.
A tanka published in
Gusts No. 40, Contemporary Tanka, Canada,
fall/winter 2024
sea birds
ride the thermals
beyond steep chalk cliffs—
I wonder what they hear
in the swirling wind
Sea birds ride the thermals
Category Archives: Poems
Scent of beeswax
I am still catching up with published poetry. Blithe Spirit is the publication of the British Haiku Society. They selected two haiku and two tanka of mine to publish in the winter issue.
Blithe Spirit Fall/Winter Issue 2022
1.
brevity
the ripeness
of a pear
2.
children
fragile as blossoms
learning to let go
3.
fragrant spices, each
with a story to tell,
a bit of this, dash of that
my pen moves as if
propelled by a stranger
4.
scent of beeswax
melting as we draw
invisible designs
on our pysanky eggs—
forgotten childhood
.
Forgiveness . . . (a tanka for meditation)
.
Published in red lights, volume 18, no. 2, June 2022
.
.
with healing hands
placed over my heart,
I hear its whispering
voice between beats—
forgive, forgive, forgive
~~~
Some Poems for Ukraine
.
Two tanka recently published in Red Lights,
Volume 18, no. 2, June 2022
.
.
with ruins, rubble
and death on the news,
we learn their names—
Mariupol & Lviv,
Bucha and Donbas
.
.
image after image of
bombed out buildings and corpses –
far away in my corner, prayers
& more prayers that you will
always rise from the ashes
.
.
Image by bookdragon from Pixabay
a red-bellied woodpecker (tanka)
Redlights, Volume 17, No. 1, January 2021
a red-bellied woodpecker
flaunts his drumming skills—
below his tree I pause
to feel his thunder,
to hear his words
Half-light (a tanka sequence)
Milkweed by James DeMers (pixabay.com)
These tanka were written during the quarantine of Covid-19. My thanks to editor/poet, Marilyn Hazelton, for persuading me to combine some tanka into a tanka sequence. A really good editor is priceless. It’s always an honor to have poems included in Redlights. Click on the link below if you care to hear me read it.
Half-light
August morning
just before the katydids
begin to sing . . .
the lake finally calm
with no ripples
milkweed seeds
scatter straight from
the cottony pod ~
such freedom to go
anywhere, everywhere
a spoon slowly stirs
cream into coffee
those quiet moments
when we lose
all sense of now
arm in arm
we walk together –
forty years & more miles
than either of us
can count
half-light—
walking in fog
where nothing is seen
but somehow we trust
it’s still all there
Red Lights, Summer Issue 2020
A Poet in Time 