Today’s poem for NaPoWriMo.
The dry earth coughs up dust storms
While cattle scratch at the brownness,
Their tongues having forgotten
The sweetness of green grass.
But the sky is closed up like
a heart that has borne much pain,
And the clouds hold back the rain
As though in just retribution.
Would it be that the mewling of
slaughtered beasts and the gasps
of dying fish rose up from the earth
in pangs of collective wailing?
It could be that the heavens have
a thousand ears and a million eyes?
Maybe Nature communes with itself
In a language we have stopped hearing.
Australia has been experiencing drought for 6 years in a row. Cattle are dying and farmers are committing suicide.
For day 23, a haibun.
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autumn, it also reminds me to let go of old paradigms, worn and tattered beliefs, past-its-expiry-date relationships, outdated concepts that no longer serve.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 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?
On dVerse Poets, it’s Abhra’s birthday and he asks, what gift we would like to give him. Or the world. As I was reading his post, quite by happy chance, I heard the tui call …
The gift – tanka
into the cup of
the evening the tui
drops its golden song
my beggar heart rejoices
the moon rises in delight