Feeds:
Posts
Comments

haiku 4 (one-a-day) Meets renga 52

IMG02720-20100427-0953.jpg

Forgotten Winter Snows, BlackBerry Shots, Brooklyn Center, Minnesota, April 2010, photo © 2010-2011 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.



New Beginnings, New Moon. It’s a good time to start projects and yearly practices. The tradition of haiku on red Ravine began in January 2008 with the piece haiku (one-a-day). It is a practice born from reading Clark Strand’s Seeds from a Birch Tree: Writing Haiku and the Spiritual Journey during a year-long Writing Intensive with Natalie Goldberg in Taos, New Mexico. The response from our readers was so great, that we continued the practice with haiku 2 (one-a-day), adding the poetic forms of tanka and renga, and creating a community haiku practice that would span two years.

Thanks to our faithful readers and haiku poets, January 2011 will jump-start our 4th year of haiku practice on red Ravine. haiku 4 (one-a-day) granted me the opportunity to do further research on the history of Japanese poetry and led me to the forms of gogyohko, haibun, and haiga. This year’s challenge is to continue to co-create and build on the poems of other haiku writers with tanka and renga, while exploring the additional forms of gogyohko, haibun, and haiga. [Note: For our new readers, I am reposting information on haiku, senryu, tanka, and renga. For the three new forms, scroll down to gogyohko. Makes the post lengthy, but worthy of a whole year of poetry!]

Along with haiku practice in 2011, I’m doing two collaborations with A~Lotus, one which we call Renga 52. (The other is a BlackBerry 52 practice which I will write about later.) In Renga 52, we are going to keep one renga going in the comments on this post for the entire 52 weeks of 2011. We will each add to Renga 52 at least once a week. You are welcome to participate. Simply jump into Renga 52 in the comment section anytime you wish. Here’s to health and prosperity in the coming year!



haiku & senryu (part one)


Haiku uses simple, direct language, words that evoke a season, and usually incorporates a cutting or pivot word, so that one half of a haiku seems to speak to the other. According to Patterns In Poetry, haiku is closely tied to the Japanese aesthetic of Yugen and the spirituality of Buddhism. It is written in a 17-syllable form (usually three lines of 5-7-5) that looks deceptively simple. Yet if you read the work of the masters like Basho, Buson, and Issa, wandering poets who lived during Japan’s Edo-period (1600-1868), it becomes clear that the practice of haiku can take years to master.

Senryu is similar to haiku but strays from seasonal or nature themes. According to Simply Haiku, senryu focuses on people and portrays characteristics of human beings and foibles, and the psychology of the human mind. Senryu can express human misfortunes or the hardships of humanity, and even when they depict living things or inanimate objects, human attributes are emphasized.

What both haiku and senryu have in common is that they derive from a form of Japanese court poetry called tanka.


Characteristics of haiku:

  • 17 syllables, 3 lines (with variations for language differences)
  • Simple, direct, non-metaphorical language
  • Captures a transitory insight or moment in time called satori or the aha moment
  • Contains a kigo, an image of nature that evokes a particular season
  • Contains a cutting or pivot word that turns the movement of the poem
  • Based on experience, speaks of the common, in the moment, just as it is



tanka (part two)


Tanka, the oldest Japanese poetry form, was often written to explore religious or courtly themes and had a structure of five lines with a 5-7-5-7-7 syllable structure. One person would contribute the first three lines (5-7-5) of the tanka, and a different author would complete the poem by composing a 7-7 section and adding a pivot point such as in this tanka from George Knox at Aha! Poetry:


in the check-out line
a worn face ahead of me
turns tentatively. . .
realities of desire
fade in final reckoning

-tanka by George Knox


Characteristics of tanka:

  • 31 syllables, 5 lines
  • Write the first section of a tanka (5-7-5), similar to a haiku.
  • Another person picks up the first 3 lines and writes a response (or continuation) by composing two lines of 7-7 syllables.
  • Can reflect nature or lean toward senryu
  • Emotional, contemplative, imaginative, reflective, written to be chanted



renga (part three)


Renga (linked elegance) is a form of linked poetry which evolved from tanka, the oldest Japanese poetry form. In renga’s 800 year history it has gone through many ideological changes. (And it was Basho who, after 500 years, snipped off the first three lines of renga to form haiku.)

In renga, one person would often contribute the first three lines (5-7-5) of the poetic chain and a different author would complete the chain by composing a 7-7 section. Then another author would build on the previous 7-7, with another 5-7-5 passage. This chaining of verses or renga, could sometimes add up to hundreds of linked tanka.

The first part of the poem, called hokku or “starting verse,” frequently sets the tone for the rest of the poem, and the authors of hokku often earned the respect and admiration of their fellow poets. By the 19th century, largely through the work of Masaoka Shiki, hokku began to be written and read as individual poems. From the word hokku derives our word haiku.


Characteristics of renga:

  • Write the first section of a tanka (5-7-5), similar to a haiku. Hand this poem to another person.
  • Second person writes a response (or continuation) by composing two lines of 7-7 syllables. Then the second person hands off the completed tanka to a third person.
  • Third person writes another 3 lines of (5-7-5), beginning a new tanka
  • Continue in this way until you run out of time or feel that the poem is complete.
  • Contains a bridge or pivot point that links to the emotional element
  • Don’t try to force the storyline. When writing a response to the previous poem, focus only on the last section of the tanka, not the whole poem.
  • Think of each stanza as a springboard from which you are going to jump. The important thing to watch is what happens between the links.



_______________________________________________________



gogyohka (part four)


Gogyohka is a relatively new form of Japanese short poetry founded and pioneered by Japanese poet Enta Kusakabe. In 1957, at the age of 19, Kusakabe developed the concept of Gogyohka in order to create a freer form of verse. According to his website, The Gogyohka Society, gogyohka is pronounced go-gee-yoh-kuh (the “g”s are hard as in “good”), and literally translated means “five line poem.”

Gogyohka is five lines of free verse on any subject matter. There is no set syllable pattern or requirement for the length of its lines, but they should be short and succinct  — governed by the duration of a single breath. The goal is to practice self-reflection and contemplation by distilling an idea, observation, feeling, memory, or experience into just a few words. I am new to the form, but here is an example by Rodlyn Douglas at The Gogyohka Society:


Have you loved enough
to know the taste
of blood on the tongue
of one who has been bitten
by betrayal?

-gogyohka by Rodlyn Douglas


Characteristics of gogyohka:

  • 5 lines of free verse
  • No set syllable pattern
  • Short & succinct lines, governed by the duration of a single breath
  • Captures an idea, memory, observation or feeling in a few compelling words



haibun (part five)


Contemporary haibun is a combination of prose and haiku poetry sometimes described as a narrative of epiphany. What makes the haibun electric is the contrast between the prose and the haiku. According to The Haiku Society of America, haibun is a terse, short prose poem in the haikai style, which may include light humor as well as more serious elements. A haibun usually ends with a haiku. Most haibun range from well under 100 words to 200 or 300. Longer haibun may contain haiku interspersed between sections of prose, but the connections may not be immediately obvious. The haiku may serve to deepen the tone, or take the work in a new direction.

Japanese haibun is thought to have developed from brief notes written to introduce individual haiku, but soon grew into a distinct genre. The word haibun can be applied to longer works, such as the memoirs, diaries, or travel writings of haiku poets. According to Contemporary Haibun Online, haibun is the Japanese name for 17th Century monk Basho Matsuo’s travel journals. Basho’s view of haibun was haikai no bunsho – “writing in the style of haiku.” His best-known works, The Narrow Road to the Deep North and The Hut of the Phantom Dwelling, were poetic prose, studded with haiku. Saga Nikki (Saga Diary) documents the day-to-day activities on a summer retreat with his disciples. Here is a contemporary example of a beautiful haibun from Contemporary Haibun:


By The Bay

Dusk turns the water into a fire opal.
The fragrance of fresh earth merges
in the air with white flowers.

Waves seem to whisper through the
western windows of the cabin my grand-
father built for my grandmother.

“Love poems” she once told me.

As I hold you in the dark, I recall her
wistful sighs on the porch, rocking to
the rhythm of the sea.

summer dawn –
I rinse the sand
from the sheets

-haibun by Hortensia Anderson


Characteristics of haibun:

  • Combines prose & haiku
  • Written with the brevity & conciseness of haiku
  • Dependent on images, syntax dominated by imagery
  • Combines light humor & serious elements
  • Ranges from less than 100, up to 300 words
  • Usually ends in a haiku



haiga (part six)


Haiga (Hai means comic and Ga means painting) is a style of Japanese painting based on the aesthetics of haikai, from which haiku poetry derives. Traditionally, haiga combined a haiku poem (written in calligraphy) with a simple painting and was based on simple, but profound, observations of the everyday world. In Haiga: Haiku, Calligraphy, & Painting, Poets.org describes traditional haiga as haiku’s more visual cousin. Some of the early masters were Morikawa Kyoroku, Sakaki Hyakusen, Takebe Socho, and Yosa Buson. Contemporary haiga often adds digital imagery to haiku poetry by the juxtaposition of a photograph to a poem. Or by overlaying the poem on to the image. As we have found on red Ravine, there is a natural inclination to combine haiku poetry forms and digital photography. At Daily Haiga, you can see examples of blended poetry and photography.


Characteristics of haiga:

  • Combines haiku & a simple painting, photograph, piece of art
  • Images restrained, minimal ink strokes, light colors
  • Free flowing with no unnecessary detail
  • Light, ironic, amusing, even when subject is serious
  • Unromantic, down to earth, humorous
  • Ordinary, day-to-day subjects and objects



_______________________________________________________



haiku practice


Feel free to drop a haiku into this space anytime, day or night. Or join the word play and collaborative effort of tanka and renga. I’m excited to explore the 5-line form of gogyohka, and have already started writing haibun in my Journal 365 practice this year. I thought it would be fun to continue to explore these ancient forms of Japanese poetry, and see where the journey takes us.

Also, it’s okay to experiment, break form, and move out of the traditional structures. English syllables translate differently than onji. And according to Richard MacDonald (from his essay What is Tanka?), Japanese poetry is syllabic by nature and not metrical or rhymed, because like the French language, the Japanese language lacks stress accents.

There are different schools of thought about how rigid one should be in counting syllables. From what I have read, it is a matter of personal taste whether to stay close to the Japanese model, or stray from it for personal reasons or aesthetics in order to incorporate Western heritage into poetic work. The most important thing is to relax and have fun with it!


Option 1 – haiku

  • Drop in a haiku or senryu, 17 syllables, 3 lines (with variations for language differences)

Option 2 – tanka

  • Grab another poet’s haiku, and write the 2 additional 7 syllable lines to create a tanka

Option 3 – renga

  • Grab a tanka created by 2 other poets, and, focusing on the last 2 lines, start the beginning of a new tanka (5-7-5) to be completed by the next poet

Option 4 – gogyohka

  • Write a gogyohka, 5 lines of free verse, governed by the length of a single breath, no set syllable patterns

Option 5 – haibun

  • Write a haibun, combining prose & haiku, less than 100 – 300 words, ends in haiku

Option 6 – haiga

  • Drop in a link to a haiga you created, blending or juxtaposing a haiku with painting, photo, or any form of visual art


IMG02715-20100427-0950.jpgIMG02715-20100427-0950.jpgIMG02715-20100427-0950.jpg



DEFINITIONS:


bridgeword, or words leading the reader from the nature image to the statement of emotion

cutting (kireji) Punctuation mark or word that divides a haiku into two parts. A cutting can be a hyphen, ellipses, colon or a word.

gogyohka5 lines of free verse on any subject matter, each line the length of one breath, no set syllable pattern

haibunterse, relatively short prose poem (100-300 words) in the haikai style, usually including both lightly humorous and more serious elements, ending with a haiku.

haigacombining a haiku poem (written in calligraphy) with a simple painting. Contemporary haiga combines digital imagery, photographs, other art forms with haiku.

haikaishort for haikai no renga, the popular style of Japanese linked verse originating in the 16 Century, as opposed to the earlier aristocratic renga. In both Japanese and English, the word haikai can also refer to all haiku-related literature.

hokkufirst part of a renga, hokku is a “starting verse” that frequently sets the tone for the rest of the poem. Authors of hokku earned the respect and admiration of their fellow poets. By the 19th century, largely through the work of Masaoka Shiki, hokku began to be written and read as individual poems. From the word hokku derives our word haiku.

kigoA seasonal reference in haiku. Usually a kigo has accumulated resonances and associations with earlier haiku and Japanese aesthetics about time.

onji Japanese syllables. The language differences between Japanese and English are vast and complex. Converting onji to syllables may not always be a one for one process.

pivot word A word in a haiku poem that changes, or turns the direction of the poem

rengaJapanese poetic form made up of linked tanka verse; the word renga means “linked elegance”

satori A moment of insight or reflection that emerges in a Haiku poem (usually around the cutting or pivot word)

tanka Japanese poetic form that is made up of 5 lines with a 5-7-5-7-7 syllable count. Haiku derives from tanka.

yugenJapanese term for beauty that suggests mystery, depth and a tinge of sadness


RESOURCES USED IN WRITING THIS PIECE:



-posted on red Ravine at the first New Moon, Wednesday, January 5th, 2011

502 Responses

  1. new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web

    *NOTE: this is the hokku (“starting verse,” frequently sets the tone for the rest of the poem) for RENGA 52 Practice 2011 – A~Lotus, QuoinMonkey, & our red Ravine readers keep a Renga going for the 12 months of 2011. A~Lotus and QM commit to add to RENGA 52 at least once a week for a year.

    Like


  2. i will jump in and
    hopefully make a splash
    ambitious QM!

    Like


  3. Water sprays the room
    As I dive into the pool
    of writing haiku.

    Like


  4. Wiping tears away
    or was it water spraying
    from the ocean waves.

    Like


  5. Teresa Williams posted this in the haiku 2 post this morning. I’m so excited for our first gogyohka on red Ravine, I have to re-post it.

    From Teresa:

    Here is my first shot at the gogyohka:

    What is this sadness
    about the loss of sadness
    when you wake up
    with a feeling of sun
    and miss the rain?

    Like


  6. ah, my haiku friends
    sharing the journey with you
    is like coming home.

    Like


  7. You amaze me, QM, with your patience in learning so much, documenting it for the rest of us, and teaching us all. I think I’m going to like gogyohka. I like that it keeps a light yet freeing structure. Here is my attempt at one:

    i’m in the mood to be free
    to color outside the lines
    my eyes say the tree is green
    but my heart sees purple leaves
    and my hand is connected to my heart

    Like


  8. Nice, ybonesy. And thank you. I’m really drawn to gogyohka, too. Freestylin’, no rules to speak of. That reminds me, I’ve got to go do my journal practice for the day. Maybe I’ll end with gogyohka. It’s a cool website, too, The Gogyohka Society. I was happy to learn about the creator of gogyohka, Enta Kusakabe. Good to talk to you tonight, yb. Here’s my first in the Ravine:

    ___________

    i’d love to stay up all night
    build on foundations that keep me running wild
    below the surface, volcanoes bubble
    tectonic plates, diverging & converging
    fissures in the Earth’s crust cannot be held back.

    Like


  9. Yes, many people find the gogyohka a much freer and easier form to write than the tanka. You can check out this forum/site with many talented poets who’ve become much more at home with the gogyohka. 8)

    http://gogyohka.ning.com/

    I’m on there myself but not as much as I’d like to! Enta is on there as well. It’s a very close knit community.

    Like


  10. new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    (hope that’s ok!)

    Like


  11. 3 haiku and 3 tanka by Alan Summers

    sky shift   
    a Chinese lantern 空の変化 中国のランタン 月を打つ
    hits the moon

    haiku by Alan Summers
    Japanese translation Hidenori Hiruta
    International Haiku New Year’s Festival 2011 (Akita, Japan)

    rook chatter
    tracking each snowflake
    to the end

    Asahi Shimbun (2010)

    the rain
    almost a friend
    this funeral

    Azami haiku magazine Osaka, Japan No.28 (1995)
    The New Haiku, Snapshot Press ISBN 1-903543-03-7 (2002)

    3 Tanka

    sometimes
    before falling in love
    with my wife
    again and again
    the cries of swifts

    Blithe Spirit September 2010
    volume 20 number 3
    issn 1353-3320

    a small death
    the cracked shell
    of a snail
    now this delay
    at the train station

    Blithe Spirit vol. 20 no. 4 December 2010

    asthma attack–
    pulling her outside
    away from friends
    her breathing steadies
    while my own trembles

    Presence ISSN 1366-5367 (2011)

    all my best,
    Alan, With Words

    Like


  12. Happy New Haiku Year! Thanks QM for a fresh start and for the information and inspiration to play with new forms. I am still hopelessly in love with simple, dumb haiku.

    feeling great relief
    while hauling trash out to curb
    finally … no wind

    Like


  13. @Alan: Lovely to see you here! As always, I enjoy your work immensely. My favorite haiku is “the rain” and favorite tanka is “a small death”; both are profound though sad.

    @breathepeace: Haiku is not “dumb” at all! In fact, it’s oftentimes difficult to write! There is nothing wrong with being hopelessly in love with a form. 8) I’m happy you love it so much!

    Like


  14. new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs

    Like


  15. Thanks A~Lotus for liking those two poems in particular, as many people avoid using tough subjects of death etc…

    I’ve just received an Honourary Mention in the 14th Mainichi Haiku Contest (Japan) and it’s not easy achieving an authentic haiku using the 575 pattern in English.

    It might be phonemes in ‘stopped’ but it’s a single syllable word, which helps prove why so few successful haiku can be written in 575 English-language syllables.

    The word ‘stopped’ in Japanese sound units be at least 4 ‘on’ or ‘moji’.

    another hot day
    a leaking water pipe stopped
    by the jackdaw’s beak

    Alan Summers
    Honourable Mention, 14th Mainichi Haiku Contest (2010)

    Like


  16. Alan, thank you so much for stopping by and dropping in your poetry. Beautiful. I’m happy to learn from those who have been at it much, much longer than I have. Congrats on your recent Honourable Mention. I’m posting a link to the short history section of your site: A Brief History of English Language Haiku (LINK).

    I have been delighted over the years since we have been doing this haiku practice on red Ravine to learn about all the different writers who fell in love with the form. Here are links to a few of our older posts:

    Kerouac Does Haiku (& Other Tales From On The Road) (LINK)

    Richard Wright – 810 Haiku (LINK)

    Hope you will continue to visit. Thanks again for stopping by.

    Like


  17. A~Lotus, thanks for posting the hokku (“starting verse,” frequently sets the tone for the rest of the poem) for our RENGA 52 collaboration for 2011. (LINK to the hokku for RENGA 52). And annieoakcake jumped in as well!

    I hope others will join us as A~Lotus and I keep a renga going for the whole 12 months of 2011. We’ll each add to RENGA 52 at least once a week.

    _____________

    RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    Like


  18. Oh, QM and A~Lotus, I jumped in without reading the instructions properly! I’m so sorry, I just noticed it was a Renga collaboration… a lesson to be learned there, somewhere!

    Like


  19. annieoakcake, I’m so glad you jumped into RENGA 52. We want readers to join in with the year-long Renga 52 practice. BTW, I had not made it clear in the comments section yet at the time you added your pieces. So you did absolutely nothing wrong! No worries. It’s community poetry!

    ____________

    late night restlessness
    morning sweeps air, -6
    snow pack gleams, crunches

    Like


  20. @Alan: I know death well after having experienced so many loved ones and friends passing away in a short period of time, but it never gets any easier. What I learned though is to accept it in humor and as a natural part of life. We have to be reminded that it is inevitable, but our society makes us fear or ignore it…

    Congratulations for the honorable mention! :) That is an honor. Thanks for sharing your poetry with us.

    Like


  21. @annieoakcake: Echoing QM’s words, feel free to join our renga! We definitely want our readers to jump in at anytime! 8) That’s why I continued our renga. It fits nicely.

    Like


  22. Didn’t think I would ever get into writing my first haibun of the year! Did it finally! Woohoo! It is also a small stone written for http://ariverofstones.blogspot.com/.

    Please enjoy!

    Haibun – http://alotus-poetry.livejournal.com/101169.html

    Like


  23. Lotus, love the haibun. Grounded and beautiful. Thanks for the link. I worked on a short BlackBerry 52 post for red Ravine tonight, but may not get it completed until tomorrow. I have been working on finishing up my sketchbook for the Art House Co-op Sketchbook Project. It’s got to be postmarked this week. Tied up some loose ends for red Ravine this morning. Don’t know where the weekend went! Time to hit the hay. Oh, wanted to mention…you were talking about loss. I’m still reeling from the shootings in AZ. And then heard that a friend lost her brother in a hit and run. So much loss all around. So much suffering in the world. I want to believe the joy triumphs.

    _________________

    gogyohka for dreamtime

    all the fuzziness
    circling plastic brain cells
    reignites a fire —
    for every lost, wandering soul
    two angels descend, sprinkling light summer rain

    Like


  24. […] Comments « haiku 4 (one-a-day) Meets renga 52 […]

    Like


  25. A~Lotus — I agree that haiku is not dumb, but I think that to write it well, I must give up any pretense and become a little dumber myself. It is not a bad thing, it’s just slowing way down … enough to see the essence of things.

    dawn breaks with dark sky
    radio details murder
    storm on horizon

    Like


  26. @QM: Yes, thanks for posting my haibun on Twitter as well. :) Wasn’t expecting that!

    Very true how this is so much loss, pain, suffering, and oppression in the world, but underneath all of that, we are all very resilient in our own small ways. Some more so than others, of course. It reminds me of Viktor Frankl’s book called MAN’S SEARCH FOR MEANING. He talks about his experiences, finding a reason and purpose to live when he was in a Nazi concentration camp. In my opinion, it took more than perseverance! I highly recommend this book!

    Oh, yes, I’ve heard about the AZ shootings as well. Very tragic. It reminds me of a few psych patients I’d worked with in the past. That young man should have gotten helped he needed.

    It’s been like that for me lately–how the weekends just disappear so quickly! Wish my weekends were longer. There’s a lot of things I need and want to do and so little time to complete them all! lol

    Hope you a good day!

    Like


  27. @breathepeace Hmm, that’s an interesting way to look at the process of writing haiku, particularly when you mentioned “pretense.” I’m curious as to what you mean by that. For me, the haiku is an objective and ethereal way of looking at things, making something ordinary into extraordinary. :) Yes, haiku does capture the “essence” of things without it being too superfluous or verbose.

    Like


  28. on January 11, 2011 at 2:32 pm ice_demon1946

    My thoughts in a haze/buzz and voices heard in skip pace / the drill penetrate

    hehe that’s my haiku of my recent appointment with the dentist. -_-;

    Like


  29. @QM: Don’t mind starting us off with the hokku. :)

    Also, I hope you all join QM and me in this collaboration! 8)

    ———————————————————

    RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold

    Like


  30. haibun from the middle of a recent sleepless night.

    ___________________
    MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT

    Waves of aftershock hold me hostage.
    Loss, grief, sadness, I try to sleep.
    Talons rise to capture prey,
    feathers flutter across frozen fields.

    Endless possibility feels cold to the touch —
    9/11 child, Harley rider, brother, and judge.
    Connected by history, ravaged by time.

    There is no way to change the past.

    1/11/11
    writing in the dark
    *hawk eats gray squirrel on red snow
    loneliness stuns me.

    ________

    *I witnessed a hawk hunting in a snowy field yesterday. The battle between the hawk & the squirrel was much like it was described between the hawk and the jay in a poem by Galway Kinnell. Natalie read it in one of my silent retreats. Had a big impact on me. Will find the link to the post on redRavine.

    Ah, here is the link to the post I wrote about seeing Galway Kinnell at the Fitzgerald Theater. And his poem about the hawk — “Ode & Elegy.”

    Ode to Galway Kinnell (We Are Not The Poem) (LINK)

    Like


  31. Shooting an arrow
    Into the blue sky it flies
    Are you really there?
    Up, cresting, heading back down
    Arrow aims for which target?

    Like


  32. a stolen moment
    from samsara suffering
    time away from time

    Like


  33. I really appreciate everyone who stops and leaves a poem here. So good for the heart.

    _____________

    RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    Like


  34. the dry winter air
    scares my shallow lungs awake
    a ghost at the door

    Like


  35. on January 14, 2011 at 12:17 pm Teresa Williams

    Angels and devils
    made peace during the cold night
    tree snow-flags waving

    Like


  36. @yb and Teresa! Nice! Looks like we have paranormal/spiritual theme going on here! 8) I enjoyed reading both of your ‘ku.

    Like


  37. […] space, perfect for poetry. So I altered the photo in Adobe Photoshop Elements 6.0 and added text (a haiga) in response to the Jump-Off from A~Lotus — Bamboo Morning (Haiga). I did a lot of photo work […]

    Like


  38. curled
    inside the flower
    the morning star
    and a grasshopper
    with a broken wing

    Like


  39. Some beautiful poetry popping up here. I am loving it. Quiet, thoughtful. A little sad. gogyohka.
    __________

    first days of January
    I notice I am growing older —
    gray squirrel scurries up an oak
    snowy jet stream behind a 747
    skywriting

    Like


  40. RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web

    Like


  41. daylight whispers
    behind bamboo shades
    as I hold on to dreams
    like gossamer threads
    the morning greets me

    Like


  42. @annieoakcake: Lovely gogyohka. Each line is exquisite. I love the sounds of “bamboo shades” and “morning greet[ing] me.” :)

    Like


  43. RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Like


  44. Thank you A~Lotus, it was my first attempt and your comment means a lot. I’m thoroughly enjoying my time here and love reading all the haiku. I’m particularly enjoying the evolving renga52 between you and QM – beautiful!

    Like


  45. @annieoakcake: When I see good work, I always love to inform the poet! :) So, I’m glad you are stopping by more often. I too am enjoying all the various forms we have going around in here. It’s great to sit back and read them all with a cup of tea. It’s like a butterfly unfolding its wings for the first time coming out of the cocoon.

    The RENGA 52 is a yearlong commitment between QM and me, but by all means, feel free to join! After all, you HAVE BEEN COUNTED in our renga since you jumped in! We appreciated the fact that you did add in a couple of lines for it kept the renga going and look at how beautiful it is turning out so far! 8) In the past, I think our record of poets joining in on a renga on red Ravine was like 6 of us, I think it was. We were happy with the results too!

    Like


  46. there is no escape
    driving down snow-lined highway
    from anxiety

    Like


  47. Hi breathpeace. Fun to have you here in this space. 8)

    annieoakcake, I agree with Lotus. Love the gogyohka, the gossamer threads. Please, by all means, jump into the renga we are trying to keep going for the year. Would love for others to jump in. Happy you visit here.

    ____________

    RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow

    Like


  48. RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    Like


  49. Recov’ry Room King
    Whose subjects doth crave ice chips
    His coin of the realm.

    Like


  50. Here’s an old poem of mine that I believe works as gogyokha (after a little adjustment to make sure all is now on five lines).

    Boredom. So I cut my nails.
    I won’t cave into anguish by biting them.
    I am Modern Man!
    I like my insanity pent and dignified
    And sunny-side up.

    Like


  51. under a wolf moon
    alive in the moment
    a mother gives birth
    to nature’s dream
    as the earth smiles

    My gogyohka to Lily :-)

    Like


  52. Robert Morse, you are back! I have missed you. And Walljasper, too. Love the gogyokha and your great sense of humor.

    annieoakcake, beautiful gogyohka to Lily. I can’t stop thinking about the new cubs and Lily & Hope. You’ve inspired me! Another gogyokha for the bears. Thank you.

    __________

    blistering wind tufts edge the den,
    Lily’s strong back against the cold
    gently protects her cubs.
    Call of the Wild, black bears in Minnesota —
    forty below does not keep the world away.

    Like


  53. Here’s a haiga collage I did for the BB 52 Collaboration. It started out as a poem and before I knew it, I was staring at birds all over the page! 8) Enjoy!

    http://alotus-poetry.livejournal.com/105939.html

    Like


  54. Here’s a haiga for today that’s also part of “A River of Stones”/#aros project and for the BB 52 Collaboration’s Jump-Off for this week!

    http://www.flickr.com/photos/alotus_poetry/5385656914/in/set-72157625751147458/

    Like


  55. […] For Stillness (Haiga), BlackBerry 52, 3/52. Week 3 Response, January 22nd 2011, photo © 2011 by A~Lotus. All rights […]

    Like


  56. RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice

    Like


  57. RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    Like


  58. […] Solo (Dragonfly Mandala (Haiga & Collage), 4/52, BlackBerry 52 – WEEK 4, January 30th 2011, photo © 2011 by […]

    Like


  59. Beautiful annieoakcake & Lotus.

    __________

    RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head

    Like


  60. RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    Like


  61. A~Lotus,

    Your beautiful words always make me smile but especially this morning – it’s my birthday today! You know, this really is a magical place to be…

    Over the past few weeks, I have been procrastinating like a mad women trying to decide what to put on my wordpress blog. I had started a blog in November at blogger.com but it was really just bits and pieces of this and that and didn’t really have any structure – I’m not a writer, more of a reader. Anyway, having visited the redRavine, I decided to at least try and and write something more personal about myself and my life. So, on the 17th January, I uploaded a short story of my time in India. I still didn’t think it was good enough to put on my brand spanking new wordpress blog (my insecurities know no bounds!) until I read your beautiful Haiga and your introduction to it. So, thanks to you, my procrastinating days are well and truly over – I realize that everyone has a story to tell :-)

    Like


  62. A~Lotus,

    After reading your Haiga, I closed my eyes and visualized footsteps walking to the center and back – beautiful.

    Like


  63. @annieokcake: Oh, my! What are the odds of that? I think we are all in cosmic tune with each other as of late. That is lovely! HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU, my dear friend! :) Here’s a special haiku for you to celebrate!

    spraying a lilac scent
    on my birthday candles
    a cool breeze

    I am so glad that my words inspire you and make you smile. Yes, I do believe that everyone has a story to tell, especially you. I thank you for telling us your story about your blogging beginnings! I can’t wait to read that further in detail, including your stories of your time in India. 8) Also, thank you so much for your lovely thoughts on my recent haiga. It is much appreciated. I am taking my time responding to everyone’s comments because it helps me grow as a poet. 8) AND thanks for joining us with the renga. It is absolutely BEAUTIFUL so far. Isn’t red Ravine amazing? Because of this wonderful site, I have rediscovered a golden well of my creativity I once thought I’d lost!

    Like


  64. A~Lotus

    Thank you SO much for my lovely haiku. I’ve always wondered what it would be like for someone to dedicate a poem to me – now I know! Been walking around with a smile on my face since I read it :-)

    I’m glad you’ve found your creative soul again, you are a very talented lady…

    Yep, red Ravine truly is amazing and I’m truly glad I found it :-)

    Like


  65. annieoakcake, Happy Birthday! I’m so happy you were inspired to start your blog up again. I just checked out your piece on India, a great story. I remember when ybonesy and I first started writing for red Ravine, we were just as scared. It got better over time. But when we posted our Writing Practices, we still had a tinge of feeling overexposed. Hope you keep going.

    Lotus, thank you for your kind words about red Ravine. And the same to Annieoakcake. I’m glad the two of you met here through community poetry and art. It does my heart good to know that red Ravine feels safe and offers inspiration. That’s sure what our intentions were when we started.

    I feel grateful to have you both on this haiku thread, and visiting our other guests on red Ravine. Especially as I get used to trying to navigate solo; it’s so helpful to have the support! Thank you.

    ___________

    temperature dips
    in tune with the Winter Wind
    two-steps into Spring

    Like


  66. Thank you, QM. I had a small party tonight to celebrate my birthday (kids couldn’t manage yesterday). They played their guitars, my husband played the piano and I sang out of tune – I had a rare old time (usually, they don’t encourage me to sing…)

    I greatly enjoy being part of this wonderful community and appreciate your kind encouragement re my blog. A~Lotus is such an inspiration to me as well, I’m so glad I met her.

    Going to bed now; feeling very tipsy and very happy :-)

    Like


  67. on February 3, 2011 at 9:19 am teresa williams

    I wanted to do the gogyohka form for the 5 hindrances to wholesome mind states as talked about in buddhism. Here is the first one. They will all go under the heading of Wise Effort. Would love to see if others have their versions of Craving…..

    Wise Effort

    I – Craving

    You will know it when it comes:

    a seduction disguised as an oasis

    scent of coconuts by the sea,

    inhale, sweetness

    exhale, Forever and More.

    Like


  68. @annieokcake: I’m so thrilled to know you kept my haiku close to heart. I love writing personal poems for people, especially when it comes to birthdays. For instance, I tend to go for blank birthday cards so I can write and draw, etc. on them. Keep smiling! It looks like you’ve enjoyed your birthday, particularly with the singing! ;) It’s good to be out of your skin or do something wild/different every so once in a while. I am glad to have met you here as well and look forward to reading more of your gogyohka. 8)

    @QM: I can’t remember–how long has it been since I’ve been here on red Ravine? I know it’s been a long time. It is very comforting whenever I stop by here and see all the fabulous adventures through your posts as well as Yb’s. I love supporting you and Yb as well as our guests and everyone else who’s new to red Ravine. 8) It’s amazing to see the amount of talent and skill blooming every day. Just like misery loves company, creativity and inspiration love community. 8)

    @Teresa: That’s an interesting gogyohka. I really like “a seduction disguised as an oasis” line–a seductive(!) description of what a craving is. I could here it like some waterfall drawing a thirsty person to it. I’m going to have to think about writing a gogyohka for craving. This should be fascinating!

    Like


  69. Teresa,

    This really isn’t a ‘Wise Effort’ but I just recently discovered google translator and I thought it would be fun :-)

    Craving

    cioccolato, chocolad, chokola
    txokolate and tsokolate
    sjokolade, siocled, sukkuladi
    шакалад and σοκολάτα
    chocolate by any other name…

    Like


  70. on February 4, 2011 at 8:52 am teresa williams

    annieoakake,

    I love it! Well, maybe by writing it out in all those languages, you resisted eating it for just a few minutes longer than you would have otherwise!

    Here is the next one:

    Wise Effort

    II – Aversion

    Refusal to unmask
    the rebel
    fighting against
    the setting sun.
    Lighten Up!

    Like


  71. RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”

    Like


  72. on February 5, 2011 at 10:26 am teresa williams

    Continuing with my series of gogyoka’s on the mental afflictions.

    Wise Effort

    III – Restlessness

    When my attention

    is Manhattan

    jumping from skyscraper

    to skyscraper, without

    landing.

    Like


  73. on February 5, 2011 at 10:37 am teresa williams

    Adding to the renga:

    RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    Like


  74. Teresa, I love that you are doing a series of gogyohka on the 5 hindrances:

    I wanted to do the gogyohka form for the 5 hindrances to wholesome mind states as talked about in buddhism. Here is the first one. They will all go under the heading of Wise Effort. Would love to see if others have their versions of Craving…..

    Hope you don’t mind, but I went back into the comments, added and bolded the Wise Effort where poets are responding to your series. That way we can all track it over the course of the year, the way we are tracking Renga 52 in bold. It really helps to be able to pick these comments out later on. I think I’ll join in!

    ___________

    Wise Effort

    I – Craving

    Salt leans to sweet,
    sweet taps at the brine-filled heart.
    I want what I cannot have
    until deliverance leaves me empty —
    and craving no longer clings.

    Like


  75. on February 5, 2011 at 11:26 pm teresa williams

    QuionMonkey

    That’s great, I will try to remember to do it on the next one. Glad others are inspired. I love the last line, “and craving no longer clings”. Craving really does become its own entity, as if the “I” is no longer directing it or has any control when it takes over.

    Like


  76. once the turquoise sky in my life
    this grandmotherly neighbor
    who always wore a pin
    of fresh white roses on her ao dai
    now cannot recognize me

    Like


  77. Lotus, I know your poetry is not always about what’s happening in your own life. But that last gogyohka seemed so sad. And beautiful at the same time.

    Teresa, so happy you are joining the Renga 52. I’m excited to see what we have at the end of the year. Fun to participate in your Wise Effort Series, too. Community poetry is exhilarating. The spark to keep going.

    Like


  78. A~Lotus,

    Your gogyohka touched me deeply. My mum has Alzheimers and is, yet again, back in hospital having her medication assessed. This whole situation has caused a deep rift between me and my two elder sisters…

    Life is feeling very strange and surreal to me at the moment…

    Like


  79. on February 7, 2011 at 11:23 am teresa williams

    Last night I saw the movie Biutiful (profound and intense), and one of the previews was for a movie called, “Poetry”, a film about a Japanese woman with Alzheimers and her growing interest in becoming a poet. I don’t think it is out yet, but put it on your list, as it looked very moving.

    Wise Effort

    IV – Lethargy

    A black hazy movie
    caught in a thought-web,
    Breathing in, I see it
    Breathing out, I let it go,
    a tiny web in the wind.

    Like


  80. @QM: Most of the time, my poetry is half-autobiography & half-fiction. I’m glad you enjoyed my gogyohka. In this one particular, it’s partly true minus the fact that she uses fresh white roses (but silk ones instead) and that she doesn’t recognize me (which may or may not be true). I haven’t seen her for years. Last I heard of her, she’s at a nursing home. I would love to visit her. She’s well over her 90’s now, but I’d always loved and respected her as a second grandmother. :)

    I’m happy to seen the flow of the Renga 52. Very exciting! I’m trying to get into the Wise Effort series, but I find it difficult to start though for whatever reason. Maybe I’ll try again during my downtime months. I love community poetry too. 8)

    @annieokcake: I shall pray for your mother and your family. I can’t imagine all the stress and burden you all are going through. It must be difficult, but stay strong. If it helps, journal your thoughts or write free-flow poems. In the past, it has helped me stay grounded and to not let my emotions take control of me when I’m dealing with such heartbreaking, stressful situations. It is normal to feel “very strange and surreal.” I will pray for each and every one of you. I’m glad my gogyohka resonated with you.

    @Teresa: I am very interested in both of those movies you speak of. Independent films are always high on my to-watch list. Thank you for telling us! Also, I’m enjoying your Wise Effort series. I can’t seem to write one yet after several tries. Would you mind suggesting a link where it briefly discusses the Wise Efforts? Maybe if I get more acquainted with (and a bit more on Buddhism), it might help me write this series, because I love trying everything! :)

    Like


  81. Addendum for Teresa: I forgot to mention that I really enjoyed your recent Wise Effort; it’s my favorite one so far (“Lethargy”).

