fallen petals… (haiga)
Two Small Poems
Two poems of mine were just published in the May 2015 issue of ‘cattails,’ the lovely online publication of the United Haiku and Tanka Society. I am truly honored once again by being included in the company of such excellent poets. My thanks to all of the editors, and especially to the main editor, an’ya.
The first is a haiga. My thanks to my good friend, Debbie Nemer Suggs who gave me permission to use her lovely photo (c) 2015 with my haiku.
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and the other poem is a haiku:
Rosehips by Midori
petals fall—
we gather rosehips thinking
only of tea
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Photo by Tanya of Lovely Greens Blog
Irisation: A Lesson
Photography © 2015 by Farnaz Mojab Soheili
A Lesson
For just one moment
the sky stopped time,
and we gazed upward
to where an angel
lit the clouds
like a row of pure white candles,
and the flames flickered
in many hues
and spoke to us in sweet silence,
reminding us that life is brief,
a momentary blur.A lesson we forgot.
Note: My thanks go to my friend, Farnaz Mojab Soheili, for allowing me to use her wonderful photograph of this magnificent cloud rainbow that appeared for just a moment. As a teacher who was with a group of fourth grade students on the playground, the cloud phenomenon was pointed out to her by a student. She looked up in time to see it shift into this beautiful formation. A rainbow in the clouds is called iridescence or irisation: “When parts of clouds are thin and have similar size droplets, diffraction can make them shine with colours like a corona. In fact, the colours are essentially corona fragments. The effect is called cloud iridescence or irisation, terms derived from Iris the Greek personification of the rainbow…. Iridescence is seen mostly when part of a cloud is forming because then all the droplets have a similar history and consequently have a similar size.”
[http://www.atoptics.co.uk/droplets/irid1.htm]
The Starry Night
The Starry Night by Vincent Van Gogh, 1889, Museum of Modern Art, NYC
The Starry Night
It is silent tonight.
In the ever flowing
river of the night,
a boat of darkness
sails by
as wave upon wave
of stars flow,
then crest,
then
fall,
and silently subside,
consumed by another wave
until nothing is left,
just flickering light
of celestial glowworms
that hang
in the cave of night—
languid star strands
from the heavens.
The moon
could tell stories
if it chose.
It is silent tonight.
Tanka on a May Morning
In the past five months I have been studying my much beloved tanka, haiku and small poems in order to become a better writer. Writers–and poets–need to keep growing as they go. As part of my interest in these lovely small poem forms, I have joined a number of exception online groups of poets who post their own writing. On several of the sites, “prompts” are given and sometimes a picture is given. People respond as they wish or not. Often comments are given. I can’t tell you what a thrill it is to get a “like” or even a comment by one of these poets who are so gifted and accomplished tanka and/or haiku poets, but even without the ‘likes,’ it feels wonderful to be a little more confident about sharing poems publicly. This morning, I’m posting several tanka I wrote this week to specific prompts.
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1 [prompt: celebration of color]
Photograph (c) Kristin Sanderson
scribbles
of scarlet red
in the shrubs—
two cardinals
take flight
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- [prompt: full moonrise, unforgettable moon]
Photography (c) by Cab Treadway
cloud masquerade
tonight—
the moon is hidden
from your
wanton gaze
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3 [prompt: how you share your journey]
old cobblestones
so hard to cross—
without speaking
I take your arm
and we walk on
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4 [prompt: flutes..music…]
sweet song
hidden in the plum tree–
a nightengale
gives itself
away
~
In Luxembourg Gardens, Paris
Chairs in Luxembourg Gardens, Paris by Mary Kendall
In Luxembourg Gardens, Paris
A stairwell of shadows invites us to sit.
Empty chairs bask in the late spring sun,
Waiting for readers who choose to sit,
slipping into the borrowed lives of books.
Waiting for lovers to pull two chairs aside,
stealing time away from the world.
Waiting for an old man with a limping dog,
passing time away from his silent rooms.
Waiting for the widow who longs for the sun,
savoring the warmth like a delicate embrace.
Waiting for the disheveled girl who waits,
sipping a café crème with a guarded look.
Waiting for a businessman to eat his lunch,
savoring silence, no rumble of demands.
Waiting for the grandpère missing his children,
wondering what it is they do continents away.
Waiting for weary tourists who sit and rest,
whispering in languages you don’t speak.
Waiting for a tumble of clouds to sweep the sky
just as this sweet day slips into the waiting night.
Time passes.
People pass.
Memories pass.
Another day will come.
A Poet in Time 