For day 26, some kennings. Bjorn at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads presented the concept of Kennings. Or compound noun combinations.
My impromptu attempt 🙂
~~~
A leaf-fall. A leaf
falls on to the forest floor.
Beyond that, silence.
~~~
A heart-knock. Someone
knocks on my heart boarded up.
Beyond that, silence.
~~~
A tune-lilt. Lilting
tunes slowly take me apart.
Beyond that, silence.
~~~
A death-wish. Dying
to the past my only wish.
Beyond that, silence.
~~~
For NaPoWriMo day 25, a question
SILENCE – haiku
Silence always taunts
me with this one question,
what are you doing here?
~~~
For NaPoWriMo day 24, a confession –
CAVES – haiku
I found there are caves
in my heart I didn’t know about.
There be demons.
~~~
For day 23, a haibun.
AUTUMN
As I enjoy the colours of autumn, it also reminds me to let go of old paradigms, worn and tattered beliefs, past-its-expiry-date relationships, outdated concepts that no longer serve. Yes, it’s hard. For don’t we all love the old and comfy, whether it be things or thoughts. The security blanket of the tried and tested.
Autumn sings hymns of
dissolution. Quiet death.
Spring smiling sleeps.
So, just like trees need to let go of the old and dying, lay bare their branches and go through a period of rest and slumber, for new buds to spring forth and life to begin anew, we need to empty ourselves of the old and outworn, so that life can replenish us with the fresh and the new.
~~~
For NaPoWriMo 22, a poem celebrating Earth Day.
Homecoming – tanka
It is always pure
pleasure. Walking on grass, leaves,
the bare-bodied earth.
As though my body-soul knows
it has come home to Mother.
~~~
For day 11, love talk.
You – tanka
The moon it seemed had
lit up the wings of the wind
pale ebullience
but my soul knows it is You.
Everywhere I go it’s You.
***
For day 10, some moontalk.
Escape – tanka
The sickle moon hung
there like a fallen question.
How do I escape
the safety of gravity
for the nothingness of space?
***
For day 9, a sweet, sad poem on a dream I saw the other day –
A terse dream this was,
broken, anguished, blurred,
of which a fragment remains
in my memory, embedded.
A wayward bullet strikes
at lightning speed your chest,
passing through it spears,
calmly, through my breast.
Locked in a gaze we stand,
as love flows out the wounds.
Caught tight in death’s hand
as the dream softly fades.
On waking, for long I ponder;
did our souls our bodies flee
at the same moment, together?
Did they merge to become free?
Did pain set our insides afire?
Is sorrow the bullet that incinerates,
torching our ignorance, our desire,
and into freedom thus liberates?
~~~
For Day 8, an ode to my house.
MY SECOND SKIN
My house bathed in moonlight, rests,
silent and welcoming,
and I breathe love into its spaces.
It seems a reflection of me,
the way the furniture is arranged,
the chairs facing each other.
Do they talk among themselves, I wonder,
in the stillness of the night,
picking up bits of broken-off conversation?
Does the warm air twirling up the stairs,
or the slippers, discarded, under the bed,
remind it of us, when we are away.
Do the walls rejoice with the tinkle of laughter,
does the carpet hoard shards
of my shattered dreams.
Does it feel protective, caring,
shielding us from wind and rain,
silent witness to silent pain.
Content, replete, joyous,
I settle into its calm stillness,
and it wraps itself around me.
~~~
For Day 7, a hymn –
My Lord calls to me
in the early morning light
‘kuhu-kuhu’ she sings
in joyous dulcet tones.
My Lord enfolds me
in the early morning mist,
ethereal and uplifting
like mother’s love.
My Lord sings to me
from the violin’s bow,
gliding on the strings
in heartrending melody.
My Lord looks at me
from beggar-child eyes
in desperate hope,
for alms, for love.
My Lord comes to me
in hands that help,
voices that comfort,
and hearts that hug.
My Lord whispers to me
amid the clamour of worship,
“Be still. Just be. ”
“I am in the silence”.
~~~