    Like


  82. Thank you Lotus, we sure could do with some prayers right now…

    I’ve thought about keeping a journal, but I’m scared it would reveal too much and I would never be able to forgive my sisters – I’m finding it very difficult to be objective right now.

    I will try poetry, though. I’ve discovered it can be relaxing and it calms me down. So, thanks again for introducing me to it, I really do appreciate being part of this community.

    Like


  83. Teresa,

    I will keep an eye open for the film you suggested too. Although my mum’s memory is deteriorating rapidly, she still loves singing and reciting old poetry – and she rarely forgets a word!

    I love reading your Wise Effort series. I went about all day yesterday thinking about ‘a tiny web in the wind’ – such a beautiful line. I also loved ‘the hum of friends, invisible’ in the Renga 52. That rings so true for me right now, thank you.

    Like


  84. my soul observes
    as we sing songs
    of robert burns
    and vera lynne
    blue birds and fond kisses

    Like


  85. on February 9, 2011 at 10:00 am teresa williams

    Here is the last of the five hindrances. So, for those interested, Wise Effort is part of the eightfold path, a selection of teachings and practices for working with emotional reactivity and habitual patterns of behavior. The five hindrances arise in each of us and cause us to have some sort of affliction or agitation and prevent us from experiencing contentment. The wise effort essentially comes from increasing awareness of these states and applying some sort of antidote, like naming it, seeing it, doing something else. I think if you just google (Wise effort or The Five Hindrances in Buddhism) you will find a lot of different sites explaining.

    Wise Effort

    V – Doubt

    Sitting inside a storm of questions
    fear disguised as a cloud
    quickly, I name it,
    lightening flashes,
    now the sky turning blue.

    Like


  86. Wise Effort

    III Restlessness

    buying into obstacles
    afraid of being still
    clouds obscure my path
    let them rise, be, pass
    my tiger tamed

    Like


  87. RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?

    Like


  88. @annieokcake: Still praying for peace for you and your family. I just want to let you know that there are a lot of online journals nowadays where you could customize the settings to private journal entries or even entries that require a password, so that no one has access to them but you or a select few.

    I think during this time, poetry is good for you. It is not only calming you but is also keeping you in check with your emotions and thoughts, and that is important, especially if you’re going through a difficult time.

    I find it that you have found your niche in writing the gogyohka.

    “my soul observes
    as we sing songs
    of robert burns
    and vera lynne
    blue birds and fond kisses”

    This is beautiful on many layers. I can see the duality and at the same time the connection of the body and soul. The physical world is stressed in this poem, yet the soulful world tries to understand and even analyze what’s going on in the physical world, which we have yet to discover.

    Keep writing, dear Annie. I never knew how much writing was my therapy and sanity until I embraced it because I finally understood (a couple of years ago) how much writing defines me–it is my soul, my heart, my mind.

    Like


  89. @Teresa: Thank you so much for explaining the hindrances. Now it makes much more sense to me to write the Wise Effort series. I’m going to try it knowing what direction to take now! Thanks! 8)

    Like


  90. RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    Like


  91. RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud

    Like


  92. on February 15, 2011 at 8:52 am teresa williams

    Adding to the renga:

    tucking in
    and abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    Like


  93. on February 15, 2011 at 8:53 am teresa williams

    A sort of haiku from my Valentine evening last night.

    Winter kayak tour:

    chocolates and champagne
    followed by
    the evening rain.

    Like


  94. RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning

    Like


  95. […] Warm Game Of Texas Hold ‘Em (Haiga) – 6/52, BlackBerry 52 – WEEK 6, Golden Valley, Minnesota, February 11th 2011, photo © […]

    Like


  96. A~Lotus,

    You really are a wise Angel in disguise – thank you for being there :-)

    I’ve been very busy over the last few days with one thing and another. However, I did manage to visit Samye Ling (Buddhist Centre) and tie a ribbon for Annie and my mum on the clootie tree. It’s such a beautiful place and chosen by the Riponches because it was sacred to the Old Scots – built by the banks where the two rivers meet (the Esk and the Muir) and even has it’s own ‘Fairy Hill’ :-) It gladens the heart, especially in this day and age, to see two cultures come together…

    I’m now off to try and ‘jump in’ to the Renga… I truly enjoy being here :-)

    Like


  97. RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    QM,

    Your Swans reminded me of an old scottish lulluby I used to sing to my kids, ‘Dream Angus’, who was the Celtic god of dreams, poetry and love. Angus was in love with Caer who spent part of the year as a swan. He was told he could marry her if he was able to identify her as a swan. Angus succeeded and turned himself into a swan so he could join her. They flew away together, singing beautiful music that lulled its listeners to sleep :-)

    Like


  98. Oops, it’s ‘lullaby’! My spelling reely is atroshus :-)

    Like


  99. annieoakcake, I love your Celtic roots! And the stories you tell. Your comments are always so rich with mythology. This is pretty cool: Your Swans reminded me of an old scottish lulluby I used to sing to my kids, ‘Dream Angus’, who was the Celtic god of dreams, poetry and love. Angus was in love with Caer who spent part of the year as a swan. He was told he could marry her if he was able to identify her as a swan. Angus succeeded and turned himself into a swan so he could join her. They flew away together, singing beautiful music that lulled its listeners to sleep.

    I should tell you that we are going to see the Trumpeter Swans in Monticello, Minnesota with our BearHead friends this Saturday! These are people we met online through following Lily & Hope & now the new cubs. We’ve only seen them in person a couple of times. We are all meeting at a restaurant and heading over to see the swans. I’m so excited. One of my favorite experiences ever was going to see the migration of the Sandhill Cranes over the Platte River in our state of Nebraska. Liz and I are talking about doing that again sometime soon. If I get a few good photographs of the swans this weekend, I’ll do a short post! BTW, I really like your poetry.

    ________________


    RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love

    Like


  100. Thank you, QM. I know I’ve said it before, but I really do enjoy being part of this community – I feel so at home :-) I never thought, in my wildest dreams, that I’d ever write poetry. It’s all down to A~Lotus and her gentle encouragement; she really is a wise little bird :-)

    When I was a child, I used to go bird watching with my dad (well, he fished and I twitched). I could still spend a whole day watching them if I had the time. My husband and I used to have a walled garden (we ran an organic nursery) and through the door in the wall was a small loch (the first steamship ever was launched there!) where Bewick swans would come for the winter. There were also two beautiful Mute swans that used to breed there every spring. Swans mate for life and really are such devoted parents. My kids used to love watching them hitch a ride on their parents backs :-) Also, during spring time, two otters would come up from the River Nith to mate on the small island in the middle of the loch. I used to take a small pot of honey or jam with me to dip Iona’s dummy in (to keep her happy) while we observed the ‘Otter Family’. My husband used to say, ‘Yer gonnae rot that bairn’s teeth…’ Luckily, I didn’t, she has beautiful teeth :-)

    I hope you have a fantastic time with ‘your’ Swans and PLEASE post the pictures!

    Like


  101. RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    Like


  102. ~body~trees~houses~
    if nothing resisted it
    would wind make a sound?

    Like


  103. A great story, annieoakcake. How wonderful to watch the swans ride on the backs of their parents. Amazing. I love otters, too. We have river otters here in Minnesota; they are so playful. It looks partly cloudy as we get ready to head off to see the swans. And after almost 50 degrees last week, it’s only 10 this morning and windy. We are going to bundle up! I’ll let you know how it goes with the swans. Last night was a Full Moon. If it clears up, we might be driving back in the moonlight!

    ________

    fickle winter wind
    swoops down from the Northern Lights
    brushes past my cheek

    Like


  104. Lovely renga we have so far, everyone! 8) Will be busy ’til after Tuesday. Will respond to everyone then.

    Love, peace & blessings,

    Lotus
    —————————————————————-

    RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon

    Like


  105. RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    Like


  106. RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers

    Like


  107. RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    Like


  108. @annieoakcake: You are such a sweet angel yourself! I was just going back and catching up with our wonderful conversations on here. Can you believe how this haiku page has grown in depth? :) It is the community and friendship that make red Ravine such a refuge and among other things, so yes, we will definitely be there for each other. *hugs* Thank you for telling us about what you did at the Buddhist temple. I’m sure it was a very symbolic change for you and your family.

    I’m so glad you are continuing to join us with the Renga52. It’s evolving wonderfully. I always like to see how each poet views it differently when responding. It’s really amazing to see. 8)

    The Scottish lullaby about the swans is truly fascinating. I didn’t know it was based on a myth/fairy tale-like story. It reminds me of this animated movie called “The Swan Princess” (not a Disney movie even though it confuses a lot of people because it seems like a Disney movie), in which a princess did spent part of her life as a swan. The prince found out about it, broke the spell, and she went back to being human. I love this movie when I was younger and still do. The music in this movie is phenomenal.

    QM posted a photo on her Flicker page of the Trumpeter swans. It’s a fabulous shot! It makes me wish I could be there in person just to see so many swans in one place! And I agree with QM, you are a very good storyteller! I’m just fascinated with all the stories you’ve been telling us so far! Swans, otters, your kids. 8) Speaking of otters, I need to go back to the zoo and see them! They are such friendly and playful creatures.

    Keep writing, dear Annie. There is always the inner writer/artist/poet in all of us just ready to be activated. For some others, there is a NEED to tap into that inner part of ourselves because it drives us to do something more with it–be it to change the hearts of many people, oneself, or even the world. 8)

    Blessings.

    Like


  109. A~Lotus,

    So glad to hear from you again, you always cheer me up :-)

    When I visit red Ravine, it’s like reading a good quality magazine – only it’s FREE! I’m amazed at how you all create such quality, which appears to me, from thin air. In fact, it’s better than any magazine I’ve ever read. It’s got brilliant short stories, beautiful poetry, fantastic photography, wild life and nature, paintings, recipes, cleaning tips, advice and support, spirituality… just about everything under the sun!

    I googled Natalie Goldberg just to see what she’d been ‘feeding’ some of you. I quickly realized, even from just reading about her work on the net, that it’s all about the ‘creating’. You all appear to love ‘creating’ which is magical in itself and, I suppose, where real spirit exists. Kinda like Yves Klein’s “immaterial sensibility’. Or the beauty behind your Japanese poetry. Honestly, Lotus, I’ve been trying to ‘get it’ for years and just didn’t, for the life of me, understand. Now I realize that I was looking in the wrong places. It was there all the time. In swans and otters, my kids, my mum, singing songs… and now, writing gogyohka. It doesn’t matter if it’s not the greatest poetry in the world, it’s enough that I’m ‘creating’ it :-) I’m definitely going to buy ‘Writing Down The Bones: Freeing The Writer Within’ next time I’m in Glasgow :-)

    BTW I love reading your stories aswell as your poetry. Your New Year story made me smile – thank you for sharing it :-)

    Like


  110. @annieoakcake: :) There are plenty of smiles to share, and it’s the people on red Ravine like yourself who create them.

    I definitely agree with you in that red Ravine is like a free, high-quality online magazine! You hit it right on the nail! I think that was why QM and Yb cofounded this site in the first place. They wanted it to make it personal, but at the same time, universal to all readers of all walks of life because it’s like you said, they cover all sorts of topics. You can’t go wrong with that. ;)

    I have never read Goldberg’s book, but I encountered it again when I was taking a yoga instructor course just recently, and I saw her book among the other yoga/meditation/spirituality/religion books at the “yoga” shop. It was beckoning to me really! I think I’ll buy it online as well and have it in my growing collection of books. Another book I’d highly recommend for you and anyone is Sage Cohen’s WRITING THE LIFE POETIC. She has a lot of writing/poetry exercises which various examples of poetry, but I think just anybody can use those exercises even in art (if one is an artist). I use it from time to time, which spurs a lot of my own creativity (both poetry and art!). ;) I think you’ll enjoy that book too.

    There is strong truth in your words, Annie. Magic, poetry, art, spirit…all of these things are all around us. ;) Our writing and art are a reflection of those things and more. I look forward to your stories and poetry. Thank you for taking the time to read mine. :) :)

    Like


  111. RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing

    Like


  112. RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    Like


  113. Hi Lotus :-)

    I’ve never bought anything on the net before, but my kids have – d’uh! I’ll put the book you recommend on top of my list. I’ll also do a ‘spring clean’ on all the books I’ve read, and never likely to read, by taking them to the local charity shop!

    I’m glad QM and yB opened redRavine for everyone. At first I felt a bit awkward about commenting because I wasn’t a writer. But then I thought that every writer needs a reader :-) And you don’t need to be an art critic to recognize the beauty in your collages. I think it says a lot, for you and QM, that you’ve managed to create a space where even ‘readers’ want to contribute; that, in itself, is an art – thank you.

    Hope you’re having a great weekend!

    Like


  114. […] Moon (Haiga), 7/52, BlackBerry 52 – WEEK 7, February 19th 2011, photo © 2011 by A~Lotus. All rights […]

    Like


  115. on March 1, 2011 at 8:58 am teresa williams

    Gogyohka: I’ve been working with this “idea” of letting go more often of needing to have “a gaining idea” in my writing, life, meditation practice, etc. It is very difficult to do. We are so programmed to always look ahead and try to get something from what we are doing. Not that there is anything wrong with this, but only that if it becomes too much of a habit, it is hard to be in the experience itself without a lot of expectations.

    Try to practice without
    any gaining idea,
    morning does not
    try to become evening, just
    amber blue black.

    Like


  116. RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table

    Like


  117. @annieoakcake: Hi Annie! :) Hope you get around to those books! Speaking of spring cleaning, I need to donate many of my books to a local charity too. My siblings and I have outgrown our books, so we don’t touch them anymore. Still, I keep all of my poetry and literature related books…

    For anyone who wishes/aspires to be a good writer, they have to read. I think it’s also the same the other way around too–readers who want to be good readers, they write or at least imitate the styles of their favorite authors/poets, then develop their own styles. :) You can also apply this same concept to art or any other genres. You’ve hit the truth again, Annie! ;) I too have to thank QM and Yb all the time for creating such a wonderful, creative space for not only readers, but also writers, poets, and artists.

    I did have a great weekend. Thank you, Annie! I hope you did too! I am enjoying the breeze these past few days. It feels like spring. I hope you have a great week and share more writings with us. :) Take care.

    Like


  118. […] Key To Success (Backspace) – 9/52 (Haiga), Week 9/BlackBerry 52, Minneapolis, Minnesota, February 2011, photo © 2011 by QuoinMonkey. All […]

    Like


  119. Teresa, this is a peaceful thought. Not needing to have a gaining idea. Not expecting one thing to turn into the next. Just letting it be what it is. Very beautiful. Thank you Lotus and annieoakcake for the kind words. I do really appreciate them. It makes my day that people meet and connect here around their writing and art. What better thing is there?

    __________

    If morning does not try to become evening,
    then I don’t need to be something I am not.
    There is no need to claw, wrestle, gamble away.
    I am enough. I have enough.
    There is enough for everyone.

    Like


  120. on March 2, 2011 at 5:20 am annieoakcake

    RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    (was trying to think of a ‘good’ tea and discovered ‘Tra Tien Lotus’ – a Vietnamese tea :-)

    Like


  121. on March 2, 2011 at 9:02 am teresa williams

    Adding to the renga:

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes

    Like


  122. RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    Like


  123. […] Mandala: Dreaming Of The Albatross – 8/52 (Gogyohka), 8/52, BlackBerry 52 – WEEK 8, February 27th 2011, scan © 2011 by QuoinMonkey. All rights […]

    Like


  124. RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind

    Like


  125. RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    Like


  126. @Teresa: I’ve been meaning to respond to you but I kept getting busy with school, work & life. You mentioned about “letting go” in regards to writing. For me, that is my very theme I’ve been working on this year. I actually thought of it last year, and this is how I formed my little mantra: “Letting go is the first step of courage.” It not only applies to my writing but also in all aspects of my life this year. Like everyone, it IS hard letting go, but it’s been such a recurrent theme for me that I decided to work on it more this year. So far, I’ve noticed that I let myself go in my fusion artwork/poetry, particularly in my collaboration with QM. I’m still working on the other aspects of my life! ;)

    Here’s my gogyohka for “letting go”:

    shifting
    under my breath
    as I rise from cobra
    dusts of sunlight
    through hole-punched leaves

    Like


  127. @annieoakcake: Dear Annie, thank you so much for the Vietnamese tribute! :) It fits nicely into the renga. Interestingly, I’ve never tried the tra tien lotus (tea) before. It sounds intriguing. I wonder how it tastes like. My family and I mostly drink green tea or green jasmine tea at home. For me, personally, I love trying fruit type teas when I go out to cafes/restaurants like mango tea, raspberry tea, etc.

    Hope you and everyone else on red Ravine are having a good weekend! 8)

    My prayers for Japan and everyone else who’s affected by the recent devastating earthquake.

    —————————-

    shouting match
    we stop
    as the earth splits
    our differences and carries us
    to a different shore

    Like


  128. RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag

    Like


  129. RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    Like


  130. Hello Lotus, so glad to hear from you again :-) I was thinking of using ‘jasmine’ tea but, after I googled ‘flower tea’, I was delighted to find ‘tra tien lotus’ – was just perfect :-) We Scots are addicted to drinking plain ol’ black tea (although the history to why that is isn’t very honorable, I’m afraid…) Whenever things go wrong or there’s a small crisis, the first words I say is, ‘I’ll just put the kettle on…’

    Lotus, your gogyohka is extremely poignant and deeply insightful. It’s one of the best I’ve ever read. Right now, the world appears to be like some crazy movie. My heart, love and prayers go out to all who are suffering.

    attention shifts
    to nature’s destruction
    tsunami v war
    the same result
    suffering

    Like


  131. Beautiful poetry annieoakcake & Lotus. I can’t get all the craziness in the world out of my mind. Yet we can only do so much. I have been praying and sending good energy to those in need. I believe every little bit helps.

    I direct my prayers up to the ethers, the Akashic Records (Sanskrit for sky), a place that (to me) transcends the conflict over religion. I believe we all pray to the same god.

    I was recently reading about Terma in Tibetan Buddhism — physical objects such as texts or ritual implements that are buried in the ground (earth), hidden in a rock or crystal, secreted in an herb or tree (wood), hidden in a lake (water), or up in the sky (air) that contain sacred teachings, accessible to all when we need them. I think this is one of those times.

    _____________

    Ode To Terma

    human suffering
    sadness and devastation
    everywhere we turn

    the whole world unfolds
    at the center of chaos
    the Akashic Records hold
    hidden treasures of comfort and knowledge
    buried in Earth, Sky, and in the crux of Ancient Trees

    Like


  132. Hi Annie! Likewise! It’s always great to converse here and at the same time reading great poetry. 8)

    Thanks for sharing about the lotus tea! It’s new to me, and I’m curious enough to try it! The only problem is I just don’t want to buy a whole box of tea, and no one likes it at all! So, I would have to donate it somewhere. I don’t think I’d ever tried black tea before although I’m sure there’s a history behind any type of tea! So that’s why people always do that–say “I’ll just put the kettle on” when things go wrong. I was wondering if it was just an expression to mean something. :P

    Thank you, Annie. I’m glad you enjoyed my gogyohka. I’m still learning more about it. I like the fact that it is more expressive than the formal tanka, which is a bit harder to write. And yes, I agree with you. No matter what is on the news, it’s always bad (or even a horror story/movie)!

    I too like your gogyohka very much. It suits your style, and I find it fascinating with the line breaks between lines 1 and 2 because we’re always so wrapped up in our own little worlds that we forget or could care less about the world. You captured that shift of attention precisely! 8) And your poem also bears truth in it as well: suffering. A simple word yet it weighs so much! Look forward to reading more of your poetry.

    Like


  133. Hi QM, wow. I’ve learned a lot just reading your post here. I had to break it down a bit further to fully digest it.

    Yes, I too believe that every little bit helps. It’s a crazy and scary world out there, and for me, prayers help us all settle at ease and continue to have that faith, strength, courage, and love in some higher being. I too believe that we all pray to the same God/god. We are only limited in our human nature to the extent that we will never see God/god out there but prayer/faith heals and gives us hope and lets us see those glimmers of miracles. Also, thank you for sharing and talking about the Tibetan Buddhism. I’ve never heard of the power of those physical objects you speak of in Tibetan Buddhism, but it makes sense because many spiritual sects and religions have some form of physical objects that contain such sacredness that resonate with us in times of need. And we so do need those sacred teachings now.

    Lovely tribute to Terma, QM.

    ————————-

    on the peeling bark
    of an old water birch
    I write my prayers
    and let the wind
    send them to the heavens

    Like


  134. Hi Lotus and QM,

    I first came across termas when I read Thinley Norbu’s book ‘Magic Dance’. He describes, poetically, exotic tales of the ‘five wisdom dakinis’ (earth, air, fire, water and space/ether). These five dakinis manifest the feminine wisdom energy, bringing strength, power and transformation to our lives. They are known collectively as ‘Sky Dancers’ who dance in limitless space and are the writers of the termas, which they conceal until the time is right for them to be found. Their form of writing is ‘subtle and mysterious’ and the being who finds the terma must call on the five wisdom dakinis to help them interpret it (they also reside in the mind). I like the similarities of the elemental archetypes of Buddhism and Celtic Paganism. It brings it closer to home.

    I used to question whether the power of prayer would ever do anyone any good. I believed it would be much more beneficial, in disaster situations, to donate money or, if possible, volunteer to help. However, I now believe that the empathy we feel towards others who are suffering has a decidedly spiritual element to it. The intense thought, ‘Please help them!’ or ‘Please let them live!’ is really a spontaneous prayer, instinctively calling to ‘something’ outside ourselves. It really is quite beautiful, and as the poet Dante put it, ‘The love that moves the sun and all the stars.’

    I imagine that praying or meditating to the five wisdom dakinis might rearrange the elements within, making ‘my’ dance that bit more magical and true. And as they are known as fearless protectors, I pray that they help the people of Japan cope with this ongoing tragedy.

    Like


  135. on March 16, 2011 at 5:17 pm Teresa Williams

    Well, I was thinking of writing a haiku, but then I got distracted reading the others posts. In thinking about chaos, I always remember what this Tibetan Buddhist teacher, Chogyam Trungpa used to say, “Chaos is very good news”. Now, I would hope he would have more compassion and not say something like this directly to people in an acute crisis. However, usually after the crisis passes and/or for those of us observing from a distance, I do think his comment is provocative and points to a truth we can’t deny. Chaos is the fierce nature of reality, and most of us live with this inflated idea that we are more secure, more in control, etc. than we really are. I’m currently working on a poem, dedicating it to the god of Chaos. I will post here once I have finished. No haikus jumping out at the moment. Until next time.

    Like


  136. RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea

    Like


  137. Annie (and everyone),

    The time when I encountered those 5 elements (in the spiritual sense) fully was when I was studying and practicing yoga, so it’s amazing to see how many different cultures/religions/practices/etc. out there that talk about these 5 elements/archetypes. I too think the human body and spirit possess those elements as well. A well-known example would be water. The human body is made up of at least 50% of water in proportion to our body weight, but taking it in spiritual terms, water has many healing qualities to it as well. The termas/dakinis you mentioned are lovely; I like the name “Sky Dancers.” That is interesting that you mentioned Celtic Paganism too. That would make a lot of sense in its folklore. Most people would know only 4 elements (not including the space/ether) because the other 4 are more physical and could be seen and felt by the senses.

    Annie, you described it beautifully with the power of prayer. I agree with you! That is why I believe that even atheists and agnostics pray even though they do not realize that they are praying! So yes, when you mentioned “a spontaneous prayer, instinctively calling to ‘something’ outside ourselves,” I had to say AMEN! to that because we all do that all the time! For instance, “Please let him live through this cancer,” “Please help me. I’m hungry,” etc. The list is endless.

    I know that it will take a while for Japan and New Zealand to go back to normal lives as they will have to rebuild and renew their homes, their strength, and their faith. We are all but vulnerable human beings, and these are examples that show us how we are not as invincible as we think we are and that there is a life greater than us. Also, everything in this human life is of impermanence. Both countries will continue to be in our prayers.

    Like


  138. Teresa,

    I said the same thing in the above comment (see my response to Annie), but in different words! That’s amazing.

    “Chaos is the fierce nature of reality, and most of us live with this inflated idea that we are more secure, more in control, etc. than we really are.”

    I couldn’t agree more with that beautifully written statement. I think we oftentimes forget about that because we live in economically/technologically advanced nations. However, I’m sure if we live in underdeveloped countries, then our view of life would be much, much different because those people know that they are not living in a secure world. While we use some dozens of gallons of water per day for just one average person in America, a country in Africa would get just 2 gallons per person per day if they’re lucky.

    Thanks for joining us in the conversation, Teresa. I’m learning a lot from just reading all of our comments so far in this Haiku page. I’ve encountered Trungpa when I was studying yoga. He is a brilliant intellectual.

    And don’t worry, there are times when I want to write a haiku and I get distracted because I start reading everyone’s comments/posts which are always fascinating.

    I can’t wait to read your poem in your dedication to the god of Chaos, Teresa! 8)

    Like


  139. Wonderful thread about the 5 elements, chaos, terma, healing, prayers. Annie, thanks for shedding more light on termas. Now I want to read the book you mentioned — Magic Dance.

    The day I wrote the comment about terma, I actually had created a mandala in response to Lotus and as part of BlackBerry 52. I completed it on Sunday but have not had a chance to finish the red Ravine piece and post it. It’s got the 5 elements in it and the symbols of each. Maybe I’ll try to get it posted tonight. If not tonight, then tomorrow night. I’ve had a crazy week.

    At the center of the mandala is Essence, the 5th Element. I happened to run across something I had copied from the MCAD library years ago about the importance of ritual in our lives and the article went into detail about the 5 elements. I’ll post some of that as well.

    We are all in sync with this and that is so cool. It reminds me that that is the reason archetypes go on through time. Because we all tap into them in times of need. Thanks to you all for stopping by here and sharing your wisdom and knowledge. It’s so hard to know what to do for others who are going through so much devastation and suffering. I believe there is hope.

    _________

    standing dead center
    the curl of a single leaf
    howling at the Moon

    Like


  140. Sometimes I feel I’m
    A beat cop for cat traffic
    ‘Keep movin’ Kiitty.’

    Like


  141. RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    “Waggle dance is a term used in beekeeping and ethology for a particular figure-eight dance of the honey bee. By performing this dance, successful foragers can share with their hive mates information about the direction and distance to patches of flowers yielding nectar and pollen, to water sources, or to new housing locations. Thus the waggle dance is a mechanism whereby successful foragers can recruit other bees in their colony to good locations for collecting various resources.” (Wikipedia)

    (I thought the above was a good analogy for redRavine!)

    Like


  142. Robert Morse, so happy to see you back! I feel that way, too. I love your sense of humor, the way it takes form in your haiku.

    Annie, thank you so much for the Waggle dance! I had not heard that term before. Am honored. 8) I didn’t have a minute to myself this week and it’s such a pleasure to spend time on red Ravine this morning. I do check in every day, but this week just didn’t have one lick of extra energy. It’s so heartening to come here and read the rich comments from readers. Quality all the way. Thanks again!

    _____________________

    RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Like


  143. RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home
    :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-)
    :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-)

    Couldn’t think of any words… have a great weekend QM :-)

    Like


  144. Oops, the happy smilie faces should have gone on two lines of 7!

    _________

    Very creative, Annie! I fixed it for you. Have a great weekend, too!

    Like


  145. on March 20, 2011 at 2:38 pm Robert Morse

    Here once more I am taking an old poem and fitting it into the five-line gogyokha form.

    I walk through the rain
    Gingerly seeking a suede-shoe saving way.
    A worm splayed on the sidewalk
    Crucified.
    I make It a Juicy-Fruit shroud and then move on.

    Like


  146. […] collective unconscious, the history of the Cosmos. Perfectly in sync, readers began commenting on the same subjects in our daily haiku post. From annie: I first came across termas when I read Thinley Norbu’s book ‘Magic Dance’. He […]

    Like


  147. on March 22, 2011 at 12:18 pm teresa williams

    Morning ritual:

    I go to the lake
    and watching like a secret
    sun kissing water

    Like


  148. RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home
    :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-)
    :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-) :-)

    Spring rains her thunder —
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof

    Like


  149. RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Spring rains her thunder –
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof
    metamorphosis of snowflakes
    immortalized as flowers

    Like


  150. RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Spring rains her thunder –
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof
    metamorphosis of snowflakes
    immortalized as flowers

    another morning…
    from the rubble
    more cherry blossoms

    Like


  151. I think this would be a gogyoka. I was sitting at a Spanish restaurant, reading the wine list. For some reason I am just discovering how poetic wine descriptions can be.

    I sit
    and read the menu:
    complex plum, blackberry jam
    a hint of green pepper,
    wine words fill me up.

    Like


  152. on March 26, 2011 at 12:12 pm Teresa Williams

    Oops, the above writing should have come from my name and email, not Dwayne. I forgot to check to see who had used the computer last.

    Like


  153. […] — 2/52, The Mirado Black Warrior, Waning Moon (Haiga), The Void — January Mandalas, haiku 4 (one-a-day) Meets renga 52, Alter-Ego Mandala: Dreaming Of The Albatross (For Bukowski), WRITING TOPIC — SLOW OR […]

    Like


  154. RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Spring rains her thunder –
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof
    metamorphosis of snowflakes
    immortalized as flowers

    another morning…
    from the rubble
    more cherry blossoms
    with quiet dignity and grace
    humbles a watching world

    Like


  155. Teresa, love your Wine Words! Quite fun.

    _____________

    RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Spring rains her thunder –
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof
    metamorphosis of snowflakes
    immortalized as flowers

    another morning…
    from the rubble
    more cherry blossoms
    with quiet dignity and grace
    humbles a watching world

    brown grass and bare trees
    signal the death of Winter —
    teeming aftermelt

    Like


  156. on April 3, 2011 at 11:12 pm Robert Morse

    She’s fearless and true
    The only lies she tells are
    Those she tells herself.

    I’m a friend to those
    Who are looking for a way.
    Not just an angle.

    Like


  157. RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Spring rains her thunder –
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof
    metamorphosis of snowflakes
    immortalized as flowers

    another morning…
    from the rubble
    more cherry blossoms
    with quiet dignity and grace
    humbles a watching world

    brown grass and bare trees
    signal the death of Winter –
    teeming aftermelt
    curling up for another year
    a carpet of snowdrops

    Like


  158. @Annie: I love the “waggle dance” too! And I agree, I think red Ravine does waggle dances all the time no matter if we’re writing, doing art, or talking to each other.

    @Robert: I really like your poem “I walk through the rain.” A poignant snapshot to all the life around us and it shows the impermanence to things.

    @Teresa: Good to know I’m not the only one thinking of how wine menus are poetic (even though I don’t drink)! Thanks for sharing your poem.

    Like


  159. RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Spring rains her thunder –
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof
    metamorphosis of snowflakes
    immortalized as flowers

    another morning…
    from the rubble
    more cherry blossoms
    with quiet dignity and grace
    humbles a watching world

    brown grass and bare trees
    signal the death of Winter –
    teeming aftermelt
    curling up for another year
    a carpet of snowdrops

    new moon
    an anthill built
    from a shuttlecock

    Like


  160. Robert Morse, I agree with Lotus. Nicely done. Especially like: The only lies she tells are Those she tells herself.

    _________

    RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Spring rains her thunder –
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof
    metamorphosis of snowflakes
    immortalized as flowers

    another morning…
    from the rubble
    more cherry blossoms
    with quiet dignity and grace
    humbles a watching world

    brown grass and bare trees
    signal the death of Winter –
    teeming aftermelt
    curling up for another year
    a carpet of snowdrops

    new moon
    an anthill built
    from a shuttlecock —
    sunlit butterfly kisses
    rough-hewn bark of a burr oak

    Like


  161. […] — 2/52, The Mirado Black Warrior, Waning Moon (Haiga), The Void — January Mandalas, haiku 4 (one-a-day) Meets renga 52, Alter-Ego Mandala: Dreaming Of The Albatross (For Bukowski), EarthHealer — Mandala For The […]

    Like


  162. on April 13, 2011 at 9:54 am Teresa Williams

    Trying to capture a few of the sounds I heard yesterday in the form of haiku. I couldn’t do it in one, so I linked it all into one long haiku poem.

    Urban Jungle

    Dawn’s rose-dazzled dream
    invaded by rivulets-
    rubber fiberglass steel

    Roaring
    white metal lions
    criss-cross the sky

    In the green trees
    bird symphony meets
    the jazz of squirrels

    The distant city
    purring jaguar
    ready to pounce

    Listening to the snake
    slithering down, cloud to tree
    lavender-light lingers.

    Like


  163. […] -related to posts: BlackBerry 365 Project — White Winter Squirrel, Flying Solo — Dragonfly In Yellow Rain, Searching For Stillness, icicle tumbleweed (haiga) — 2/52, The Mirado Black Warrior, Waning Moon (Haiga), Alter-Ego Mandala: Dreaming Of The Albatross (For Bukowski), EarthHealer — Mandala For The Tortoise, haiku 4 (one-a-day) Meets renga 52 […]

    Like


  164. RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Spring rains her thunder –
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof
    metamorphosis of snowflakes
    immortalized as flowers

    another morning…
    from the rubble
    more cherry blossoms
    with quiet dignity and grace
    humbles a watching world

    brown grass and bare trees
    signal the death of Winter –
    teeming aftermelt
    curling up for another year
    a carpet of snowdrops

    new moon
    an anthill built
    from a shuttlecock –
    sunlit butterfly kisses
    rough-hewn bark of a burr oak

    on a stubbed branch
    barking at the tomcat
    a gray squirrel

    Like


  165. @Teresa: I enjoyed reading your sequence. :) I am particularly fond of “Listening to the snake” stanza.

    @red Ravine: Hi everyone! Hope your weekend is well. Blessings for a lovely start to a new week! It’s almost Easter! :)

    Like


  166. RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Spring rains her thunder –
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof
    metamorphosis of snowflakes
    immortalized as flowers

    another morning…
    from the rubble
    more cherry blossoms
    with quiet dignity and grace
    humbles a watching world

    brown grass and bare trees
    signal the death of Winter –
    teeming aftermelt
    curling up for another year
    a carpet of snowdrops

    new moon
    an anthill built
    from a shuttlecock –
    sunlit butterfly kisses
    rough-hewn bark of a burr oak

    on a stubbed branch
    barking at the tomcat
    a gray squirrel
    But upper limbs call: Back to
    Casual acrobatics

    Like


  167. on April 18, 2011 at 5:10 pm Teresa Williams

    misty breeze
    the gentle touch of zephyr
    balm of green

    Like


  168. Great idea, QM. Here’s my haiku (written in my mind while driving in NYC this past weekend.)

    Windy and sunny.
    Sunday gull dives overhead.
    Sweeping the Hudson.

    Like


  169. Teresa, Urban Jungle, very nice. Robert Morse, happy to have you in the Renga 52 mix! Lotus, happy week to you, too. Already well into April. Barbara, thank you for dropping your haiku in from New York City. Glad to hear from you!

    I went to see beat poet Gary Snyder read his work in Minneapolis last night. What a delight. A once in a lifetime thing. He talked about the art of the haibun, so I wanted to go back into this post and read about haibun again. I like the idea of combining prose and haiku. It’s a challenge.

    He mentioned that it’s good for journal writers to remember the technique of shortening their work through a style like haibun. He also mentioned that haiku writers rarely challenge themselves to do haibun, which I thought was interesting. I’m still pondering.

    I loved the way Gary Snyder read his poetry. He was funny, too. I bought a copy of Riprap and Cold Mountain Poems, 50th Anniversary Edition. Cold Mountain is in Japan. A gogyohka for Gary.

    __________

    For Gary Snyder

    Forever more
    I will see your weathered face
    in the snow of Cold Mountain.
    The path to Han-shan’s place
    bending light, home to the April Moon.

    Like


  170. on April 21, 2011 at 10:56 am Teresa Williams

    I love Gary Snyder and had the good fortune of seeing him in Seattle about 7 years ago. There were lines of people out the door waiting to see him and I felt a sense of possibility for poets and poetry that night. Everyone was gleaming afterwards.

    Like


  171. RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Spring rains her thunder –
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof
    metamorphosis of snowflakes
    immortalized as flowers

    another morning…
    from the rubble
    more cherry blossoms
    with quiet dignity and grace
    humbles a watching world

    brown grass and bare trees
    signal the death of Winter –
    teeming aftermelt
    curling up for another year
    a carpet of snowdrops

    new moon
    an anthill built
    from a shuttlecock –
    sunlit butterfly kisses
    rough-hewn bark of a burr oak

    on a stubbed branch
    barking at the tomcat
    a gray squirrel
    But upper limbs call: Back to
    Casual acrobatics

    with her feet
    my niece draws figure-eights
    in the clouds
    while laughing on the tire swing,
    her hair filled with dandelions

    Like


  172. RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Spring rains her thunder –
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof
    metamorphosis of snowflakes
    immortalized as flowers

    another morning…
    from the rubble
    more cherry blossoms
    with quiet dignity and grace
    humbles a watching world

    brown grass and bare trees
    signal the death of Winter –
    teeming aftermelt
    curling up for another year
    a carpet of snowdrops

    new moon
    an anthill built
    from a shuttlecock –
    sunlit butterfly kisses
    rough-hewn bark of a burr oak

    on a stubbed branch
    barking at the tomcat
    a gray squirrel
    But upper limbs call: Back to
    Casual acrobatics

    with her feet
    my niece draws figure-eights
    in the clouds
    while laughing on the tire swing,
    her hair filled with dandelions

    covered
    in dandelion dust
    all the twigs in her nest…
    the warbler stirs a song
    of sunlight from her eggs

    Like


  173. Haiku for a Speech Therapist

    double dipthong joy!
    going down twice on
    yummy edible panties….

    Like


  174. Susy, that is a wild haiku! Here’s one I wrote on the road today. I kept the radio off. Was quiet and pensive. One of those thinking days.

