Haiku my Heart

 

high in mountain trees
a cuckoo sings lonely tunes
he reads my heart song

source dreamstime.com

linked with
recuerda mi corizon

Please visit 
It's a beautiful place

Haiku My Heart - Chance

Chance:  a possibility or probability of anything happening

Like the lone leaf on a winter's bare branches

waiting for its chance to fall

and join the others in its fate

  we link to

The Love of Rebecca

knowing we will find a chance of love

and friendship with other haiku writers. 

Chance is everywhere.

Grab it when you can, and ride along with faith
 knowing, like the lone leaf,  you might ride

the wind of chance to your true destiny. 

Haiku

she no longer sings
her freedom has now been  caged
her silence is loud

****

There is a  CHANCE her cage door will be opened
There is a CHANCE her heart will be free again
And there is a CHANCE she may be able to add her singing voice to the

NIGHT ORCHESTRA

in the stillness of night

under soft celestial light

 nature’s  quiet audience  breathlessly waits

 listening

 a gentle breeze anticipates

 tickling forest leaves into a tambourine rustle

 as tiny green tree frogs begin a high pitched chorus

from the back hills a long low rumble

as the moon caresses a coyote’s throat

and a daybird shrieks its displeasure at being disturbed

a chuck-will’s widow begins his nocturnal call

and the wind - the unseen night breeze

the conductor who signaled the sounds

 moves quickly from stage west into the night space

anxious to moan the tale of its travels as the night music begins

Blessings and many chances for a

beautiful weekend. 

HAIKU MY HEART - LIGHT AND LOVE

source AWESOME internet photo

love's light enters hearts

empty darkness is now filled

rejoice in warm glow

...and more

source: internet photo

SILENT AWAKENING

light – it glances off a soaring

     hawks wing as she scans the landscape

          far below

 it falls   weightless    among misty floating water droplets

     packed tightly into clouds

          finding its way

and filters through soft  woven  cotton curtains

     billowing in a gentle breeze

          at my open window bedside as I sleep

 light -  bringing forth  a new dawn

acrylic

Linked with light and love of others at
Corazon

Peace and Blessings for your weekend

Haiku My Heart - Love is in the air

this is little joe

he seeks grace at gemma's house

picture deer kisses

Can you tell I'm just having fun with this?  For even more haiku, serious and fun, (because Grace is very serious)  visit the beauty of Corazon

.......oh dear........Grace has run back into the forest               

.....AND.....

for a happy weekend

lose yourself in birdsong!

I, too, am filled with grace & gratitude 
for many things



-------Sunday, November 29-------

SALUTATION

 toast the day      for this one comes but once

this sun     that warms a broken heart

this breeze    that cools a heated brow

 never again to repeat

for every tomorrow will be new

toast the night     affirmed a one and only

moon     your bright face lights a path

stars     your places tell a tale of ages

                in a dark sky holding mystical secrets


toast your friends      here and now        

      those    who love you and cause your smile
      those    who are simply pleasantly there    

                                                

toast these things now

     speak loudly of your gratitude for the present

     before your grasp loosens

          sending all into eternity

April Is National Poetry Month

Since I am a fan of poetry I will be posting some of my favorites here this month.  I am especially fond of free form poetry.  You can say whatever you want with free form, and there are no stresses about rhyming or word counts.  Free form sort of reminds me of lava from an exploding volcano.  The eruption (the idea) happens, then the lava flows wherever it wants, all the while having a goal.  It flows around objects and under and through them, but ultimately lands far below where it started, with a meaningful ending, like a new island perhaps.  Such is free form poetry, ending with a meaning, or a feeling, a spiritual island.  I hope you enjoy.

 

acrylic on w/c paper

 

 

LIVING TREE

Robert Morgan

 

It's said they planted trees by graves

to soak up spirits of the dead

through roots into the growing wood.

The favorite in the burial yards

I knew was common juniper.

One could do worse than pass into

such a species. I like to think

that when I'm gone the chemicals

and yes the spirit that was me

might be searched out by subtle roots

and raised with sap through capillaries

into an upright, fragrant trunk,

and aromatic twigs and bark,

through needles bright as hoarfrost to

the sunlight for a century

or more, in wood repelling rot

and standing tall with monuments

and statues there on the far hill,

erect as truth, a testimony,

in ground that's dignified by loss,

around a melancholy tree

that's pointing toward infinity.

 

 

.....Have you hugged a tree today?

 

 

 

 





MOTHERHOOD

MOTHERHOOD

Against the wind she flew,

Magnificent golden feathers slick against a slender body,

Sparkling wings pumping in perfect unison,

Catching the cold updraft,

Lifting her higher and higher into the low-hanging clouds.

Glancing at the glistening snow peaks far below,

Telescopic eyesight searching for dark movement against brilliant snow.

Hungry, scanning the panorama carefully,

Remembering the last attempt,

Failed, defeated.

A parent fox too watchful over its baby.

Finally, a shadow.

 A hare traveling swiftly over frozen landscape.

Golden bird angles her body quickly to drift lower,

Down, down, out of the clouds.

Silent glide taking her low over the unaware hare.

Stretching talons, powerful swoop.

Making contact.

Wings pumping hard she rises high again

Into the wind.

Talons clutching tightly into hare’s bleeding flesh,

Turning easily toward the distant cliff face

To the nest.



A SKETCH STORY

THE DINER

The flashing pink neon in the window, distorted from the rain sliding down the glass pane in rivulets and dripping off the concrete sill onto the dirty sidewalk where only hours earlier a hopeless person had ejected his whiskey fumed sputum, winked on and off

OPEN ALL NIGHT

inviting all the midnight classes of society to enter and perhaps, in this tiny establishment, be warmed, fed, find conversation or hope.

OPEN ALL NIGHT

it flashed, and the door to the dreary, dimly lit table-filled room, the door with its old sleigh bells draped side-to-side across the glass to alert those inside of an entry, opened and shut, letting out the scent of warm, energizing coffee, bringing in the wet hopefuls, rain dripping from clothing, wet shoes tracking dirt and street oil on to the linoleum covered floor between the tables near the window, and the counter.

OPEN ALL NIGHT

the neon flashed from behind as well, its electric wires running in a haphazard, flyspecked highway around and under the smooth, gas-filled letters, falling abruptly toward the baseboard, sucking its life from the dirty yellow power outlet that showed dried signs of mop-splashing in some distant past.

OPEN ALL NIGHT

the neon flashed, even as the sun began to rise bringing with it gentle winds that pushed the rain away, and light to the darkened streets.  Abruptly the pink disappeared, the flashing ceased, and the grey-white of the now dormant neon waits on hold until the day  finishes  its business, the sun once again sleeps, and the sidewalk will glow pink and dark, pink and dark...

OPEN ALL NIGHT