Photo: Labeled for reuse
I awaken this morning to temperatures of 28 degrees Fahrenheit, open the back door and breathe in the purity of crisp, fresh air. Hoar frost designs sparkle on the deck and the vegetable garden sags—leaves like tears hang from the tomato and cucumber plants, light splashes of color awash on our maple and ash trees. The glory of the cerulean sky sings joy. Reality intervenes.
blood-red leaves appear
fall gently on the pavement
Today, I’m hosting Haibun Monday at dVerse Poets. The prompt is Shimo No Koe–Voice of First Frost. Please join in. The prompt is open all week.
Of Autumn Nights
I dream of emptiness, of cinnamon,
and darkest nights infused with spice.
I wait in stillness for the rain to come.
Long before dawn, such sensuous aroma,
an open door, desiring you should come
taste bliss, taste love and cinnamon.
Such spice. Such sweetly aromatic. Come.
I have a brief break in a couple of busy months–remodeling, house guests and next Wednesday, my husband’s second back surgery–so I thought I would drop in for dVerse Quadrille this week and, next Monday, I will host Haibun for Kanzen Sakura who is dealing with an enforced break from blogging.
Some of you may recognize parts of this poem which I have adapted for a change of season and for the quadrille, in which we write a poem of exactly 44 words, which must include the word spice or a variation thereof. Please join us.
My online presence will be a bit scarce for a while. Preparing for wonderful visitors and more…I will check in as I have time, write to prompts, if I’m able, but won’t post them since I will not have time to do much visiting and commenting. I’ll be back as soon as possible.
Late, perhaps, for Kim’s prompt at dVerse Poetics: SHOES (or lack thereof). Within a few minutes of each other I read an article about Harvey that mentioned so many fleeing flood waters were without shoes, and then an ad that became the title of this poem.
shoe markdowns you don’t want to miss
she had no money
she had no shoes
the sign in the washed-
out store mocked her
mocked them all
she held her baby closer
huddled on the flatboat
riding flood waters
into an unknown future
more than she could say
Image: Fox News
Photo: Victoria Slotto
We stand on our deck, face north,
watch Sun rise in the east,
casting shadows on the west
flank of our garden.
This early we don’t need shade,
but shadows from our trees,
ash, maple and cherry,
practice for evening hours
when we shall yearn for shelter.
Before he sets, Sun flings
his fiery rays toward us.
Tomatoes bask in warmth,
begin to form fruit around
their fragile yellow blossoms.
Magenta lobes of the eggplant
dangle like pendulous breasts.
For our part, we unwind. Sun,
breaks through leafy branches,
casts rays through sweating glasses
of tawny chardonnay or ruddy merlot.
In the embracing shade of her boughs
I turn toward you. We watch as
Sun sighs, pulls a blanket of clouds
around his shoulders and hurls
himself over the horizon.
Photo: Victoria Slotto
Please join us at dVerse Poetics, where Lillian has us considering SHADE. And don’t forget the Haibun prompt, WABI-SABI, is open all week.
Photo: Victoria Slotto
Ash Tree, Barren
The ash tree that we planted, probably twenty years past, flourished until a few years ago. She not only offered the loveliness of her leaf-laden branches, she protected us from late afternoon sun and winds that howl from the west through Sierra Nevada’s Donner Pass. In autumn, she sheds dazzling gilt foliage and in spring an eruption of lime green buds poke out of her apparently dead branches.
A couple of years ago, after five years of severe drought, many of the branches failed to show growth. The dire shortage of rain, coupled with water restrictions, took their toll. This year, we had dead limbs removed and our tree is spouting out limbs from the places you would least expect.
harsh summers take toll
water, source of leaf-life, fails
on dead branch finch sings
This week I’m hosting dVerse Haibun Monday. The theme is Wabi-Sabi: the Japanese concept of imperfect beauty. To learn more please head over to dVerse, read the prompt and links offered, and add a poem of your own. Have a blessed week. The link will be open till Saturday.
Photo: Jim Kennedy via Flickr
This week I am hosting the Quadrille Prompt at dVerse Poets. I am asking for a poem of exactly 44 words, not including the Title, that includes the word FEAR. Remember, the prompt is open all week, so, hopefully, you will join us.
Frissons of fear ripple through shadowy woods,
tiny creatures scurry,
huddle ‘neath rocks and shrubs.
Full moon breaks through scattered clouds,
outlines the silhouette of dying
in pewter skies.
I remember the spill of blood in snow—
crimson drops. Mournful