    __________

    driving in silence
    noise of the chattering wind
    keeps me awake

    Like


  175. RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Spring rains her thunder –
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof
    metamorphosis of snowflakes
    immortalized as flowers

    another morning…
    from the rubble
    more cherry blossoms
    with quiet dignity and grace
    humbles a watching world

    brown grass and bare trees
    signal the death of Winter –
    teeming aftermelt
    curling up for another year
    a carpet of snowdrops

    new moon
    an anthill built
    from a shuttlecock –
    sunlit butterfly kisses
    rough-hewn bark of a burr oak

    on a stubbed branch
    barking at the tomcat
    a gray squirrel
    But upper limbs call: Back to
    Casual acrobatics

    with her feet
    my niece draws figure-eights
    in the clouds
    while laughing on the tire swing,
    her hair filled with dandelions

    covered
    in dandelion dust
    all the twigs in her nest…
    the warbler stirs a song
    of sunlight from her eggs

    soft, fierce and loyal
    the mallard keeps her eggs warm
    city surrounds her

    Like


  176. From today’s bicycle outing with the dog along Eastchester Bay in New York City:

    Bones races my spokes
    Flying through cherry blossom
    petals like pink snow

    Like


  177. […] -related to posts: WRITING TOPIC — LIGHT AS A FEATHER, haiku 4 (one-a-day) Meets renga 52 […]

    Like


  178. on May 8, 2011 at 1:46 pm Walljasper

    time reveals our hearts
    a small clutch of rare letters
    mothers momentos
    gathered with a frail ribbon
    our mortal joys and sorrows

    soft waters carve deep
    hard stone yields to its patience
    a gentle chisel
    droplets etch lines in faces
    we are such reckless sculptors

    to see her once more,
    to glimpse her fleeting shadow
    if only in dreams
    eyes flutter awake to glimpse
    butterfly’s shimmering wings

    ——————-

    To honor those who bring forth life and nurture us through our journey.

    Crafted from some of my snippets on Haiku 2 last year and a few new lines…happy Mother’s Day, now and always.

    Like


  179. Simply, beautiful…

    Like


  180. RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Spring rains her thunder –
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof
    metamorphosis of snowflakes
    immortalized as flowers

    another morning…
    from the rubble
    more cherry blossoms
    with quiet dignity and grace
    humbles a watching world

    brown grass and bare trees
    signal the death of Winter –
    teeming aftermelt
    curling up for another year
    a carpet of snowdrops

    new moon
    an anthill built
    from a shuttlecock –
    sunlit butterfly kisses
    rough-hewn bark of a burr oak

    on a stubbed branch
    barking at the tomcat
    a gray squirrel
    But upper limbs call: Back to
    Casual acrobatics

    with her feet
    my niece draws figure-eights
    in the clouds
    while laughing on the tire swing,
    her hair filled with dandelions

    covered
    in dandelion dust
    all the twigs in her nest…
    the warbler stirs a song
    of sunlight from her eggs

    soft, fierce and loyal
    the mallard keeps her eggs warm
    city surrounds her…
    their thoughts, she knows, of turquoise
    skies and the songs of trees

    Like


  181. Walljasper, that is beautiful. I’ve missed you. So happy you stopped by. Hope you are well. And thank you.

    Continuing the year-long renga. It’s getting pretty long. I love how it moves through the seasons.

    ___________

    RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Spring rains her thunder –
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof
    metamorphosis of snowflakes
    immortalized as flowers

    another morning…
    from the rubble
    more cherry blossoms
    with quiet dignity and grace
    humbles a watching world

    brown grass and bare trees
    signal the death of Winter –
    teeming aftermelt
    curling up for another year
    a carpet of snowdrops

    new moon
    an anthill built
    from a shuttlecock –
    sunlit butterfly kisses
    rough-hewn bark of a burr oak

    on a stubbed branch
    barking at the tomcat
    a gray squirrel
    But upper limbs call: Back to
    Casual acrobatics

    with her feet
    my niece draws figure-eights
    in the clouds
    while laughing on the tire swing,
    her hair filled with dandelions

    covered
    in dandelion dust
    all the twigs in her nest…
    the warbler stirs a song
    of sunlight from her eggs

    soft, fierce and loyal
    the mallard keeps her eggs warm
    city surrounds her…
    their thoughts, she knows, of turquoise
    skies and the songs of trees

    hail rains from the sky
    82-degree May day
    drenched in humidity

    Like


  182. RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Spring rains her thunder –
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof
    metamorphosis of snowflakes
    immortalized as flowers

    another morning…
    from the rubble
    more cherry blossoms
    with quiet dignity and grace
    humbles a watching world

    brown grass and bare trees
    signal the death of Winter –
    teeming aftermelt
    curling up for another year
    a carpet of snowdrops

    new moon
    an anthill built
    from a shuttlecock –
    sunlit butterfly kisses
    rough-hewn bark of a burr oak

    on a stubbed branch
    barking at the tomcat
    a gray squirrel
    But upper limbs call: Back to
    Casual acrobatics

    with her feet
    my niece draws figure-eights
    in the clouds
    while laughing on the tire swing,
    her hair filled with dandelions

    covered
    in dandelion dust
    all the twigs in her nest…
    the warbler stirs a song
    of sunlight from her eggs

    soft, fierce and loyal
    the mallard keeps her eggs warm
    city surrounds her…
    their thoughts, she knows, of turquoise
    skies and the songs of trees

    hail rains from the sky
    82-degree May day
    drenched in humidity
    global warming? climate change?
    wish it would make up it’s mind!

    Like


  183. RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Spring rains her thunder –
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof
    metamorphosis of snowflakes
    immortalized as flowers

    another morning…
    from the rubble
    more cherry blossoms
    with quiet dignity and grace
    humbles a watching world

    brown grass and bare trees
    signal the death of Winter –
    teeming aftermelt
    curling up for another year
    a carpet of snowdrops

    new moon
    an anthill built
    from a shuttlecock –
    sunlit butterfly kisses
    rough-hewn bark of a burr oak

    on a stubbed branch
    barking at the tomcat
    a gray squirrel
    But upper limbs call: Back to
    Casual acrobatics

    with her feet
    my niece draws figure-eights
    in the clouds
    while laughing on the tire swing,
    her hair filled with dandelions

    covered
    in dandelion dust
    all the twigs in her nest…
    the warbler stirs a song
    of sunlight from her eggs

    soft, fierce and loyal
    the mallard keeps her eggs warm
    city surrounds her…
    their thoughts, she knows, of turquoise
    skies and the songs of trees

    hail rains from the sky
    82-degree May day
    drenched in humidity
    global warming? climate change?
    wish it would make up it’s mind!

    playing “hard to get”
    teasing, taunting, then laughing
    flirtatious summer

    Like


  184. Hello Ms. Quoin de Monkey, thanks for the welcome and kind words – I missed you too. “Shall we renga, dear?” (from a haiku on Haiku 2) ;-}

    RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Spring rains her thunder –
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof
    metamorphosis of snowflakes
    immortalized as flowers

    another morning…
    from the rubble
    more cherry blossoms
    with quiet dignity and grace
    humbles a watching world

    brown grass and bare trees
    signal the death of Winter –
    teeming aftermelt
    curling up for another year
    a carpet of snowdrops

    new moon
    an anthill built
    from a shuttlecock –
    sunlit butterfly kisses
    rough-hewn bark of a burr oak

    on a stubbed branch
    barking at the tomcat
    a gray squirrel
    But upper limbs call: Back to
    Casual acrobatics

    with her feet
    my niece draws figure-eights
    in the clouds
    while laughing on the tire swing,
    her hair filled with dandelions

    covered
    in dandelion dust
    all the twigs in her nest…
    the warbler stirs a song
    of sunlight from her eggs

    soft, fierce and loyal
    the mallard keeps her eggs warm
    city surrounds her…
    their thoughts, she knows, of turquoise
    skies and the songs of trees

    hail rains from the sky
    82-degree May day
    drenched in humidity
    global warming? climate change?
    wish it would make up it’s mind!

    playing “hard to get”
    teasing, taunting, then laughing
    flirtatious summer
    bedded alone, cold and dark
    yet i ‘wake looking for her

    Like


  185. Walljasper, by all means. 8)

    ________

    RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Spring rains her thunder –
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof
    metamorphosis of snowflakes
    immortalized as flowers

    another morning…
    from the rubble
    more cherry blossoms
    with quiet dignity and grace
    humbles a watching world

    brown grass and bare trees
    signal the death of Winter –
    teeming aftermelt
    curling up for another year
    a carpet of snowdrops

    new moon
    an anthill built
    from a shuttlecock –
    sunlit butterfly kisses
    rough-hewn bark of a burr oak

    on a stubbed branch
    barking at the tomcat
    a gray squirrel
    But upper limbs call: Back to
    Casual acrobatics

    with her feet
    my niece draws figure-eights
    in the clouds
    while laughing on the tire swing,
    her hair filled with dandelions

    covered
    in dandelion dust
    all the twigs in her nest…
    the warbler stirs a song
    of sunlight from her eggs

    soft, fierce and loyal
    the mallard keeps her eggs warm
    city surrounds her…
    their thoughts, she knows, of turquoise
    skies and the songs of trees

    hail rains from the sky
    82-degree May day
    drenched in humidity
    global warming? climate change?
    wish it would make up it’s mind!

    playing “hard to get”
    teasing, taunting, then laughing
    flirtatious summer
    bedded alone, cold and dark
    yet i ‘wake looking for her

    she’s looking for you
    standing in ocean’s middle
    flying among stars

    Like


  186. Lovely additions, everyone! :)

    ——————————————————–

    RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Spring rains her thunder –
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof
    metamorphosis of snowflakes
    immortalized as flowers

    another morning…
    from the rubble
    more cherry blossoms
    with quiet dignity and grace
    humbles a watching world

    brown grass and bare trees
    signal the death of Winter –
    teeming aftermelt
    curling up for another year
    a carpet of snowdrops

    new moon
    an anthill built
    from a shuttlecock –
    sunlit butterfly kisses
    rough-hewn bark of a burr oak

    on a stubbed branch
    barking at the tomcat
    a gray squirrel
    But upper limbs call: Back to
    Casual acrobatics

    with her feet
    my niece draws figure-eights
    in the clouds
    while laughing on the tire swing,
    her hair filled with dandelions

    covered
    in dandelion dust
    all the twigs in her nest…
    the warbler stirs a song
    of sunlight from her eggs

    soft, fierce and loyal
    the mallard keeps her eggs warm
    city surrounds her…
    their thoughts, she knows, of turquoise
    skies and the songs of trees

    hail rains from the sky
    82-degree May day
    drenched in humidity
    global warming? climate change?
    wish it would make up it’s mind!

    playing “hard to get”
    teasing, taunting, then laughing
    flirtatious summer
    bedded alone, cold and dark
    yet i ‘wake looking for her

    she’s looking for you
    standing in ocean’s middle
    flying among stars
    and pulling the foam
    from the waves and seashells

    Like


  187. It’s nice to write with you again, A~Lotus!

    ————————————————-

    RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Spring rains her thunder –
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof
    metamorphosis of snowflakes
    immortalized as flowers

    another morning…
    from the rubble
    more cherry blossoms
    with quiet dignity and grace
    humbles a watching world

    brown grass and bare trees
    signal the death of Winter –
    teeming aftermelt
    curling up for another year
    a carpet of snowdrops

    new moon
    an anthill built
    from a shuttlecock –
    sunlit butterfly kisses
    rough-hewn bark of a burr oak

    on a stubbed branch
    barking at the tomcat
    a gray squirrel
    But upper limbs call: Back to
    Casual acrobatics

    with her feet
    my niece draws figure-eights
    in the clouds
    while laughing on the tire swing,
    her hair filled with dandelions

    covered
    in dandelion dust
    all the twigs in her nest…
    the warbler stirs a song
    of sunlight from her eggs

    soft, fierce and loyal
    the mallard keeps her eggs warm
    city surrounds her…
    their thoughts, she knows, of turquoise
    skies and the songs of trees

    hail rains from the sky
    82-degree May day
    drenched in humidity
    global warming? climate change?
    wish it would make up it’s mind!

    playing “hard to get”
    teasing, taunting, then laughing
    flirtatious summer
    bedded alone, cold and dark
    yet i ‘wake looking for her

    she’s looking for you
    standing in ocean’s middle
    flying among stars
    and pulling the foam
    from the waves and seashells

    Minneapolis
    trumps our gloomy weather news
    ‘steals thunder, not rain

    Like


  188. Ack! ‘Posted a senryu to the renga – sorry, allow me to re-post separately!

    Here’s the senryu

    ——————————

    Minneapolis
    trumps our gloomy weather news
    ‘steals thunder, not rain

    Like


  189. Re-posting Renga 52 – last entry was A~Lotus

    —————————–
    RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Spring rains her thunder –
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof
    metamorphosis of snowflakes
    immortalized as flowers

    another morning…
    from the rubble
    more cherry blossoms
    with quiet dignity and grace
    humbles a watching world

    brown grass and bare trees
    signal the death of Winter –
    teeming aftermelt
    curling up for another year
    a carpet of snowdrops

    new moon
    an anthill built
    from a shuttlecock –
    sunlit butterfly kisses
    rough-hewn bark of a burr oak

    on a stubbed branch
    barking at the tomcat
    a gray squirrel
    But upper limbs call: Back to
    Casual acrobatics

    with her feet
    my niece draws figure-eights
    in the clouds
    while laughing on the tire swing,
    her hair filled with dandelions

    covered
    in dandelion dust
    all the twigs in her nest…
    the warbler stirs a song
    of sunlight from her eggs

    soft, fierce and loyal
    the mallard keeps her eggs warm
    city surrounds her…
    their thoughts, she knows, of turquoise
    skies and the songs of trees

    hail rains from the sky
    82-degree May day
    drenched in humidity
    global warming? climate change?
    wish it would make up it’s mind!

    playing “hard to get”
    teasing, taunting, then laughing
    flirtatious summer
    bedded alone, cold and dark
    yet i ‘wake looking for her

    she’s looking for you
    standing in ocean’s middle
    flying among stars
    and pulling the foam
    from the waves and seashells

    Like


  190. walljasper, I kind of liked it as part of the renga. Maybe you should leave it in! I’ll add to it:

    Minneapolis
    trumps our gloomy weather news
    ‘steals thunder, not rain
    blue green skies reflect the Sun
    bright halo around my heart

    Like


  191. Thanks Ms. de QuoinMonkey, ‘re-inserted the lines and your very nice lines…I like your additions.

    —————————–
    RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Spring rains her thunder –
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof
    metamorphosis of snowflakes
    immortalized as flowers

    another morning…
    from the rubble
    more cherry blossoms
    with quiet dignity and grace
    humbles a watching world

    brown grass and bare trees
    signal the death of Winter –
    teeming aftermelt
    curling up for another year
    a carpet of snowdrops

    new moon
    an anthill built
    from a shuttlecock –
    sunlit butterfly kisses
    rough-hewn bark of a burr oak

    on a stubbed branch
    barking at the tomcat
    a gray squirrel
    But upper limbs call: Back to
    Casual acrobatics

    with her feet
    my niece draws figure-eights
    in the clouds
    while laughing on the tire swing,
    her hair filled with dandelions

    covered
    in dandelion dust
    all the twigs in her nest…
    the warbler stirs a song
    of sunlight from her eggs

    soft, fierce and loyal
    the mallard keeps her eggs warm
    city surrounds her…
    their thoughts, she knows, of turquoise
    skies and the songs of trees

    hail rains from the sky
    82-degree May day
    drenched in humidity
    global warming? climate change?
    wish it would make up it’s mind!

    playing “hard to get”
    teasing, taunting, then laughing
    flirtatious summer
    bedded alone, cold and dark
    yet i ‘wake looking for her

    she’s looking for you
    standing in ocean’s middle
    flying among stars
    and pulling the foam
    from the waves and seashells

    Minneapolis
    trumps our gloomy weather news
    ‘steals thunder, not rain
    blue green skies reflect the Sun
    bright halo around my heart

    gazing from a plane
    basking in a secret light
    so consigned to grey
    break ground, fly into the wind
    imagination reborn

    Like


  192. Nice to write with you again, walljasper! :)

    ———————————————————
    RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Spring rains her thunder –
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof
    metamorphosis of snowflakes
    immortalized as flowers

    another morning…
    from the rubble
    more cherry blossoms
    with quiet dignity and grace
    humbles a watching world

    brown grass and bare trees
    signal the death of Winter –
    teeming aftermelt
    curling up for another year
    a carpet of snowdrops

    new moon
    an anthill built
    from a shuttlecock –
    sunlit butterfly kisses
    rough-hewn bark of a burr oak

    on a stubbed branch
    barking at the tomcat
    a gray squirrel
    But upper limbs call: Back to
    Casual acrobatics

    with her feet
    my niece draws figure-eights
    in the clouds
    while laughing on the tire swing,
    her hair filled with dandelions

    covered
    in dandelion dust
    all the twigs in her nest…
    the warbler stirs a song
    of sunlight from her eggs

    soft, fierce and loyal
    the mallard keeps her eggs warm
    city surrounds her…
    their thoughts, she knows, of turquoise
    skies and the songs of trees

    hail rains from the sky
    82-degree May day
    drenched in humidity
    global warming? climate change?
    wish it would make up it’s mind!

    playing “hard to get”
    teasing, taunting, then laughing
    flirtatious summer
    bedded alone, cold and dark
    yet i ‘wake looking for her

    she’s looking for you
    standing in ocean’s middle
    flying among stars
    and pulling the foam
    from the waves and seashells

    Minneapolis
    trumps our gloomy weather news
    ‘steals thunder, not rain
    blue green skies reflect the Sun
    bright halo around my heart

    gazing from a plane
    basking in a secret light
    so consigned to grey
    break ground, fly into the wind
    imagination reborn

    cloud counting
    all the places you’ve been to
    before me

    Like


  193. RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Spring rains her thunder –
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof
    metamorphosis of snowflakes
    immortalized as flowers

    another morning…
    from the rubble
    more cherry blossoms
    with quiet dignity and grace
    humbles a watching world

    brown grass and bare trees
    signal the death of Winter –
    teeming aftermelt
    curling up for another year
    a carpet of snowdrops

    new moon
    an anthill built
    from a shuttlecock –
    sunlit butterfly kisses
    rough-hewn bark of a burr oak

    on a stubbed branch
    barking at the tomcat
    a gray squirrel
    But upper limbs call: Back to
    Casual acrobatics

    with her feet
    my niece draws figure-eights
    in the clouds
    while laughing on the tire swing,
    her hair filled with dandelions

    covered
    in dandelion dust
    all the twigs in her nest…
    the warbler stirs a song
    of sunlight from her eggs

    soft, fierce and loyal
    the mallard keeps her eggs warm
    city surrounds her…
    their thoughts, she knows, of turquoise
    skies and the songs of trees

    hail rains from the sky
    82-degree May day
    drenched in humidity
    global warming? climate change?
    wish it would make up it’s mind!

    playing “hard to get”
    teasing, taunting, then laughing
    flirtatious summer
    bedded alone, cold and dark
    yet i ‘wake looking for her

    she’s looking for you
    standing in ocean’s middle
    flying among stars
    and pulling the foam
    from the waves and seashells

    Minneapolis
    trumps our gloomy weather news
    ‘steals thunder, not rain
    blue green skies reflect the Sun
    bright halo around my heart

    gazing from a plane
    basking in a secret light
    so consigned to grey
    break ground, fly into the wind
    imagination reborn

    cloud counting
    all the places you’ve been to
    before me
    the moments you have glimpsed
    born anew, aloft, again

    Like


  194. RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Spring rains her thunder –
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof
    metamorphosis of snowflakes
    immortalized as flowers

    another morning…
    from the rubble
    more cherry blossoms
    with quiet dignity and grace
    humbles a watching world

    brown grass and bare trees
    signal the death of Winter –
    teeming aftermelt
    curling up for another year
    a carpet of snowdrops

    new moon
    an anthill built
    from a shuttlecock –
    sunlit butterfly kisses
    rough-hewn bark of a burr oak

    on a stubbed branch
    barking at the tomcat
    a gray squirrel
    But upper limbs call: Back to
    Casual acrobatics

    with her feet
    my niece draws figure-eights
    in the clouds
    while laughing on the tire swing,
    her hair filled with dandelions

    covered
    in dandelion dust
    all the twigs in her nest…
    the warbler stirs a song
    of sunlight from her eggs

    soft, fierce and loyal
    the mallard keeps her eggs warm
    city surrounds her…
    their thoughts, she knows, of turquoise
    skies and the songs of trees

    hail rains from the sky
    82-degree May day
    drenched in humidity
    global warming? climate change?
    wish it would make up it’s mind!

    playing “hard to get”
    teasing, taunting, then laughing
    flirtatious summer
    bedded alone, cold and dark
    yet i ‘wake looking for her

    she’s looking for you
    standing in ocean’s middle
    flying among stars
    and pulling the foam
    from the waves and seashells

    Minneapolis
    trumps our gloomy weather news
    ‘steals thunder, not rain
    blue green skies reflect the Sun
    bright halo around my heart

    gazing from a plane
    basking in a secret light
    so consigned to grey
    break ground, fly into the wind
    imagination reborn

    cloud counting
    all the places you’ve been to
    before me
    the moments you have glimpsed
    born anew, aloft, again

    her day of despair
    poisoned for a love of life
    quiet defiance
    soft slumber is her respite
    her bed, a gentle cocoon

    Like


  195. RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Spring rains her thunder –
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof
    metamorphosis of snowflakes
    immortalized as flowers

    another morning…
    from the rubble
    more cherry blossoms
    with quiet dignity and grace
    humbles a watching world

    brown grass and bare trees
    signal the death of Winter –
    teeming aftermelt
    curling up for another year
    a carpet of snowdrops

    new moon
    an anthill built
    from a shuttlecock –
    sunlit butterfly kisses
    rough-hewn bark of a burr oak

    on a stubbed branch
    barking at the tomcat
    a gray squirrel
    But upper limbs call: Back to
    Casual acrobatics

    with her feet
    my niece draws figure-eights
    in the clouds
    while laughing on the tire swing,
    her hair filled with dandelions

    covered
    in dandelion dust
    all the twigs in her nest…
    the warbler stirs a song
    of sunlight from her eggs

    soft, fierce and loyal
    the mallard keeps her eggs warm
    city surrounds her…
    their thoughts, she knows, of turquoise
    skies and the songs of trees

    hail rains from the sky
    82-degree May day
    drenched in humidity
    global warming? climate change?
    wish it would make up it’s mind!

    playing “hard to get”
    teasing, taunting, then laughing
    flirtatious summer
    bedded alone, cold and dark
    yet i ‘wake looking for her

    she’s looking for you
    standing in ocean’s middle
    flying among stars
    and pulling the foam
    from the waves and seashells

    Minneapolis
    trumps our gloomy weather news
    ‘steals thunder, not rain
    blue green skies reflect the Sun
    bright halo around my heart

    gazing from a plane
    basking in a secret light
    so consigned to grey
    break ground, fly into the wind
    imagination reborn

    cloud counting
    all the places you’ve been to
    before me
    the moments you have glimpsed
    borne aloft anew again

    her day of despair
    poisoned for a love of life
    quiet defiance
    soft slumber is her respite
    her bed, a gentle cocoon

    rain drops on transom
    patter of the lullabye
    she wakes to my eyes

    Like


  196. on May 26, 2011 at 8:58 am Teresa Williams

    Pear blossoms

    flare out –

    from where

    does the pink-fire

    come?

    Like


  197. RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Spring rains her thunder –
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof
    metamorphosis of snowflakes
    immortalized as flowers

    another morning…
    from the rubble
    more cherry blossoms
    with quiet dignity and grace
    humbles a watching world

    brown grass and bare trees
    signal the death of Winter –
    teeming aftermelt
    curling up for another year
    a carpet of snowdrops

    new moon
    an anthill built
    from a shuttlecock –
    sunlit butterfly kisses
    rough-hewn bark of a burr oak

    on a stubbed branch
    barking at the tomcat
    a gray squirrel
    But upper limbs call: Back to
    Casual acrobatics

    with her feet
    my niece draws figure-eights
    in the clouds
    while laughing on the tire swing,
    her hair filled with dandelions

    covered
    in dandelion dust
    all the twigs in her nest…
    the warbler stirs a song
    of sunlight from her eggs

    soft, fierce and loyal
    the mallard keeps her eggs warm
    city surrounds her…
    their thoughts, she knows, of turquoise
    skies and the songs of trees

    hail rains from the sky
    82-degree May day
    drenched in humidity
    global warming? climate change?
    wish it would make up it’s mind!

    playing “hard to get”
    teasing, taunting, then laughing
    flirtatious summer
    bedded alone, cold and dark
    yet i ‘wake looking for her

    she’s looking for you
    standing in ocean’s middle
    flying among stars
    and pulling the foam
    from the waves and seashells

    Minneapolis
    trumps our gloomy weather news
    ‘steals thunder, not rain
    blue green skies reflect the Sun
    bright halo around my heart

    gazing from a plane
    basking in a secret light
    so consigned to grey
    break ground, fly into the wind
    imagination reborn

    cloud counting
    all the places you’ve been to
    before me
    the moments you have glimpsed
    borne aloft anew again

    her day of despair
    poisoned for a love of life
    quiet defiance
    soft slumber is her respite
    her bed, a gentle cocoon

    rain drops on transom
    patter of the lullabye
    she wakes to my eyes
    planting a kiss on my cheeks
    and cupping my face in her hands

    Like


  198. That is very lovely, A~Lotus.

    I hope it’s ok to add my snippet from last year’s Haiku 2 site. The last two lines are a phrase I heard long ago, listening to the PBS series “The Power of Myth” featuring Dr. Joseph Campbell.

    http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Joseph_Campbell

    Hmmm, two lines of seven syllables…you have to wonder if he had a little Renga going on the side. ;-)

    ————————————-

    RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Spring rains her thunder –
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof
    metamorphosis of snowflakes
    immortalized as flowers

    another morning…
    from the rubble
    more cherry blossoms
    with quiet dignity and grace
    humbles a watching world

    brown grass and bare trees
    signal the death of Winter –
    teeming aftermelt
    curling up for another year
    a carpet of snowdrops

    new moon
    an anthill built
    from a shuttlecock –
    sunlit butterfly kisses
    rough-hewn bark of a burr oak

    on a stubbed branch
    barking at the tomcat
    a gray squirrel
    But upper limbs call: Back to
    Casual acrobatics

    with her feet
    my niece draws figure-eights
    in the clouds
    while laughing on the tire swing,
    her hair filled with dandelions

    covered
    in dandelion dust
    all the twigs in her nest…
    the warbler stirs a song
    of sunlight from her eggs

    soft, fierce and loyal
    the mallard keeps her eggs warm
    city surrounds her…
    their thoughts, she knows, of turquoise
    skies and the songs of trees

    hail rains from the sky
    82-degree May day
    drenched in humidity
    global warming? climate change?
    wish it would make up it’s mind!

    playing “hard to get”
    teasing, taunting, then laughing
    flirtatious summer
    bedded alone, cold and dark
    yet i ‘wake looking for her

    she’s looking for you
    standing in ocean’s middle
    flying among stars
    and pulling the foam
    from the waves and seashells

    Minneapolis
    trumps our gloomy weather news
    ‘steals thunder, not rain
    blue green skies reflect the Sun
    bright halo around my heart

    gazing from a plane
    basking in a secret light
    so consigned to grey
    break ground, fly into the wind
    imagination reborn

    cloud counting
    all the places you’ve been to
    before me
    the moments you have glimpsed
    borne aloft anew again

    her day of despair
    poisoned for a love of life
    quiet defiance
    soft slumber is her respite
    her bed, soft silken cocoon

    rain drops on transom
    patters of the lullabye
    she wakes to my eyes
    planting a kiss on my cheeks
    and cupping my face in her hands

    our moment awake
    grateful in the smallest joys
    consigned to kindness
    joyful participation
    in the sorrows of the world

    Like


  199. walljasper, I have the Power of Myth on CD. I recently heard Bill Moyers interviewed on MPR and he talked about how interviewing Joseph Campbell was one of his memorable experiences. People really remember that conversation. Mythology is powerful. We all want to know where we come from and so many stories have been invented over the course of time to explain it. Personal mythologies — even more fascinating.

    _____________

    RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Spring rains her thunder –
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof
    metamorphosis of snowflakes
    immortalized as flowers

    another morning…
    from the rubble
    more cherry blossoms
    with quiet dignity and grace
    humbles a watching world

    brown grass and bare trees
    signal the death of Winter –
    teeming aftermelt
    curling up for another year
    a carpet of snowdrops

    new moon
    an anthill built
    from a shuttlecock –
    sunlit butterfly kisses
    rough-hewn bark of a burr oak

    on a stubbed branch
    barking at the tomcat
    a gray squirrel
    But upper limbs call: Back to
    Casual acrobatics

    with her feet
    my niece draws figure-eights
    in the clouds
    while laughing on the tire swing,
    her hair filled with dandelions

    covered
    in dandelion dust
    all the twigs in her nest…
    the warbler stirs a song
    of sunlight from her eggs

    soft, fierce and loyal
    the mallard keeps her eggs warm
    city surrounds her…
    their thoughts, she knows, of turquoise
    skies and the songs of trees

    hail rains from the sky
    82-degree May day
    drenched in humidity
    global warming? climate change?
    wish it would make up it’s mind!

    playing “hard to get”
    teasing, taunting, then laughing
    flirtatious summer
    bedded alone, cold and dark
    yet i ‘wake looking for her

    she’s looking for you
    standing in ocean’s middle
    flying among stars
    and pulling the foam
    from the waves and seashells

    Minneapolis
    trumps our gloomy weather news
    ‘steals thunder, not rain
    blue green skies reflect the Sun
    bright halo around my heart

    gazing from a plane
    basking in a secret light
    so consigned to grey
    break ground, fly into the wind
    imagination reborn

    cloud counting
    all the places you’ve been to
    before me
    the moments you have glimpsed
    borne aloft anew again

    her day of despair
    poisoned for a love of life
    quiet defiance
    soft slumber is her respite
    her bed, soft silken cocoon

    rain drops on transom
    patters of the lullabye
    she wakes to my eyes
    planting a kiss on my cheeks
    and cupping my face in her hands

    our moment awake
    grateful in the smallest joys
    consigned to kindness
    joyful participation
    in the sorrows of the world

    rain on fresh cut grass
    the cloudy pleasures of Spring
    whirl into Summer

    Like


  200. Hi QM :-)

    I’d also like to thank Walljasper for pointing to the Joseph Campbell interviews, they really are fascinating. I’ve been considering doing a course in mythology with the Open University since delving in to Celtic myth… in fact, I might just sign up for it today!

    Hope both you and Liz are tickety-boo and in the pink :-)

    RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Spring rains her thunder –
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof
    metamorphosis of snowflakes
    immortalized as flowers

    another morning…
    from the rubble
    more cherry blossoms
    with quiet dignity and grace
    humbles a watching world

    brown grass and bare trees
    signal the death of Winter –
    teeming aftermelt
    curling up for another year
    a carpet of snowdrops

    new moon
    an anthill built
    from a shuttlecock –
    sunlit butterfly kisses
    rough-hewn bark of a burr oak

    on a stubbed branch
    barking at the tomcat
    a gray squirrel
    But upper limbs call: Back to
    Casual acrobatics

    with her feet
    my niece draws figure-eights
    in the clouds
    while laughing on the tire swing,
    her hair filled with dandelions

    covered
    in dandelion dust
    all the twigs in her nest…
    the warbler stirs a song
    of sunlight from her eggs

    soft, fierce and loyal
    the mallard keeps her eggs warm
    city surrounds her…
    their thoughts, she knows, of turquoise
    skies and the songs of trees

    hail rains from the sky
    82-degree May day
    drenched in humidity
    global warming? climate change?
    wish it would make up it’s mind!

    playing “hard to get”
    teasing, taunting, then laughing
    flirtatious summer
    bedded alone, cold and dark
    yet i ‘wake looking for her

    she’s looking for you
    standing in ocean’s middle
    flying among stars
    and pulling the foam
    from the waves and seashells

    Minneapolis
    trumps our gloomy weather news
    ‘steals thunder, not rain
    blue green skies reflect the Sun
    bright halo around my heart

    gazing from a plane
    basking in a secret light
    so consigned to grey
    break ground, fly into the wind
    imagination reborn

    cloud counting
    all the places you’ve been to
    before me
    the moments you have glimpsed
    borne aloft anew again

    her day of despair
    poisoned for a love of life
    quiet defiance
    soft slumber is her respite
    her bed, soft silken cocoon

    rain drops on transom
    patters of the lullabye
    she wakes to my eyes
    planting a kiss on my cheeks
    and cupping my face in her hands

    our moment awake
    grateful in the smallest joys
    consigned to kindness
    joyful participation
    in the sorrows of the world

    rain on fresh cut grass
    the cloudy pleasures of Spring
    whirl into Summer
    awakening my senses
    to whispers of childhood knowings

    Like


  201. lol Are you guys aiming for the Guinness world record for the longest tanka?

    Like


  202. icedemon, it’s one of our practices this year — to keep a renga going for a whole year. I asked Lotus at the end of last year if she wanted to do it for a practice this year. She agreed and then we asked others to join in. Please join us!

    annie, fantastic! Let us know how your class on mythology goes. Love to hear about it.

    ______________

    RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Spring rains her thunder –
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof
    metamorphosis of snowflakes
    immortalized as flowers

    another morning…
    from the rubble
    more cherry blossoms
    with quiet dignity and grace
    humbles a watching world

    brown grass and bare trees
    signal the death of Winter –
    teeming aftermelt
    curling up for another year
    a carpet of snowdrops

    new moon
    an anthill built
    from a shuttlecock –
    sunlit butterfly kisses
    rough-hewn bark of a burr oak

    on a stubbed branch
    barking at the tomcat
    a gray squirrel
    But upper limbs call: Back to
    Casual acrobatics

    with her feet
    my niece draws figure-eights
    in the clouds
    while laughing on the tire swing,
    her hair filled with dandelions

    covered
    in dandelion dust
    all the twigs in her nest…
    the warbler stirs a song
    of sunlight from her eggs

    soft, fierce and loyal
    the mallard keeps her eggs warm
    city surrounds her…
    their thoughts, she knows, of turquoise
    skies and the songs of trees

    hail rains from the sky
    82-degree May day
    drenched in humidity
    global warming? climate change?
    wish it would make up it’s mind!

    playing “hard to get”
    teasing, taunting, then laughing
    flirtatious summer
    bedded alone, cold and dark
    yet i ‘wake looking for her

    she’s looking for you
    standing in ocean’s middle
    flying among stars
    and pulling the foam
    from the waves and seashells

    Minneapolis
    trumps our gloomy weather news
    ‘steals thunder, not rain
    blue green skies reflect the Sun
    bright halo around my heart

    gazing from a plane
    basking in a secret light
    so consigned to grey
    break ground, fly into the wind
    imagination reborn

    cloud counting
    all the places you’ve been to
    before me
    the moments you have glimpsed
    borne aloft anew again

    her day of despair
    poisoned for a love of life
    quiet defiance
    soft slumber is her respite
    her bed, soft silken cocoon

    rain drops on transom
    patters of the lullabye
    she wakes to my eyes
    planting a kiss on my cheeks
    and cupping my face in her hands

    our moment awake
    grateful in the smallest joys
    consigned to kindness
    joyful participation
    in the sorrows of the world

    rain on fresh cut grass
    the cloudy pleasures of Spring
    whirl into Summer
    awakening my senses
    to whispers of childhood knowings

    Memorial Day —
    why is it the quest for peace
    seems rooted in war

    Like


  203. RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Spring rains her thunder –
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof
    metamorphosis of snowflakes
    immortalized as flowers

    another morning…
    from the rubble
    more cherry blossoms
    with quiet dignity and grace
    humbles a watching world

    brown grass and bare trees
    signal the death of Winter –
    teeming aftermelt
    curling up for another year
    a carpet of snowdrops

    new moon
    an anthill built
    from a shuttlecock –
    sunlit butterfly kisses
    rough-hewn bark of a burr oak

    on a stubbed branch
    barking at the tomcat
    a gray squirrel
    But upper limbs call: Back to
    Casual acrobatics

    with her feet
    my niece draws figure-eights
    in the clouds
    while laughing on the tire swing,
    her hair filled with dandelions

    covered
    in dandelion dust
    all the twigs in her nest…
    the warbler stirs a song
    of sunlight from her eggs

    soft, fierce and loyal
    the mallard keeps her eggs warm
    city surrounds her…
    their thoughts, she knows, of turquoise
    skies and the songs of trees

    hail rains from the sky
    82-degree May day
    drenched in humidity
    global warming? climate change?
    wish it would make up it’s mind!

    playing “hard to get”
    teasing, taunting, then laughing
    flirtatious summer
    bedded alone, cold and dark
    yet i ‘wake looking for her

    she’s looking for you
    standing in ocean’s middle
    flying among stars
    and pulling the foam
    from the waves and seashells

    Minneapolis
    trumps our gloomy weather news
    ‘steals thunder, not rain
    blue green skies reflect the Sun
    bright halo around my heart

    gazing from a plane
    basking in a secret light
    so consigned to grey
    break ground, fly into the wind
    imagination reborn

    cloud counting
    all the places you’ve been to
    before me
    the moments you have glimpsed
    borne aloft anew again

    her day of despair
    poisoned for a love of life
    quiet defiance
    soft slumber is her respite
    her bed, soft silken cocoon

    rain drops on transom
    patters of the lullabye
    she wakes to my eyes
    planting a kiss on my cheeks
    and cupping my face in her hands

    our moment awake
    grateful in the smallest joys
    consigned to kindness
    joyful participation
    in the sorrows of the world

    rain on fresh cut grass
    the cloudy pleasures of Spring
    whirl into Summer
    awakening my senses
    to whispers of childhood knowings

    Memorial Day —
    why is it the quest for peace
    seems rooted in war
    buried deep beyond our souls
    ancient mine fields bide their time

    Like


  204. beautiful completion to Memorial Day, walljasper.

