weathered wood—
memories of youth
drifting away
Old Boat ~ Photograph by Mike Keville, (c) 2015
The theme of old, worn wood (see June Haiku 1) continues in this poem. Amazing how beautiful things retain their magic despite age.
My thanks to photographer, Mike Keville, for allowing me to use his gorgeous boat photograph for this haiku. The textures and colours of this photo inspire many poems.
Questions
“Where did the time go?” we asked.
The north wind answered, “It rushed by while you were busy doing other things.”
“And how did we not notice it was passing?” we puzzled.
The south wind replied, “Perhaps the sun blinded you so you could no longer see.”
“Did any of us notice the days grew long and the nights shorter?” we wondered.
The east wind smirked, “You focused so much on clouds that you missed the stars.”
“Why must it come to an end so soon?” we questioned.
The west wind whispered, “You’ve done what you must. Now it’s time to go.”
Photograph (c) 2015 by Harald Illsinger
With kind thanks to photographer Harald Illsinger for allowing me to use this beautiful photograph of the gull in the morning sky. The top photograph was taken by me in London, 2015.
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.
Wild Water: Three Tanka
1.
throughout the long day
the wild water crashes
again and again—
memories of you silently
slip under water
2.
as evening comes
the tide begins to swell
in the empty sound,
one lone boat
longing to set sail
3.
foghorn rasping
deep and low—
a bleak song
of ships surrendering
to savage waves
(Photograph © 2014 by Harald Illsinger)
Frosted rosebud
caught in the night,
Awakening to the fog
of a December dawn.
This sweet pale rosebud
delicately iced over,
Thin slick of frost
lightly brushed on
As if an angel chose
to paint, capturing
The morning’s canvas
where season changes
To season, autumn
turning into winter,
Short days giving in
to long nights of silence
As your fragile calyx
gives you up to the day.
Many thanks to photographer Harald Illsinger for allowing me to use his beautiful photograph, ‘Frosty Morning,’ (c) 2014)
A Poet in Time 