A response to my dear friend Cat's poem of today.
Same music, same form.
I hope this text is worthy of hers, which is superb...

like a swift gazelle,
her bare feet followed the river’s curves and current,
on the grassy plains from the depths of the forest, she overcame the wind,
she reformed white clouds and felt no fear for the blues abandoned behind her;
the water murmured its invitation,
its calmness a balm of grace,
a wet glee of freedom,
and there she plunged, to cleanse the wounds of her soul
in the turquoise waters running east to west;
transformed, she smiled at the sun,
reflecting its power to heal, caressing its warmth of love,
mocking solitude, she found peace
in the arms of a great oak overlooking her life

found deep in her soul
is the sound of spring songbirds
amazing secrets



“amazing grace”
[2010.26.8…a]

A companion piece to Cat’s poem grace... from NOVAcatmando's P.loggia 
written in the haibun form

tango in the night
tango filled with stars
stars light for your eyes
stars shadow my fear
fear not
fear only not loving me
me thinks
me for you is our motto
motto mottled in stucco
motto painted over our hearth
hearth, heart, heat
hearth, earth, ear
ears which do not hear
ears only for my songs
songs, you are my angel
songs for tomorrow’s light
light trades shadows
light evades mystery

mystery, tell me my secrets
mystery, tell me our truth

truth in your eyes
truth, to trust my tears
tears of joy
tears of longing
longing for yesterday
longing for this challenge
challenge me to return!
challenge me to leave you!
you, life’s center
you, life’s end
end without death
end without my angel
angels float
angels occupy our cloud
clouds smile
clouds laugh
laugh, my love, can you
laugh without my love?

love challenges
love is my strength

strength to leave you
strength to return
return to the haven of your hearth
return to the simple dance
dance, fair troubadour
dance like the Milky Way
way to mourn your heart
way numbed from my sleeping pain
pain
heart…


the heart’s tango
[2010.22.8…a]

A Blitz Poem
after an idea by NOVAcatmando
http://blog.writersdigest.com/poeticasides/2010/08/16/PoeticFormTheBlitzPoem.asp...

 

cast on my doorstep
three brightly colored pebbles
no rough-cut jewels

they appear as gifts
strangely discarded objects
like pre-autumn leaves

each day I find three
gifts for meditation's hold
a child's lost marbles

I choose a clear bowl
arrange the stones artfully
they number eighteen

splashed with cold water
they form a fishbowl's landscape
or a riverbed

there, all rocks glitter
washed and swayed by streaming will
where I swim alone

my clothes sun-drying
water offers zen balance
like summer blue-gold

cloudburst suddenly
I run naked in the rain
captured in wetness

I tarry slowly
nature's caprice delights me
without umbrella

new colors beckon
on return, my doorstep shines
watery gems wait


gifting pebbles
[2010.8.8...a]
Chain Senryu

 

like a mountain torrent
words so clear, inescapable
our minds like an hour glass
meaning drifts from one half to the other

the sand cannot clot, no rain
can spoil its perfect dance

the case is a polished diamond
reflecting every possibility
unbreakable

a bottle cast to sea waves, corked
expeditor's full address
a simple message slipped inside
if i ask no questions...

one day there will be an answer

a stranger calls on my shady doorstep
attired differently than my people
a warm, inviting smile, bottle in hand
my heart wavers

throbbing
I never imagined beyond the happy end
a reincarnation of the daylight

is it the summer's warmth
or the joy of holding your hand

I am topsy-turvy in love
a rainbow that captions a stormy sky
and when I speak
the miracle is the whole world listens


simple words
[2010.19.7...a]




 

overlooking the chalet
the mountain summit
has vanished
in the thick promise of wetness
like an elder, head in the clouds
it abruptly disappears in whipped cream
pondering the inclemency that claims
the summer air
we, familiar with its contours
know every missing bolder
and crest, and beyond
its northern face, rain falls silently
imagined easily
by the blackness of the sky
here below, the vineyards
are verdant and our balcony
is flowered with bougainvillea
hibiscus, begonias and geraniums
their feminine colors
contrasting the dark wood of the walls
and the brown-orange tiles underfoot
birds cluck impatiently
waiting for the storm, the trees
sway and dance in supplication
and I, ever ready, have powered
my camera to flash the anger
as it resonates over the valley
hoping to catch the ultimate
white of nature’s fireworks


summer artistry
[2010.17.7…a]





 

unlike the blank page , a white screen
hovers, mocking us without even
the former buzz of TV snow
deprived of quick amusement
disappointed and quickly irate
we rap on the box, hopeful, yet
no nimble spirit reappears
while we stare at its nothingness
others sharpen pencils and empty
trash of useless but useable
crumpled papers
who thinks nowadays
about good book substitutes?
bother the inconvenience
of this mess of vacantness
today’s machines don't hum or purr
like twenty-year-old iceboxes
or the lawnmower carefully oiled
each summer, yet waiting for
the screen's animation, the grass
grows savannah high and ideas
float in the pictures clouds form
all forgotten when tiny bells ding:
you have new mail....