    ____________

    RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Spring rains her thunder –
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof
    metamorphosis of snowflakes
    immortalized as flowers

    another morning…
    from the rubble
    more cherry blossoms
    with quiet dignity and grace
    humbles a watching world

    brown grass and bare trees
    signal the death of Winter –
    teeming aftermelt
    curling up for another year
    a carpet of snowdrops

    new moon
    an anthill built
    from a shuttlecock –
    sunlit butterfly kisses
    rough-hewn bark of a burr oak

    on a stubbed branch
    barking at the tomcat
    a gray squirrel
    But upper limbs call: Back to
    Casual acrobatics

    with her feet
    my niece draws figure-eights
    in the clouds
    while laughing on the tire swing,
    her hair filled with dandelions

    covered
    in dandelion dust
    all the twigs in her nest…
    the warbler stirs a song
    of sunlight from her eggs

    soft, fierce and loyal
    the mallard keeps her eggs warm
    city surrounds her…
    their thoughts, she knows, of turquoise
    skies and the songs of trees

    hail rains from the sky
    82-degree May day
    drenched in humidity
    global warming? climate change?
    wish it would make up it’s mind!

    playing “hard to get”
    teasing, taunting, then laughing
    flirtatious summer
    bedded alone, cold and dark
    yet i ‘wake looking for her

    she’s looking for you
    standing in ocean’s middle
    flying among stars
    and pulling the foam
    from the waves and seashells

    Minneapolis
    trumps our gloomy weather news
    ‘steals thunder, not rain
    blue green skies reflect the Sun
    bright halo around my heart

    gazing from a plane
    basking in a secret light
    so consigned to grey
    break ground, fly into the wind
    imagination reborn

    cloud counting
    all the places you’ve been to
    before me
    the moments you have glimpsed
    borne aloft anew again

    her day of despair
    poisoned for a love of life
    quiet defiance
    soft slumber is her respite
    her bed, soft silken cocoon

    rain drops on transom
    patters of the lullabye
    she wakes to my eyes
    planting a kiss on my cheeks
    and cupping my face in her hands

    our moment awake
    grateful in the smallest joys
    consigned to kindness
    joyful participation
    in the sorrows of the world

    rain on fresh cut grass
    the cloudy pleasures of Spring
    whirl into Summer
    awakening my senses
    to whispers of childhood knowings

    Memorial Day —
    why is it the quest for peace
    seems rooted in war
    buried deep beyond our souls
    ancient mine fields bide their time

    unfolding rhythm
    late night in the studio
    Joan Armatrading

    Like


  205. @Walljasper, QM, and Annie! Wow! Lovely additions to the renga since I’ve been gone (for a little bit). I’ve been catching up with life. I also started a new job and wrote for the Eastern Therapeutic Writing course that is on the Writing Our Way Home forum with Kaspa and Fiona Robyn (http://writingourwayhome.ning.com/). Teresa Williams was also one of the other participants in this course too! It was an enriching and fun course! Highly recommended!

    Hope everyone in redRavine world is well! Blessings! :)

    @QM: I had to look up who Joan Armatrading is. I’m not the familiar with the name, but I looked up a few of her songs and listened to them. Wow, very strong lyrics.

    ——————————————————

    RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Spring rains her thunder –
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof
    metamorphosis of snowflakes
    immortalized as flowers

    another morning…
    from the rubble
    more cherry blossoms
    with quiet dignity and grace
    humbles a watching world

    brown grass and bare trees
    signal the death of Winter –
    teeming aftermelt
    curling up for another year
    a carpet of snowdrops

    new moon
    an anthill built
    from a shuttlecock –
    sunlit butterfly kisses
    rough-hewn bark of a burr oak

    on a stubbed branch
    barking at the tomcat
    a gray squirrel
    But upper limbs call: Back to
    Casual acrobatics

    with her feet
    my niece draws figure-eights
    in the clouds
    while laughing on the tire swing,
    her hair filled with dandelions

    covered
    in dandelion dust
    all the twigs in her nest…
    the warbler stirs a song
    of sunlight from her eggs

    soft, fierce and loyal
    the mallard keeps her eggs warm
    city surrounds her…
    their thoughts, she knows, of turquoise
    skies and the songs of trees

    hail rains from the sky
    82-degree May day
    drenched in humidity
    global warming? climate change?
    wish it would make up it’s mind!

    playing “hard to get”
    teasing, taunting, then laughing
    flirtatious summer
    bedded alone, cold and dark
    yet i ‘wake looking for her

    she’s looking for you
    standing in ocean’s middle
    flying among stars
    and pulling the foam
    from the waves and seashells

    Minneapolis
    trumps our gloomy weather news
    ‘steals thunder, not rain
    blue green skies reflect the Sun
    bright halo around my heart

    gazing from a plane
    basking in a secret light
    so consigned to grey
    break ground, fly into the wind
    imagination reborn

    cloud counting
    all the places you’ve been to
    before me
    the moments you have glimpsed
    borne aloft anew again

    her day of despair
    poisoned for a love of life
    quiet defiance
    soft slumber is her respite
    her bed, soft silken cocoon

    rain drops on transom
    patters of the lullabye
    she wakes to my eyes
    planting a kiss on my cheeks
    and cupping my face in her hands

    our moment awake
    grateful in the smallest joys
    consigned to kindness
    joyful participation
    in the sorrows of the world

    rain on fresh cut grass
    the cloudy pleasures of Spring
    whirl into Summer
    awakening my senses
    to whispers of childhood knowings

    Memorial Day —
    why is it the quest for peace
    seems rooted in war
    buried deep beyond our souls
    ancient mine fields bide their time

    unfolding rhythm
    late night in the studio
    Joan Armatrading…
    with the last song… the mist
    of your coffee cup twirls in mine

    Like


  206. Cool, Lotus. Welcome back! Yes, Joan is a gem. Heard her interviewed, I think it was last year. Strong woman, too. I like your coffee cup twirls ending. 8)

    ________

    RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Spring rains her thunder –
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof
    metamorphosis of snowflakes
    immortalized as flowers

    another morning…
    from the rubble
    more cherry blossoms
    with quiet dignity and grace
    humbles a watching world

    brown grass and bare trees
    signal the death of Winter –
    teeming aftermelt
    curling up for another year
    a carpet of snowdrops

    new moon
    an anthill built
    from a shuttlecock –
    sunlit butterfly kisses
    rough-hewn bark of a burr oak

    on a stubbed branch
    barking at the tomcat
    a gray squirrel
    But upper limbs call: Back to
    Casual acrobatics

    with her feet
    my niece draws figure-eights
    in the clouds
    while laughing on the tire swing,
    her hair filled with dandelions

    covered
    in dandelion dust
    all the twigs in her nest…
    the warbler stirs a song
    of sunlight from her eggs

    soft, fierce and loyal
    the mallard keeps her eggs warm
    city surrounds her…
    their thoughts, she knows, of turquoise
    skies and the songs of trees

    hail rains from the sky
    82-degree May day
    drenched in humidity
    global warming? climate change?
    wish it would make up it’s mind!

    playing “hard to get”
    teasing, taunting, then laughing
    flirtatious summer
    bedded alone, cold and dark
    yet i ‘wake looking for her

    she’s looking for you
    standing in ocean’s middle
    flying among stars
    and pulling the foam
    from the waves and seashells

    Minneapolis
    trumps our gloomy weather news
    ‘steals thunder, not rain
    blue green skies reflect the Sun
    bright halo around my heart

    gazing from a plane
    basking in a secret light
    so consigned to grey
    break ground, fly into the wind
    imagination reborn

    cloud counting
    all the places you’ve been to
    before me
    the moments you have glimpsed
    borne aloft anew again

    her day of despair
    poisoned for a love of life
    quiet defiance
    soft slumber is her respite
    her bed, soft silken cocoon

    rain drops on transom
    patters of the lullabye
    she wakes to my eyes
    planting a kiss on my cheeks
    and cupping my face in her hands

    our moment awake
    grateful in the smallest joys
    consigned to kindness
    joyful participation
    in the sorrows of the world

    rain on fresh cut grass
    the cloudy pleasures of Spring
    whirl into Summer
    awakening my senses
    to whispers of childhood knowings

    Memorial Day —
    why is it the quest for peace
    seems rooted in war
    buried deep beyond our souls
    ancient mine fields bide their time

    unfolding rhythm
    late night in the studio
    Joan Armatrading…
    with the last song… the mist
    of your coffee cup twirls in mine

    blue steam forms a fog
    dark blend, catch the java train
    ride the next deep breath

    Like


  207. We dance the Renga electric…what a delight to read each moment as it unfurls in our linked minds.

    A true joy.

    ————————–

    RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Spring rains her thunder –
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof
    metamorphosis of snowflakes
    immortalized as flowers

    another morning…
    from the rubble
    more cherry blossoms
    with quiet dignity and grace
    humbles a watching world

    brown grass and bare trees
    signal the death of Winter –
    teeming aftermelt
    curling up for another year
    a carpet of snowdrops

    new moon
    an anthill built
    from a shuttlecock –
    sunlit butterfly kisses
    rough-hewn bark of a burr oak

    on a stubbed branch
    barking at the tomcat
    a gray squirrel
    But upper limbs call: Back to
    Casual acrobatics

    with her feet
    my niece draws figure-eights
    in the clouds
    while laughing on the tire swing,
    her hair filled with dandelions

    covered
    in dandelion dust
    all the twigs in her nest…
    the warbler stirs a song
    of sunlight from her eggs

    soft, fierce and loyal
    the mallard keeps her eggs warm
    city surrounds her…
    their thoughts, she knows, of turquoise
    skies and the songs of trees

    hail rains from the sky
    82-degree May day
    drenched in humidity
    global warming? climate change?
    wish it would make up it’s mind!

    playing “hard to get”
    teasing, taunting, then laughing
    flirtatious summer
    bedded alone, cold and dark
    yet i ‘wake looking for her

    she’s looking for you
    standing in ocean’s middle
    flying among stars
    and pulling the foam
    from the waves and seashells

    Minneapolis
    trumps our gloomy weather news
    ‘steals thunder, not rain
    blue green skies reflect the Sun
    bright halo around my heart

    gazing from a plane
    basking in a secret light
    so consigned to grey
    break ground, fly into the wind
    imagination reborn

    cloud counting
    all the places you’ve been to
    before me
    the moments you have glimpsed
    borne aloft anew again

    her day of despair
    poisoned for a love of life
    quiet defiance
    soft slumber is her respite
    her bed, soft silken cocoon

    rain drops on transom
    patters of the lullabye
    she wakes to my eyes
    planting a kiss on my cheeks
    and cupping my face in her hands

    our moment awake
    grateful in the smallest joys
    consigned to kindness
    joyful participation
    in the sorrows of the world

    rain on fresh cut grass
    the cloudy pleasures of Spring
    whirl into Summer
    awakening my senses
    to whispers of childhood knowings

    Memorial Day —
    why is it the quest for peace
    seems rooted in war
    buried deep beyond our souls
    ancient mine fields bide their time

    unfolding rhythm
    late night in the studio
    Joan Armatrading…
    with the last song… the mist
    of your coffee cup twirls in mine

    blue steam forms a fog
    dark blend, catch the java train
    ride the next deep breath
    eyes are windows of the soul
    and Joan is soul for the ears

    Like


  208. Indeed we do, walljasper. It is a delight. 8)

    ————————–

    RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Spring rains her thunder –
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof
    metamorphosis of snowflakes
    immortalized as flowers

    another morning…
    from the rubble
    more cherry blossoms
    with quiet dignity and grace
    humbles a watching world

    brown grass and bare trees
    signal the death of Winter –
    teeming aftermelt
    curling up for another year
    a carpet of snowdrops

    new moon
    an anthill built
    from a shuttlecock –
    sunlit butterfly kisses
    rough-hewn bark of a burr oak

    on a stubbed branch
    barking at the tomcat
    a gray squirrel
    But upper limbs call: Back to
    Casual acrobatics

    with her feet
    my niece draws figure-eights
    in the clouds
    while laughing on the tire swing,
    her hair filled with dandelions

    covered
    in dandelion dust
    all the twigs in her nest…
    the warbler stirs a song
    of sunlight from her eggs

    soft, fierce and loyal
    the mallard keeps her eggs warm
    city surrounds her…
    their thoughts, she knows, of turquoise
    skies and the songs of trees

    hail rains from the sky
    82-degree May day
    drenched in humidity
    global warming? climate change?
    wish it would make up it’s mind!

    playing “hard to get”
    teasing, taunting, then laughing
    flirtatious summer
    bedded alone, cold and dark
    yet i ‘wake looking for her

    she’s looking for you
    standing in ocean’s middle
    flying among stars
    and pulling the foam
    from the waves and seashells

    Minneapolis
    trumps our gloomy weather news
    ‘steals thunder, not rain
    blue green skies reflect the Sun
    bright halo around my heart

    gazing from a plane
    basking in a secret light
    so consigned to grey
    break ground, fly into the wind
    imagination reborn

    cloud counting
    all the places you’ve been to
    before me
    the moments you have glimpsed
    borne aloft anew again

    her day of despair
    poisoned for a love of life
    quiet defiance
    soft slumber is her respite
    her bed, soft silken cocoon

    rain drops on transom
    patters of the lullabye
    she wakes to my eyes
    planting a kiss on my cheeks
    and cupping my face in her hands

    our moment awake
    grateful in the smallest joys
    consigned to kindness
    joyful participation
    in the sorrows of the world

    rain on fresh cut grass
    the cloudy pleasures of Spring
    whirl into Summer
    awakening my senses
    to whispers of childhood knowings

    Memorial Day —
    why is it the quest for peace
    seems rooted in war
    buried deep beyond our souls
    ancient mine fields bide their time

    unfolding rhythm
    late night in the studio
    Joan Armatrading…
    with the last song… the mist
    of your coffee cup twirls in mine

    blue steam forms a fog
    dark blend, catch the java train
    ride the next deep breath
    eyes are windows of the soul
    and Joan is soul for the ears

    night falls into ART
    you, pouring more strong coffee
    fiery Northern Spark

    Like


  209. RENGA 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Spring rains her thunder –
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof
    metamorphosis of snowflakes
    immortalized as flowers

    another morning…
    from the rubble
    more cherry blossoms
    with quiet dignity and grace
    humbles a watching world

    brown grass and bare trees
    signal the death of Winter –
    teeming aftermelt
    curling up for another year
    a carpet of snowdrops

    new moon
    an anthill built
    from a shuttlecock –
    sunlit butterfly kisses
    rough-hewn bark of a burr oak

    on a stubbed branch
    barking at the tomcat
    a gray squirrel
    But upper limbs call: Back to
    Casual acrobatics

    with her feet
    my niece draws figure-eights
    in the clouds
    while laughing on the tire swing,
    her hair filled with dandelions

    covered
    in dandelion dust
    all the twigs in her nest…
    the warbler stirs a song
    of sunlight from her eggs

    soft, fierce and loyal
    the mallard keeps her eggs warm
    city surrounds her…
    their thoughts, she knows, of turquoise
    skies and the songs of trees

    hail rains from the sky
    82-degree May day
    drenched in humidity
    global warming? climate change?
    wish it would make up it’s mind!

    playing “hard to get”
    teasing, taunting, then laughing
    flirtatious summer
    bedded alone, cold and dark
    yet i ‘wake looking for her

    she’s looking for you
    standing in ocean’s middle
    flying among stars
    and pulling the foam
    from the waves and seashells

    Minneapolis
    trumps our gloomy weather news
    ‘steals thunder, not rain
    blue green skies reflect the Sun
    bright halo around my heart

    gazing from a plane
    basking in a secret light
    so consigned to grey
    break ground, fly into the wind
    imagination reborn

    cloud counting
    all the places you’ve been to
    before me
    the moments you have glimpsed
    borne aloft anew again

    her day of despair
    poisoned for a love of life
    quiet defiance
    soft slumber is her respite
    her bed, soft silken cocoon

    rain drops on transom
    patters of the lullabye
    she wakes to my eyes
    planting a kiss on my cheeks
    and cupping my face in her hands

    our moment awake
    grateful in the smallest joys
    consigned to kindness
    joyful participation
    in the sorrows of the world

    rain on fresh cut grass
    the cloudy pleasures of Spring
    whirl into Summer
    awakening my senses
    to whispers of childhood knowings

    Memorial Day —
    why is it the quest for peace
    seems rooted in war
    buried deep beyond our souls
    ancient mine fields bide their time

    unfolding rhythm
    late night in the studio
    Joan Armatrading…
    with the last song… the mist
    of your coffee cup twirls in mine

    blue steam forms a fog
    dark blend, catch the java train
    ride the next deep breath
    eyes are windows of the soul
    and Joan is soul for the ears

    night falls into ART
    you, pouring more strong coffee
    fiery Northern Spark
    humans walk between the stars
    Twin Cities of light & art

    Like


  210. […] -related to posts: Baby Eagles At Summer Solstice, BlackBerry 365 Project — White Winter Squirrel, Flying Solo — Dragonfly In Yellow Rain, Searching For Stillness, icicle tumbleweed (haiga) — 2/52, The Mirado Black Warrior, Waning Moon (Haiga), Alter-Ego Mandala: Dreaming Of The Albatross (For Bukowski), EarthHealer — Mandala For The Tortoise, haiku 4 (one-a-day) Meets renga 52 […]

    Like


  211. Happy days, the sun has returned to northern California. ;-)

    —————————-

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Spring rains her thunder –
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof
    metamorphosis of snowflakes
    immortalized as flowers

    another morning…
    from the rubble
    more cherry blossoms
    with quiet dignity and grace
    humbles a watching world

    brown grass and bare trees
    signal the death of Winter –
    teeming aftermelt
    curling up for another year
    a carpet of snowdrops

    new moon
    an anthill built
    from a shuttlecock –
    sunlit butterfly kisses
    rough-hewn bark of a burr oak

    on a stubbed branch
    barking at the tomcat
    a gray squirrel
    But upper limbs call: Back to
    Casual acrobatics

    with her feet
    my niece draws figure-eights
    in the clouds
    while laughing on the tire swing,
    her hair filled with dandelions

    covered
    in dandelion dust
    all the twigs in her nest…
    the warbler stirs a song
    of sunlight from her eggs

    soft, fierce and loyal
    the mallard keeps her eggs warm
    city surrounds her…
    their thoughts, she knows, of turquoise
    skies and the songs of trees

    hail rains from the sky
    82-degree May day
    drenched in humidity
    global warming? climate change?
    wish it would make up it’s mind!

    playing “hard to get”
    teasing, taunting, then laughing
    flirtatious summer
    bedded alone, cold and dark
    yet i ‘wake looking for her

    she’s looking for you
    standing in ocean’s middle
    flying among stars
    and pulling the foam
    from the waves and seashells

    Minneapolis
    trumps our gloomy weather news
    ‘steals thunder, not rain
    blue green skies reflect the Sun
    bright halo around my heart

    gazing from a plane
    basking in a secret light
    so consigned to grey
    break ground, fly into the wind
    imagination reborn

    cloud counting
    all the places you’ve been to
    before me
    the moments you have glimpsed
    borne aloft anew again

    her day of despair
    poisoned for a love of life
    quiet defiance
    soft slumber is her respite
    her bed, soft silken cocoon

    rain drops on transom
    patters of the lullabye
    she wakes to my eyes
    planting a kiss on my cheeks
    and cupping my face in her hands

    our moment awake
    grateful in the smallest joys
    consigned to kindness
    joyful participation
    in the sorrows of the world

    rain on fresh cut grass
    the cloudy pleasures of Spring
    whirl into Summer
    awakening my senses
    to whispers of childhood knowings

    Memorial Day —
    why is it the quest for peace
    seems rooted in war
    buried deep beyond our souls
    ancient mine fields bide their time

    unfolding rhythm
    late night in the studio
    Joan Armatrading…
    with the last song… the mist
    of your coffee cup twirls in mine

    blue steam forms a fog
    dark blend, catch the java train
    ride the next deep breath
    eyes are windows of the soul
    and Joan is soul for the ears

    night falls into ART
    you, pouring more strong coffee
    fiery Northern Spark
    humans walk between the stars
    Twin Cities of light & art

    something is shining
    the prodigal Sun returns
    where are my shades?

    Like


  212. Renga 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Spring rains her thunder –
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof
    metamorphosis of snowflakes
    immortalized as flowers

    another morning…
    from the rubble
    more cherry blossoms
    with quiet dignity and grace
    humbles a watching world

    brown grass and bare trees
    signal the death of Winter –
    teeming aftermelt
    curling up for another year
    a carpet of snowdrops

    new moon
    an anthill built
    from a shuttlecock –
    sunlit butterfly kisses
    rough-hewn bark of a burr oak

    on a stubbed branch
    barking at the tomcat
    a gray squirrel
    But upper limbs call: Back to
    Casual acrobatics

    with her feet
    my niece draws figure-eights
    in the clouds
    while laughing on the tire swing,
    her hair filled with dandelions

    covered
    in dandelion dust
    all the twigs in her nest…
    the warbler stirs a song
    of sunlight from her eggs

    soft, fierce and loyal
    the mallard keeps her eggs warm
    city surrounds her…
    their thoughts, she knows, of turquoise
    skies and the songs of trees

    hail rains from the sky
    82-degree May day
    drenched in humidity
    global warming? climate change?
    wish it would make up it’s mind!

    playing “hard to get”
    teasing, taunting, then laughing
    flirtatious summer
    bedded alone, cold and dark
    yet i ‘wake looking for her

    she’s looking for you
    standing in ocean’s middle
    flying among stars
    and pulling the foam
    from the waves and seashells

    Minneapolis
    trumps our gloomy weather news
    ‘steals thunder, not rain
    blue green skies reflect the Sun
    bright halo around my heart

    gazing from a plane
    basking in a secret light
    so consigned to grey
    break ground, fly into the wind
    imagination reborn

    cloud counting
    all the places you’ve been to
    before me
    the moments you have glimpsed
    borne aloft anew again

    her day of despair
    poisoned for a love of life
    quiet defiance
    soft slumber is her respite
    her bed, soft silken cocoon

    rain drops on transom
    patters of the lullabye
    she wakes to my eyes
    planting a kiss on my cheeks
    and cupping my face in her hands

    our moment awake
    grateful in the smallest joys
    consigned to kindness
    joyful participation
    in the sorrows of the world

    rain on fresh cut grass
    the cloudy pleasures of Spring
    whirl into Summer
    awakening my senses
    to whispers of childhood knowings

    Memorial Day —
    why is it the quest for peace
    seems rooted in war
    buried deep beyond our souls
    ancient mine fields bide their time

    unfolding rhythm
    late night in the studio
    Joan Armatrading…
    with the last song… the mist
    of your coffee cup twirls in mine

    blue steam forms a fog
    dark blend, catch the java train
    ride the next deep breath
    eyes are windows of the soul
    and Joan is soul for the ears

    night falls into ART
    you, pouring more strong coffee
    fiery Northern Spark
    humans walk between the stars
    Twin Cities of light & art

    something is shining
    the prodigal Sun returns
    where are my shades?
    skimming over my eyes
    the shadow of a hawk

    Like


  213. on June 15, 2011 at 3:15 pm Robert Morse

    TEACHER FROM HELL #2

    “Assonance as rhyme?
    You’re work’s a crime or at least
    A misdemeanor!”

    Like


  214. Renga 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Spring rains her thunder –
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof
    metamorphosis of snowflakes
    immortalized as flowers

    another morning…
    from the rubble
    more cherry blossoms
    with quiet dignity and grace
    humbles a watching world

    brown grass and bare trees
    signal the death of Winter –
    teeming aftermelt
    curling up for another year
    a carpet of snowdrops

    new moon
    an anthill built
    from a shuttlecock –
    sunlit butterfly kisses
    rough-hewn bark of a burr oak

    on a stubbed branch
    barking at the tomcat
    a gray squirrel
    But upper limbs call: Back to
    Casual acrobatics

    with her feet
    my niece draws figure-eights
    in the clouds
    while laughing on the tire swing,
    her hair filled with dandelions

    covered
    in dandelion dust
    all the twigs in her nest…
    the warbler stirs a song
    of sunlight from her eggs

    soft, fierce and loyal
    the mallard keeps her eggs warm
    city surrounds her…
    their thoughts, she knows, of turquoise
    skies and the songs of trees

    hail rains from the sky
    82-degree May day
    drenched in humidity
    global warming? climate change?
    wish it would make up it’s mind!

    playing “hard to get”
    teasing, taunting, then laughing
    flirtatious summer
    bedded alone, cold and dark
    yet i ‘wake looking for her

    she’s looking for you
    standing in ocean’s middle
    flying among stars
    and pulling the foam
    from the waves and seashells

    Minneapolis
    trumps our gloomy weather news
    ‘steals thunder, not rain
    blue green skies reflect the Sun
    bright halo around my heart

    gazing from a plane
    basking in a secret light
    so consigned to grey
    break ground, fly into the wind
    imagination reborn

    cloud counting
    all the places you’ve been to
    before me
    the moments you have glimpsed
    borne aloft anew again

    her day of despair
    poisoned for a love of life
    quiet defiance
    soft slumber is her respite
    her bed, soft silken cocoon

    rain drops on transom
    patters of the lullabye
    she wakes to my eyes
    planting a kiss on my cheeks
    and cupping my face in her hands

    our moment awake
    grateful in the smallest joys
    consigned to kindness
    joyful participation
    in the sorrows of the world

    rain on fresh cut grass
    the cloudy pleasures of Spring
    whirl into Summer
    awakening my senses
    to whispers of childhood knowings

    Memorial Day —
    why is it the quest for peace
    seems rooted in war
    buried deep beyond our souls
    ancient mine fields bide their time

    unfolding rhythm
    late night in the studio
    Joan Armatrading…
    with the last song… the mist
    of your coffee cup twirls in mine

    blue steam forms a fog
    dark blend, catch the java train
    ride the next deep breath
    eyes are windows of the soul
    and Joan is soul for the ears

    night falls into ART
    you, pouring more strong coffee
    fiery Northern Spark
    humans walk between the stars
    Twin Cities of light & art

    something is shining
    the prodigal Sun returns
    where are my shades?
    skimming over my eyes
    the shadow of a hawk

    letting go
    of the handlebars
    you watch me
    fly downhill
    with sunlit butterflies

    Like


  215. […] -related to posts: Flying Solo — Dragonfly In Yellow Rain, Shadow Of A Dragonfly, Dragonfly Wings — It Is Written In The Wind, Dragon Fight — June Mandalas, The Sketchbook Project, haiku 4 (one-a-day) Meets renga 52 […]

    Like


  216. Renga 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Spring rains her thunder –
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof
    metamorphosis of snowflakes
    immortalized as flowers

    another morning…
    from the rubble
    more cherry blossoms
    with quiet dignity and grace
    humbles a watching world

    brown grass and bare trees
    signal the death of Winter –
    teeming aftermelt
    curling up for another year
    a carpet of snowdrops

    new moon
    an anthill built
    from a shuttlecock –
    sunlit butterfly kisses
    rough-hewn bark of a burr oak

    on a stubbed branch
    barking at the tomcat
    a gray squirrel
    But upper limbs call: Back to
    Casual acrobatics

    with her feet
    my niece draws figure-eights
    in the clouds
    while laughing on the tire swing,
    her hair filled with dandelions

    covered
    in dandelion dust
    all the twigs in her nest…
    the warbler stirs a song
    of sunlight from her eggs

    soft, fierce and loyal
    the mallard keeps her eggs warm
    city surrounds her…
    their thoughts, she knows, of turquoise
    skies and the songs of trees

    hail rains from the sky
    82-degree May day
    drenched in humidity
    global warming? climate change?
    wish it would make up it’s mind!

    playing “hard to get”
    teasing, taunting, then laughing
    flirtatious summer
    bedded alone, cold and dark
    yet i ‘wake looking for her

    she’s looking for you
    standing in ocean’s middle
    flying among stars
    and pulling the foam
    from the waves and seashells

    Minneapolis
    trumps our gloomy weather news
    ‘steals thunder, not rain
    blue green skies reflect the Sun
    bright halo around my heart

    gazing from a plane
    basking in a secret light
    so consigned to grey
    break ground, fly into the wind
    imagination reborn

    cloud counting
    all the places you’ve been to
    before me
    the moments you have glimpsed
    borne aloft anew again

    her day of despair
    poisoned for a love of life
    quiet defiance
    soft slumber is her respite
    her bed, soft silken cocoon

    rain drops on transom
    patters of the lullabye
    she wakes to my eyes
    planting a kiss on my cheeks
    and cupping my face in her hands

    our moment awake
    grateful in the smallest joys
    consigned to kindness
    joyful participation
    in the sorrows of the world

    rain on fresh cut grass
    the cloudy pleasures of Spring
    whirl into Summer
    awakening my senses
    to whispers of childhood knowings

    Memorial Day —
    why is it the quest for peace
    seems rooted in war
    buried deep beyond our souls
    ancient mine fields bide their time

    unfolding rhythm
    late night in the studio
    Joan Armatrading…
    with the last song… the mist
    of your coffee cup twirls in mine

    blue steam forms a fog
    dark blend, catch the java train
    ride the next deep breath
    eyes are windows of the soul
    and Joan is soul for the ears

    night falls into ART
    you, pouring more strong coffee
    fiery Northern Spark
    humans walk between the stars
    Twin Cities of light & art

    something is shining
    the prodigal Sun returns
    where are my shades?
    skimming over my eyes
    the shadow of a hawk

    letting go
    of the handlebars
    you watch me
    fly downhill
    with sunlit butterflies

    from the attic
    I catch that butterfly wind
    from your old sundress

    Like


  217. […] -related to posts:  haiku 4 (one-a-day) Meets renga 52 […]

    Like


  218. Minnesota government #shutdown likely tonight. Sad for our state. Why can’t they come to the table and compromise for the good of the whole?

    ____________________

    22,000 lost jobs
    new moon solar eclipse
    casts a long shadow
    on the art of compromise

    Like


  219. Renga 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Spring rains her thunder –
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof
    metamorphosis of snowflakes
    immortalized as flowers

    another morning…
    from the rubble
    more cherry blossoms
    with quiet dignity and grace
    humbles a watching world

    brown grass and bare trees
    signal the death of Winter –
    teeming aftermelt
    curling up for another year
    a carpet of snowdrops

    new moon
    an anthill built
    from a shuttlecock –
    sunlit butterfly kisses
    rough-hewn bark of a burr oak

    on a stubbed branch
    barking at the tomcat
    a gray squirrel
    But upper limbs call: Back to
    Casual acrobatics

    with her feet
    my niece draws figure-eights
    in the clouds
    while laughing on the tire swing,
    her hair filled with dandelions

    covered
    in dandelion dust
    all the twigs in her nest…
    the warbler stirs a song
    of sunlight from her eggs

    soft, fierce and loyal
    the mallard keeps her eggs warm
    city surrounds her…
    their thoughts, she knows, of turquoise
    skies and the songs of trees

    hail rains from the sky
    82-degree May day
    drenched in humidity
    global warming? climate change?
    wish it would make up it’s mind!

    playing “hard to get”
    teasing, taunting, then laughing
    flirtatious summer
    bedded alone, cold and dark
    yet i ‘wake looking for her

    she’s looking for you
    standing in ocean’s middle
    flying among stars
    and pulling the foam
    from the waves and seashells

    Minneapolis
    trumps our gloomy weather news
    ‘steals thunder, not rain
    blue green skies reflect the Sun
    bright halo around my heart

    gazing from a plane
    basking in a secret light
    so consigned to grey
    break ground, fly into the wind
    imagination reborn

    cloud counting
    all the places you’ve been to
    before me
    the moments you have glimpsed
    borne aloft anew again

    her day of despair
    poisoned for a love of life
    quiet defiance
    soft slumber is her respite
    her bed, soft silken cocoon

    rain drops on transom
    patters of the lullabye
    she wakes to my eyes
    planting a kiss on my cheeks
    and cupping my face in her hands

    our moment awake
    grateful in the smallest joys
    consigned to kindness
    joyful participation
    in the sorrows of the world

    rain on fresh cut grass
    the cloudy pleasures of Spring
    whirl into Summer
    awakening my senses
    to whispers of childhood knowings

    Memorial Day —
    why is it the quest for peace
    seems rooted in war
    buried deep beyond our souls
    ancient mine fields bide their time

    unfolding rhythm
    late night in the studio
    Joan Armatrading…
    with the last song… the mist
    of your coffee cup twirls in mine

    blue steam forms a fog
    dark blend, catch the java train
    ride the next deep breath
    eyes are windows of the soul
    and Joan is soul for the ears

    night falls into ART
    you, pouring more strong coffee
    fiery Northern Spark
    humans walk between the stars
    Twin Cities of light & art

    something is shining
    the prodigal Sun returns
    where are my shades?
    skimming over my eyes
    the shadow of a hawk

    letting go
    of the handlebars
    you watch me
    fly downhill
    with sunlit butterflies

    from the attic
    I catch that butterfly wind
    from your old sundress —
    swirling and dancing alone,
    creaking floorboards reveal all.

    Like


  220. […] -related to post: haiku 4 (one-a-day) Meets renga 52 […]

    Like


  221. on July 4, 2011 at 8:03 am Sharron Crowson

    wind waltzing through cane
    bowing to many partners
    screech owl joins the dance

    I am hoping it is allowed for anyone to come and play. I have enjoyed reading the continuing renga.

    Dilys

    Like


  222. Sharron, by all means! Happy to have you join us. I will add yours into the renga!

    _________

    Renga 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Spring rains her thunder –
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof
    metamorphosis of snowflakes
    immortalized as flowers

    another morning…
    from the rubble
    more cherry blossoms
    with quiet dignity and grace
    humbles a watching world

    brown grass and bare trees
    signal the death of Winter –
    teeming aftermelt
    curling up for another year
    a carpet of snowdrops

    new moon
    an anthill built
    from a shuttlecock –
    sunlit butterfly kisses
    rough-hewn bark of a burr oak

    on a stubbed branch
    barking at the tomcat
    a gray squirrel
    But upper limbs call: Back to
    Casual acrobatics

    with her feet
    my niece draws figure-eights
    in the clouds
    while laughing on the tire swing,
    her hair filled with dandelions

    covered
    in dandelion dust
    all the twigs in her nest…
    the warbler stirs a song
    of sunlight from her eggs

    soft, fierce and loyal
    the mallard keeps her eggs warm
    city surrounds her…
    their thoughts, she knows, of turquoise
    skies and the songs of trees

    hail rains from the sky
    82-degree May day
    drenched in humidity
    global warming? climate change?
    wish it would make up it’s mind!

    playing “hard to get”
    teasing, taunting, then laughing
    flirtatious summer
    bedded alone, cold and dark
    yet i ‘wake looking for her

    she’s looking for you
    standing in ocean’s middle
    flying among stars
    and pulling the foam
    from the waves and seashells

    Minneapolis
    trumps our gloomy weather news
    ‘steals thunder, not rain
    blue green skies reflect the Sun
    bright halo around my heart

    gazing from a plane
    basking in a secret light
    so consigned to grey
    break ground, fly into the wind
    imagination reborn

    cloud counting
    all the places you’ve been to
    before me
    the moments you have glimpsed
    borne aloft anew again

    her day of despair
    poisoned for a love of life
    quiet defiance
    soft slumber is her respite
    her bed, soft silken cocoon

    rain drops on transom
    patters of the lullabye
    she wakes to my eyes
    planting a kiss on my cheeks
    and cupping my face in her hands

    our moment awake
    grateful in the smallest joys
    consigned to kindness
    joyful participation
    in the sorrows of the world

    rain on fresh cut grass
    the cloudy pleasures of Spring
    whirl into Summer
    awakening my senses
    to whispers of childhood knowings

    Memorial Day —
    why is it the quest for peace
    seems rooted in war
    buried deep beyond our souls
    ancient mine fields bide their time

    unfolding rhythm
    late night in the studio
    Joan Armatrading…
    with the last song… the mist
    of your coffee cup twirls in mine

    blue steam forms a fog
    dark blend, catch the java train
    ride the next deep breath
    eyes are windows of the soul
    and Joan is soul for the ears

    night falls into ART
    you, pouring more strong coffee
    fiery Northern Spark
    humans walk between the stars
    Twin Cities of light & art

    something is shining
    the prodigal Sun returns
    where are my shades?
    skimming over my eyes
    the shadow of a hawk

    letting go
    of the handlebars
    you watch me
    fly downhill
    with sunlit butterflies

    from the attic
    I catch that butterfly wind
    from your old sundress –
    swirling and dancing alone,
    creaking floorboards reveal all.

    wind waltzing through cane
    bowing to many partners
    screech owl joins the dance

    Like


  223. Renga 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Spring rains her thunder –
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof
    metamorphosis of snowflakes
    immortalized as flowers

    another morning…
    from the rubble
    more cherry blossoms
    with quiet dignity and grace
    humbles a watching world

    brown grass and bare trees
    signal the death of Winter –
    teeming aftermelt
    curling up for another year
    a carpet of snowdrops

    new moon
    an anthill built
    from a shuttlecock –
    sunlit butterfly kisses
    rough-hewn bark of a burr oak

    on a stubbed branch
    barking at the tomcat
    a gray squirrel
    But upper limbs call: Back to
    Casual acrobatics

    with her feet
    my niece draws figure-eights
    in the clouds
    while laughing on the tire swing,
    her hair filled with dandelions

    covered
    in dandelion dust
    all the twigs in her nest…
    the warbler stirs a song
    of sunlight from her eggs

    soft, fierce and loyal
    the mallard keeps her eggs warm
    city surrounds her…
    their thoughts, she knows, of turquoise
    skies and the songs of trees

    hail rains from the sky
    82-degree May day
    drenched in humidity
    global warming? climate change?
    wish it would make up it’s mind!

    playing “hard to get”
    teasing, taunting, then laughing
    flirtatious summer
    bedded alone, cold and dark
    yet i ‘wake looking for her

    she’s looking for you
    standing in ocean’s middle
    flying among stars
    and pulling the foam
    from the waves and seashells

    Minneapolis
    trumps our gloomy weather news
    ‘steals thunder, not rain
    blue green skies reflect the Sun
    bright halo around my heart

    gazing from a plane
    basking in a secret light
    so consigned to grey
    break ground, fly into the wind
    imagination reborn

    cloud counting
    all the places you’ve been to
    before me
    the moments you have glimpsed
    borne aloft anew again

    her day of despair
    poisoned for a love of life
    quiet defiance
    soft slumber is her respite
    her bed, soft silken cocoon

    rain drops on transom
    patters of the lullabye
    she wakes to my eyes
    planting a kiss on my cheeks
    and cupping my face in her hands

    our moment awake
    grateful in the smallest joys
    consigned to kindness
    joyful participation
    in the sorrows of the world

    rain on fresh cut grass
    the cloudy pleasures of Spring
    whirl into Summer
    awakening my senses
    to whispers of childhood knowings

    Memorial Day —
    why is it the quest for peace
    seems rooted in war
    buried deep beyond our souls
    ancient mine fields bide their time

    unfolding rhythm
    late night in the studio
    Joan Armatrading…
    with the last song… the mist
    of your coffee cup twirls in mine

    blue steam forms a fog
    dark blend, catch the java train
    ride the next deep breath
    eyes are windows of the soul
    and Joan is soul for the ears

    night falls into ART
    you, pouring more strong coffee
    fiery Northern Spark
    humans walk between the stars
    Twin Cities of light & art

    something is shining
    the prodigal Sun returns
    where are my shades?
    skimming over my eyes
    the shadow of a hawk

    letting go
    of the handlebars
    you watch me
    fly downhill
    with sunlit butterflies

    from the attic
    I catch that butterfly wind
    from your old sundress –
    swirling and dancing alone,
    creaking floorboards reveal all.

    wind waltzing through cane
    bowing to many partners
    screech owl joins the dance
    buried secrets hidden there,
    in the silent flap of wings.

