder-wrinkle of my weathered life-worn face

of music
the bounding bass of basso-nova beat
or lilting flute that fills the air with joy
and steady cadence of a Requium

of silence.
of silence, I must poem.

Today I have the pleasure of returning, after a rather long hiatus, to offer a prompt for dVerse Meeting the Bar/Form for All. I’m going back to a form I first gave in 2013–List Poetry. I hope you will join in today with a list of your own.