screens
[2010.16.7...a]
A Random Act Of Poetry for Teri


 

ten years is a long time
the ocean waves still separate us,
uncounted moons
sun rises, shines, sets… i’ve stopped
looking for shooting stars
a true unbeliever now
i don't know why
the days no longer have numbers
there are no special ones among them
if you sang for me, i never heard words
rustling in the wind, even in thunderbolts
maybe your thoughts and prayers were too timid
to fly along time’s borders towards me
there were no promises — you could not
have kept them, are you that heartless?
i too am selfish, for you do not
welcome my lovers…
your home has become your fortress
instead of a family haven
comfort?
i find it in other arms, although
i don't cry for the loss between us
who would hear my mourning?
do you weep
at night with my yellowing picture?
i remember your rare smiles, the moments
they spoke of truth… i have
no hearth to lighten my heart
in ten years life has stopped…


ten years
[2010.15.7...a]

 

I’m a fool in front of the camera
the lens captures only my nonchalant
inability to be natural
people watch, I freeze
this brilliant idea was to say hello
video style, to virtual land
i.e. internet in any language
but I get tongue tied
and French and English
get mixed up, every other
parole comes out as a word bathed
d'un fou rire, and great belly laughs
are the perfect way towards
the camera-man screaming
“take seventeen!”
(I tried, I really did
to imitate Clark Gable, suave
and serious, but Salvador Dali took over...)
behind the iPhone
he said to write my text — anything
coherent and sensible —
decide what to say once and for all
(winging it freestyle
with improvisational jazz overtones
just gets more an more comedic…)
memorize it, like TV speakers
I mentioned prompters and he said
no way, so the would-be modern
means of communication is reduced
à un petit mot d'un poète
poetically penning vacation post cards
(a holiday in any language
bon voyage et tutti quanti
did I say we're off to Tuscany next week?)


trying to say hello
[2010.14.7...a]

 

placed between parentheses, I wait
upon earth-shattering events to chronicle
I strive not to stifle my creativity
trapped at the wrong end of the equator
mosquito bitten, baptized the collector of berries
the twin rivers give sweet refreshment
and after three months, I have gone
from welter to featherweight with daily promenades
a sweaty two kilometers to the beachfront, midway
a jazz pianist breathes swarthy song
into similarly sweltering air
melting the silence
the road quiets of carts and vendors, his improvisation lazy
like the clouds afraid of spooning even a drop of water
onto the parched earth below, a hymn of this civilization
hammocks sway, my papers stuck to my wet chest
eyes bleary from the torpor
yet under these tropical heat waves
there are grapevine words that tremor
of an organized native upheaval
imagining rights to the rumored western ways
I wait, sketching faces and postures
my stock of pencils is waning
they tell me my blond hair brings them luck
so they all sit patiently, humming unrecorded melodies
I become their historian, faithfully setting my own life
aside, punctuated by the eclipses of their smiling faces



before the pencil stubs
[2010.13.7…a]




 

Creamy ivory white pages. Blank.
The ink is a succession of thoughts,
invisible, forgotten. Dreams not yet born
birthed in silence. Flotsam
on the shores of a deserted island.
Our love, a slow decrescendo
escalating out of control. A spiral of tears,
a forlorn fumbling of mid-life.
I am a beggar, choosing other relics
from dustbins in the chic neighborhoods.
Or a naughty child, punishable.
A recurring fantasy, the truth is gone.
Am I asking you once again if you love me,
did I say it? Once more I mouth the same.
No, it didn’t used to be that way. We ran
on that beach, isolated just
for our communion. I am no one any longer.
Will God retain my soul when I die?
I drink from a blue bottle containing your tears.
I am a sieve, maintaining nothing. Dust. Sand.
Slowly I will forget you. Do you love me still?
I have forgotten to write the words, today,
Chilled, I wear three wool sweaters.
I look at the calendar. November.
I don’t remember Halloween
nor the reason a red B decorated the twelfth
day of august…
Bella? Bernard? Do you still love me?
There are shelves of matching books filled
with my handwriting, it seems younger, more sprightly.
They all have the same colored pages, some speaking
of dreams, hopes, scenes from a life I cannot
remember. Do you still love me?
When I was a child, I rummaged through
the neighbor’s trash. There was a blue shirt
with an eagle embroidered on the sleeve. I look
at my tattooed arms. The same.
Its colors have faded. Do you….


at the end, we all forget
[2010.12.7…a]


 

exit from the shower
delicate ping of wood on brass
a song of encounters strangely pleasant
indoors the breeze displaces dust
windows and shutters creak
it’s almost cold on my naked skin
heat storms cull the air’s freshness
disguising the mugginess in friendliness
when the strikes-and-spares booming begins
and the blue-to-black transformation swells
with lighting effects of a fluorescent nightclub
finally afternoon sleep will dull my senses
deprived too often by hot and humid nights
while in a frenzy the wind chimes sing of freedom
rainfall, a childhood lullaby
lulls me into safety


when she used to sing
[2010.11.7…a]