    Like


  224. […] It’s a good time for me to pay attention to Rabbit. Lotus wrote the poem Becoming a Rabbit -26/52 for one of the BlackBerry 52 Jump-Offs in our collaboration. I pulled in a line from her poem that spoke to me, wrote a gogyohko, and scripted it around the edge of the circle that would become a haiga: […]

    Like


  225. Renga 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Spring rains her thunder –
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof
    metamorphosis of snowflakes
    immortalized as flowers

    another morning…
    from the rubble
    more cherry blossoms
    with quiet dignity and grace
    humbles a watching world

    brown grass and bare trees
    signal the death of Winter –
    teeming aftermelt
    curling up for another year
    a carpet of snowdrops

    new moon
    an anthill built
    from a shuttlecock –
    sunlit butterfly kisses
    rough-hewn bark of a burr oak

    on a stubbed branch
    barking at the tomcat
    a gray squirrel
    But upper limbs call: Back to
    Casual acrobatics

    with her feet
    my niece draws figure-eights
    in the clouds
    while laughing on the tire swing,
    her hair filled with dandelions

    covered
    in dandelion dust
    all the twigs in her nest…
    the warbler stirs a song
    of sunlight from her eggs

    soft, fierce and loyal
    the mallard keeps her eggs warm
    city surrounds her…
    their thoughts, she knows, of turquoise
    skies and the songs of trees

    hail rains from the sky
    82-degree May day
    drenched in humidity
    global warming? climate change?
    wish it would make up it’s mind!

    playing “hard to get”
    teasing, taunting, then laughing
    flirtatious summer
    bedded alone, cold and dark
    yet i ‘wake looking for her

    she’s looking for you
    standing in ocean’s middle
    flying among stars
    and pulling the foam
    from the waves and seashells

    Minneapolis
    trumps our gloomy weather news
    ‘steals thunder, not rain
    blue green skies reflect the Sun
    bright halo around my heart

    gazing from a plane
    basking in a secret light
    so consigned to grey
    break ground, fly into the wind
    imagination reborn

    cloud counting
    all the places you’ve been to
    before me
    the moments you have glimpsed
    borne aloft anew again

    her day of despair
    poisoned for a love of life
    quiet defiance
    soft slumber is her respite
    her bed, soft silken cocoon

    rain drops on transom
    patters of the lullabye
    she wakes to my eyes
    planting a kiss on my cheeks
    and cupping my face in her hands

    our moment awake
    grateful in the smallest joys
    consigned to kindness
    joyful participation
    in the sorrows of the world

    rain on fresh cut grass
    the cloudy pleasures of Spring
    whirl into Summer
    awakening my senses
    to whispers of childhood knowings

    Memorial Day —
    why is it the quest for peace
    seems rooted in war
    buried deep beyond our souls
    ancient mine fields bide their time

    unfolding rhythm
    late night in the studio
    Joan Armatrading…
    with the last song… the mist
    of your coffee cup twirls in mine

    blue steam forms a fog
    dark blend, catch the java train
    ride the next deep breath
    eyes are windows of the soul
    and Joan is soul for the ears

    night falls into ART
    you, pouring more strong coffee
    fiery Northern Spark
    humans walk between the stars
    Twin Cities of light & art

    something is shining
    the prodigal Sun returns
    where are my shades?
    skimming over my eyes
    the shadow of a hawk

    letting go
    of the handlebars
    you watch me
    fly downhill
    with sunlit butterflies

    from the attic
    I catch that butterfly wind
    from your old sundress –
    swirling and dancing alone,
    creaking floorboards reveal all.

    wind waltzing through cane
    bowing to many partners
    screech owl joins the dance
    buried secrets hidden there,
    in the silent flap of wings.

    a fold of shadows
    over a gray mouse…
    moon owl

    Like


  226. Renga 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Spring rains her thunder –
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof
    metamorphosis of snowflakes
    immortalized as flowers

    another morning…
    from the rubble
    more cherry blossoms
    with quiet dignity and grace
    humbles a watching world

    brown grass and bare trees
    signal the death of Winter –
    teeming aftermelt
    curling up for another year
    a carpet of snowdrops

    new moon
    an anthill built
    from a shuttlecock –
    sunlit butterfly kisses
    rough-hewn bark of a burr oak

    on a stubbed branch
    barking at the tomcat
    a gray squirrel
    But upper limbs call: Back to
    Casual acrobatics

    with her feet
    my niece draws figure-eights
    in the clouds
    while laughing on the tire swing,
    her hair filled with dandelions

    covered
    in dandelion dust
    all the twigs in her nest…
    the warbler stirs a song
    of sunlight from her eggs

    soft, fierce and loyal
    the mallard keeps her eggs warm
    city surrounds her…
    their thoughts, she knows, of turquoise
    skies and the songs of trees

    hail rains from the sky
    82-degree May day
    drenched in humidity
    global warming? climate change?
    wish it would make up it’s mind!

    playing “hard to get”
    teasing, taunting, then laughing
    flirtatious summer
    bedded alone, cold and dark
    yet i ‘wake looking for her

    she’s looking for you
    standing in ocean’s middle
    flying among stars
    and pulling the foam
    from the waves and seashells

    Minneapolis
    trumps our gloomy weather news
    ‘steals thunder, not rain
    blue green skies reflect the Sun
    bright halo around my heart

    gazing from a plane
    basking in a secret light
    so consigned to grey
    break ground, fly into the wind
    imagination reborn

    cloud counting
    all the places you’ve been to
    before me
    the moments you have glimpsed
    borne aloft anew again

    her day of despair
    poisoned for a love of life
    quiet defiance
    soft slumber is her respite
    her bed, soft silken cocoon

    rain drops on transom
    patters of the lullabye
    she wakes to my eyes
    planting a kiss on my cheeks
    and cupping my face in her hands

    our moment awake
    grateful in the smallest joys
    consigned to kindness
    joyful participation
    in the sorrows of the world

    rain on fresh cut grass
    the cloudy pleasures of Spring
    whirl into Summer
    awakening my senses
    to whispers of childhood knowings

    Memorial Day —
    why is it the quest for peace
    seems rooted in war
    buried deep beyond our souls
    ancient mine fields bide their time

    unfolding rhythm
    late night in the studio
    Joan Armatrading…
    with the last song… the mist
    of your coffee cup twirls in mine

    blue steam forms a fog
    dark blend, catch the java train
    ride the next deep breath
    eyes are windows of the soul
    and Joan is soul for the ears

    night falls into ART
    you, pouring more strong coffee
    fiery Northern Spark
    humans walk between the stars
    Twin Cities of light & art

    something is shining
    the prodigal Sun returns
    where are my shades?
    skimming over my eyes
    the shadow of a hawk

    letting go
    of the handlebars
    you watch me
    fly downhill
    with sunlit butterflies

    from the attic
    I catch that butterfly wind
    from your old sundress –
    swirling and dancing alone,
    creaking floorboards reveal all.

    wind waltzing through cane
    bowing to many partners
    screech owl joins the dance
    buried secrets hidden there,
    in the silent flap of wings.

    a fold of shadows
    over a gray mouse…
    moon owl
    do you ask him how
    he digs the secrets of the dark?

    Like


  227. on July 14, 2011 at 8:51 pm Teresa Williams

    Here is for the Full Buck Moon, which is tonight: (I actually sat with it last night, but tonight it is officially full)

    Late summer evening

    I sat with the full buck moon

    my black antlers danced

    Like


  228. Teresa, beautiful poetry. And thanks for reminding me about July’s Full Moon. I just looked it up in the Sabbats Almanac:

    The season finishes up with a Full Moon in Capricorn bringing our attention once more to the Capricorn/Cancer polarity that we have experienced throughout the month of July. This lunation showcases our need to balance home and work, the personal and the public, and our emotions and our goals. July’s Capricorn Full Moon offers us an opportunity to find ways to bridge these seemingly opposite concepts, bringing the two more closely together in a form that feels more appropriate to our current reality.

    ______________-

    Continuing with a tanka:

    Late summer evening
    I sat with the full buck moon
    my black antlers danced
    waltzing a spicy tango
    the bridge between work & home

    Like


  229. Renga 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Spring rains her thunder –
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof
    metamorphosis of snowflakes
    immortalized as flowers

    another morning…
    from the rubble
    more cherry blossoms
    with quiet dignity and grace
    humbles a watching world

    brown grass and bare trees
    signal the death of Winter –
    teeming aftermelt
    curling up for another year
    a carpet of snowdrops

    new moon
    an anthill built
    from a shuttlecock –
    sunlit butterfly kisses
    rough-hewn bark of a burr oak

    on a stubbed branch
    barking at the tomcat
    a gray squirrel
    But upper limbs call: Back to
    Casual acrobatics

    with her feet
    my niece draws figure-eights
    in the clouds
    while laughing on the tire swing,
    her hair filled with dandelions

    covered
    in dandelion dust
    all the twigs in her nest…
    the warbler stirs a song
    of sunlight from her eggs

    soft, fierce and loyal
    the mallard keeps her eggs warm
    city surrounds her…
    their thoughts, she knows, of turquoise
    skies and the songs of trees

    hail rains from the sky
    82-degree May day
    drenched in humidity
    global warming? climate change?
    wish it would make up it’s mind!

    playing “hard to get”
    teasing, taunting, then laughing
    flirtatious summer
    bedded alone, cold and dark
    yet i ‘wake looking for her

    she’s looking for you
    standing in ocean’s middle
    flying among stars
    and pulling the foam
    from the waves and seashells

    Minneapolis
    trumps our gloomy weather news
    ‘steals thunder, not rain
    blue green skies reflect the Sun
    bright halo around my heart

    gazing from a plane
    basking in a secret light
    so consigned to grey
    break ground, fly into the wind
    imagination reborn

    cloud counting
    all the places you’ve been to
    before me
    the moments you have glimpsed
    borne aloft anew again

    her day of despair
    poisoned for a love of life
    quiet defiance
    soft slumber is her respite
    her bed, soft silken cocoon

    rain drops on transom
    patters of the lullabye
    she wakes to my eyes
    planting a kiss on my cheeks
    and cupping my face in her hands

    our moment awake
    grateful in the smallest joys
    consigned to kindness
    joyful participation
    in the sorrows of the world

    rain on fresh cut grass
    the cloudy pleasures of Spring
    whirl into Summer
    awakening my senses
    to whispers of childhood knowings

    Memorial Day —
    why is it the quest for peace
    seems rooted in war
    buried deep beyond our souls
    ancient mine fields bide their time

    unfolding rhythm
    late night in the studio
    Joan Armatrading…
    with the last song… the mist
    of your coffee cup twirls in mine

    blue steam forms a fog
    dark blend, catch the java train
    ride the next deep breath
    eyes are windows of the soul
    and Joan is soul for the ears

    night falls into ART
    you, pouring more strong coffee
    fiery Northern Spark
    humans walk between the stars
    Twin Cities of light & art

    something is shining
    the prodigal Sun returns
    where are my shades?
    skimming over my eyes
    the shadow of a hawk

    letting go
    of the handlebars
    you watch me
    fly downhill
    with sunlit butterflies

    from the attic
    I catch that butterfly wind
    from your old sundress –
    swirling and dancing alone,
    creaking floorboards reveal all.

    wind waltzing through cane
    bowing to many partners
    screech owl joins the dance
    buried secrets hidden there,
    in the silent flap of wings.

    a fold of shadows
    over a gray mouse…
    moon owl
    do you ask him how
    he digs the secrets of the dark?

    waning moon
    our affairs unravel
    in divorce court

    Like


  230. Renga 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Spring rains her thunder –
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof
    metamorphosis of snowflakes
    immortalized as flowers

    another morning…
    from the rubble
    more cherry blossoms
    with quiet dignity and grace
    humbles a watching world

    brown grass and bare trees
    signal the death of Winter –
    teeming aftermelt
    curling up for another year
    a carpet of snowdrops

    new moon
    an anthill built
    from a shuttlecock –
    sunlit butterfly kisses
    rough-hewn bark of a burr oak

    on a stubbed branch
    barking at the tomcat
    a gray squirrel
    But upper limbs call: Back to
    Casual acrobatics

    with her feet
    my niece draws figure-eights
    in the clouds
    while laughing on the tire swing,
    her hair filled with dandelions

    covered
    in dandelion dust
    all the twigs in her nest…
    the warbler stirs a song
    of sunlight from her eggs

    soft, fierce and loyal
    the mallard keeps her eggs warm
    city surrounds her…
    their thoughts, she knows, of turquoise
    skies and the songs of trees

    hail rains from the sky
    82-degree May day
    drenched in humidity
    global warming? climate change?
    wish it would make up it’s mind!

    playing “hard to get”
    teasing, taunting, then laughing
    flirtatious summer
    bedded alone, cold and dark
    yet i ‘wake looking for her

    she’s looking for you
    standing in ocean’s middle
    flying among stars
    and pulling the foam
    from the waves and seashells

    Minneapolis
    trumps our gloomy weather news
    ‘steals thunder, not rain
    blue green skies reflect the Sun
    bright halo around my heart

    gazing from a plane
    basking in a secret light
    so consigned to grey
    break ground, fly into the wind
    imagination reborn

    cloud counting
    all the places you’ve been to
    before me
    the moments you have glimpsed
    borne aloft anew again

    her day of despair
    poisoned for a love of life
    quiet defiance
    soft slumber is her respite
    her bed, soft silken cocoon

    rain drops on transom
    patters of the lullabye
    she wakes to my eyes
    planting a kiss on my cheeks
    and cupping my face in her hands

    our moment awake
    grateful in the smallest joys
    consigned to kindness
    joyful participation
    in the sorrows of the world

    rain on fresh cut grass
    the cloudy pleasures of Spring
    whirl into Summer
    awakening my senses
    to whispers of childhood knowings

    Memorial Day —
    why is it the quest for peace
    seems rooted in war
    buried deep beyond our souls
    ancient mine fields bide their time

    unfolding rhythm
    late night in the studio
    Joan Armatrading…
    with the last song… the mist
    of your coffee cup twirls in mine

    blue steam forms a fog
    dark blend, catch the java train
    ride the next deep breath
    eyes are windows of the soul
    and Joan is soul for the ears

    night falls into ART
    you, pouring more strong coffee
    fiery Northern Spark
    humans walk between the stars
    Twin Cities of light & art

    something is shining
    the prodigal Sun returns
    where are my shades?
    skimming over my eyes
    the shadow of a hawk

    letting go
    of the handlebars
    you watch me
    fly downhill
    with sunlit butterflies

    from the attic
    I catch that butterfly wind
    from your old sundress –
    swirling and dancing alone,
    creaking floorboards reveal all.

    wind waltzing through cane
    bowing to many partners
    screech owl joins the dance
    buried secrets hidden there,
    in the silent flap of wings.

    a fold of shadows
    over a gray mouse…
    moon owl
    do you ask him how
    he digs the secrets of the dark?

    waning moon
    our affairs unravel
    in divorce court
    all that we quietly wove
    so cruelly sundered aloud

    Like


  231. Hi, there walljasper! Nice to see you again! Let’s keep on writing! :) Have a good week, everyone!

    —————————

    Renga 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Spring rains her thunder –
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof
    metamorphosis of snowflakes
    immortalized as flowers

    another morning…
    from the rubble
    more cherry blossoms
    with quiet dignity and grace
    humbles a watching world

    brown grass and bare trees
    signal the death of Winter –
    teeming aftermelt
    curling up for another year
    a carpet of snowdrops

    new moon
    an anthill built
    from a shuttlecock –
    sunlit butterfly kisses
    rough-hewn bark of a burr oak

    on a stubbed branch
    barking at the tomcat
    a gray squirrel
    But upper limbs call: Back to
    Casual acrobatics

    with her feet
    my niece draws figure-eights
    in the clouds
    while laughing on the tire swing,
    her hair filled with dandelions

    covered
    in dandelion dust
    all the twigs in her nest…
    the warbler stirs a song
    of sunlight from her eggs

    soft, fierce and loyal
    the mallard keeps her eggs warm
    city surrounds her…
    their thoughts, she knows, of turquoise
    skies and the songs of trees

    hail rains from the sky
    82-degree May day
    drenched in humidity
    global warming? climate change?
    wish it would make up it’s mind!

    playing “hard to get”
    teasing, taunting, then laughing
    flirtatious summer
    bedded alone, cold and dark
    yet i ‘wake looking for her

    she’s looking for you
    standing in ocean’s middle
    flying among stars
    and pulling the foam
    from the waves and seashells

    Minneapolis
    trumps our gloomy weather news
    ‘steals thunder, not rain
    blue green skies reflect the Sun
    bright halo around my heart

    gazing from a plane
    basking in a secret light
    so consigned to grey
    break ground, fly into the wind
    imagination reborn

    cloud counting
    all the places you’ve been to
    before me
    the moments you have glimpsed
    borne aloft anew again

    her day of despair
    poisoned for a love of life
    quiet defiance
    soft slumber is her respite
    her bed, soft silken cocoon

    rain drops on transom
    patters of the lullabye
    she wakes to my eyes
    planting a kiss on my cheeks
    and cupping my face in her hands

    our moment awake
    grateful in the smallest joys
    consigned to kindness
    joyful participation
    in the sorrows of the world

    rain on fresh cut grass
    the cloudy pleasures of Spring
    whirl into Summer
    awakening my senses
    to whispers of childhood knowings

    Memorial Day —
    why is it the quest for peace
    seems rooted in war
    buried deep beyond our souls
    ancient mine fields bide their time

    unfolding rhythm
    late night in the studio
    Joan Armatrading…
    with the last song… the mist
    of your coffee cup twirls in mine

    blue steam forms a fog
    dark blend, catch the java train
    ride the next deep breath
    eyes are windows of the soul
    and Joan is soul for the ears

    night falls into ART
    you, pouring more strong coffee
    fiery Northern Spark
    humans walk between the stars
    Twin Cities of light & art

    something is shining
    the prodigal Sun returns
    where are my shades?
    skimming over my eyes
    the shadow of a hawk

    letting go
    of the handlebars
    you watch me
    fly downhill
    with sunlit butterflies

    from the attic
    I catch that butterfly wind
    from your old sundress –
    swirling and dancing alone,
    creaking floorboards reveal all.

    wind waltzing through cane
    bowing to many partners
    screech owl joins the dance
    buried secrets hidden there,
    in the silent flap of wings.

    a fold of shadows
    over a gray mouse…
    moon owl
    do you ask him how
    he digs the secrets of the dark?

    waning moon
    our affairs unravel
    in divorce court
    all that we quietly wove
    so cruelly sundered aloud

    through the wire fence
    all the bell flowers
    filled with hymns

    Like


  232. Hello ambiguitylotus – it’s a pleasure to return here and write together with all at Red Ravine. Thanks for the kind note and thoughts. ;-)
    —————————

    Renga 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Spring rains her thunder –
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof
    metamorphosis of snowflakes
    immortalized as flowers

    another morning…
    from the rubble
    more cherry blossoms
    with quiet dignity and grace
    humbles a watching world

    brown grass and bare trees
    signal the death of Winter –
    teeming aftermelt
    curling up for another year
    a carpet of snowdrops

    new moon
    an anthill built
    from a shuttlecock –
    sunlit butterfly kisses
    rough-hewn bark of a burr oak

    on a stubbed branch
    barking at the tomcat
    a gray squirrel
    But upper limbs call: Back to
    Casual acrobatics

    with her feet
    my niece draws figure-eights
    in the clouds
    while laughing on the tire swing,
    her hair filled with dandelions

    covered
    in dandelion dust
    all the twigs in her nest…
    the warbler stirs a song
    of sunlight from her eggs

    soft, fierce and loyal
    the mallard keeps her eggs warm
    city surrounds her…
    their thoughts, she knows, of turquoise
    skies and the songs of trees

    hail rains from the sky
    82-degree May day
    drenched in humidity
    global warming? climate change?
    wish it would make up it’s mind!

    playing “hard to get”
    teasing, taunting, then laughing
    flirtatious summer
    bedded alone, cold and dark
    yet i ‘wake looking for her

    she’s looking for you
    standing in ocean’s middle
    flying among stars
    and pulling the foam
    from the waves and seashells

    Minneapolis
    trumps our gloomy weather news
    ‘steals thunder, not rain
    blue green skies reflect the Sun
    bright halo around my heart

    gazing from a plane
    basking in a secret light
    so consigned to grey
    break ground, fly into the wind
    imagination reborn

    cloud counting
    all the places you’ve been to
    before me
    the moments you have glimpsed
    borne aloft anew again

    her day of despair
    poisoned for a love of life
    quiet defiance
    soft slumber is her respite
    her bed, soft silken cocoon

    rain drops on transom
    patters of the lullabye
    she wakes to my eyes
    planting a kiss on my cheeks
    and cupping my face in her hands

    our moment awake
    grateful in the smallest joys
    consigned to kindness
    joyful participation
    in the sorrows of the world

    rain on fresh cut grass
    the cloudy pleasures of Spring
    whirl into Summer
    awakening my senses
    to whispers of childhood knowings

    Memorial Day —
    why is it the quest for peace
    seems rooted in war
    buried deep beyond our souls
    ancient mine fields bide their time

    unfolding rhythm
    late night in the studio
    Joan Armatrading…
    with the last song… the mist
    of your coffee cup twirls in mine

    blue steam forms a fog
    dark blend, catch the java train
    ride the next deep breath
    eyes are windows of the soul
    and Joan is soul for the ears

    night falls into ART
    you, pouring more strong coffee
    fiery Northern Spark
    humans walk between the stars
    Twin Cities of light & art

    something is shining
    the prodigal Sun returns
    where are my shades?
    skimming over my eyes
    the shadow of a hawk

    letting go
    of the handlebars
    you watch me
    fly downhill
    with sunlit butterflies

    from the attic
    I catch that butterfly wind
    from your old sundress –
    swirling and dancing alone,
    creaking floorboards reveal all.

    wind waltzing through cane
    bowing to many partners
    screech owl joins the dance
    buried secrets hidden there,
    in the silent flap of wings.

    a fold of shadows
    over a gray mouse…
    moon owl
    do you ask him how
    he digs the secrets of the dark?

    waning moon
    our affairs unravel
    in divorce court
    all that we quietly wove
    so cruelly sundered aloud

    through the wire fence
    all the bell flowers
    filled with hymns
    countless voices find their note
    and carry our dreams aloft

    Like


  233. @walljasper: Glad to have you back to continue writing with us! :) Hope all is well!

    @redravine/QM & everyone: Hope you’re all having a good weekend! It’s amazing how this summer has been flying and I feel like there are so many things I haven’t gotten a chance to do yet! Still finding time to do everything… Blessings!

    ————————————————————-
    Renga 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Spring rains her thunder –
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof
    metamorphosis of snowflakes
    immortalized as flowers

    another morning…
    from the rubble
    more cherry blossoms
    with quiet dignity and grace
    humbles a watching world

    brown grass and bare trees
    signal the death of Winter –
    teeming aftermelt
    curling up for another year
    a carpet of snowdrops

    new moon
    an anthill built
    from a shuttlecock –
    sunlit butterfly kisses
    rough-hewn bark of a burr oak

    on a stubbed branch
    barking at the tomcat
    a gray squirrel
    But upper limbs call: Back to
    Casual acrobatics

    with her feet
    my niece draws figure-eights
    in the clouds
    while laughing on the tire swing,
    her hair filled with dandelions

    covered
    in dandelion dust
    all the twigs in her nest…
    the warbler stirs a song
    of sunlight from her eggs

    soft, fierce and loyal
    the mallard keeps her eggs warm
    city surrounds her…
    their thoughts, she knows, of turquoise
    skies and the songs of trees

    hail rains from the sky
    82-degree May day
    drenched in humidity
    global warming? climate change?
    wish it would make up it’s mind!

    playing “hard to get”
    teasing, taunting, then laughing
    flirtatious summer
    bedded alone, cold and dark
    yet i ‘wake looking for her

    she’s looking for you
    standing in ocean’s middle
    flying among stars
    and pulling the foam
    from the waves and seashells

    Minneapolis
    trumps our gloomy weather news
    ‘steals thunder, not rain
    blue green skies reflect the Sun
    bright halo around my heart

    gazing from a plane
    basking in a secret light
    so consigned to grey
    break ground, fly into the wind
    imagination reborn

    cloud counting
    all the places you’ve been to
    before me
    the moments you have glimpsed
    borne aloft anew again

    her day of despair
    poisoned for a love of life
    quiet defiance
    soft slumber is her respite
    her bed, soft silken cocoon

    rain drops on transom
    patters of the lullabye
    she wakes to my eyes
    planting a kiss on my cheeks
    and cupping my face in her hands

    our moment awake
    grateful in the smallest joys
    consigned to kindness
    joyful participation
    in the sorrows of the world

    rain on fresh cut grass
    the cloudy pleasures of Spring
    whirl into Summer
    awakening my senses
    to whispers of childhood knowings

    Memorial Day —
    why is it the quest for peace
    seems rooted in war
    buried deep beyond our souls
    ancient mine fields bide their time

    unfolding rhythm
    late night in the studio
    Joan Armatrading…
    with the last song… the mist
    of your coffee cup twirls in mine

    blue steam forms a fog
    dark blend, catch the java train
    ride the next deep breath
    eyes are windows of the soul
    and Joan is soul for the ears

    night falls into ART
    you, pouring more strong coffee
    fiery Northern Spark
    humans walk between the stars
    Twin Cities of light & art

    something is shining
    the prodigal Sun returns
    where are my shades?
    skimming over my eyes
    the shadow of a hawk

    letting go
    of the handlebars
    you watch me
    fly downhill
    with sunlit butterflies

    from the attic
    I catch that butterfly wind
    from your old sundress –
    swirling and dancing alone,
    creaking floorboards reveal all.

    wind waltzing through cane
    bowing to many partners
    screech owl joins the dance
    buried secrets hidden there,
    in the silent flap of wings.

    a fold of shadows
    over a gray mouse…
    moon owl
    do you ask him how
    he digs the secrets of the dark?

    waning moon
    our affairs unravel
    in divorce court
    all that we quietly wove
    so cruelly sundered aloud

    through the wire fence
    all the bell flowers
    filled with hymns
    countless voices find their note
    and carry our dreams aloft

    on the window pane
    collecting last week’s dust
    sequined raindrops

    Like


  234. Back from off and on road trips vacations the last few weeks. Thanks to everyone for keeping the renga going. Happy to be back!

    ————————————————————-
    Renga 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Spring rains her thunder –
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof
    metamorphosis of snowflakes
    immortalized as flowers

    another morning…
    from the rubble
    more cherry blossoms
    with quiet dignity and grace
    humbles a watching world

    brown grass and bare trees
    signal the death of Winter –
    teeming aftermelt
    curling up for another year
    a carpet of snowdrops

    new moon
    an anthill built
    from a shuttlecock –
    sunlit butterfly kisses
    rough-hewn bark of a burr oak

    on a stubbed branch
    barking at the tomcat
    a gray squirrel
    But upper limbs call: Back to
    Casual acrobatics

    with her feet
    my niece draws figure-eights
    in the clouds
    while laughing on the tire swing,
    her hair filled with dandelions

    covered
    in dandelion dust
    all the twigs in her nest…
    the warbler stirs a song
    of sunlight from her eggs

    soft, fierce and loyal
    the mallard keeps her eggs warm
    city surrounds her…
    their thoughts, she knows, of turquoise
    skies and the songs of trees

    hail rains from the sky
    82-degree May day
    drenched in humidity
    global warming? climate change?
    wish it would make up it’s mind!

    playing “hard to get”
    teasing, taunting, then laughing
    flirtatious summer
    bedded alone, cold and dark
    yet i ‘wake looking for her

    she’s looking for you
    standing in ocean’s middle
    flying among stars
    and pulling the foam
    from the waves and seashells

    Minneapolis
    trumps our gloomy weather news
    ‘steals thunder, not rain
    blue green skies reflect the Sun
    bright halo around my heart

    gazing from a plane
    basking in a secret light
    so consigned to grey
    break ground, fly into the wind
    imagination reborn

    cloud counting
    all the places you’ve been to
    before me
    the moments you have glimpsed
    borne aloft anew again

    her day of despair
    poisoned for a love of life
    quiet defiance
    soft slumber is her respite
    her bed, soft silken cocoon

    rain drops on transom
    patters of the lullabye
    she wakes to my eyes
    planting a kiss on my cheeks
    and cupping my face in her hands

    our moment awake
    grateful in the smallest joys
    consigned to kindness
    joyful participation
    in the sorrows of the world

    rain on fresh cut grass
    the cloudy pleasures of Spring
    whirl into Summer
    awakening my senses
    to whispers of childhood knowings

    Memorial Day —
    why is it the quest for peace
    seems rooted in war
    buried deep beyond our souls
    ancient mine fields bide their time

    unfolding rhythm
    late night in the studio
    Joan Armatrading…
    with the last song… the mist
    of your coffee cup twirls in mine

    blue steam forms a fog
    dark blend, catch the java train
    ride the next deep breath
    eyes are windows of the soul
    and Joan is soul for the ears

    night falls into ART
    you, pouring more strong coffee
    fiery Northern Spark
    humans walk between the stars
    Twin Cities of light & art

    something is shining
    the prodigal Sun returns
    where are my shades?
    skimming over my eyes
    the shadow of a hawk

    letting go
    of the handlebars
    you watch me
    fly downhill
    with sunlit butterflies

    from the attic
    I catch that butterfly wind
    from your old sundress –
    swirling and dancing alone,
    creaking floorboards reveal all.

    wind waltzing through cane
    bowing to many partners
    screech owl joins the dance
    buried secrets hidden there,
    in the silent flap of wings.

    a fold of shadows
    over a gray mouse…
    moon owl
    do you ask him how
    he digs the secrets of the dark?

    waning moon
    our affairs unravel
    in divorce court
    all that we quietly wove
    so cruelly sundered aloud

    through the wire fence
    all the bell flowers
    filled with hymns
    countless voices find their note
    and carry our dreams aloft

    on the window pane
    collecting last week’s dust
    sequined raindrops
    the lone spider weaves a trail
    figure 8’s in summer dew

    Like


  235. on August 3, 2011 at 6:23 am Robert Morse

    Even the cursor
    Has a precursor: Which is
    The index finger.

    Like


  236. Tech Control for Love
    Wants remote access to Heart
    ‘Give it your best shot!’

    Like


  237. @Robert: :P lol hehe. Thank you for sharing your senryu. I especially love the first one “even the cursor.”

    Like


  238. Today, August eighth.
    Dad would have turned one hundred.
    Two days post Lucy.

    Like


  239. Beautiful add, QM! :) Hope you are doing well!

    ———————————-
    Renga 52

    new year
    a pigeon feather breaks
    a dew-laden web
    and a hope springs eternal
    on a lily pad’s sweet breath

    drawing mandalas
    across puddles
    frogs
    mud-splash under frozen ponds
    leap of faith — will Spring arrive?

    waiting
    for Groundhog’s Day
    home with a cold
    head clears, measured in due time;
    fractured heart, heals more slowly.

    between an old fence
    a citrus dawn woven into
    a spider’s web…
    then comes a rumbling
    deconstruction by a crane

    Wolf Moon in Cancer
    rising soft against the cold
    falls on burning snow
    caught in the icicles
    a reflection of wind chimes

    from a snail shell
    the clouds swirl
    in thawing ice
    like spiraling labyrinths
    wind to the center and back

    snow inches its way
    down from the buckling door jamb
    five drips on my head
    a poet’s christening
    so many candles to blow out

    early dawn
    a bird from my laptop screams,
    “You got mail!”
    Dopamine rush
    the hum of friends, invisible

    late night poetry —
    Wait, was that my Wise Effort
    scuttling away?
    Slow down, return to silence.
    Wisdom waits for you there.

    tucking in
    an abandoned nest
    a bruised cloud
    floats inside the eye
    looking at me from above.

    somewhere on the wing
    wild Trumpeter Swans migrate
    a flash of lightning
    awakes the imbolc sky
    Angus and Caer flying home

    two hearts beat as one
    the lullaby heard for miles
    dreams, poetry, love
    the Trinity of ribbons
    healing, soothing, remembering

    swaying
    on a gnarled branch
    a deep blue ribbon
    fades into the elements
    on the wings of a dragonfly

    early spring–
    hinging from a rain gutter
    two gray feathers;
    red dragonfly myth lingers,
    the Devil’s Darning Needle.

    the bend
    of a peony
    from a dragonfly’s landing
    the tips of their petals red
    envelopes secretly cherished

    morning tea–
    the breeze reads my letters
    on the porch table
    warm tra tien lotus
    infused with blythe spirit

    The steam of haiku
    rising up from the lotus
    white genie escapes,
    wants to grant my every wish,
    Poof! disappears into night.

    to honor fathers
    the letter flies to Georgia
    written on the wind…
    our secrets, our sadness
    what the wind won’t tell us

    tagging the wind
    a barbie pink ribbon
    stuck to a mailbox flag
    little threads stretched and frayed
    meandering home

    pooling
    around the hammock
    sunlight and wisps of tea
    attract spring’s first honey bee
    waggle dancing it’s figure 8

    buzzing colonies
    moving in all directions
    calling me back home

    Spring rains her thunder –
    the cold ping of ice and sleet
    dancing on the roof
    metamorphosis of snowflakes
    immortalized as flowers

    another morning…
    from the rubble
    more cherry blossoms
    with quiet dignity and grace
    humbles a watching world

    brown grass and bare trees
    signal the death of Winter –
    teeming aftermelt
    curling up for another year
    a carpet of snowdrops

    new moon
    an anthill built
    from a shuttlecock –
    sunlit butterfly kisses
    rough-hewn bark of a burr oak

    on a stubbed branch
    barking at the tomcat
    a gray squirrel
    But upper limbs call: Back to
    Casual acrobatics

    with her feet
    my niece draws figure-eights
    in the clouds
    while laughing on the tire swing,
    her hair filled with dandelions

    covered
    in dandelion dust
    all the twigs in her nest…
    the warbler stirs a song
    of sunlight from her eggs

    soft, fierce and loyal
    the mallard keeps her eggs warm
    city surrounds her…
    their thoughts, she knows, of turquoise
    skies and the songs of trees

    hail rains from the sky
    82-degree May day
    drenched in humidity
    global warming? climate change?
    wish it would make up it’s mind!

    playing “hard to get”
    teasing, taunting, then laughing
    flirtatious summer
    bedded alone, cold and dark
    yet i ‘wake looking for her

    she’s looking for you
    standing in ocean’s middle
    flying among stars
    and pulling the foam
    from the waves and seashells

    Minneapolis
    trumps our gloomy weather news
    ‘steals thunder, not rain
    blue green skies reflect the Sun
    bright halo around my heart

    gazing from a plane
    basking in a secret light
    so consigned to grey
    break ground, fly into the wind
    imagination reborn

    cloud counting
    all the places you’ve been to
    before me
    the moments you have glimpsed
    borne aloft anew again

    her day of despair
    poisoned for a love of life
    quiet defiance
    soft slumber is her respite
    her bed, soft silken cocoon

    rain drops on transom
    patters of the lullabye
    she wakes to my eyes
    planting a kiss on my cheeks
    and cupping my face in her hands

    our moment awake
    grateful in the smallest joys
    consigned to kindness
    joyful participation
    in the sorrows of the world

    rain on fresh cut grass
    the cloudy pleasures of Spring
    whirl into Summer
    awakening my senses
    to whispers of childhood knowings

    Memorial Day —
    why is it the quest for peace
    seems rooted in war
    buried deep beyond our souls
    ancient mine fields bide their time

    unfolding rhythm
    late night in the studio
    Joan Armatrading…
    with the last song… the mist
    of your coffee cup twirls in mine

    blue steam forms a fog
    dark blend, catch the java train
    ride the next deep breath
    eyes are windows of the soul
    and Joan is soul for the ears

    night falls into ART
    you, pouring more strong coffee
    fiery Northern Spark
    humans walk between the stars
    Twin Cities of light & art

    something is shining
    the prodigal Sun returns
    where are my shades?
    skimming over my eyes
    the shadow of a hawk

    letting go
    of the handlebars
    you watch me
    fly downhill
    with sunlit butterflies

    from the attic
    I catch that butterfly wind
    from your old sundress –
    swirling and dancing alone,
    creaking floorboards reveal all.

    wind waltzing through cane
    bowing to many partners
    screech owl joins the dance
    buried secrets hidden there,
    in the silent flap of wings.

    a fold of shadows
    over a gray mouse…
    moon owl
    do you ask him how
    he digs the secrets of the dark?

    waning moon
    our affairs unravel
    in divorce court
    all that we quietly wove
    so cruelly sundered aloud

    through the wire fence
    all the bell flowers
    filled with hymns
    countless voices find their note
    and carry our dreams aloft

    on the window pane
    collecting last week’s dust
    sequined raindrops
    the lone spider weaves a trail
    figure 8′s in summer dew

    cloudless sky
    a contrail spears through
    a vee of geese

    Like


  240. Robert Morse, beautiful tribute to your father. I remember that day that Lucy turned 100, too. I watched a few of her old series. She was quite the strong independent type and accomplished a lot in her lifetime.

    Lotus, I am well, thank you. Getting back to my practices. I’m going to divide up the RENGA 52 poem into two sections now. It’s getting long and I want to make it easier for people to participate and keep it going. At the end of the year, I’ll post the whole thing. It’s great to keep it going for a whole year. It seems to capture the seasons of nature and life. Hope you are well, too!

