(Tweet poems = poems on Twitter,
140 characters max.)
#1
Falling into music/after a night & day/of pursuit through a maze./Now safety, lullaby, dream;/lock th door & sleep/until morning.
12/5/09
#2
walking the meadow of despair/surprised by sudden rainbow/after I lifted my head
14/5/09
#3
I inhabit a strange landscape here./An underground spring bubbles forth/breaking the smooth surface.
15/5/09
#4
In the grey fog/you know we're there./We shine our lights.
#5
Coming through dark/bends in the road/other lights passing/show me I'm not alone.
#6
Wild & cold out/dangerous seas/crashing non-stop.//Yet we are warm/in our stone-floored house/we are safe/in these present moments.
23/5/09
#7
Black cat walks in/from cold night/gazes at us/raises his tail/as if disdainful/goes to the door/& out again./Are we so unexciting?
24/5/09
#8
My time autumn/my place tropics/here & now/my hair grows thick/my nails get strong/I’m jungly/I’m becoming/leonine.
25/5/09
#9
slender as bamboo/white flowers in her hair/she stands straight/peace in her eyes/strength in her voice
5/6/09
#10
Vets call her tortoiseshell./To me she looks grey/except that as she moves/it seems that waves of light/ripple through her fur.
#11
My island rises/in dreams or when rain/settles dark, or the ocean/wallows and froths./I remember being held/contained by its shores.
19/6/09
#12
Soft night at home/after the long long day./I sleep awake/& dreams begin:/I’m driving & driving/the long road home/to be with you.
28/6/09
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2.7.09
Tanka on Tuesday: June 2009
(from the MySpace site "Tanka on Tuesday")
8/6/09
head on the pillow
one hand tucked under your cheek
as I gaze at you
your sleeping face turns to mine
your mouth open a little
17/6/09
In sudden bloom
in brief winter sun
two white orchids
surprise my front garden
with reminders of spring.
23/6/09
after much rain
two rosebuds bloom bright pink
in mid-winter
on the beach two children
beam as if they know me
30/6/09
a lifetime of stars
from cold south isle or tropics
loving Orion
(called Saucepan here upside-down)
and always seeking the Cross
8/6/09
head on the pillow
one hand tucked under your cheek
as I gaze at you
your sleeping face turns to mine
your mouth open a little
17/6/09
In sudden bloom
in brief winter sun
two white orchids
surprise my front garden
with reminders of spring.
23/6/09
after much rain
two rosebuds bloom bright pink
in mid-winter
on the beach two children
beam as if they know me
30/6/09
a lifetime of stars
from cold south isle or tropics
loving Orion
(called Saucepan here upside-down)
and always seeking the Cross
8.6.09
“Rain, rain, go away. Come again another day.”
Prompt: an adage remembered from your childhood.
Only 9.30 and the rain begins.
Market day, and I forgot
to do weather magic. Luckily
got the inkling anyway,
brought the gear at least,
now drag my tarpaulin
up over the roof of my stall,
and pull my table into the centre.
The client doesn’t want to wait
while I put up the clear plastic walls.
I tell her again, as I do twice a month,
what she already knows. She,
as always, tells me she knows.
“So what do you need with me?” I ask.
“You make me feel soothed,” she says.
I fold and reshuffle the cards.
As soon as she leaves
the shower turns downpour,
I put up the walls. Then I sit cosy
with coffee, waiting it out.
Some stallholders pack up and leave.
Most stay, grinning at each other
from under the sheltering tarps.
Sammy, who sells the crystals,
comes past, smiling. “Look,” she says,
pointing to light in a corner of sky,
"It’s going to be sunny again.”
And soon it is. Someone – was it her? –
has remembered some weather magic.
(We hear already of hail at Byron Bay.)
Here, someone must have chanted
the rhyme all children learn
to use like a charm when very young.
Wise magic the parents impart,
not understanding they do,
from generations and centuries
of folk who lived close with the earth.
We need rain, mustn’t send it away
forever, just till another day.
Only 9.30 and the rain begins.
Market day, and I forgot
to do weather magic. Luckily
got the inkling anyway,
brought the gear at least,
now drag my tarpaulin
up over the roof of my stall,
and pull my table into the centre.
The client doesn’t want to wait
while I put up the clear plastic walls.
I tell her again, as I do twice a month,
what she already knows. She,
as always, tells me she knows.
“So what do you need with me?” I ask.
“You make me feel soothed,” she says.
I fold and reshuffle the cards.
As soon as she leaves
the shower turns downpour,
I put up the walls. Then I sit cosy
with coffee, waiting it out.
Some stallholders pack up and leave.
