Tanka week V (Thursday)

5 of 7

And then to rhythm
with the timbre and syntax
sounding as a drum
with feet tapping to the beat
allows this tanka to speak

Eyes

I met a widow once,
wrapped in loss.
She said
she could not see a better
day coming.

I looked over my shoulder,
along the long road,  
and gave her my eyes.

A Modern Man

I walk too often in the echoes of a cold canyon,
sometimes accompanied by my wife,
dead now barely two years. She’s silent, amused,
faintly attached to this world and soon to go again,
impatient with me for hanging onto melancholic vapors
when it’s obvious–to her, anyway–that I just haven’t wised up yet.

But I’m a so-called modern man, allergic to undue connections,
Even when a dream comes and I
am lurched through a deeper portal and part a
gauzy barrier to walk with skeptical ghosts.
All I know when I wake is this bag of meat and its
pedestrian priorities.

She knew. She told me to find someone.
Knew I would only trust the secrets, the warmth and dampness,
the round softnesses I could hold,
with nipples like rosebuds and mysterious eyes;
knew that all man’s scripture could be held on a 3-by-5 card,
if he weren’t so stubbornly drunk on himself.

Tanka week IV (Wednesday)

4 of 7

Sunshine speaks today
as its warmth embraces me
And compelled to sing
breathing deep I lift my voice
with these words I have to share

Tanka week III (Tuesday)

3 of 7

For there’s mystery
at times when inspiration
speaks out loud and long
a challenge to the poet
to capture the moment true

Tanka week II (Monday)

2 of 7

This week I will write
in thirty-one syllables
something every day
to capture joy and substance
in my words to speak and sing

Tanka week I (Sunday)

1 of 7

For this coming week
every day a Tanka new
for reading pleasure
And a challenge to the words
and the poet who writes them

The middle of the book

I’ve reached the middle of my book
these little friends of mine
carried with me whence I go
and with me for a time

Scribblings out and jottings too
the scratching of my pen
there to capture all the words
at happenstance and when

FAR AWAY – BUT ALWAYS BONDED

By Nichole Sulpizio And Charles Robert Lindholm

Far Away
He Was

Feeling Her Heart Break
Listening To Her Sobbing

Wondering How To Ease Her Pain
And Kiss Her Tears Away

Sunshine as a friend

Yellow, warming
lifts my soul
Catches, comforts
makes me whole
Brings a shoulder
to console
the sunshine as a friend

The sea and me II

I watched the sea
it did me proud
I smiled with it
then laughed out loud

It’s everything
and all of me
as I am whole
beside the sea

And II…

And I’ll tell you one thing
And this is quite good
And it has a good ending
And it’s right that it should

Kallax

Kallax from Ikea
gave my music a new home
quite the best arrangement
for my records I have known
as now around eye level
I can see their spines anew
and find what I am looking for
now they’re on full view

Purpose

Sooner or later
each of us asks
did I have a purpose?
What was I born to?

I had such a moment this morning.
Each of my life’s 2. 22 billion seconds
had to have gone exactly as it did
to bring me to this,

to experience the flock of warblers
that burst out of the sky
into the middle of my morning, singing
of their wild and precious lives–

up from Mexico, or Central America,
bonded in struggle from all those days aloft,
looking for food,
for grass and moss for a nest.

The things prayers are made of,
for this moment.

 

I sing

The sunshine comes against the blue
with birds up in the tree
encouraging this morning
as the Springtime here I see
Yes there is still a present chill
the crisp of winter clings
but in my heart the summer comes
so with the birds I sing

Mountain Morning

The mountains, lustrous at dawn.
Below, here in the valley,
the droplets of last night’s rain
shimmer on blades and twigs, their
molecules respond to the sun
like a woman rising to
meet a beloved’s touch.

Wait.
Something is going on up there
on the deep-packed slope.
A whirling figure of white, of mist,
there, yet almost not;
A snow giant,
like a tranced dervish, twirls in
the morning’s new energies—
it whirls violently,
fingerless, wispy hands thrust
high into the cold blue,
200 feet tall, or more.
A mile, maybe. It’s hard
to tell from here, as it’s
insubstantial. Massive.

First VII

7 of 12 in the Jemverse ’12 months III’ series

Yellow is indicative
as first of March arrives
and with daffodils the birth flower
we know that hope survives

Spring’s just round the corner
so the warmth will not be long
Promise brings a purpose
to the timbre of this song

I am the one in four (reprise)

I am the one in four
leaping through the years
my letters match my value
uniquely it appears
I’m a ‘plus one’ to three six five
my invitation rare
tagged on as February twenty-nine
a tetrad seldom there

Ditchling Down

Ditchling Down
the path so steep
and us all slippy-sliding
In squelchy mud
unbalanced from
the frigid winds all hiding

Ditchling Down
with Weald below
the distant view confiding
as we struggle
down the gradient
quite often all colliding

In Stanmer Woods

In Stanmer Woods the trees stand tall
and sheltered down below
I stand as if on tippy-toe
as I’m quietly in the know
For up above the wind blows free
with frigid winter blast
yet down upon the bracken floor
there’s stillness here to last

The Curvature of Water

And here, in the kingdom of clouds,
vast continents of mist
dwarf the mountains,
lumber lightly
in from the ocean,
float improbably, silently.
They sometimes, when the air is cold,
leak acres of crystal
in the high wilderness of fir and grizzly,
burying the trees and crags of the
inaccessible mystery in white.

And here, over the empire of emeralds,
they sweep and swell and
break apart and spill out
mighty rivers and silver lakes,
wash the air clean and
sift down through my willow tree,
bit by drop, sink from sight and
hurry to refill the ocean.

Meaning

time comes with a lid
no handles to hold
the night was a thief
dark thumbs to wear
kept dreams to count
love without doors
leaves but feathers
till days break aloud
to let in theives
for their tall times

you are the wall
you are the mother
you are the duck
you are the music
you are the night
you are the sound
you are the silence

Of Beacons and Mud

Went for a walk for a birthday
All of us met at the Star
heading off to the Beacon
via Falmer so not all that far
Up through the woods over Stanmer
frolicking under the trees
rained a lot here so the mud was
quite frequently up to our knees

Respite

A few days of respite
every so often
for a recharge is all that I need
And fresh from the resting
I’m ready to go
revitalised and up to speed

Daffodils

Yellow and gorgeous
they gleam from the vase
on the table, a nod to the Spring
Shouting a welcome
they want us to dance
and lift up our voices and sing

Moon of the moment

Crescent moon up in the blue
bright shining in the sky
on a brittle winter morning
really caught my eye

Ethereal there through the trees
daylight just a whisper
I stood and watched her for a while
just in case I missed her

A “Best Advice To A New Incoming College Freshman” Limerick

My Alma Mater recently asked it’s alum what would be the best advice they could give an incoming freshman student. Of course, they were asking for real, serious and valuable advice. I had some of that for them – EMBRACE THE ADVENTURE. College will be a big part of the story of your life. Make it a story that you love to tell.

All them waves

Constant coming
all them waves
turning on a whim
Sometimes I will
shed a tear
and sometimes
I will grin

Constant coming
all them waves
many friends are here
Sometimes I will
simply watch
and sometimes
I will cheer