    ____________

    RENGA 52 — PART 2

    cloudless sky
    a contrail spears through
    a vee of geese —
    leaves them divided, yet whole
    wings bristling in the morning sun

    Like


  241. kindest thoughts, thank you, all

    RENGA 52 — PART 2

    cloudless sky
    a contrail spears through
    a vee of geese —
    leaves them divided, yet whole
    wings bristling in the morning sun

    the day waxes long
    a mere word conjures the heart
    my eyes are leaking
    and for a single moment
    all time and love stand so still.

    Like


  242. Good to hear from you both, walljasper and QM! Welcome back! :)

    ————————————–

    RENGA 52 — PART 2

    cloudless sky
    a contrail spears through
    a vee of geese —
    leaves them divided, yet whole
    wings bristling in the morning sun

    the day waxes long
    a mere word conjures the heart
    my eyes are leaking
    and for a single moment
    all time and love stand so still.

    dreamboat moon
    our fingers find each other
    through the slick streets

    Like


  243. Good to hear from you both, walljasper and QM! Welcome back!

    ————————————–

    RENGA 52 — PART 2

    cloudless sky
    a contrail spears through
    a vee of geese —
    leaves them divided, yet whole
    wings bristling in the morning sun

    the day waxes long
    a mere word conjures the heart
    my eyes are leaking
    and for a single moment
    all time and love stand so still.

    dreamboat moon
    our fingers find each other
    through the slick streets
    soft pads, their aching furrows
    silent, arched, our hungers

    Like


  244. RENGA 52 — PART 2

    cloudless sky
    a contrail spears through
    a vee of geese —
    leaves them divided, yet whole
    wings bristling in the morning sun

    the day waxes long
    a mere word conjures the heart
    my eyes are leaking
    and for a single moment
    all time and love stand so still.

    dreamboat moon
    our fingers find each other
    through the slick streets
    soft pads, their aching furrows
    silent, arched, our hungers

    piercing thunder moans
    white hail blinds the summer sky
    jolts the night awake

    Like


  245. […] — It Is Written In The Wind, Dragon Fight — June Mandalas, The Sketchbook Project, haiku 4 (one-a-day) Meets renga 52 Advertisement GA_googleAddAttr("AdOpt", "0"); GA_googleAddAttr("Origin", "other"); […]

    Like


  246. RENGA 52 — PART 2

    cloudless sky
    a contrail spears through
    a vee of geese —
    leaves them divided, yet whole
    wings bristling in the morning sun

    the day waxes long
    a mere word conjures the heart
    my eyes are leaking
    and for a single moment
    all time and love stand so still.

    dreamboat moon
    our fingers find each other
    through the slick streets
    soft pads, their aching furrows
    silent, arched, our hungers

    piercing thunder moans
    white hail blinds the summer sky
    jolts the night awake
    moonlit bats perforate
    the ashen clouds

    Like


  247. RENGA 52 — PART 2

    cloudless sky
    a contrail spears through
    a vee of geese —
    leaves them divided, yet whole
    wings bristling in the morning sun

    the day waxes long
    a mere word conjures the heart
    my eyes are leaking
    and for a single moment
    all time and love stand so still.

    dreamboat moon
    our fingers find each other
    through the slick streets
    soft pads, their aching furrows
    silent, arched, our hungers

    piercing thunder moans
    white hail blinds the summer sky
    jolts the night awake
    moonlit bats perforate
    the ashen clouds

    new moon still
    dreaming of ways to hold
    the last summer rays

    Like


  248. searching heart, i find them there
    embers still glowing

    Like


  249. Oops, sorry QM, I forgot to copy and paste… hope you are all well and in the pink :-)

    Like


  250. Great to hear from you annie! Hope all is well in your part of the world.

    ___________

    RENGA 52 — PART 2

    cloudless sky
    a contrail spears through
    a vee of geese —
    leaves them divided, yet whole
    wings bristling in the morning sun

    the day waxes long
    a mere word conjures the heart
    my eyes are leaking
    and for a single moment
    all time and love stand so still.

    dreamboat moon
    our fingers find each other
    through the slick streets
    soft pads, their aching furrows
    silent, arched, our hungers

    piercing thunder moans
    white hail blinds the summer sky
    jolts the night awake
    moonlit bats perforate
    the ashen clouds

    new moon still
    dreaming of ways to hold
    the last summer rays
    searching heart, i find them there
    embers still glowing

    Cloud issues a dare —
    Ferris wheel or tilt-a-whirl?
    the Sun hides his face

    Like


  251. […] to post: haiku 4 (one-a-day) meets renga 52, MN State Fair On-A-Stick (Smartphone History On-The-Go)[…]

    Like


  252. RENGA 52 — PART 2

    cloudless sky
    a contrail spears through
    a vee of geese —
    leaves them divided, yet whole
    wings bristling in the morning sun

    the day waxes long
    a mere word conjures the heart
    my eyes are leaking
    and for a single moment
    all time and love stand so still.

    dreamboat moon
    our fingers find each other
    through the slick streets
    soft pads, their aching furrows
    silent, arched, our hungers

    piercing thunder moans
    white hail blinds the summer sky
    jolts the night awake
    moonlit bats perforate
    the ashen clouds

    new moon still
    dreaming of ways to hold
    the last summer rays
    searching heart, i find them there
    embers still glowing

    Cloud issues a dare –
    Ferris wheel or tilt-a-whirl?
    the Sun hides his face
    a relief of something cool
    the sweetest taste of rain

    Like


  253. RENGA 52 — PART 2

    cloudless sky
    a contrail spears through
    a vee of geese —
    leaves them divided, yet whole
    wings bristling in the morning sun

    the day waxes long
    a mere word conjures the heart
    my eyes are leaking
    and for a single moment
    all time and love stand so still.

    dreamboat moon
    our fingers find each other
    through the slick streets
    soft pads, their aching furrows
    silent, arched, our hungers

    piercing thunder moans
    white hail blinds the summer sky
    jolts the night awake
    moonlit bats perforate
    the ashen clouds

    new moon still
    dreaming of ways to hold
    the last summer rays
    searching heart, i find them there
    embers still glowing

    Cloud issues a dare –
    Ferris wheel or tilt-a-whirl?
    the Sun hides his face
    a relief of something cool
    the sweetest taste of rain

    another race run
    each lap is shorter, faster
    those long sun wheel spokes
    casting their softening shadows
    i think my watch needs winding

    Like


  254. RENGA 52 — PART 2

    cloudless sky
    a contrail spears through
    a vee of geese —
    leaves them divided, yet whole
    wings bristling in the morning sun

    the day waxes long
    a mere word conjures the heart
    my eyes are leaking
    and for a single moment
    all time and love stand so still.

    dreamboat moon
    our fingers find each other
    through the slick streets
    soft pads, their aching furrows
    silent, arched, our hungers

    piercing thunder moans
    white hail blinds the summer sky
    jolts the night awake
    moonlit bats perforate
    the ashen clouds

    new moon still
    dreaming of ways to hold
    the last summer rays
    searching heart, i find them there
    embers still glowing

    Cloud issues a dare –
    Ferris wheel or tilt-a-whirl?
    the Sun hides his face
    a relief of something cool
    the sweetest taste of rain

    another race run
    each lap is shorter, faster
    those long sun wheel spokes
    casting their softening shadows
    i think my watch needs winding

    leaves like a hard rain
    yellow in the autumn Sun
    write summer’s obit

    Like


  255. Hi QuoinMonkey – very evocative lines, lovely.

    ————————————————————

    RENGA 52 — PART 2

    cloudless sky
    a contrail spears through
    a vee of geese —
    leaves them divided, yet whole
    wings bristling in the morning sun

    the day waxes long
    a mere word conjures the heart
    my eyes are leaking
    and for a single moment
    all time and love stand so still.

    dreamboat moon
    our fingers find each other
    through the slick streets
    soft pads, their aching furrows
    silent, arched, our hungers

    piercing thunder moans
    white hail blinds the summer sky
    jolts the night awake
    moonlit bats perforate
    the ashen clouds

    new moon still
    dreaming of ways to hold
    the last summer rays
    searching heart, i find them there
    embers still glowing

    Cloud issues a dare –
    Ferris wheel or tilt-a-whirl?
    the Sun hides his face
    a relief of something cool
    the sweetest taste of rain

    another race run
    each lap is shorter, faster
    those long sun wheel spokes
    casting their softening shadows
    i think my watch needs winding

    leaves like a hard rain
    yellow in the autumn Sun
    write summer’s obit
    fleeting tales, cursive farewells
    inscribed on each curling scroll

    Like


  256. RENGA 52 — PART 2

    cloudless sky
    a contrail spears through
    a vee of geese —
    leaves them divided, yet whole
    wings bristling in the morning sun

    the day waxes long
    a mere word conjures the heart
    my eyes are leaking
    and for a single moment
    all time and love stand so still.

    dreamboat moon
    our fingers find each other
    through the slick streets
    soft pads, their aching furrows
    silent, arched, our hungers

    piercing thunder moans
    white hail blinds the summer sky
    jolts the night awake
    moonlit bats perforate
    the ashen clouds

    new moon still
    dreaming of ways to hold
    the last summer rays
    searching heart, i find them there
    embers still glowing

    Cloud issues a dare –
    Ferris wheel or tilt-a-whirl?
    the Sun hides his face
    a relief of something cool
    the sweetest taste of rain

    another race run
    each lap is shorter, faster
    those long sun wheel spokes
    casting their softening shadows
    i think my watch needs winding

    leaves like a hard rain
    yellow in the autumn Sun
    write summer’s obit
    fleeting tales, cursive farewells
    inscribed on each curling scroll

    summer’s farewell
    a myrtle blossom’s last dip
    in a swimming pool

    Like


  257. RENGA 52 — PART 2

    cloudless sky
    a contrail spears through
    a vee of geese —
    leaves them divided, yet whole
    wings bristling in the morning sun

    the day waxes long
    a mere word conjures the heart
    my eyes are leaking
    and for a single moment
    all time and love stand so still.

    dreamboat moon
    our fingers find each other
    through the slick streets
    soft pads, their aching furrows
    silent, arched, our hungers

    piercing thunder moans
    white hail blinds the summer sky
    jolts the night awake
    moonlit bats perforate
    the ashen clouds

    new moon still
    dreaming of ways to hold
    the last summer rays
    searching heart, i find them there
    embers still glowing

    Cloud issues a dare –
    Ferris wheel or tilt-a-whirl?
    the Sun hides his face
    a relief of something cool
    the sweetest taste of rain

    another race run
    each lap is shorter, faster
    those long sun wheel spokes
    casting their softening shadows
    i think my watch needs winding

    leaves like a hard rain
    yellow in the autumn Sun
    write summer’s obit
    fleeting tales, cursive farewells
    inscribed on each curling scroll

    Summer’s farewell
    a myrtle blossom’s last dip
    in a swimming pool.
    Temperance — Spring & Winter
    in the palm of Autumn’s hand.

    Like


  258. Hello A~Lotus – its so nice to write with you here. Can you believe we are on the crest of autumn? Continuing…

    RENGA 52 — PART 2

    cloudless sky
    a contrail spears through
    a vee of geese —
    leaves them divided, yet whole
    wings bristling in the morning sun

    the day waxes long
    a mere word conjures the heart
    my eyes are leaking
    and for a single moment
    all time and love stand so still.

    dreamboat moon
    our fingers find each other
    through the slick streets
    soft pads, their aching furrows
    silent, arched, our hungers

    piercing thunder moans
    white hail blinds the summer sky
    jolts the night awake
    moonlit bats perforate
    the ashen clouds

    new moon still
    dreaming of ways to hold
    the last summer rays
    searching heart, i find them there
    embers still glowing

    Cloud issues a dare –
    Ferris wheel or tilt-a-whirl?
    the Sun hides his face
    a relief of something cool
    the sweetest taste of rain

    another race run
    each lap is shorter, faster
    those long sun wheel spokes
    casting their softening shadows
    i think my watch needs winding

    leaves like a hard rain
    yellow in the autumn Sun
    write summer’s obit
    fleeting tales, cursive farewells
    inscribed on each curling scroll

    summer’s farewell
    a myrtle blossom’s last dip
    in a swimming pool
    almost silent, her swan song
    the siren’s soft enjoinder

    Like


  259. Hello to you both, QM and walljasper. :) It’s been hectic. Trying to catch up with a billion things. I am excited for autumn to come! :) Didn’t realize you both have a different completion to the ‘ku I’ve added!

    ——————————————-
    RENGA 52 — PART 2

    cloudless sky
    a contrail spears through
    a vee of geese —
    leaves them divided, yet whole
    wings bristling in the morning sun

    the day waxes long
    a mere word conjures the heart
    my eyes are leaking
    and for a single moment
    all time and love stand so still.

    dreamboat moon
    our fingers find each other
    through the slick streets
    soft pads, their aching furrows
    silent, arched, our hungers

    piercing thunder moans
    white hail blinds the summer sky
    jolts the night awake
    moonlit bats perforate
    the ashen clouds

    new moon still
    dreaming of ways to hold
    the last summer rays
    searching heart, i find them there
    embers still glowing

    Cloud issues a dare –
    Ferris wheel or tilt-a-whirl?
    the Sun hides his face
    a relief of something cool
    the sweetest taste of rain

    another race run
    each lap is shorter, faster
    those long sun wheel spokes
    casting their softening shadows
    i think my watch needs winding

    leaves like a hard rain
    yellow in the autumn Sun
    write summer’s obit
    fleeting tales, cursive farewells
    inscribed on each curling scroll

    summer’s farewell
    a myrtle blossom’s last dip
    in a swimming pool
    almost silent, her swan song
    the siren’s soft enjoinder

    holding still
    tasting your every song
    in each drop of rain

    Like


  260. Lol, I didn’t realize it either…I apologize! ;-)

    May I please defer to Ms. de QuoinMonkey’s beautiful lines to complete your ‘Ku?

    I’ll re-post the corrected version now – please do check. Extra eyes are much appreciated. Thanks so much to you both – this is a special place and privilege for me to write here with you.

    ——————————————

    RENGA 52 — PART 2

    cloudless sky
    a contrail spears through
    a vee of geese —
    leaves them divided, yet whole
    wings bristling in the morning sun

    the day waxes long
    a mere word conjures the heart
    my eyes are leaking
    and for a single moment
    all time and love stand so still.

    dreamboat moon
    our fingers find each other
    through the slick streets
    soft pads, their aching furrows
    silent, arched, our hungers

    piercing thunder moans
    white hail blinds the summer sky
    jolts the night awake
    moonlit bats perforate
    the ashen clouds

    new moon still
    dreaming of ways to hold
    the last summer rays
    searching heart, i find them there
    embers still glowing

    Cloud issues a dare –
    Ferris wheel or tilt-a-whirl?
    the Sun hides his face
    a relief of something cool
    the sweetest taste of rain

    another race run
    each lap is shorter, faster
    those long sun wheel spokes
    casting their softening shadows
    i think my watch needs winding

    leaves like a hard rain
    yellow in the autumn Sun
    write summer’s obit
    fleeting tales, cursive farewells
    inscribed on each curling scroll

    Summer’s farewell
    a myrtle blossom’s last dip
    in a swimming pool.
    Temperance — Spring & Winter
    in the palm of Autumn’s hand.

    holding still
    tasting your every song
    in each drop of rain
    as myrtle blossoms alight
    rain drops carry us aloft.

    Like


  261. Walljasper, I didn’t mind at all. I figured we had posted close to the same time. There get to be many comments on these yearly pieces, so no problem at all. Either version is fine! I so appreciate you writing with us here!

    ——————————————

    RENGA 52 — PART 2

    cloudless sky
    a contrail spears through
    a vee of geese —
    leaves them divided, yet whole
    wings bristling in the morning sun

    the day waxes long
    a mere word conjures the heart
    my eyes are leaking
    and for a single moment
    all time and love stand so still.

    dreamboat moon
    our fingers find each other
    through the slick streets
    soft pads, their aching furrows
    silent, arched, our hungers

    piercing thunder moans
    white hail blinds the summer sky
    jolts the night awake
    moonlit bats perforate
    the ashen clouds

    new moon still
    dreaming of ways to hold
    the last summer rays
    searching heart, i find them there
    embers still glowing

    Cloud issues a dare –
    Ferris wheel or tilt-a-whirl?
    the Sun hides his face
    a relief of something cool
    the sweetest taste of rain

    another race run
    each lap is shorter, faster
    those long sun wheel spokes
    casting their softening shadows
    i think my watch needs winding

    leaves like a hard rain
    yellow in the autumn Sun
    write summer’s obit
    fleeting tales, cursive farewells
    inscribed on each curling scroll

    Summer’s farewell
    a myrtle blossom’s last dip
    in a swimming pool.
    Temperance — Spring & Winter
    in the palm of Autumn’s hand.

    holding still
    tasting your every song
    in each drop of rain
    as myrtle blossoms alight
    rain drops carry us aloft.

    dark valleys, due North
    floating high between the stars
    Orion and his dogs

    Like


  262. RENGA 52 — PART 2

    cloudless sky
    a contrail spears through
    a vee of geese —
    leaves them divided, yet whole
    wings bristling in the morning sun

    the day waxes long
    a mere word conjures the heart
    my eyes are leaking
    and for a single moment
    all time and love stand so still.

    dreamboat moon
    our fingers find each other
    through the slick streets
    soft pads, their aching furrows
    silent, arched, our hungers

    piercing thunder moans
    white hail blinds the summer sky
    jolts the night awake
    moonlit bats perforate
    the ashen clouds

    new moon still
    dreaming of ways to hold
    the last summer rays
    searching heart, i find them there
    embers still glowing

    Cloud issues a dare –
    Ferris wheel or tilt-a-whirl?
    the Sun hides his face
    a relief of something cool
    the sweetest taste of rain

    another race run
    each lap is shorter, faster
    those long sun wheel spokes
    casting their softening shadows
    i think my watch needs winding

    leaves like a hard rain
    yellow in the autumn Sun
    write summer’s obit
    fleeting tales, cursive farewells
    inscribed on each curling scroll

    Summer’s farewell
    a myrtle blossom’s last dip
    in a swimming pool.
    Temperance — Spring & Winter
    in the palm of Autumn’s hand.

    holding still
    tasting your every song
    in each drop of rain
    as myrtle blossoms alight
    rain drops carry us aloft.

    dark valleys, due North
    floating high between the stars
    Orion and his dogs
    finding a wishbone at the bank
    of stars and moths

    Like


  263. RENGA 52 — PART 2

    cloudless sky
    a contrail spears through
    a vee of geese —
    leaves them divided, yet whole
    wings bristling in the morning sun

    the day waxes long
    a mere word conjures the heart
    my eyes are leaking
    and for a single moment
    all time and love stand so still.

    dreamboat moon
    our fingers find each other
    through the slick streets
    soft pads, their aching furrows
    silent, arched, our hungers

    piercing thunder moans
    white hail blinds the summer sky
    jolts the night awake
    moonlit bats perforate
    the ashen clouds

    new moon still
    dreaming of ways to hold
    the last summer rays
    searching heart, i find them there
    embers still glowing

    Cloud issues a dare –
    Ferris wheel or tilt-a-whirl?
    the Sun hides his face
    a relief of something cool
    the sweetest taste of rain

    another race run
    each lap is shorter, faster
    those long sun wheel spokes
    casting their softening shadows
    i think my watch needs winding

    leaves like a hard rain
    yellow in the autumn Sun
    write summer’s obit
    fleeting tales, cursive farewells
    inscribed on each curling scroll

    Summer’s farewell
    a myrtle blossom’s last dip
    in a swimming pool.
    Temperance — Spring & Winter
    in the palm of Autumn’s hand.

    holding still
    tasting your every song
    in each drop of rain
    as myrtle blossoms alight
    rain drops carry us aloft.

    dark valleys, due North
    floating high between the stars
    Orion and his dogs
    finding a wishbone at the bank
    of stars and moths

    Ursa Major shines
    a candle in the dark night
    beacon for our Hope

    Like


  264. darken and deepen
    shadows crawl along my wall
    autumn steals the light

    Like


  265. RENGA 52 — PART 2

    cloudless sky
    a contrail spears through
    a vee of geese —
    leaves them divided, yet whole
    wings bristling in the morning sun

    the day waxes long
    a mere word conjures the heart
    my eyes are leaking
    and for a single moment
    all time and love stand so still.

    dreamboat moon
    our fingers find each other
    through the slick streets
    soft pads, their aching furrows
    silent, arched, our hungers

    piercing thunder moans
    white hail blinds the summer sky
    jolts the night awake
    moonlit bats perforate
    the ashen clouds

    new moon still
    dreaming of ways to hold
    the last summer rays
    searching heart, i find them there
    embers still glowing

    Cloud issues a dare –
    Ferris wheel or tilt-a-whirl?
    the Sun hides his face
    a relief of something cool
    the sweetest taste of rain

    another race run
    each lap is shorter, faster
    those long sun wheel spokes
    casting their softening shadows
    i think my watch needs winding

    leaves like a hard rain
    yellow in the autumn Sun
    write summer’s obit
    fleeting tales, cursive farewells
    inscribed on each curling scroll

    Summer’s farewell
    a myrtle blossom’s last dip
    in a swimming pool.
    Temperance — Spring & Winter
    in the palm of Autumn’s hand.

    holding still
    tasting your every song
    in each drop of rain
    as myrtle blossoms alight
    rain drops carry us aloft.

    dark valleys, due North
    floating high between the stars
    Orion and his dogs
    finding a wishbone at the bank
    of stars and moths

    Ursa Major shines
    a candle in the dark night
    beacon for our Hope
    how many have glimpsed the stars
    counting the days of autumn?

    Like


  266. @oliverowl: Nice to see you again! :) Lovely ‘ku, especially the 2nd line!

    I’m enjoying our renga, everyone. :) Hope everyone’s doing well. Very, very busy.

    ————————————————————————

    RENGA 52 — PART 2

    cloudless sky
    a contrail spears through
    a vee of geese —
    leaves them divided, yet whole
    wings bristling in the morning sun

    the day waxes long
    a mere word conjures the heart
    my eyes are leaking
    and for a single moment
    all time and love stand so still.

    dreamboat moon
    our fingers find each other
    through the slick streets
    soft pads, their aching furrows
    silent, arched, our hungers

    piercing thunder moans
    white hail blinds the summer sky
    jolts the night awake
    moonlit bats perforate
    the ashen clouds

    new moon still
    dreaming of ways to hold
    the last summer rays
    searching heart, i find them there
    embers still glowing

    Cloud issues a dare –
    Ferris wheel or tilt-a-whirl?
    the Sun hides his face
    a relief of something cool
    the sweetest taste of rain

    another race run
    each lap is shorter, faster
    those long sun wheel spokes
    casting their softening shadows
    i think my watch needs winding

    leaves like a hard rain
    yellow in the autumn Sun
    write summer’s obit
    fleeting tales, cursive farewells
    inscribed on each curling scroll

    Summer’s farewell
    a myrtle blossom’s last dip
    in a swimming pool.
    Temperance — Spring & Winter
    in the palm of Autumn’s hand.

    holding still
    tasting your every song
    in each drop of rain
    as myrtle blossoms alight
    rain drops carry us aloft.

    dark valleys, due North
    floating high between the stars
    Orion and his dogs
    finding a wishbone at the bank
    of stars and moths

    Ursa Major shines
    a candle in the dark night
    beacon for our Hope
    how many have glimpsed the stars
    counting the days of autumn?

    over the church’s bell
    weaving drops
    of sunlight
    into the autumn sky
    Marian Day balloons

    Like


  267. RENGA 52 — PART 2

    cloudless sky
    a contrail spears through
    a vee of geese —
    leaves them divided, yet whole
    wings bristling in the morning sun

    the day waxes long
    a mere word conjures the heart
    my eyes are leaking
    and for a single moment
    all time and love stand so still.

    dreamboat moon
    our fingers find each other
    through the slick streets
    soft pads, their aching furrows
    silent, arched, our hungers

    piercing thunder moans
    white hail blinds the summer sky
    jolts the night awake
    moonlit bats perforate
    the ashen clouds

    new moon still
    dreaming of ways to hold
    the last summer rays
    searching heart, i find them there
    embers still glowing

    Cloud issues a dare –
    Ferris wheel or tilt-a-whirl?
    the Sun hides his face
    a relief of something cool
    the sweetest taste of rain

    another race run
    each lap is shorter, faster
    those long sun wheel spokes
    casting their softening shadows
    i think my watch needs winding

    leaves like a hard rain
    yellow in the autumn Sun
    write summer’s obit
    fleeting tales, cursive farewells
    inscribed on each curling scroll

    Summer’s farewell
    a myrtle blossom’s last dip
    in a swimming pool.
    Temperance — Spring & Winter
    in the palm of Autumn’s hand.

    holding still
    tasting your every song
    in each drop of rain
    as myrtle blossoms alight
    rain drops carry us aloft.

    dark valleys, due North
    floating high between the stars
    Orion and his dogs
    finding a wishbone at the bank
    of stars and moths

    Ursa Major shines
    a candle in the dark night
    beacon for our Hope
    how many have glimpsed the stars
    counting the days of autumn?

    over the church’s bell
    weaving drops
    of sunlight
    into the autumn sky
    Marian Day balloons

    autumn afternoon
    through the rumble of clouds
    blinking headlights

    Like


  268. RENGA 52 — PART 2

    cloudless sky
    a contrail spears through
    a vee of geese —
    leaves them divided, yet whole
    wings bristling in the morning sun

    the day waxes long
    a mere word conjures the heart
    my eyes are leaking
    and for a single moment
    all time and love stand so still.

    dreamboat moon
    our fingers find each other
    through the slick streets
    soft pads, their aching furrows
    silent, arched, our hungers

    piercing thunder moans
    white hail blinds the summer sky
    jolts the night awake
    moonlit bats perforate
    the ashen clouds

    new moon still
    dreaming of ways to hold
    the last summer rays
    searching heart, i find them there
    embers still glowing

    Cloud issues a dare –
    Ferris wheel or tilt-a-whirl?
    the Sun hides his face
    a relief of something cool
    the sweetest taste of rain

    another race run
    each lap is shorter, faster
    those long sun wheel spokes
    casting their softening shadows
    i think my watch needs winding

    leaves like a hard rain
    yellow in the autumn Sun
    write summer’s obit
    fleeting tales, cursive farewells
    inscribed on each curling scroll

    Summer’s farewell
    a myrtle blossom’s last dip
    in a swimming pool.
    Temperance — Spring & Winter
    in the palm of Autumn’s hand.

    holding still
    tasting your every song
    in each drop of rain
    as myrtle blossoms alight
    rain drops carry us aloft.

    dark valleys, due North
    floating high between the stars
    Orion and his dogs
    finding a wishbone at the bank
    of stars and moths

    Ursa Major shines
    a candle in the dark night
    beacon for our Hope
    how many have glimpsed the stars
    counting the days of autumn?

    over the church’s bell
    weaving drops
    of sunlight
    into the autumn sky
    Marian Day balloons

    autumn afternoon
    through the rumble of clouds
    blinking headlights
    and in the blink of an eye
    winds carry a crisp whisper

    Like


  269. RENGA 52 — PART 2

    cloudless sky
    a contrail spears through
    a vee of geese —
    leaves them divided, yet whole
    wings bristling in the morning sun

    the day waxes long
    a mere word conjures the heart
    my eyes are leaking
    and for a single moment
    all time and love stand so still.

    dreamboat moon
    our fingers find each other
    through the slick streets
    soft pads, their aching furrows
    silent, arched, our hungers

    piercing thunder moans
    white hail blinds the summer sky
    jolts the night awake
    moonlit bats perforate
    the ashen clouds

    new moon still
    dreaming of ways to hold
    the last summer rays
    searching heart, i find them there
    embers still glowing

    Cloud issues a dare –
    Ferris wheel or tilt-a-whirl?
    the Sun hides his face
    a relief of something cool
    the sweetest taste of rain

    another race run
    each lap is shorter, faster
    those long sun wheel spokes
    casting their softening shadows
    i think my watch needs winding

    leaves like a hard rain
    yellow in the autumn Sun
    write summer’s obit
    fleeting tales, cursive farewells
    inscribed on each curling scroll

    Summer’s farewell
    a myrtle blossom’s last dip
    in a swimming pool.
    Temperance — Spring & Winter
    in the palm of Autumn’s hand.

    holding still
    tasting your every song
    in each drop of rain
    as myrtle blossoms alight
    rain drops carry us aloft.

    dark valleys, due North
    floating high between the stars
    Orion and his dogs
    finding a wishbone at the bank
    of stars and moths

    Ursa Major shines
    a candle in the dark night
    beacon for our Hope
    how many have glimpsed the stars
    counting the days of autumn?

    over the church’s bell
    weaving drops
    of sunlight
    into the autumn sky
    Marian Day balloons

    autumn afternoon
    through the rumble of clouds
    blinking headlights
    and in the blink of an eye
    winds carry a crisp whisper

    within the split
    of pecan shells…
    autumn sunset

    Like


  270. RENGA 52 — PART 2

    cloudless sky
    a contrail spears through
    a vee of geese —
    leaves them divided, yet whole
    wings bristling in the morning sun

    the day waxes long
    a mere word conjures the heart
    my eyes are leaking
    and for a single moment
    all time and love stand so still.

    dreamboat moon
    our fingers find each other
    through the slick streets
    soft pads, their aching furrows
    silent, arched, our hungers

    piercing thunder moans
    white hail blinds the summer sky
    jolts the night awake
    moonlit bats perforate
    the ashen clouds

    new moon still
    dreaming of ways to hold
    the last summer rays
    searching heart, i find them there
    embers still glowing

    Cloud issues a dare –
    Ferris wheel or tilt-a-whirl?
    the Sun hides his face
    a relief of something cool
    the sweetest taste of rain

    another race run
    each lap is shorter, faster
    those long sun wheel spokes
    casting their softening shadows
    i think my watch needs winding

    leaves like a hard rain
    yellow in the autumn Sun
    write summer’s obit
    fleeting tales, cursive farewells
    inscribed on each curling scroll

    Summer’s farewell
    a myrtle blossom’s last dip
    in a swimming pool.
    Temperance — Spring & Winter
    in the palm of Autumn’s hand.

    holding still
    tasting your every song
    in each drop of rain
    as myrtle blossoms alight
    rain drops carry us aloft.

    dark valleys, due North
    floating high between the stars
    Orion and his dogs
    finding a wishbone at the bank
    of stars and moths

    Ursa Major shines
    a candle in the dark night
    beacon for our Hope
    how many have glimpsed the stars
    counting the days of autumn?

    over the church’s bell
    weaving drops
    of sunlight
    into the autumn sky
    Marian Day balloons

    autumn afternoon
    through the rumble of clouds
    blinking headlights
    and in the blink of an eye
    winds carry a crisp whisper

    within the split
    of pecan shells…
    autumn sunset
    colors shift to dappled grey
    bowed trees cast leaves before us

    Like


  271. With this birthday I’m
    Gettin’ into the ’60’s
    In a brand new way.

    Like


  272. Ha! Happy birthday, fellow wanderer. Who knew?
    All the best on your natal day.
    —————————————————————–

    only ten years back
    the sixties were “yesterday”
    now we’ve just arrived

    Like


  273. Walljasper,

    The birthday was actually two months ago. I was so “into it” that it took two months to process. Far out.

    Like


  274. RENGA 52 — PART 2

    cloudless sky
    a contrail spears through
    a vee of geese —
    leaves them divided, yet whole
    wings bristling in the morning sun

    the day waxes long
    a mere word conjures the heart
    my eyes are leaking
    and for a single moment
    all time and love stand so still.

    dreamboat moon
    our fingers find each other
    through the slick streets
    soft pads, their aching furrows
    silent, arched, our hungers

    piercing thunder moans
    white hail blinds the summer sky
    jolts the night awake
    moonlit bats perforate
    the ashen clouds

    new moon still
    dreaming of ways to hold
    the last summer rays
    searching heart, i find them there
    embers still glowing

    Cloud issues a dare –
    Ferris wheel or tilt-a-whirl?
    the Sun hides his face
    a relief of something cool
    the sweetest taste of rain

    another race run
    each lap is shorter, faster
    those long sun wheel spokes
    casting their softening shadows
    i think my watch needs winding

    leaves like a hard rain
    yellow in the autumn Sun
    write summer’s obit
    fleeting tales, cursive farewells
    inscribed on each curling scroll

    Summer’s farewell
    a myrtle blossom’s last dip
    in a swimming pool.
    Temperance — Spring & Winter
    in the palm of Autumn’s hand.

    holding still
    tasting your every song
    in each drop of rain
    as myrtle blossoms alight
    rain drops carry us aloft.

    dark valleys, due North
    floating high between the stars
    Orion and his dogs
    finding a wishbone at the bank
    of stars and moths

    Ursa Major shines
    a candle in the dark night
    beacon for our Hope
    how many have glimpsed the stars
    counting the days of autumn?

    over the church’s bell
    weaving drops
    of sunlight
    into the autumn sky
    Marian Day balloons

    autumn afternoon
    through the rumble of clouds
    blinking headlights
    and in the blink of an eye
    winds carry a crisp whisper

    within the split
    of pecan shells…
    autumn sunset
    colors shift to dappled grey
    bowed trees cast leaves before us

    in the twilight shadows
    the spider’s web tangled
    in the rake

    Like


  275. Happy belated birthday to you, dear Robert! :) So glad that you enjoyed 2 months of celebrating it! :) It is always a joy to see you around here.

    Like


  276. Lotus, thanks for your kind thoughts. I assure you, the celebration didn’t last two months.

    Odd thought. What happens
    If “The Giving Tree” were to
    Meet “The Mending Wall”?

    Like


  277. RENGA 52 — PART 2

    cloudless sky
    a contrail spears through
    a vee of geese —
    leaves them divided, yet whole
    wings bristling in the morning sun

    the day waxes long
    a mere word conjures the heart
    my eyes are leaking
    and for a single moment
    all time and love stand so still.

    dreamboat moon
    our fingers find each other
    through the slick streets
    soft pads, their aching furrows
    silent, arched, our hungers

    piercing thunder moans
    white hail blinds the summer sky
    jolts the night awake
    moonlit bats perforate
    the ashen clouds

    new moon still
    dreaming of ways to hold
    the last summer rays
    searching heart, i find them there
    embers still glowing

    Cloud issues a dare –
    Ferris wheel or tilt-a-whirl?
    the Sun hides his face
    a relief of something cool
    the sweetest taste of rain

    another race run
    each lap is shorter, faster
    those long sun wheel spokes
    casting their softening shadows
    i think my watch needs winding

    leaves like a hard rain
    yellow in the autumn Sun
    write summer’s obit
    fleeting tales, cursive farewells
    inscribed on each curling scroll

    Summer’s farewell
    a myrtle blossom’s last dip
    in a swimming pool.
    Temperance — Spring & Winter
    in the palm of Autumn’s hand.

    holding still
    tasting your every song
    in each drop of rain
    as myrtle blossoms alight
    rain drops carry us aloft.

    dark valleys, due North
    floating high between the stars
    Orion and his dogs
    finding a wishbone at the bank
    of stars and moths

    Ursa Major shines
    a candle in the dark night
    beacon for our Hope
    how many have glimpsed the stars
    counting the days of autumn?

    over the church’s bell
    weaving drops
    of sunlight
    into the autumn sky
    Marian Day balloons

    autumn afternoon
    through the rumble of clouds
    blinking headlights
    and in the blink of an eye
    winds carry a crisp whisper

    within the split
    of pecan shells…
    autumn sunset
    colors shift to dappled grey
    bowed trees cast leaves before us

    in the twilight shadows
    the spider’s web tangled
    in the rake
    Finely-spun gray gives the rake
    Ughh!! A rakish quality.

    Like


  278. RENGA 52 — PART 2

    cloudless sky
    a contrail spears through
    a vee of geese —
    leaves them divided, yet whole
    wings bristling in the morning sun

    the day waxes long
    a mere word conjures the heart
    my eyes are leaking
    and for a single moment
    all time and love stand so still.

    dreamboat moon
    our fingers find each other
    through the slick streets
    soft pads, their aching furrows
    silent, arched, our hungers

    piercing thunder moans
    white hail blinds the summer sky
    jolts the night awake
    moonlit bats perforate
    the ashen clouds

    new moon still
    dreaming of ways to hold
    the last summer rays
    searching heart, i find them there
    embers still glowing

    Cloud issues a dare –
    Ferris wheel or tilt-a-whirl?
    the Sun hides his face
    a relief of something cool
    the sweetest taste of rain

    another race run
    each lap is shorter, faster
    those long sun wheel spokes
    casting their softening shadows
    i think my watch needs winding

    leaves like a hard rain
    yellow in the autumn Sun
    write summer’s obit
    fleeting tales, cursive farewells
    inscribed on each curling scroll

    Summer’s farewell
    a myrtle blossom’s last dip
    in a swimming pool.
    Temperance — Spring & Winter
    in the palm of Autumn’s hand.

    holding still
    tasting your every song
    in each drop of rain
    as myrtle blossoms alight
    rain drops carry us aloft.

    dark valleys, due North
    floating high between the stars
    Orion and his dogs
    finding a wishbone at the bank
    of stars and moths

    Ursa Major shines
    a candle in the dark night
    beacon for our Hope
    how many have glimpsed the stars
    counting the days of autumn?

    over the church’s bell
    weaving drops
    of sunlight
    into the autumn sky
    Marian Day balloons

    autumn afternoon
    through the rumble of clouds
    blinking headlights
    and in the blink of an eye
    winds carry a crisp whisper

    within the split
    of pecan shells…
    autumn sunset
    colors shift to dappled grey
    bowed trees cast leaves before us

    in the twilight shadows
    the spider’s web tangled
    in the rake
    Finely-spun gray gives the rake
    Ughh!! A rakish quality.

    sunset grass
    the quiet leap of a lizard
    rock to rock…
    afternoon shadows measure
    the hypotenuse of the lawn

    Like


  279. gray feathery skies
    blow my hair around my face
    tickling my mood

    Like


  280. RENGA 52 — PART 2

    cloudless sky
    a contrail spears through
    a vee of geese —
    leaves them divided, yet whole
    wings bristling in the morning sun

    the day waxes long
    a mere word conjures the heart
    my eyes are leaking
    and for a single moment
    all time and love stand so still.

    dreamboat moon
    our fingers find each other
    through the slick streets
    soft pads, their aching furrows
    silent, arched, our hungers

    piercing thunder moans
    white hail blinds the summer sky
    jolts the night awake
    moonlit bats perforate
    the ashen clouds

    new moon still
    dreaming of ways to hold
    the last summer rays
    searching heart, i find them there
    embers still glowing

    Cloud issues a dare –
    Ferris wheel or tilt-a-whirl?
    the Sun hides his face
    a relief of something cool
    the sweetest taste of rain

    another race run
    each lap is shorter, faster
    those long sun wheel spokes
    casting their softening shadows
    i think my watch needs winding

    leaves like a hard rain
    yellow in the autumn Sun
    write summer’s obit
    fleeting tales, cursive farewells
    inscribed on each curling scroll

    Summer’s farewell
    a myrtle blossom’s last dip
    in a swimming pool.
    Temperance — Spring & Winter
    in the palm of Autumn’s hand.

    holding still
    tasting your every song
    in each drop of rain
    as myrtle blossoms alight
    rain drops carry us aloft.

    dark valleys, due North
    floating high between the stars
    Orion and his dogs
    finding a wishbone at the bank
    of stars and moths

    Ursa Major shines
    a candle in the dark night
    beacon for our Hope
    how many have glimpsed the stars
    counting the days of autumn?

    over the church’s bell
    weaving drops
    of sunlight
    into the autumn sky
    Marian Day balloons

    autumn afternoon
    through the rumble of clouds
    blinking headlights
    and in the blink of an eye
    winds carry a crisp whisper

    within the split
    of pecan shells…
    autumn sunset
    colors shift to dappled grey
    bowed trees cast leaves before us

    in the twilight shadows
    the spider’s web tangled
    in the rake
    Finely-spun gray gives the rake
    Ughh!! A rakish quality.

    sunset grass
    the quiet leap of a lizard
    rock to rock…
    afternoon shadows measure
    the hypotenuse of the lawn

    the shiver of leaves
    from a detached lizard’s tail…
    autumn evening
    on the way home acorn-picking
    the right words for love

    Like


  281. turkeys may be king
    but like Marie Antoinette
    they just lose their heads

    Like


  282. OK, ‘going for the Tanka de Macabre:

    ———————-

    turkeys may be king
    but like Marie Antoinette
    they just lose their heads
    so what would Queen Marie say?
    “I can’t eat another bite.”

