I ... entered the poem of life, whose purpose is ... simply to witness the beauties of the world,
to discover the many forms that love can take. (Barabara Blackman in 'Glass After Glass')

Some of these poems are autobiographical, some are entirely fictional, and some are a mixture of both. The intention is art rather than self-expression. I don't allow factual details to get in the way of poetry! (I do seek emotional truth.) They are works in progress, and may be subject to revision without notice. Completed versions appear in my books. Nevertheless copyright applies to all texts found here. Copyright also applies to almost all photos posted here, most of which are my own, though a few are licensed under Creative Commons.
Thank you for your comments. I read and appreciate them all, and reply here to specific points that seem to need it — or as I have the leisure. Otherwise I reciprocate by reading and commenting on your posts as much as possible.

27 May 2010

Deceived by a warm autumn: May tanka 2010

Rain pouring outside,
all the plants and trees dripping;
she inside the house
crying uncontrollably —
the sky is dark this morning.


Life on an island:
always boats, always fishing,
boats and the salt air ...
ocean breezes whipping up
waves to swamp the unwary.


Our morning began
lazy together in bed
and we were happy.
But later, when we arose,
so did worry, so did strife.


The mirror reflects
palm fronds outside in the breeze
against a blue sky
and me in my bed waking
to soft rippling leaves through glass.


This morning of rain
the lone geranium bloom
is drooping right down,
its pink as bright as ever
but for how much longer now?

I was planning to write
a poem about that flower,
about its proud height
deceived by a warm autumn
into bloom, but that’s over.

Autumn is ending.
The rain has made the leaves plump.
Some plants reacted
as in Spring, and flowered bright
briefly. Now the chill begins.

(A discipline for myself, since I couldn’t leave it at one piece,
was to write these three so that each could stand alone too.)


  1. some days it's like being in the bed is the best part. nostalgia being in everything after the rude awakening of foot to floor.

    some days the spirit is full of thunderstorms, with or without the analogous weather but when the skies cry too, there's a consistency at least. no counterpoint, no irony, no disagreement from the sky.

  2. Pearl, your comment is a poem in itself!

  3. the time as i feel is what changes it all... the rain, the togetherness, the flowers the change of seoson... TIME is the all governing.
    The way look at things changes with time

  4. Perceptive comment, Anonymous, and very true.

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