This Tunnel Has No Light at Its Ending
Black notes hang
in a barren equinox sky,
fade into a cry of
wonder that echoes
as though in a dark tunnel.
You balance the cup
of deep water before
a moment of stolen hope emerges
then abandon yourself
to pure gravity
before ripping apart the
warm core of your being.
Can you taste
the texture of wind,
that carries cries of forgiveness.
The memory of a crowing
cock haunts you
constantly, doesn’t it?
Life ebbs slowly when you
break your promises.
Today, I am hosting for dVerse Meeting the Bar, Critique and Craft. We are playing with symbolism as used in poetry and literature. Can you identify the emotion I am attempting to express in this poem–a very old one that I rewrote?
Photo: racrapopulous” Free Usage
Caption: Victoria Slotto
(in the manner of Chinese wilderness poets)
snow dusts silent earth
branches bow beneath its touch
cedar wax wings descend to berry filled trees
moon drops behind Sierra
morning sun stretches lazily
paints sky in hues of rose
frozen grass crunches beneath feet
distant train signals crossing
hope hides in shadows
Welcome to dVerse Poets Quadrille this week–my favorite prompt! Today De is asking us to write our poem of 44 words, no more, no less (excluding title) within which we will include the word “crunch.” I’ve just begun reading “Mountain Home: The Wilderness Poetry of Ancient China,” translated by David Hinton. I suspect that, little as I grasp of it, there will be some influence in my writing. Do you feel a sense of emptiness?
Please join us at the pub with your 44-word crunchy poem. The doors swing open Monday at 3 PM EST.
Credit: ESA/Hubble; Raghvendra Sahai and John Trauger (JPL), the WFPC2 science team, and NASA/ESA Used with Permission
Who Are You?
Stand in pregnant darkness
beneath a wind-stripped ash tree;
look up at emptiness.
Wrap yourself in a cloak of wonder.
Soak in mysteries of unknowing,
then look Within.
Joining up with the dVerse pub-poetic-prowlers and Lillian for this awe-inspiring prompt using photos from the Hubble Telescope. We hope you will join us here.
Bring me back the thought of you
as the sun comes to shine,
the grain, also golden,
hair, the color of gold,
the sound of a step
different from all others.
My heart is ready to greet you.
Only with the heart can one see.
But I shall cry.
(I shall cry.)
An Erasure Poem
Taken from the Little Prince by Antoine de Saint Exupéry
Written and posted for my prompt at dVerse Meeting the Bar, where I’m offering up a prompt for you to write an erasure poem.
I had chosen one of my all-time favorite inspirational reads: The Little Prince, by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry and opened it to a page that seemed to offer a fair amount of printed text (as you probably know, the book is illustrated with watercolors.) When I began to cull phrases, somewhat randomly, a theme emerged which is pure serendipity–next Tuesday is the first anniversary of my sweet mother’s death.
Please stop by the pub with a poem of your own, or even just to read. We are a welcoming community.
Photo: David Slotto–Taken in 2011, on the occasion of Mom’s 90th birthday.
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
Photo: Victoria Slotto
*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.
Mina Loy, Image by Dave Bonta, via Flickr
Labeled for Reuse
word after word arises
from the morass of her
loves losses tumble
onto blank pages
like flakes of snow
in wide open fields
the poet inhales sweet spring,
in piles of autumn
revels in creation-bliss
waits for the unknown
Welcome to another round of dVerse Quadrille, the 39th, hosted by Bjorn. A quadrille is a poem of exactly 44 words, not counting the title. This week the word that must be included in the poem itself is BLISS, in any of its forms. We hope you will join us. The pub opens at 3:00 PM EDT. The prompt is open all week.
Photo: Public Domain
Eagle Nebula Dust Pillar
Today I am horse,
surging power trampling fear—
carry me onward.
Just a lowly frog
croaking humble songs of praise,
ever mindful love.
beyond death’s darkness.
At last I’m eagle,
soaring to mountainous realms
Now I dream tomorrow.
Linking to my favorite prompt–dVerse Quadrille. Please join us with a poem of exactly 44 words, not including the title, using the word DREAM in the body of the poem. I chose an old poem from 2011 and revised it to meet the requirements of the form.
We are in the midst of a kitchen remodel so I may be slow to visit but will get around eventually.