    Like


  283. OK, ‘going for the revisione d’Tanka de Macabre

    ———————-

    turkeys may be king
    but like marie antoinette
    they just lose their heads
    queen marie’s thanksgiving toast?
    “i can’t eat another bite.”

    ———————

    Pas de gâteau pour moi, merci

    Happy Thanksgiving everybody!

    Like


  284. Happy Thanksgiving to all – continuing the Renga
    ————————————–

    RENGA 52 — PART 2

    cloudless sky
    a contrail spears through
    a vee of geese —
    leaves them divided, yet whole
    wings bristling in the morning sun

    the day waxes long
    a mere word conjures the heart
    my eyes are leaking
    and for a single moment
    all time and love stand so still.

    dreamboat moon
    our fingers find each other
    through the slick streets
    soft pads, their aching furrows
    silent, arched, our hungers

    piercing thunder moans
    white hail blinds the summer sky
    jolts the night awake
    moonlit bats perforate
    the ashen clouds

    new moon still
    dreaming of ways to hold
    the last summer rays
    searching heart, i find them there
    embers still glowing

    Cloud issues a dare –
    Ferris wheel or tilt-a-whirl?
    the Sun hides his face
    a relief of something cool
    the sweetest taste of rain

    another race run
    each lap is shorter, faster
    those long sun wheel spokes
    casting their softening shadows
    i think my watch needs winding

    leaves like a hard rain
    yellow in the autumn Sun
    write summer’s obit
    fleeting tales, cursive farewells
    inscribed on each curling scroll

    Summer’s farewell
    a myrtle blossom’s last dip
    in a swimming pool.
    Temperance — Spring & Winter
    in the palm of Autumn’s hand.

    holding still
    tasting your every song
    in each drop of rain
    as myrtle blossoms alight
    rain drops carry us aloft.

    dark valleys, due North
    floating high between the stars
    Orion and his dogs
    finding a wishbone at the bank
    of stars and moths

    Ursa Major shines
    a candle in the dark night
    beacon for our Hope
    how many have glimpsed the stars
    counting the days of autumn?

    over the church’s bell
    weaving drops
    of sunlight
    into the autumn sky
    Marian Day balloons

    autumn afternoon
    through the rumble of clouds
    blinking headlights
    and in the blink of an eye
    winds carry a crisp whisper

    within the split
    of pecan shells…
    autumn sunset
    colors shift to dappled grey
    bowed trees cast leaves before us

    in the twilight shadows
    the spider’s web tangled
    in the rake
    Finely-spun gray gives the rake
    Ughh!! A rakish quality.

    sunset grass
    the quiet leap of a lizard
    rock to rock…
    afternoon shadows measure
    the hypotenuse of the lawn

    the shiver of leaves
    from a detached lizard’s tail…
    autumn evening
    on the way home acorn-picking
    the right words for love

    the simplest truths
    revisit our hearts today
    and we bow our heads

    Like


  285. Happy Thanksgiving Walljasper. And to all who kept coming back to this practice while I took a break, I am deeply grateful. I appreciate you all! – continuing the Renga
    ————————————–

    RENGA 52 — PART 2

    cloudless sky
    a contrail spears through
    a vee of geese —
    leaves them divided, yet whole
    wings bristling in the morning sun

    the day waxes long
    a mere word conjures the heart
    my eyes are leaking
    and for a single moment
    all time and love stand so still.

    dreamboat moon
    our fingers find each other
    through the slick streets
    soft pads, their aching furrows
    silent, arched, our hungers

    piercing thunder moans
    white hail blinds the summer sky
    jolts the night awake
    moonlit bats perforate
    the ashen clouds

    new moon still
    dreaming of ways to hold
    the last summer rays
    searching heart, i find them there
    embers still glowing

    Cloud issues a dare –
    Ferris wheel or tilt-a-whirl?
    the Sun hides his face
    a relief of something cool
    the sweetest taste of rain

    another race run
    each lap is shorter, faster
    those long sun wheel spokes
    casting their softening shadows
    i think my watch needs winding

    leaves like a hard rain
    yellow in the autumn Sun
    write summer’s obit
    fleeting tales, cursive farewells
    inscribed on each curling scroll

    Summer’s farewell
    a myrtle blossom’s last dip
    in a swimming pool.
    Temperance — Spring & Winter
    in the palm of Autumn’s hand.

    holding still
    tasting your every song
    in each drop of rain
    as myrtle blossoms alight
    rain drops carry us aloft.

    dark valleys, due North
    floating high between the stars
    Orion and his dogs
    finding a wishbone at the bank
    of stars and moths

    Ursa Major shines
    a candle in the dark night
    beacon for our Hope
    how many have glimpsed the stars
    counting the days of autumn?

    over the church’s bell
    weaving drops
    of sunlight
    into the autumn sky
    Marian Day balloons

    autumn afternoon
    through the rumble of clouds
    blinking headlights
    and in the blink of an eye
    winds carry a crisp whisper

    within the split
    of pecan shells…
    autumn sunset
    colors shift to dappled grey
    bowed trees cast leaves before us

    in the twilight shadows
    the spider’s web tangled
    in the rake
    Finely-spun gray gives the rake
    Ughh!! A rakish quality.

    sunset grass
    the quiet leap of a lizard
    rock to rock…
    afternoon shadows measure
    the hypotenuse of the lawn

    the shiver of leaves
    from a detached lizard’s tail…
    autumn evening
    on the way home acorn-picking
    the right words for love

    the simplest truths
    revisit our hearts today
    and we bow our heads
    for a moment of silence
    against the rustling wind

    Like


  286. […] to post: haiku 4 (one-a-day) Meets renga 52, Gratitude Mandala — Giving Thanks[…]

    Like


  287. RENGA 52 — PART 2

    cloudless sky
    a contrail spears through
    a vee of geese —
    leaves them divided, yet whole
    wings bristling in the morning sun

    the day waxes long
    a mere word conjures the heart
    my eyes are leaking
    and for a single moment
    all time and love stand so still.

    dreamboat moon
    our fingers find each other
    through the slick streets
    soft pads, their aching furrows
    silent, arched, our hungers

    piercing thunder moans
    white hail blinds the summer sky
    jolts the night awake
    moonlit bats perforate
    the ashen clouds

    new moon still
    dreaming of ways to hold
    the last summer rays
    searching heart, i find them there
    embers still glowing

    Cloud issues a dare –
    Ferris wheel or tilt-a-whirl?
    the Sun hides his face
    a relief of something cool
    the sweetest taste of rain

    another race run
    each lap is shorter, faster
    those long sun wheel spokes
    casting their softening shadows
    i think my watch needs winding

    leaves like a hard rain
    yellow in the autumn Sun
    write summer’s obit
    fleeting tales, cursive farewells
    inscribed on each curling scroll

    Summer’s farewell
    a myrtle blossom’s last dip
    in a swimming pool.
    Temperance — Spring & Winter
    in the palm of Autumn’s hand.

    holding still
    tasting your every song
    in each drop of rain
    as myrtle blossoms alight
    rain drops carry us aloft.

    dark valleys, due North
    floating high between the stars
    Orion and his dogs
    finding a wishbone at the bank
    of stars and moths

    Ursa Major shines
    a candle in the dark night
    beacon for our Hope
    how many have glimpsed the stars
    counting the days of autumn?

    over the church’s bell
    weaving drops
    of sunlight
    into the autumn sky
    Marian Day balloons

    autumn afternoon
    through the rumble of clouds
    blinking headlights
    and in the blink of an eye
    winds carry a crisp whisper

    within the split
    of pecan shells…
    autumn sunset
    colors shift to dappled grey
    bowed trees cast leaves before us

    in the twilight shadows
    the spider’s web tangled
    in the rake
    Finely-spun gray gives the rake
    Ughh!! A rakish quality.

    sunset grass
    the quiet leap of a lizard
    rock to rock…
    afternoon shadows measure
    the hypotenuse of the lawn

    the shiver of leaves
    from a detached lizard’s tail…
    autumn evening
    on the way home acorn-picking
    the right words for love

    the simplest truths
    revisit our hearts today
    and we bow our heads
    for a moment of silence
    against the rustling wind

    a robin snaps a twig
    in the shape of a wishbone…
    Sunday windchill

    Like


  288. RENGA 52 — PART 2

    cloudless sky
    a contrail spears through
    a vee of geese —
    leaves them divided, yet whole
    wings bristling in the morning sun

    the day waxes long
    a mere word conjures the heart
    my eyes are leaking
    and for a single moment
    all time and love stand so still.

    dreamboat moon
    our fingers find each other
    through the slick streets
    soft pads, their aching furrows
    silent, arched, our hungers

    piercing thunder moans
    white hail blinds the summer sky
    jolts the night awake
    moonlit bats perforate
    the ashen clouds

    new moon still
    dreaming of ways to hold
    the last summer rays
    searching heart, i find them there
    embers still glowing

    Cloud issues a dare –
    Ferris wheel or tilt-a-whirl?
    the Sun hides his face
    a relief of something cool
    the sweetest taste of rain

    another race run
    each lap is shorter, faster
    those long sun wheel spokes
    casting their softening shadows
    i think my watch needs winding

    leaves like a hard rain
    yellow in the autumn Sun
    write summer’s obit
    fleeting tales, cursive farewells
    inscribed on each curling scroll

    Summer’s farewell
    a myrtle blossom’s last dip
    in a swimming pool.
    Temperance — Spring & Winter
    in the palm of Autumn’s hand.

    holding still
    tasting your every song
    in each drop of rain
    as myrtle blossoms alight
    rain drops carry us aloft.

    dark valleys, due North
    floating high between the stars
    Orion and his dogs
    finding a wishbone at the bank
    of stars and moths

    Ursa Major shines
    a candle in the dark night
    beacon for our Hope
    how many have glimpsed the stars
    counting the days of autumn?

    over the church’s bell
    weaving drops
    of sunlight
    into the autumn sky
    Marian Day balloons

    autumn afternoon
    through the rumble of clouds
    blinking headlights
    and in the blink of an eye
    winds carry a crisp whisper

    within the split
    of pecan shells…
    autumn sunset
    colors shift to dappled grey
    bowed trees cast leaves before us

    in the twilight shadows
    the spider’s web tangled
    in the rake
    Finely-spun gray gives the rake
    Ughh!! A rakish quality.

    sunset grass
    the quiet leap of a lizard
    rock to rock…
    afternoon shadows measure
    the hypotenuse of the lawn

    the shiver of leaves
    from a detached lizard’s tail…
    autumn evening
    on the way home acorn-picking
    the right words for love

    the simplest truths
    revisit our hearts today
    and we bow our heads
    for a moment of silence
    against the rustling wind

    a robin snaps a twig
    in the shape of a wishbone…
    Sunday windchill
    dry leaves are a worn rattle
    birds dance in its last rustle

    Like


  289. RENGA 52 — PART 2

    cloudless sky
    a contrail spears through
    a vee of geese —
    leaves them divided, yet whole
    wings bristling in the morning sun

    the day waxes long
    a mere word conjures the heart
    my eyes are leaking
    and for a single moment
    all time and love stand so still.

    dreamboat moon
    our fingers find each other
    through the slick streets
    soft pads, their aching furrows
    silent, arched, our hungers

    piercing thunder moans
    white hail blinds the summer sky
    jolts the night awake
    moonlit bats perforate
    the ashen clouds

    new moon still
    dreaming of ways to hold
    the last summer rays
    searching heart, i find them there
    embers still glowing

    Cloud issues a dare –
    Ferris wheel or tilt-a-whirl?
    the Sun hides his face
    a relief of something cool
    the sweetest taste of rain

    another race run
    each lap is shorter, faster
    those long sun wheel spokes
    casting their softening shadows
    i think my watch needs winding

    leaves like a hard rain
    yellow in the autumn Sun
    write summer’s obit
    fleeting tales, cursive farewells
    inscribed on each curling scroll

    Summer’s farewell
    a myrtle blossom’s last dip
    in a swimming pool.
    Temperance — Spring & Winter
    in the palm of Autumn’s hand.

    holding still
    tasting your every song
    in each drop of rain
    as myrtle blossoms alight
    rain drops carry us aloft.

    dark valleys, due North
    floating high between the stars
    Orion and his dogs
    finding a wishbone at the bank
    of stars and moths

    Ursa Major shines
    a candle in the dark night
    beacon for our Hope
    how many have glimpsed the stars
    counting the days of autumn?

    over the church’s bell
    weaving drops
    of sunlight
    into the autumn sky
    Marian Day balloons

    autumn afternoon
    through the rumble of clouds
    blinking headlights
    and in the blink of an eye
    winds carry a crisp whisper

    within the split
    of pecan shells…
    autumn sunset
    colors shift to dappled grey
    bowed trees cast leaves before us

    in the twilight shadows
    the spider’s web tangled
    in the rake
    Finely-spun gray gives the rake
    Ughh!! A rakish quality.

    sunset grass
    the quiet leap of a lizard
    rock to rock…
    afternoon shadows measure
    the hypotenuse of the lawn

    the shiver of leaves
    from a detached lizard’s tail…
    autumn evening
    on the way home acorn-picking
    the right words for love

    the simplest truths
    revisit our hearts today
    and we bow our heads
    for a moment of silence
    against the rustling wind

    a robin snaps a twig
    in the shape of a wishbone…
    Sunday windchill
    dry leaves are a worn rattle
    birds dance in its last rustle

    a few fleeting days
    grapevine canes still strut their leaves
    multi-color rows
    grapes picked, their mission is done
    winds pick their bouquets aloft

    Like


  290. RENGA 52 — PART 2

    cloudless sky
    a contrail spears through
    a vee of geese —
    leaves them divided, yet whole
    wings bristling in the morning sun

    the day waxes long
    a mere word conjures the heart
    my eyes are leaking
    and for a single moment
    all time and love stand so still.

    dreamboat moon
    our fingers find each other
    through the slick streets
    soft pads, their aching furrows
    silent, arched, our hungers

    piercing thunder moans
    white hail blinds the summer sky
    jolts the night awake
    moonlit bats perforate
    the ashen clouds

    new moon still
    dreaming of ways to hold
    the last summer rays
    searching heart, i find them there
    embers still glowing

    Cloud issues a dare –
    Ferris wheel or tilt-a-whirl?
    the Sun hides his face
    a relief of something cool
    the sweetest taste of rain

    another race run
    each lap is shorter, faster
    those long sun wheel spokes
    casting their softening shadows
    i think my watch needs winding

    leaves like a hard rain
    yellow in the autumn Sun
    write summer’s obit
    fleeting tales, cursive farewells
    inscribed on each curling scroll

    Summer’s farewell
    a myrtle blossom’s last dip
    in a swimming pool.
    Temperance — Spring & Winter
    in the palm of Autumn’s hand.

    holding still
    tasting your every song
    in each drop of rain
    as myrtle blossoms alight
    rain drops carry us aloft.

    dark valleys, due North
    floating high between the stars
    Orion and his dogs
    finding a wishbone at the bank
    of stars and moths

    Ursa Major shines
    a candle in the dark night
    beacon for our Hope
    how many have glimpsed the stars
    counting the days of autumn?

    over the church’s bell
    weaving drops
    of sunlight
    into the autumn sky
    Marian Day balloons

    autumn afternoon
    through the rumble of clouds
    blinking headlights
    and in the blink of an eye
    winds carry a crisp whisper

    within the split
    of pecan shells…
    autumn sunset
    colors shift to dappled grey
    bowed trees cast leaves before us

    in the twilight shadows
    the spider’s web tangled
    in the rake
    Finely-spun gray gives the rake
    Ughh!! A rakish quality.

    sunset grass
    the quiet leap of a lizard
    rock to rock…
    afternoon shadows measure
    the hypotenuse of the lawn

    the shiver of leaves
    from a detached lizard’s tail…
    autumn evening
    on the way home acorn-picking
    the right words for love

    the simplest truths
    revisit our hearts today
    and we bow our heads
    for a moment of silence
    against the rustling wind

    a robin snaps a twig
    in the shape of a wishbone…
    Sunday windchill
    dry leaves are a worn rattle
    birds dance in its last rustle

    for just a few days
    the vineyard canes held their leaves
    multi-color rows
    their grapes picked, the harvest done
    now the winds pick bright bouquets

    Like


  291. RENGA 52 — PART 2

    cloudless sky
    a contrail spears through
    a vee of geese —
    leaves them divided, yet whole
    wings bristling in the morning sun

    the day waxes long
    a mere word conjures the heart
    my eyes are leaking
    and for a single moment
    all time and love stand so still.

    dreamboat moon
    our fingers find each other
    through the slick streets
    soft pads, their aching furrows
    silent, arched, our hungers

    piercing thunder moans
    white hail blinds the summer sky
    jolts the night awake
    moonlit bats perforate
    the ashen clouds

    new moon still
    dreaming of ways to hold
    the last summer rays
    searching heart, i find them there
    embers still glowing

    Cloud issues a dare –
    Ferris wheel or tilt-a-whirl?
    the Sun hides his face
    a relief of something cool
    the sweetest taste of rain

    another race run
    each lap is shorter, faster
    those long sun wheel spokes
    casting their softening shadows
    i think my watch needs winding

    leaves like a hard rain
    yellow in the autumn Sun
    write summer’s obit
    fleeting tales, cursive farewells
    inscribed on each curling scroll

    Summer’s farewell
    a myrtle blossom’s last dip
    in a swimming pool.
    Temperance — Spring & Winter
    in the palm of Autumn’s hand.

    holding still
    tasting your every song
    in each drop of rain
    as myrtle blossoms alight
    rain drops carry us aloft.

    dark valleys, due North
    floating high between the stars
    Orion and his dogs
    finding a wishbone at the bank
    of stars and moths

    Ursa Major shines
    a candle in the dark night
    beacon for our Hope
    how many have glimpsed the stars
    counting the days of autumn?

    over the church’s bell
    weaving drops
    of sunlight
    into the autumn sky
    Marian Day balloons

    autumn afternoon
    through the rumble of clouds
    blinking headlights
    and in the blink of an eye
    winds carry a crisp whisper

    within the split
    of pecan shells…
    autumn sunset
    colors shift to dappled grey
    bowed trees cast leaves before us

    in the twilight shadows
    the spider’s web tangled
    in the rake
    Finely-spun gray gives the rake
    Ughh!! A rakish quality.

    sunset grass
    the quiet leap of a lizard
    rock to rock…
    afternoon shadows measure
    the hypotenuse of the lawn

    the shiver of leaves
    from a detached lizard’s tail…
    autumn evening
    on the way home acorn-picking
    the right words for love

    the simplest truths
    revisit our hearts today
    and we bow our heads
    for a moment of silence
    against the rustling wind

    a robin snaps a twig
    in the shape of a wishbone…
    Sunday windchill
    dry leaves are a worn rattle
    birds dance in its last rustle

    for just a few days
    the vineyard canes held their leaves
    multi-color rows
    their grapes picked, the harvest done
    now the winds pick bright bouquets

    by the chimney
    the dance of flames around
    empty wineglasses

    Like


  292. Beautiful! I can’t believe we are nearly to the end of a whole year of renga. What a joy to read. Thanks to my haiku & renga friends for keeping the fire burning.

    ________________

    RENGA 52 — PART 2

    cloudless sky
    a contrail spears through
    a vee of geese —
    leaves them divided, yet whole
    wings bristling in the morning sun

    the day waxes long
    a mere word conjures the heart
    my eyes are leaking
    and for a single moment
    all time and love stand so still.

    dreamboat moon
    our fingers find each other
    through the slick streets
    soft pads, their aching furrows
    silent, arched, our hungers

    piercing thunder moans
    white hail blinds the summer sky
    jolts the night awake
    moonlit bats perforate
    the ashen clouds

    new moon still
    dreaming of ways to hold
    the last summer rays
    searching heart, i find them there
    embers still glowing

    Cloud issues a dare –
    Ferris wheel or tilt-a-whirl?
    the Sun hides his face
    a relief of something cool
    the sweetest taste of rain

    another race run
    each lap is shorter, faster
    those long sun wheel spokes
    casting their softening shadows
    i think my watch needs winding

    leaves like a hard rain
    yellow in the autumn Sun
    write summer’s obit
    fleeting tales, cursive farewells
    inscribed on each curling scroll

    Summer’s farewell
    a myrtle blossom’s last dip
    in a swimming pool.
    Temperance — Spring & Winter
    in the palm of Autumn’s hand.

    holding still
    tasting your every song
    in each drop of rain
    as myrtle blossoms alight
    rain drops carry us aloft.

    dark valleys, due North
    floating high between the stars
    Orion and his dogs
    finding a wishbone at the bank
    of stars and moths

    Ursa Major shines
    a candle in the dark night
    beacon for our Hope
    how many have glimpsed the stars
    counting the days of autumn?

    over the church’s bell
    weaving drops
    of sunlight
    into the autumn sky
    Marian Day balloons

    autumn afternoon
    through the rumble of clouds
    blinking headlights
    and in the blink of an eye
    winds carry a crisp whisper

    within the split
    of pecan shells…
    autumn sunset
    colors shift to dappled grey
    bowed trees cast leaves before us

    in the twilight shadows
    the spider’s web tangled
    in the rake
    Finely-spun gray gives the rake
    Ughh!! A rakish quality.

    sunset grass
    the quiet leap of a lizard
    rock to rock…
    afternoon shadows measure
    the hypotenuse of the lawn

    the shiver of leaves
    from a detached lizard’s tail…
    autumn evening
    on the way home acorn-picking
    the right words for love

    the simplest truths
    revisit our hearts today
    and we bow our heads
    for a moment of silence
    against the rustling wind

    a robin snaps a twig
    in the shape of a wishbone…
    Sunday windchill
    dry leaves are a worn rattle
    birds dance in its last rustle

    for just a few days
    the vineyard canes held their leaves
    multi-color rows
    their grapes picked, the harvest done
    now the winds pick bright bouquets

    by the chimney
    the dance of flames around
    empty wineglasses
    urban hobos ride the rails
    freedom earned, not won or lost

    Like


  293. RENGA 52 — PART 2

    cloudless sky
    a contrail spears through
    a vee of geese —
    leaves them divided, yet whole
    wings bristling in the morning sun

    the day waxes long
    a mere word conjures the heart
    my eyes are leaking
    and for a single moment
    all time and love stand so still.

    dreamboat moon
    our fingers find each other
    through the slick streets
    soft pads, their aching furrows
    silent, arched, our hungers

    piercing thunder moans
    white hail blinds the summer sky
    jolts the night awake
    moonlit bats perforate
    the ashen clouds

    new moon still
    dreaming of ways to hold
    the last summer rays
    searching heart, i find them there
    embers still glowing

    Cloud issues a dare –
    Ferris wheel or tilt-a-whirl?
    the Sun hides his face
    a relief of something cool
    the sweetest taste of rain

    another race run
    each lap is shorter, faster
    those long sun wheel spokes
    casting their softening shadows
    i think my watch needs winding

    leaves like a hard rain
    yellow in the autumn Sun
    write summer’s obit
    fleeting tales, cursive farewells
    inscribed on each curling scroll

    Summer’s farewell
    a myrtle blossom’s last dip
    in a swimming pool.
    Temperance — Spring & Winter
    in the palm of Autumn’s hand.

    holding still
    tasting your every song
    in each drop of rain
    as myrtle blossoms alight
    rain drops carry us aloft.

    dark valleys, due North
    floating high between the stars
    Orion and his dogs
    finding a wishbone at the bank
    of stars and moths

    Ursa Major shines
    a candle in the dark night
    beacon for our Hope
    how many have glimpsed the stars
    counting the days of autumn?

    over the church’s bell
    weaving drops
    of sunlight
    into the autumn sky
    Marian Day balloons

    autumn afternoon
    through the rumble of clouds
    blinking headlights
    and in the blink of an eye
    winds carry a crisp whisper

    within the split
    of pecan shells…
    autumn sunset
    colors shift to dappled grey
    bowed trees cast leaves before us

    in the twilight shadows
    the spider’s web tangled
    in the rake
    Finely-spun gray gives the rake
    Ughh!! A rakish quality.

    sunset grass
    the quiet leap of a lizard
    rock to rock…
    afternoon shadows measure
    the hypotenuse of the lawn

    the shiver of leaves
    from a detached lizard’s tail…
    autumn evening
    on the way home acorn-picking
    the right words for love

    the simplest truths
    revisit our hearts today
    and we bow our heads
    for a moment of silence
    against the rustling wind

    a robin snaps a twig
    in the shape of a wishbone…
    Sunday windchill
    dry leaves are a worn rattle
    birds dance in its last rustle

    for just a few days
    the vineyard canes held their leaves
    multi-color rows
    their grapes picked, the harvest done
    now the winds pick bright bouquets

    by the chimney
    the dance of flames around
    empty wineglasses
    urban hobos ride the rails
    freedom earned, not won or lost

    eclipsed Moon rises
    shadow face full of light
    sets good intentions

    Like


  294. RENGA 52 — PART 2

    cloudless sky
    a contrail spears through
    a vee of geese —
    leaves them divided, yet whole
    wings bristling in the morning sun

    the day waxes long
    a mere word conjures the heart
    my eyes are leaking
    and for a single moment
    all time and love stand so still.

    dreamboat moon
    our fingers find each other
    through the slick streets
    soft pads, their aching furrows
    silent, arched, our hungers

    piercing thunder moans
    white hail blinds the summer sky
    jolts the night awake
    moonlit bats perforate
    the ashen clouds

    new moon still
    dreaming of ways to hold
    the last summer rays
    searching heart, i find them there
    embers still glowing

    Cloud issues a dare –
    Ferris wheel or tilt-a-whirl?
    the Sun hides his face
    a relief of something cool
    the sweetest taste of rain

    another race run
    each lap is shorter, faster
    those long sun wheel spokes
    casting their softening shadows
    i think my watch needs winding

    leaves like a hard rain
    yellow in the autumn Sun
    write summer’s obit
    fleeting tales, cursive farewells
    inscribed on each curling scroll

    Summer’s farewell
    a myrtle blossom’s last dip
    in a swimming pool.
    Temperance — Spring & Winter
    in the palm of Autumn’s hand.

    holding still
    tasting your every song
    in each drop of rain
    as myrtle blossoms alight
    rain drops carry us aloft.

    dark valleys, due North
    floating high between the stars
    Orion and his dogs
    finding a wishbone at the bank
    of stars and moths

    Ursa Major shines
    a candle in the dark night
    beacon for our Hope
    how many have glimpsed the stars
    counting the days of autumn?

    over the church’s bell
    weaving drops
    of sunlight
    into the autumn sky
    Marian Day balloons

    autumn afternoon
    through the rumble of clouds
    blinking headlights
    and in the blink of an eye
    winds carry a crisp whisper

    within the split
    of pecan shells…
    autumn sunset
    colors shift to dappled grey
    bowed trees cast leaves before us

    in the twilight shadows
    the spider’s web tangled
    in the rake
    Finely-spun gray gives the rake
    Ughh!! A rakish quality.

    sunset grass
    the quiet leap of a lizard
    rock to rock…
    afternoon shadows measure
    the hypotenuse of the lawn

    the shiver of leaves
    from a detached lizard’s tail…
    autumn evening
    on the way home acorn-picking
    the right words for love

    the simplest truths
    revisit our hearts today
    and we bow our heads
    for a moment of silence
    against the rustling wind

    a robin snaps a twig
    in the shape of a wishbone…
    Sunday windchill
    dry leaves are a worn rattle
    birds dance in its last rustle

    for just a few days
    the vineyard canes held their leaves
    multi-color rows
    their grapes picked, the harvest done
    now the winds pick bright bouquets

    by the chimney
    the dance of flames around
    empty wineglasses
    urban hobos ride the rails
    freedom earned, not won or lost

    eclipsed Moon rises
    shadow face full of light
    sets good intentions.
    Courage, where have you gone,
    why have you forsaken me?

    Like


  295. RENGA 52 — PART 2

    cloudless sky
    a contrail spears through
    a vee of geese —
    leaves them divided, yet whole
    wings bristling in the morning sun

    the day waxes long
    a mere word conjures the heart
    my eyes are leaking
    and for a single moment
    all time and love stand so still.

    dreamboat moon
    our fingers find each other
    through the slick streets
    soft pads, their aching furrows
    silent, arched, our hungers

    piercing thunder moans
    white hail blinds the summer sky
    jolts the night awake
    moonlit bats perforate
    the ashen clouds

    new moon still
    dreaming of ways to hold
    the last summer rays
    searching heart, i find them there
    embers still glowing

    Cloud issues a dare –
    Ferris wheel or tilt-a-whirl?
    the Sun hides his face
    a relief of something cool
    the sweetest taste of rain

    another race run
    each lap is shorter, faster
    those long sun wheel spokes
    casting their softening shadows
    i think my watch needs winding

    leaves like a hard rain
    yellow in the autumn Sun
    write summer’s obit
    fleeting tales, cursive farewells
    inscribed on each curling scroll

    Summer’s farewell
    a myrtle blossom’s last dip
    in a swimming pool.
    Temperance — Spring & Winter
    in the palm of Autumn’s hand.

    holding still
    tasting your every song
    in each drop of rain
    as myrtle blossoms alight
    rain drops carry us aloft.

    dark valleys, due North
    floating high between the stars
    Orion and his dogs
    finding a wishbone at the bank
    of stars and moths

    Ursa Major shines
    a candle in the dark night
    beacon for our Hope
    how many have glimpsed the stars
    counting the days of autumn?

    over the church’s bell
    weaving drops
    of sunlight
    into the autumn sky
    Marian Day balloons

    autumn afternoon
    through the rumble of clouds
    blinking headlights
    and in the blink of an eye
    winds carry a crisp whisper

    within the split
    of pecan shells…
    autumn sunset
    colors shift to dappled grey
    bowed trees cast leaves before us

    in the twilight shadows
    the spider’s web tangled
    in the rake
    Finely-spun gray gives the rake
    Ughh!! A rakish quality.

    sunset grass
    the quiet leap of a lizard
    rock to rock…
    afternoon shadows measure
    the hypotenuse of the lawn

    the shiver of leaves
    from a detached lizard’s tail…
    autumn evening
    on the way home acorn-picking
    the right words for love

    the simplest truths
    revisit our hearts today
    and we bow our heads
    for a moment of silence
    against the rustling wind

    a robin snaps a twig
    in the shape of a wishbone…
    Sunday windchill
    dry leaves are a worn rattle
    birds dance in its last rustle

    for just a few days
    the vineyard canes held their leaves
    multi-color rows
    their grapes picked, the harvest done
    now the winds pick bright bouquets

    by the chimney
    the dance of flames around
    empty wineglasses
    urban hobos ride the rails
    freedom earned, not won or lost

    eclipsed Moon rises
    shadow face full of light
    sets good intentions.
    Courage, where have you gone,
    why have you forsaken me?

    Goodbye December
    I wake to new beginnings
    3 inches of snow

    Like


  296. […] can write a haiku, tanka, or gogyohka  practice and post it in the […]

    Like


  297. RENGA 52 — PART 2

    cloudless sky
    a contrail spears through
    a vee of geese —
    leaves them divided, yet whole
    wings bristling in the morning sun

    the day waxes long
    a mere word conjures the heart
    my eyes are leaking
    and for a single moment
    all time and love stand so still.

    dreamboat moon
    our fingers find each other
    through the slick streets
    soft pads, their aching furrows
    silent, arched, our hungers

    piercing thunder moans
    white hail blinds the summer sky
    jolts the night awake
    moonlit bats perforate
    the ashen clouds

    new moon still
    dreaming of ways to hold
    the last summer rays
    searching heart, i find them there
    embers still glowing

    Cloud issues a dare –
    Ferris wheel or tilt-a-whirl?
    the Sun hides his face
    a relief of something cool
    the sweetest taste of rain

    another race run
    each lap is shorter, faster
    those long sun wheel spokes
    casting their softening shadows
    i think my watch needs winding

    leaves like a hard rain
    yellow in the autumn Sun
    write summer’s obit
    fleeting tales, cursive farewells
    inscribed on each curling scroll

    Summer’s farewell
    a myrtle blossom’s last dip
    in a swimming pool.
    Temperance — Spring & Winter
    in the palm of Autumn’s hand.

    holding still
    tasting your every song
    in each drop of rain
    as myrtle blossoms alight
    rain drops carry us aloft.

    dark valleys, due North
    floating high between the stars
    Orion and his dogs
    finding a wishbone at the bank
    of stars and moths

    Ursa Major shines
    a candle in the dark night
    beacon for our Hope
    how many have glimpsed the stars
    counting the days of autumn?

    over the church’s bell
    weaving drops
    of sunlight
    into the autumn sky
    Marian Day balloons

    autumn afternoon
    through the rumble of clouds
    blinking headlights
    and in the blink of an eye
    winds carry a crisp whisper

    within the split
    of pecan shells…
    autumn sunset
    colors shift to dappled grey
    bowed trees cast leaves before us

    in the twilight shadows
    the spider’s web tangled
    in the rake
    Finely-spun gray gives the rake
    Ughh!! A rakish quality.

    sunset grass
    the quiet leap of a lizard
    rock to rock…
    afternoon shadows measure
    the hypotenuse of the lawn

    the shiver of leaves
    from a detached lizard’s tail…
    autumn evening
    on the way home acorn-picking
    the right words for love

    the simplest truths
    revisit our hearts today
    and we bow our heads
    for a moment of silence
    against the rustling wind

    a robin snaps a twig
    in the shape of a wishbone…
    Sunday windchill
    dry leaves are a worn rattle
    birds dance in its last rustle

    for just a few days
    the vineyard canes held their leaves
    multi-color rows
    their grapes picked, the harvest done
    now the winds pick bright bouquets

    by the chimney
    the dance of flames around
    empty wineglasses
    urban hobos ride the rails
    freedom earned, not won or lost

    eclipsed Moon rises
    shadow face full of light
    sets good intentions.
    Courage, where have you gone,
    why have you forsaken me?

    Goodbye December
    I wake to new beginnings
    3 inches of snow —
    a balmy 60 degrees,
    hello, January!

    Like


  298. sub-zero morning
    bends the light across the door
    archangel dreams

    Like


  299. black bear in labor
    listening to Jewel breathe
    call of the Wild

    Like


  300. Woke up with this in my head this morning.

    ___________________

    Morning haiku for the Earth:

    an imprint of time
    the next blade of grass
    walks over me

    Like


  301. New exercises
    They’re called that because they bring
    Aches in new places.

    Like


  302. Robert Morse, you are so right! Have you started a New Year exercise regiment? I’ve been trying to be more disciplined, but not there yet. Happy 2012 to you. Good to hear from you.

    ______________

    North Woods black bear
    prepares her body for birth
    all the world breathes with her

    Like


  303. so many bright days
    and now the wind is shifting
    a storm is brewing
    the first drops catch sight of me
    a grey gaze at the window

    Like


  304. so many bright days
    and now the winds are shifting
    a gathering storm
    the first drops catch sight of me
    a grey gaze at the window

    Like


  305. […] to posts: haiku 4 (one-a-day) meets renga 52, MN Black Bear Den Cam: Will Lily Have Cubs?[…]

    Like


  306. tar and gravel roof
    a perfect and taut drumhead
    to hear the rain’s riffs

    Like


  307. walljasper, beautiful on the drum. Great to see you here.

    ___________

    lazy afternoon
    the smell of clove
    and a pack of Teaberry gum

    Like


  308. Autobiography: 2007-2012

    Basho-like, northbound,
    speaking haiku; then turned south:
    silence falls like snow

    Like


  309. welcome back, stranger. so happy to see you.

    ___________________

    South holds all strangers
    each snow flake its own pattern
    strong and solid.
    Basho walks for all of us
    into the Silence.

