I
the mountain
sets my mind on each breath —
thin-air teacher
II
air rushes in,
but the sinuous seedpod
merits no gasp
III
in the stillness,
my body skips breaths —
sometimes I notice…
IV
in balance —
my mind clear and at ease
stomach gliding
V
watching each breath,
none is the same, otherwise,
all of them are
old bamboo
creaks, claps, and rattles
new bamboo…
once bats hung
on swaying bamboo
now cut down
clustered bamboo,
a dark hiding spot
on sunny days
flex like bamboo
and grow like bamboo —
be bamboo
two live oaks
stretch toward each other —
a faux hug
eucalyptus,
silver trunks glow warm
in setting sunlight
one tree field,
its canopy echoes
floating clouds
a faint smell —
the secret message of an
arboreal cabal
in tree time,
the world must unfold in
seasons — not days
possibility
keeps one trudging, breathless,
to the top
ridge tree
now seems much bigger,
but no nearer
looking out
from a hilltop, the view —
and I — changed
a little rain
on a little slope
races seaward
the world blurs,
my brain strains to track
its motion
in stillness
one loses the world’s
steady spin
i throw myself
to silly dance — joyous
that i can
the perched raven
still swivels its eye
in stone mode
yellow light
of the setting sun
warms high branches
city unlocked,
birds and beasts return
to the background
crow perches
on a cast iron railing —
watching
wary people —
spring-thawed hibernators
rejoin world
bright flowers
bloomed, lived, and died
in my absence
a headstone
worn unreadable
stone outlived bones
fresh flowers
and wild tufts of grass
tell mixed stories
granite mourners
draped over gravestones,
unweeping
no pyramid
is so sublime the Pharaoh
welcomed death
the potter’s field
has mystique unknown to
mausoleums
[Senryu is a Japanese style of poetry that’s identical to haiku in form, but different in content. While haiku rely on images (usually natural and often seasonal) and the juxtaposition of such images — devoid of analysis, commentary, or judgement — Senryu poetry explores human nature. In other words, while humans appear rarely in traditional haiku (and, when they do, it’s as a part of nature;) Senryu are always about humans and they do present commentary — often intended to be humorous.]
two dodge bird poop
the missed credits himself,
the struck curses birds
when floors must be swept,
some needn’t be told, some must,
and some told they can’t
extroverts
having virtual parties,
while I read
Blake said,
“The cut worm forgives the plow.”
What of the plowman?
boredom exempt:
creatures who use their teeth, feet,
or their brains
the hungry snake
doesn’t begrudge the winning
chameleon
[A tanka is a Japanese form closely related to the shorter form, haiku. In fact, a haiku can be thought of as the upper phrase of a potential tanka. Traditionally, the tanka (a.k.a. waka) is a 31-syllable poem. In modern notation, the additional 14 syllables are put into two seven-syllable lines below the three haiku lines, i.e. 5 – 7 – 5. (That said, there are many — myself included — who feel that the 5 – 7 – 5 – 7 – 7 approach applied to English language poetry loses the sparse, Zen feel of Japanese poetry because English syllables can be — and frequently are of — much longer duration. Personally, I’m more partial to the 2 – 3 – 2 stressed beats approach.) Historically, a haiku presents an image devoid of analysis or commentary. In Tanka, there is a pivot and the lower phrase often presents a response to the image.]
dry season
afternoon downpours
come daily
like one bird nesting
in another’s nest
soggy forest
oppressed smoke hangs low
unseen, but smelt
bone dry wood exists
but only within flame
drippy garden
a bright orange flower
hangs its head high
you warm my mind,
if not my bones
let us now pray
for short people with no one
to reach the top shelf
moon-gazer
sitting on a rooftop
hugging knees
silent morning
awakened by the sounds
that aren’t
closing eyes
seeking faces forgotten,
sadly failing
what void
holds the millions
unseen
[Since it’s National Poetry Month (NaPoMo,) I’m trying to do a different form each day. So far: limericks, a sonnet, and haiku. If you know of any obscure forms, I’d be glad to hear of them, because I don’t think I know 30 flavors of poetry, presently — relatively short form, of course, I don’t have the time or skill to do an epic narrative in a day. (Though micro-narrative will certainly be a thing.)]
