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.
I wake up to dancing dappled sunlight.
The sky has forgotten
last night’s thunderstorm.
But not the mother bird
whose nest has fallen.
Yet seeds will sprout at that spot
among the knitted twigs
and broken egg shells.
Life moves from form to form.
I only need to sit back and
watch the play of illusions.
Like the playful sunbeams
dancing gaily on my face.
(100-word flash fiction)
Mr.Krauss is bewildered. He had woken up in the morning sitting on the staircase handrail.
A gigantic version of his wife appears in the doorway.
The look and scream of horror is understandable. After all he had perfected the art of ‘keeping his woman in place’.
His son appears next, uncharacteristically bold, with a raised cricket bat.
Mr.Krauss roars his usual disapproval. Soft chirps issue forth.
Amazingly, he discovers his eyes can swivel independently as his daughter comes up from behind, whispering softly while trapping him in a shoebox.
“Don’t worry Daddy, the spell will last only a hundred years.”
Thank you Rochelle for choosing such a beautiful photo this week. Nature’s creations are so marvelous. I couldn’t help stare that the magnificent creature. Do you know what it is called?
This week Friday Fictioneers photo prompt is a thing of beauty.
PHOTO PROMPT © Shaktiki Sharma
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autumn, it also reminds me to let go of old paradigms, worn and tattered beliefs, past-its-expiry-date relationships, outdated concepts that no longer serve.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 11, love talk.
You – tanka
The moon it seemed had
lit up the wings of the wind
but my soul knows it is You.
Everywhere I go it’s You.