    Like


  310. Go home again? Yes.
    For that’s what a mantra is.
    Leaving’s just as good.

    Like


  311. crystal white cold flake
    drifting downward slowly
    blizzard solitude

    Like


  312. Hi reccos62, happy to see you here. 8-)

    _________________

    all eyes look ahead
    to what we cannot yet see
    state of the union

    Like


  313. trav’lling south again:
    heart warmed at revisiting
    wayside inn – still there

    Like


  314. 6 miles to Charleston
    two days before your birthday
    ghosts of the past

    Like


  315. […] on red Ravine, Saturday, January 28th, 2012, gogyohka inspired by Irish poet John O’Donohue after listening to one of his last interviews before […]

    Like


  316. I don’t know if you would call these haiku so just for argument sake call it martin singular or plural:

    from her dark hip the moon’s curve

    sun shower
    a twig settles in the cloud

    Haiku Presence #45

    shadows fold within shadows of the rose

    tinywords Issue 11.2 | 27 June 2011

    lit fish stall
    open mouths darken
    the night

    with the suggested edit from marlene mountain

    tinywords Issue 10.3 | 27 October 2010

    new snow
    the blueness of the sky

    unpublished

    martin gottlieb cohen

    Like


  317. Thanks for sharing your haiku, Martin. I was just at a writing retreat in Wisconsin and the house was full of poetry books. So I picked up and read where I could. Inspiration from the poets. And the poets here, as well.

    Like


  318. to err is human
    and to forgive is divine
    and then there’s rehab

    Like


  319. walljasper,

    to err is human…

    great stuff!

    Like


  320. I do err
    it is how i learn
    hard stuff

    Like


  321. Haha, thanks Robert – hope you are well and content these days!
    —————————————

    roll the rock uphill
    watch it roll all the way down
    my man Sisyphus

    Like


  322. […] to post: haiku 4 (one-a-day) meets renga 52[…]

    Like


  323. The hand is turning
    grey skies foretell the future
    G-d’s water spigot

    Like


  324. a flash mob with flair
    is the way to go or else
    it’s just a flash cube

    Like


  325. the lonelist sound
    nary another soft whisper
    to assuage our thoughts

    Like


  326. the loneliest sound
    nary another soft whisper
    to assuage our thoughts

    Like


  327. a typo error,
    then too many syllables,
    here’s the final take:
    —————————————-

    the loneliest sound
    nary the softest whisper
    to assuage our thoughts

    Like


  328. walljasper, I like the flash cube. It has been so long since I had thought of a flash cube. Fun photo reference. Hope you are well. This is a haiku to honor that I’m not doing what I need to be doing — working on photos. Off to get to work!

    __________

    procrastination
    there are no earthly limits
    to what I cannot do

    Like


  329. on April 8, 2012 at 11:28 pm Robert Morse

    Ah! The signs of spring!
    With the buds and blossoms and
    Bird crap on the car.

    Like


  330. on April 9, 2012 at 10:33 pm Robert Morse

    QuoinMonkey,

    Excellent on procrastinaton! Now, it’s time to reverse Natalie’s exercise, “Why Do I Write?” and try “Why Do I Not Write?” for 20-30 minutes. Go.

    Like


  331. No white flag needed.
    The truth is self-evident.
    The cats are in charge.

    Like


  332. on April 15, 2012 at 4:29 pm Robert Morse

    I apologize in advance for this:

    Lost in the desert
    Eyes blurred; can’t find oasis
    Without Restasis.

    Like


  333. Levon Helm, Dick Clark
    Bye to the head of the Band
    And of the Bandstand

    Like


  334. A slight improvement on the last

    Levon Helm, Dick Clark
    Goodbye to head of The Band
    And of the Bandstand

    Like


  335. I like those Morse ‘Ku’s
    and always get a giggle,
    Thanks to you, Robert!

    Like


  336. walljasper,

    Good to hear from you. I was starting to wonder where the “gang had got to” to quote, correctly I hope, Vonnegut from SIRENS OF TITAN.

    Like


  337. Robert, you are so right! Why do I not write! I haven’t forgotten all of you. I just haven’t been quite as adept in managing the minutes and hours ticking by. I so appreciate that you stop by and leave your poetry here! Working on getting back into practice.

    _________

    how best to show
    in the ticking minutes & hours
    I have not forgotten you

    Like


  338. unbearable winds
    bearing good news of summer
    i prefer the rain

    Like


  339. on May 1, 2012 at 1:20 am Robert Morse

    When Chicken Little
    First met The Boy Who Cried Wolf,
    They formed a close bond.
    To celebrate, they began
    A political party.

    Like


  340. on May 26, 2012 at 5:40 pm Robert Morse

    At the Vatican
    Corruption is afoot, and
    The butler did it.

    Like


  341. on May 28, 2012 at 12:07 am Robert Morse

    M.R.I.clamor
    My mind detects a beat but
    You can’t dance to it.

    Like


  342. Great one haiku RE: the butler Robert Morse. So true, so true. Thank you for leaving your haiku here, even though I have been on a long break from writing, focusing on the art. Trying to write tonight and get back into the habit.

    ________

    never too old to learn —
    the many places
    a woman calls Home.

    Like


  343. morning coffee
    all the possibilities
    in a single cup

    Like


  344. It’s so good to see your post, Ms. de QuoinMonkey.
    Shall we renga, my dear? ;-)

    ———————————-

    morning coffee
    all the possibilities
    in a single cup
    sights, sounds, memories and dreams
    becalmed with a gentle stir

    Like


  345. Oh, walljasper. I would love to renga with you. So happy to hear from you! Makes my day.

    ____________

    morning coffee
    all the possibilities
    in a single cup
    sights, sounds, memories and dreams
    becalmed with a gentle stir

    stormy afternoon
    nightfall drives a hard bargain—
    lean into the stars

    Like


  346. ‘So delighted to write with you again – your note is a true ray of (de) light
    ____________

    morning coffee
    all the possibilities
    in a single cup
    sights, sounds, memories and dreams
    becalmed with a gentle stir

    stormy afternoon
    nightfall drives a hard bargain—
    lean into the stars
    that vast and wondrous mirror
    each star, a shared reflection

    Like


  347. Sweet!

    ____________

    morning coffee
    all the possibilities
    in a single cup
    sights, sounds, memories and dreams
    becalmed with a gentle stir

    stormy afternoon
    nightfall drives a hard bargain—
    lean into the stars
    that vast and wondrous mirror
    each star, a shared reflection

    across the White Night
    your face reveals her secrets
    fiery Northern Spark

    Like


  348. A joy.
    ————–

    morning coffee
    all the possibilities
    in a single cup
    sights, sounds, memories and dreams
    becalmed with a gentle stir

    stormy afternoon
    nightfall drives a hard bargain—
    lean into the stars
    that vast and wondrous mirror
    each star, a shared reflection

    across the White Night
    your face reveals her secrets
    fiery Northern Spark
    our fire casts emissaries
    each skyward spark, our phoenix

    Like


  349. A joy.
    ————–

    morning coffee
    all the possibilities
    in a single cup
    sights, sounds, memories and dreams
    becalmed with a gentle stir

    stormy afternoon
    nightfall drives a hard bargain—
    lean into the stars
    that vast and wondrous mirror
    each star, a shared reflection

    across the White Night
    your face reveals her secrets
    fiery Northern Spark
    our fire casts emissaries
    each skyward spark, a phoenix

    Like


  350. A friend posted a photo of trees, growing from a bed of stone at the edge of a lake
    ————–

    morning coffee
    all the possibilities
    in a single cup
    sights, sounds, memories and dreams
    becalmed with a gentle stir

    stormy afternoon
    nightfall drives a hard bargain—
    lean into the stars
    that vast and wondrous mirror
    each star, a shared reflection

    across the White Night
    your face reveals her secrets
    fiery Northern Spark
    each fire casts emissaries
    each skyward spark, our phoenix

    and so life prevails
    a seed takes root amongst rocks
    forests, born of stone

    Like


  351. walljasper, I love the trees in our yard. We are scheduled to have them trimmed by an arborist in a few weeks. He loves trees, too. Liz sold a photograph at Art-A-Whirl this year of a tree with roots wrapped around huge boulders. It was taken in Painted Canyon near Artist Point in Yellowstone. I saw an oak like that once in the Boundary Waters, too. Inspiring, those trees.

    ————

    morning coffee
    all the possibilities
    in a single cup
    sights, sounds, memories and dreams
    becalmed with a gentle stir

    stormy afternoon
    nightfall drives a hard bargain—
    lean into the stars
    that vast and wondrous mirror
    each star, a shared reflection

    across the White Night
    your face reveals her secrets
    fiery Northern Spark
    each fire casts emissaries
    each skyward spark, our phoenix

    and so life prevails
    a seed takes root amongst rocks
    forests, born of stone~
    millions of years underfoot
    earthbound & full of wonder

    Like


  352. the wonder of linked elegance
    ——————————

    morning coffee
    all the possibilities
    in a single cup
    sights, sounds, memories and dreams
    becalmed with a gentle stir

    stormy afternoon
    nightfall drives a hard bargain—
    lean into the stars
    that vast and wondrous mirror
    each star, a shared reflection

    across the White Night
    your face reveals her secrets
    fiery Northern Spark
    each fire casts emissaries
    each skyward spark, our phoenix

    and so life prevails
    a seed takes root amongst rocks
    forests, born of stone~
    millions of years underfoot
    earthbound & full of wonder

    traversing the light
    arriving and departing
    always homeward bound
    how we long to find our way
    blind, bound to our brief tempest

    Like


  353. the wonder of linked elegance
    ——————————

    morning coffee
    all the possibilities
    in a single cup
    sights, sounds, memories and dreams
    becalmed with a gentle stir

    stormy afternoon
    nightfall drives a hard bargain—
    lean into the stars
    that vast and wondrous mirror
    each star, a shared reflection

    across the White Night
    your face reveals her secrets
    fiery Northern Spark
    each fire casts emissaries
    each skyward spark, our phoenix

    and so life prevails
    a seed takes root amongst rocks
    forests, born of stone~
    millions of years underfoot
    earthbound & full of wonder

    traversing the light
    arriving and departing
    always homeward bound
    how we long to find the way
    blind, bound to our brief tempest

    Like


  354. Hi Ms. QuoinMonkey – my apology for writing a complete tanka stanza – ‘got on a roll, could’t stop! ‘Hope you will start the next stanza to continue our renga together. I so enjoy writing with you.

    Like


  355. walljasper, you never need to apologize to me! I have been sidetracked lately with yard work and general Summer busy-ness. Took a moment to stop tonight and check in. Enjoy writing with you as well. Let’s get back to it!

    ——————————

    morning coffee
    all the possibilities
    in a single cup
    sights, sounds, memories and dreams
    becalmed with a gentle stir

    stormy afternoon
    nightfall drives a hard bargain—
    lean into the stars
    that vast and wondrous mirror
    each star, a shared reflection

    across the White Night
    your face reveals her secrets
    fiery Northern Spark
    each fire casts emissaries
    each skyward spark, our phoenix

    and so life prevails
    a seed takes root amongst rocks
    forests, born of stone~
    millions of years underfoot
    earthbound & full of wonder

    traversing the light
    arriving and departing
    always homeward bound
    how we long to find the way
    blind, bound to our brief tempest

    long after midnight
    rust defies, art never sleeps–
    alive in your dreams

    Like


  356. Continuing..

    ——————————

    morning coffee
    all the possibilities
    in a single cup
    sights, sounds, memories and dreams
    becalmed with a gentle stir

    stormy afternoon
    nightfall drives a hard bargain—
    lean into the stars
    that vast and wondrous mirror
    each star, a shared reflection

    across the White Night
    your face reveals her secrets
    fiery Northern Spark
    each fire casts emissaries
    each skyward spark, our phoenix

    and so life prevails
    a seed takes root amongst rocks
    forests, born of stone~
    millions of years underfoot
    earthbound & full of wonder

    traversing the light
    arriving and departing
    always homeward bound
    how we long to find the way
    blind, bound to our brief tempest

    long after midnight
    rust defies, art never sleeps–
    alive in your dreams.
    Sweaty nights with endless stars
    swimming in summer dew.

    Like


  357. The Rockies are ablaze,,,

    moon comes into view
    an angry shade of orange
    devil’s breath rising

    Like


  358. oliverowl, that is a beautiful haiku. We were just looking at a map of the Rockies running through Montana, Wyoming, Colorado, dotted with fire rings. Wow! We were thinking of you. You are surrounded by fire. Take good care. Keep writing the haiku. You are masterful.

    Like


  359. […] is the result. It’s the first time I have consciously written haibun (more about the form at haiku 4 (one-a-day) meets renga 52). I like working in the format of both prose and haiku. Independence Day in the United States reminds […]

    Like


  360. my 1st haibun…hope it passes the test…

    Remembering Marian

    we were five in number
    drawn together in syntax
    (the arranging of words in harmony)

    sharing our love of language
    and then love for each other

    memories of a friend are never lost
    or broken or even bent a little

    when minds meet and speak
    hearts will skip along after
    crying “wait for me!”

    Like


  361. Beautiful, oliverowl. Love your haibun for Marian. Thank you for sharing it here.

    Like


  362. Thanks, QM,
    The remaining four of us in our small writing group, are going to celebrate Marian’s life here next week. Her passing was so sudden and totally unexpected. There is a feeling of being cheated out of the chance to properly say “good-bye.” (But we cherish the time we spent together, and it’s one of those life lessons…to treat loved ones with the utmost kindness every day!)

    Like


  363. on July 7, 2012 at 7:58 pm Robert Morse

    COMMUNITY WEATHER HAIKU (all invited)

    Heat punchline needed.
    It is so darn hot out that
    ______________________ (provide your punchline in separate listing.)

    Like


  364. Robert Morse, crazy hot here the last few weeks! Nineties today but not as much humidity. Stay cool! A tanka:

    ___________

    Heat punchline needed.
    It is so darn hot out that
    water turns to stone.
    The long ride home, sans AC,
    melts Summer off my windshield.

    Like


  365. oliverowl, very sad about Marian. I appreciate you coming back to give the backstory behind your haibun (LINK). It’s so jolting when there is a sudden death of a friend. Or even an illness or stroke. It seems like these things are coming up more lately in the lives of the people i know. Across all ages and kinds of people. I hope your celebration of Marian’s life mixed joy with the sadness your writing group feels. Would like to hear more in a few weeks.

    Like


  366. A beautiful haibun tribute to your friend, Oliverowl –

    Robert M., sorry to miss the heat wave haiku – now its foggy and a bit brisk every morning here in northern California, so I will defer till the next sunny-sideup-smackdown, ok?

    continuing the dance de renga with Ms. de QuoinMonkey…
    ——————————

    morning coffee
    all the possibilities
    in a single cup
    sights, sounds, memories and dreams
    becalmed with a gentle stir

    stormy afternoon
    nightfall drives a hard bargain—
    lean into the stars
    that vast and wondrous mirror
    each star, a shared reflection

    across the White Night
    your face reveals her secrets
    fiery Northern Spark
    each fire casts emissaries
    each skyward spark, our phoenix

    and so life prevails
    a seed takes root amongst rocks
    forests, born of stone~
    millions of years underfoot
    earthbound & full of wonder

    traversing the light
    arriving and departing
    always homeward bound
    how we long to find the way
    blind, bound to our brief tempest

    long after midnight
    rust defies, art never sleeps–
    alive in your dreams.
    Sweaty nights with endless stars
    swimming in summer dew.

    we lift our eyes up
    pinning a heart on our sleeve
    and love wins again

    Like


  367. walljasper, I missed you!

    ——————————

    morning coffee
    all the possibilities
    in a single cup
    sights, sounds, memories and dreams
    becalmed with a gentle stir

    stormy afternoon
    nightfall drives a hard bargain—
    lean into the stars
    that vast and wondrous mirror
    each star, a shared reflection

    across the White Night
    your face reveals her secrets
    fiery Northern Spark
    each fire casts emissaries
    each skyward spark, our phoenix

    and so life prevails
    a seed takes root amongst rocks
    forests, born of stone~
    millions of years underfoot
    earthbound & full of wonder

    traversing the light
    arriving and departing
    always homeward bound
    how we long to find the way
    blind, bound to our brief tempest

    long after midnight
    rust defies, art never sleeps–
    alive in your dreams.
    Sweaty nights with endless stars
    swimming in summer dew.

    we lift our eyes up
    pinning a heart on our sleeve
    and love wins again
    Double down, against all odds,
    the good rises to the top.

    Like


  368. i missed you too – ‘am buckling down and making the time to to write a bit each day or so – I so enjoy our repartee de renga. Hugs!

    Like


  369. […] can write a haiku, tanka, or gogyohka practice and post it in the […]

    Like


  370. if brevity is
    the soul of wit, then what is
    procrastination?

    Like


  371. Thanks, walljasper. Nice haiku riddle.

    _____________

    if brevity is
    the soul of wit, then what is
    procrastination?

    Procrastination. a pause
    from the certainty of choice.

    Like


  372. if brevity is
    the soul of wit, then what is
    procrastination?

    Procrastination. a pause
    from the certainty of choice.
    Hamlet at Food Mart.

    Like


  373. “Gobble-gobble-gob…”
    (hatchet sound, the line moves up)
    “Gobble-gobble-gob…”

    Happy Thanksgiving to all!

    Like


  374. […] -related to posts: dragonfly revisited — end of summer, first dragonfly, Flying Solo: Dragonfly In Yellow Rain , Dragonfly Wings — It Is Written In The Wind, Shadow Of A Dragonfly, haiku 4 (one-a-day) Meets renga 52 […]

    Like


  375. Walljasper, hope you had a wonderful Thanksgiving! We have a resident wild turkey in our neighborhood that was strutting his stuff all week long. Hope he’s still there after the Holiday!

    __________________

    Neighborhood turkey…
    elegant & suspenseful
    call of the wild
    leaving drippings and giblets
    next to Thanksgiving’s front door?

    Like


  376. Hi Ms. de QuoinMonkey – glad you had a good Thanksgiving…friends in Minn said you might have a light dusting of snow with those wild turkeys!
    —————————-

    on this autumn day
    joined as family and friends
    we bow and give thanks.

    Happy Thanksgiving.

    Like


  377. Yes, indeed! A dusting of snow and a low around 14 degrees tonight. Feels like Winter. Came on in a flash. Happy Holidays to you!

    Like


  378. came on in a flash
    a dusting of snow tonight
    it feels like winter

    Like


  379. Nice! works great.

    __________________

    came on in a flash
    a dusting of snow tonight
    it feels like winter –
    with Thanksgiving leftovers
    making light of the dark.

    Like


  380. Eureka! It’s real!
    The chasm is scaled. I’ve reached
    The Donut Hole’s end.

    Like


  381. I’m going to try another version of the previous.

    The chasm is scaled!
    I’ve reached that enchanted place:
    The Donut Hole’s End.

    Like


  382. Robert Morse, I’m partial to the second version. Nice. Happy Holidays!

    gogyohka
    ___________

    Cool December rain,
    snow fog drapes Medicine Lake.
    The gleam in your eye
    hidden beneath frozen waves —
    a lonely Dark Star.

    Like


  383. Quoinmonkey,

    Happy holidays to you too. Thanks for the comment. I like the 2nd one better also. Among the good things about Red Ravine is that do-overs are always welcome.

    Like


  384. I heart haikus.
    ________________________
    Like a willow tree,
    Thy branches stretch out.
    Welcoming all
    Beneath God to a family

    Like


  385. Junipertail, beautiful. Thanks for joining us here and leaving your poetry.

    Like


  386. My Pleasure! I am still in Middle School and this was a great opportunity to practice for our poetry unit.

    Like


  387. cold seeps through clear glass
    gives a one-two punch to fleece
    a fool in wool am I

    Like


  388. continuing with tanka:

    cold seeps through clear glass
    gives a one-two punch to fleece
    a fool in wool am I —
    and I in my flannel hood
    tapping my knuckles for Spring

    Like


  389. cold seeps through clear glass
    gives a one-two punch to fleece
    a fool in wool am I-
    and I in my flannel hood
    tapping my knuckles for Spring
    March came in lamb-like
    but it was just a disguise
    Lion has last laugh..

    Like


  390. on March 5, 2013 at 11:14 pm Robert Morse

    cold seeps through clear glass
    gives a one-two punch to fleece
    a fool in wool am I-
    and I in my flannel hood
    tapping my knuckles for Spring
    March came in lamb-like
    but it was just a disguise
    Lion has last laugh..
    There’s time. My bet’s on the lamb.
    But I’m not betting the farm.

    Like


  391. Beautiful. Continuing renga.

    ____________________

    cold seeps through clear glass
    gives a one-two punch to fleece
    a fool in wool am I-
    and I in my flannel hood
    tapping my knuckles for Spring

    March came in lamb-like
    but it was just a disguise
    Lion has last laugh..
    There’s time. My bet’s on the lamb.
    But I’m not betting the farm.

    rain drenched snow puddles
    Winter holds on for dear life
    day light savings near

    Like


  392. After five days of cloudy skies:

    Mud gray rainwater
    fills the hollow holding pond
    empties my heart

    Like


  393. I miss dancing with you…shall we renga?

    ——————————–

    Mud gray rainwater
    fills the hollow holding pond
    empties my heart
    in a moment’s reflection
    the waters becalmed, draw clear

    Like


  394. walljasper! Missed you, too. Yes, by all means. Let’s renga. 8-)

    ——————————–

    Mud gray rainwater
    fills the hollow holding pond
    empties my heart
    in a moment’s reflection
    the waters becalmed, draw clear

    walking in the storm
    grandmother & grandson share
    secrets, drenched to the bone

    Like


  395. continuing the dance…
    ——————————–

    Mud gray rainwater
    fills the hollow holding pond
    empties my heart
    in a moment’s reflection
    the waters becalmed, draw clear

    walking in the storm
    grandmother & grandson share
    secrets, drenched to the bone
    tales of the past and future
    walk happily hand in hand

    Like


  396. a slight dip (revision) – continuing the dance…
    ——————————–

    Mud gray rainwater
    fills the hollow holding pond
    empties my heart
    in a moment’s reflection
    the waters becalmed, draw clear

    walking in the storm
    grandmother & grandson share
    secrets, drenched to the bone
    tales and dreams, past and future
    walk happily hand in hand

    Like


  397. Continuing…
    ——————————–

    Mud gray rainwater
    fills the hollow holding pond
    empties my heart
    in a moment’s reflection
    the waters becalmed, draw clear

    walking in the storm
    grandmother & grandson share
    secrets, drenched to the bone
    tales and dreams, past and future
    walk happily hand in hand

    how does she explain
    the world isn’t what it seems,
    footsteps on home ground

    Like


  398. Continuing…
    ——————————–

    Mud gray rainwater
    fills the hollow holding pond
    empties my heart
    in a moment’s reflection
    the waters becalmed, draw clear

    walking in the storm
    grandmother & grandson share
    secrets, drenched to the bone
    tales and dreams, past and future
    walk happily hand in hand

    how does she explain
    the world isn’t what it seems,
    footsteps on home ground
    each raindrop has it’s moment
    each sorrow and joy, its tear.

    Like


  399. Continuing…adding an extra section to the renga…

    ——————————–

    Mud gray rainwater
    fills the hollow holding pond
    empties my heart
    in a moment’s reflection
    the waters becalmed, draw clear

    walking in the storm
    grandmother & grandson share
    secrets, drenched to the bone
    tales and dreams, past and future
    walk happily hand in hand

    how does she explain
    the world isn’t what it seems,
    footsteps on home ground
    each raindrop has it’s moment
    each sorrow and joy, its tear

    coats hung from a peg
    we never doubt they will dry
    sooner or later
    and when the raindrops vanish
    we never doubt their return

    Like


  400. Continuing…

    ——————————–

    Mud gray rainwater
    fills the hollow holding pond
    empties my heart
    in a moment’s reflection
    the waters becalmed, draw clear

    walking in the storm
    grandmother & grandson share
    secrets, drenched to the bone
    tales and dreams, past and future
    walk happily hand in hand

    how does she explain
    the world isn’t what it seems,
    footsteps on home ground
    each raindrop has it’s moment
    each sorrow and joy, its tear

    coats hung from a peg
    we never doubt they will dry
    sooner or later
    and when the raindrops vanish
    we never doubt their return

    writing a letter
    on an old black typewriter,
    resting by the fire

    Like


  401. Continuing…

    ——————————–

    Mud gray rainwater
    fills the hollow holding pond
    empties my heart
    in a moment’s reflection
    the waters becalmed, draw clear

    walking in the storm
    grandmother & grandson share
    secrets, drenched to the bone
    tales and dreams, past and future
    walk happily hand in hand

    how does she explain
    the world isn’t what it seems,
    footsteps on home ground
    each raindrop has it’s moment
    each sorrow and joy, its tear

    coats hung from a peg
    we never doubt they will dry
    sooner or later
    and when the raindrops vanish
    we never doubt their return

    writing a letter
    on an old black typewriter,
    resting by the fire
    tired arms raise defiant fists
    yet the story will be told

    Like


  402. Continuing…had to make a last line edit…

    ——————————–

    Mud gray rainwater
    fills the hollow holding pond
    empties my heart
    in a moment’s reflection
    the waters becalmed, draw clear

    walking in the storm
    grandmother & grandson share
    secrets, drenched to the bone
    tales and dreams, past and future
    walk happily hand in hand

    how does she explain
    the world isn’t what it seems,
    footsteps on home ground
    each raindrop has it’s moment
    each sorrow and joy, its tear

    coats hung from a peg
    we never doubt they will dry
    sooner or later
    and when the raindrops vanish
    we never doubt their return

    writing a letter
    on an old black typewriter,
    resting by the fire
    tired arms raise defiant fists
    as they chisel paper tales

    Like


  403. Continuing…had to make one more last line edit…I apologize. Ach!

    ——————————–

    Mud gray rainwater
    fills the hollow holding pond
    empties my heart
    in a moment’s reflection
    the waters becalmed, draw clear

    walking in the storm
    grandmother & grandson share
    secrets, drenched to the bone
    tales and dreams, past and future
    walk happily hand in hand

    how does she explain
    the world isn’t what it seems,
    footsteps on home ground
    each raindrop has it’s moment
    each sorrow and joy, its tear

    coats hung from a peg
    we never doubt they will dry
    sooner or later
    and when the raindrops vanish
    we never doubt their return

    writing a letter
    on an old black typewriter,
    resting by the fire
    tired arms raise defiant fists
    chiseling out paper tales

    Like


  404. Continuing…

    ——————————–

    Mud gray rainwater
    fills the hollow holding pond
    empties my heart
    in a moment’s reflection
    the waters becalmed, draw clear

    walking in the storm
    grandmother & grandson share
    secrets, drenched to the bone
    tales and dreams, past and future
    walk happily hand in hand

    how does she explain
    the world isn’t what it seems,
    footsteps on home ground
    each raindrop has it’s moment
    each sorrow and joy, its tear

    coats hung from a peg
    we never doubt they will dry
    sooner or later
    and when the raindrops vanish
    we never doubt their return

    writing a letter
    on an old black typewriter,
    resting by the fire
    tired arms raise defiant fists
    chiseling out paper tales

    anger finds a home,
    lost pages of a good book
    a quiet refuge

    Like


  405. I so enjoy writing with you.

    Continuing…

    ——————————–

    Mud gray rainwater
    fills the hollow holding pond
    empties my heart
    in a moment’s reflection
    the waters becalmed, draw clear

    walking in the storm
    grandmother & grandson share
    secrets, drenched to the bone
    tales and dreams, past and future
    walk happily hand in hand

    how does she explain
    the world isn’t what it seems,
    footsteps on home ground
    each raindrop has it’s moment
    each sorrow and joy, its tear

    coats hung from a peg
    we never doubt they will dry
    sooner or later
    and when the raindrops vanish
    we never doubt their return

    writing a letter
    on an old black typewriter,
    resting by the fire
    tired arms raise defiant fists
    chiseling out paper tales

    anger finds a home,
    lost pages of a good book
    a quiet refuge
    rustling pages, our charts
    imagining our next course

    Like


  406. walljasper, and I, you. So happy you wanted to renga again. The story continues…

    ——————————–

    Mud gray rainwater
    fills the hollow holding pond
    empties my heart
    in a moment’s reflection
    the waters becalmed, draw clear

    walking in the storm
    grandmother & grandson share
    secrets, drenched to the bone
    tales and dreams, past and future
    walk happily hand in hand

    how does she explain
    the world isn’t what it seems,
    footsteps on home ground
    each raindrop has it’s moment
    each sorrow and joy, its tear

    coats hung from a peg
    we never doubt they will dry
    sooner or later
    and when the raindrops vanish
    we never doubt their return

    writing a letter
    on an old black typewriter,
    resting by the fire
    tired arms raise defiant fists
    chiseling out paper tales

    anger finds a home,
    lost pages of a good book
    a quiet refuge
    rustling pages, our charts
    imagining our next course

    sea wind at your back
    change encounter with a gull
    changes everything

    Like


  407. ——————————–

    Mud gray rainwater
    fills the hollow holding pond
    empties my heart
    in a moment’s reflection
    the waters becalmed, draw clear

    walking in the storm
    grandmother & grandson share
    secrets, drenched to the bone
    tales and dreams, past and future
    walk happily hand in hand

    how does she explain
    the world isn’t what it seems,
    footsteps on home ground
    each raindrop has it’s moment
    each sorrow and joy, its tear

    coats hung from a peg
    we never doubt they will dry
    sooner or later
    and when the raindrops vanish
    we never doubt their return

    writing a letter
    on an old black typewriter,
    resting by the fire
    tired arms raise defiant fists
    chiseling out paper tales

    anger finds a home,
    lost pages of a good book
    a quiet refuge
    rustling pages, our charts
    imagining our next course

    sea wind at your back
    change encounter with a gull
    changes everything
    eyes and senses take fast wing
    wise gull, wind-swept herald

    Like


  408. Ufda – had to fix the last line. continuing!

    ——————————–

    Mud gray rainwater
    fills the hollow holding pond
    empties my heart
    in a moment’s reflection
    the waters becalmed, draw clear

    walking in the storm
    grandmother & grandson share
    secrets, drenched to the bone
    tales and dreams, past and future
    walk happily hand in hand

    how does she explain
    the world isn’t what it seems,
    footsteps on home ground
    each raindrop has it’s moment
    each sorrow and joy, its tear

    coats hung from a peg
    we never doubt they will dry
    sooner or later
    and when the raindrops vanish
    we never doubt their return

    writing a letter
    on an old black typewriter,
    resting by the fire
    tired arms raise defiant fists
    chiseling out paper tales

    anger finds a home,
    lost pages of a good book
    a quiet refuge
    rustling pages, our charts
    imagining our next course

    sea wind at your back
    change encounter with a gull
    changes everything
    eyes and senses take fast wing
    wise gull, our wind-swept herald

    Like


  409. Double uffda: I think it should be “wise old gull, wind-swept herald”. (palm slap)

    Like


  410. Sorry for the extra posts, Ms. de QuoinMonkey – continuing!

    ——————————–

    Mud gray rainwater
    fills the hollow holding pond
    empties my heart
    in a moment’s reflection
    the waters becalmed, draw clear

    walking in the storm
    grandmother & grandson share
    secrets, drenched to the bone
    tales and dreams, past and future
    walk happily hand in hand

    how does she explain
    the world isn’t what it seems,
    footsteps on home ground
    each raindrop has it’s moment
    each sorrow and joy, its tear

    coats hung from a peg
    we never doubt they will dry
    sooner or later
    and when the raindrops vanish
    we never doubt their return

    writing a letter
    on an old black typewriter,
    resting by the fire
    tired arms raise defiant fists
    chiseling out paper tales

    anger finds a home,
    lost pages of a good book
    a quiet refuge
    rustling pages, our charts
    imagining our next course

    sea wind at your back
    change encounter with a gull
    changes everything
    eyes and senses take fast wing
    wise old gull, wind-swept herald

    Like


  411. walljasper, no worries. Sorry, I’ve been away a bit this week. Caught up in workland. Continuing…

    ——————————–

    Mud gray rainwater
    fills the hollow holding pond
    empties my heart
    in a moment’s reflection
    the waters becalmed, draw clear

    walking in the storm
    grandmother & grandson share
    secrets, drenched to the bone
    tales and dreams, past and future
    walk happily hand in hand

    how does she explain
    the world isn’t what it seems,
    footsteps on home ground
    each raindrop has it’s moment
    each sorrow and joy, its tear

    coats hung from a peg
    we never doubt they will dry
    sooner or later
    and when the raindrops vanish
    we never doubt their return

    writing a letter
    on an old black typewriter,
    resting by the fire
    tired arms raise defiant fists
    chiseling out paper tales

    anger finds a home,
    lost pages of a good book
    a quiet refuge
    rustling pages, our charts
    imagining our next course

    sea wind at your back
    chance encounter with a gull
    changes everything
    eyes and senses take fast wing
    wise old gull, wind-swept herald

    back at the homestead
    she mows the emerald lawn
    dandelion diamonds

    Like


  412. The emerald green of the lawn took me back to visits in Minneapolis and that is truly the lovely hue…and then your delightful “dandelion diamonds” resolve…a wonderful flow of syllables and synapses Continuing…

    ——————————–

    Mud gray rainwater
    fills the hollow holding pond
    empties my heart
    in a moment’s reflection
    the waters becalmed, draw clear

    walking in the storm
    grandmother & grandson share
    secrets, drenched to the bone
    tales and dreams, past and future
    walk happily hand in hand

    how does she explain
    the world isn’t what it seems,
    footsteps on home ground
    each raindrop has it’s moment
    each sorrow and joy, its tear

    coats hung from a peg
    we never doubt they will dry
    sooner or later
    and when the raindrops vanish
    we never doubt their return

    writing a letter
    on an old black typewriter,
    resting by the fire
    tired arms raise defiant fists
    chiseling out paper tales

    anger finds a home,
    lost pages of a good book
    a quiet refuge
    rustling pages, our charts
    imagining our next course

    sea wind at your back
    chance encounter with a gull
    changes everything
    eyes and senses take fast wing
    wise old gull, wind-swept herald

    back at the homestead
    she mows the emerald lawn
    dandelion diamonds
    soft winds whisper children’s dreams
    and children soon yearn to fly

    Like


  413. summertime in Wyoming – haiku

    jumping from the trees
    seeds attach their parachutes
    made of fine cotton

    Like


  414. Hello OliverOwl – I like your summertime ku. It carries me there!

    Hi Ms. de QuoinMonkey, ‘a quick edit to my recent addition. ‘Hope all is well for you and that you are safe – ‘heard there was a terrible storm a little over a week ago. Good thoughts.

    continuing the renga with QuoinMonkey

    ——————————–

    Mud gray rainwater
    fills the hollow holding pond
    empties my heart
    in a moment’s reflection
    the waters becalmed, draw clear

    walking in the storm
    grandmother & grandson share
    secrets, drenched to the bone
    tales and dreams, past and future
    walk happily hand in hand

    how does she explain
    the world isn’t what it seems,
    footsteps on home ground
    each raindrop has it’s moment
    each sorrow and joy, its tear

    coats hung from a peg
    we never doubt they will dry
    sooner or later
    and when the raindrops vanish
    we never doubt their return

    writing a letter
    on an old black typewriter,
    resting by the fire
    tired arms raise defiant fists
    chiseling out paper tales

    anger finds a home,
    lost pages of a good book
    a quiet refuge
    rustling pages, our charts
    imagining our next course

    sea wind at your back
    chance encounter with a gull
    changes everything
    eyes and senses take fast wing
    wise old gull, wind-swept herald

    back at the homestead
    she mows the emerald lawn
    dandelion diamonds
    soft winds whisper lofty dreams
    and children soon yearn to fly

    Like


  415. I miss writing with you, Ms. QuoinMonkey…kind thoughts from your dance partner…

    coats hung from a peg
    we never doubt they will dry
    sooner or later
    and when the raindrops vanish
    we never doubt their return

    Like


  416. lakeside memory
    a bird cry calls the sun back
    crackling wood sound

    Like


  417. walljasper! you are kind. And you inspire me. Thank you for returning.

    _____________________

    coats hung from a peg
    we never doubt they will dry
    sooner or later
    and when the raindrops vanish
    we never doubt their return

    lakeside memory
    a bird cry calls the sun back
    crackling wood sound
    echoes in every splash,
    late summer swims the backstroke

    Like


  418. QM & walljasper…thanks for your “good posts” here are 2 haiku 4 u !

    leaves wave at the sun
    thank goodness you’ve come again
    morning has arrived

    cricket, cat, quiet
    my morning meditation
    sows and reaps wisdom

    Like


  419. Hi – don’t know how to insert the photo for this haiku: snapped the photo on a hike at Point Reyes Seashore last weekend. Pls let me know if the link works, ok? And now, it’s back to thinking renga…
    ——————————————————–

    it’s the quality
    of your character, not the
    color of your hide

    Like


  420. coats hung from a peg
    we never doubt they will dry
    sooner or later
    and when the raindrops vanish
    we never doubt their return

    lakeside memory
    a bird cry calls the sun back
    crackling wood sound
    echoes in every splash,
    late summer swims the backstroke

    summertime-tired
    branches re-dye summer’s look
    warm tones, fall fashion

    Like


  421. re-dye vs. rethink? As fickle as fall, I am.

    ————

    coats hung from a peg
    we never doubt they will dry
    sooner or later
    and when the raindrops vanish
    we never doubt their return

    lakeside memory
    a bird cry calls the sun back
    crackling wood sound
    echoes in every splash,
    late summer swims the backstroke

    summertime-tired
    branches rethink summer’s look
    warm tones, fall fashion

    Like


  422. re-dye vs. rethink? As fickle as fall, I am.

    ————

    coats hung from a peg
    we never doubt they will dry
    sooner or later
    and when the raindrops vanish
    we never doubt their return

    lakeside memory
    a bird cry calls the sun back
    crackling wood sound
    echoes in every splash,
    late summer swims the backstroke

    summertime-tired
    trees rethink springs’s fading look
    warm tones, fall fashion

    Like


  423. walljasper, love the photos. Can see them perfectly. Hiking at Point Reyes sounds beautiful. Is there a lighthouse there? Continuing…

    _____

    coats hung from a peg
    we never doubt they will dry
    sooner or later
    and when the raindrops vanish
    we never doubt their return

    lakeside memory
    a bird cry calls the sun back
    crackling wood sound
    echoes in every splash,
    late summer swims the backstroke

    summertime-tired
    trees rethink springs’s fading look
    warm tones, fall fashion
    temperatures rise and fall
    frost blankets the Arrowhead

    Like


  424. oliverowl, so happy to hear from you!

    ___________

    all quiet and still
    mountain crests tug at my soul
    and I think of you

    Like