stroke by stroke
there are no words
Peace and Blessings to All
My head is beating with wishes
says the great King Ginevra,
they are straight out of the costume dispenser,
where the clouds are made of Paris,
and the day is made of swirling capes
to wear on the cusp of morning,
the air is peppermint basil to go with a bite of sunlight,
blue mangoes and frozen kiwis
he sails around in the Caribbean,
filled with smiling fish,
we’ll bring the fat owl
who ate too many toads
and now is made of ribbits.
the owl smells like a knock- knock joke
and sings with the rubberized cow.
King Ginevra goes looking
for a painted mermaid hanging in the sky,
and he roams the nighttime ocean,
cawing birds follow him down the drowsy hole
and together they float to the Eiffel Tower
without a single band-aid emergency.
He returns early in the morning,
drinking banana tea with honey,
and eating a bacon muffin too.
Soon after breakfast,
the great King Ginevra decides
that the theme for today is jungle.
and he rides the Q train
all the way to the popcorn zoo
or maybe to the fingernail moon,
his head still beating with wishes.
Bards Annual July 2015
a basket of notebooks
filled to the brim
how can my old heart
hold them all
Frameless Sky Issue 1
April is National Poetry Month and everyone who reveres poetry celebrates in some way or another. Some people read poetry, others carry a poem in their pockets. There are readings and lots of events to promote poetry.
A few years ago National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo) came into existence with a challenge to poets to write 30 poems in 30 days during the month of April. There are prompts and lots of bells and whistles for encouragement.
I am participating for the first time this year. I decided to throw my poems into the ring so I could enter my 30 (or more) poems into a contest sponsored by a small press called Local Gems Poetry Press.
The first, second and third prizes include publication of the winner’s poems in a chapbook, with 25 to 100 copies depending on which prize it is. My plan is to submit a book of haiku, senryu, haiga, tanka and haibun. My theme is Japanese short form poetry.
There is no requirement to use the daily NaPoWriMo prompts unless one finds them useful. Perhaps I will be inspired by my daily walks, my meditation and prayer practice, NaHaiWriMo (haiku prompts), The Music in It: Adele Kenny’s Poetry Blog, and anywhere else I can find a poem!
I plan to post my poems as I write them – revising as I go along. Any comments are appreciated. Thank you for your encouragement and support.
spring workout –
taking to the woods
with the muse
girls didn’t leave home until the wedding in those days,
still, Esther was bound for the city
watching the darkness gather outside the window,
her body relaxing as the train sped along,
the droning of the wheels lulling her,
she grasped the last bit of light ringing the horizon,
plucking an invisible flow of memories
streaming across her awareness, one by one,
she made a list – a gutsy plan,
not at all her usual routine.
she saw it as her only way out,
wondering, would her father see it her way ?
when she entered the hospital
walking under the old fashioned door frame,
Esther felt safe,
courting bravery until it became second nature,
her only wages were the tricks she gleaned
and the support she sought while she learned her art,
never mind failure, she threw all-night parties cramming
chemistry, anatomy, physiology, biology, psychology
and all those other ‘ologies into her mind
and her heart, bitten by this virus,
and smitten by a strange desire to comfort.
much later, she wrapped herself in white
and fell in with a band of Nightingales.
©Wabi Sabi 2014
Sunday Whirl – # 147, #148
Poets United – Pantry
How is it possible that,
on a morning when the clouds,
curling back upon themselves,
and giving up only momentary corridors of bare sky,
on a morning when those maddeningly small tokens of blue
taunt and tease a rain-weary, fog-weary heart,
how, I ask again,
is it that the sighing wind,
bending toward the naked oak tree,
can carry a burst of bird song
through the myriad layers
of a morose winter morning,
piercing the frozen edges of a january nap
prodding and poking me out of my
By what miracle does a Carolina wren,
the tiniest of wintering birds,
on the gloomiest of winter days,
sing in the only voice
the universe gave it,
an April voice,
conjuring up a stunning moment of spring,
and bestowing a blessing
on the rain besotted morning,
anointing my eyes and ears
with the chrism of its winter anthem,
just in time to save my dispirited soul
from the depths of winter silence?
©2014 Wabi Sabi
Inspired by Alice Keys ‘ Morning Song ‘