Most stay, grinning at each other
from under the sheltering tarps.
Sammy, who sells the crystals,
comes past, smiling. “Look,” she says,
pointing to light in a corner of sky,
"It’s going to be sunny again.”
And soon it is. Someone – was it her? –
has remembered some weather magic.
(We hear already of hail at Byron Bay.)
Here, someone must have chanted
the rhyme all children learn
to use like a charm when very young.
Wise magic the parents impart,
not understanding they do,
from generations and centuries
of folk who lived close with the earth.
We need rain, mustn’t send it away
forever, just till another day.
30.5.09
Inner Workings
Prompt: looking below the surface
My electronic washing machine
sings to me when it’s finished a load.
My doorbell too, when pressed,
regales me with a tune.
And every mobile phone
sounds its personal music.
What does this express –
a pleasant conceit, or hubris?
To what do we aspire
in making our digital world?
Was not the Universe
created by a tone?
My electronic washing machine
sings to me when it’s finished a load.
My doorbell too, when pressed,
regales me with a tune.
And every mobile phone
sounds its personal music.
What does this express –
a pleasant conceit, or hubris?
To what do we aspire
in making our digital world?
Was not the Universe
created by a tone?
24.5.09
It Slips Down Suddenly
Prompt: The unexpected
It slips down suddenly
into a black pit, sliding
out of the top of my mind
and vanishing, between
one moment and the next –
a name I’ve known
for 25 years, just gone.
I know quite well
the person of that name,
his place in my history,
his place in his own.
I can picture his face and form
in front of me now, I can see
the clothes he usually wore.
But down the deep hole
where that name has fallen,
there is no pursuit
there is no retrieval,
no hook long enough
to reach and bring it up.
This crevasse is bottomless.
Is that how it happens,
so quick and easy?
Only a moment before,
something is there as always,
known and about to be said –
and then it’s an absence, as if
it had blanked out years ago.
It slips down suddenly
into a black pit, sliding
out of the top of my mind
and vanishing, between
one moment and the next –
a name I’ve known
for 25 years, just gone.
I know quite well
the person of that name,
his place in my history,
his place in his own.
I can picture his face and form
in front of me now, I can see
the clothes he usually wore.
But down the deep hole
where that name has fallen,
there is no pursuit
there is no retrieval,
no hook long enough
to reach and bring it up.
This crevasse is bottomless.
Is that how it happens,
so quick and easy?
Only a moment before,
something is there as always,
known and about to be said –
and then it’s an absence, as if
it had blanked out years ago.
15.5.09
Don't You Miss Going To See the New Star Trek Movie, Hear!
I didn’t want it to stop
until it did stop, perfect
in its unforgettable conclusion,
and I threw my fist into the air
raising Andrew’s arm with mine –
we’d been holding hands throughout.
He gripped mine tightly and laughed
as I exulted: “Yeah!”
Wednesday prompt: "Don't you ..."
until it did stop, perfect
in its unforgettable conclusion,
and I threw my fist into the air
raising Andrew’s arm with mine –
we’d been holding hands throughout.
He gripped mine tightly and laughed
as I exulted: “Yeah!”
Wednesday prompt: "Don't you ..."
8.5.09
Festival
Over there
they’ve just done Beltane,
the Rites of Spring.
Here, we had Samhain –
autumnal, dark.
There were two Beltanes
for me one year,
the year I travelled
to that country:
visiting poet.
There I met poets,
there I met witches;
both were my kin,
both embraced me,
and Spring was sweet!
I shared Beltane
with a new coven
in West Texas.
A coyote howled
from the near desert.
The High Priestess
my soul sister
played guitar and sang.
We spoke poems.
The wind swirled loud.
Back at home
the night of the dead
went on without me.
This time, that Spring
is ghost at the feast.
Now that the April Poem A Day challenge is over, Robert Lee Brewer on Poetic Asides is giving us a series of "Wednesday prompts". This first one is: Spring.
they’ve just done Beltane,
the Rites of Spring.
Here, we had Samhain –
autumnal, dark.
There were two Beltanes
for me one year,
the year I travelled
to that country:
visiting poet.
There I met poets,
there I met witches;
both were my kin,
both embraced me,
and Spring was sweet!
I shared Beltane
with a new coven
in West Texas.
A coyote howled
from the near desert.
The High Priestess
my soul sister
played guitar and sang.
We spoke poems.
The wind swirled loud.
Back at home
the night of the dead
went on without me.
This time, that Spring
is ghost at the feast.
Now that the April Poem A Day challenge is over, Robert Lee Brewer on Poetic Asides is giving us a series of "Wednesday prompts". This first one is: Spring.
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