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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books/item_id/757065-Green-Peas-at-Stake/sort_by/entry_order DESC, entry_creation_time DESC/page/7
by Joy
Rated: 13+ · Book · Personal · #757065
A poetry journal of everyday clippings
Free Photo


"The astonished muse finds thousands at her side." *Laugh**Laugh*
R. W. Emerson

I made this poetry journal because I like to play with words and lines and I wanted to put somewhere some of my practice work (or first draft) in verse, written--within a very short time, probably daily on the spur of the moment, with the idea to work on the entries later--with or without the help of the astonished (should I say shocked?) muse. *Laugh**Laugh*


Some of the haiku I have mixed with senryu, not only because I am not a purist, but also because I like to do what I like to do given what I feel at the moment.

Previous ... 1 2 3 4 5 6 -7- ... Next
October 19, 2003 at 7:21pm
October 19, 2003 at 7:21pm
#262326
I gaze into the old photo album,
for
regret,
a secret vice, so loyal,
grabs the heart like a vise,
never deserting,
and I recall you showing me
your old dog cuddling the stray kitten:
“See, how unlikely!
If they make it,
why can’t we?”

But I, too juvenile too unwise,
believed in the silly counsel of others
in my clumsiness,
since you, an ancient poet,
had already written your past
in volumes and tomes.

Now, thirty-two years later,
in broad daylight,
no more are there stars
to wish on,
and
a gibberish,
akin to smoke spiraling up
through the chimney,
rises inside my mind:
“Why do I still weep
for not dancing
with you?”

This may be heresy,
but I think,
then,
if I knew,
where to stand...
I’d stand beside you.
If for nothing else,
I’d have good photos
to show for my life.

October 19, 2003 at 7:19pm
October 19, 2003 at 7:19pm
#262325
Impossible to imagine
that hand etching the stone
with toil, fascination,
patience, and yearning,
chipping with the fire
stolen from gods.

A vision of a blessed mind
in gasps of anticipation
sleepless under black skies,
through deadly storms of living.

A dream alone,
accomplished passion,
whisperings of love,
implied in the object
only through labor;
yet,
left
to a sparrow’s screech.

Bird droppings on marble
a sculpture in chains
with power to crumble
a steel heart.
October 19, 2003 at 7:09pm
October 19, 2003 at 7:09pm
#262322
A shadow wandering
under neon lamps,
still searching for a merciful gaze,
I, a fated tiger,
not as sleek or fast in my bony frame,
pray that the forest grows
apart from me,
and, if not to the sound of my roar,
the rapids run
down through time,
so part of me lives on.

Since in this arid circus
the ground is wrinkled with greed,
I stay silent
solitary, locked in,
though growling at gestures now and then.
What else is left when
people just recognize the fur I’m wearing
or the metals glittering on my collar
under moving lights?

If I am a prowler, so why am I the prey
to the whips snapping?
Am I an impostor beast
with little substance, yet waiting,
for their sticks to crack?
Or is my reflection a lie
conjured up by men of sinister deeds?
Is there nothing else to do but run around
in circles and stand on hind legs
for morsels of flesh?

Yet, I’m the one who got caught,
who exiled herself,
who built her cage bars from her own stripes.
So now, almost extinct,
wounded by lifelong blows,
I lurk
among the bookshelves
for words I need.



October 19, 2003 at 7:00pm
October 19, 2003 at 7:00pm
#262314
That fierce warrior, the night, battles on,
binding the earth to ebony sky,
trapping the unknown
within the mind.
I, at first, shiver
inside this bare windowless space,
searching for blame.

Who broke the sun and blew specks of gold dust
into heavens?
Or are these just shapes passing through
to God, only to get stuck in
serving time for a promise?

What a maze of culpability, as entangling as vines,
when evil enchantresses lure Orion to trails of stars
to hunt; so when he unfastens his belt,
they strangle his devoted canine Betelgeuse,
hanging fear, a suspended chandelier
of black lights, on
its cold jaws!

Then, guarded by grey shadows, thin feathery cirrus
thread under a moon too bright,
maybe tonight, La Luna floats
beneath those clouds,
looking for a savior.

My impatience expands into edginess,
with claws scraping, I toss
my cape off,
bare my fangs,
to howl.

So, hearing my tune,
the stunned moon
becomes my prey
and feels
my pain.

October 6, 2003 at 1:31am
October 6, 2003 at 1:31am
#260195
My shadow,
trailing behind me
in geometric shapes,
daring
to interrupt the light,
feeling not cherished.

At times, it sways
out of sight
to thwart off
onlookers.
Yet, then again,
it scans ahead
uneasily,
like a presentiment.

The higher the sun
the more it shortens,
with a devious tilt,
akin to miserly violets
on a mountain path,
veiled inside
purple shades,
hiding their fragrance.

I relish the piquancy
of its many ways,
for my shadow throws its net
steadily,
shrugging off dimensions,
acting sassy,
as if to say
it doesn’t care.
I guess,
it’s afraid
of fading from view
and dying unloved.

September 27, 2003 at 9:17pm
September 27, 2003 at 9:17pm
#258893
Nostalgia
1
A whiff of jasmine, my mother’s perfume,
Elegance captured in dreamlike prose,
I travel through time, a free trip home,
Vistas from the past, remembers my nose.
2
A lone beach chair by the serene dunes,
A deft overture, where memories start.
Winter’s puzzle, an icy serenade;
Ambiguity, the treason of the heart..
3
Love’s fable in the darkness,
Wilderness quickly prevailed,
Fragile comfort in travel,
An old road, raptures unveiled.

Like steam on dark glasses,
In romance, comedy caught,
The flavor or the technique,
Darting pleasures it has brought
4
Reading alone my highway tales,
I concentrate on battlegrounds,
Loving faded ancient rescues,
In my old haunts mischief abounds.

When fall enters flowers lament,
Bereavement tunes console the ground,
Skimming through spoil of years,
I celebrate the peace I’ve found.


September 27, 2003 at 8:49pm
September 27, 2003 at 8:49pm
#258887
She faces backwards from the window of a train, watching the lemony-yellow straw piled up from the summer harvest on the fields.


Yellowed, twine-tied straw
running through well-rehearsed lines,
waiting in silence.


Fleeing southward, as birds do, toward where the sun still shines, in chase of another existence and new dreams, she locks her hands in fists inside her mitts, rebelling against the change of colors in her life. Her decision, hanging on to warmth, has something to do with her heartbreak.


Wind-blown memories
flattened, clunky and useless,
within bales of hay.


Tears anchor themselves inside her eyes in order not to imitate the raindrops that have started slanting against the glass pane. In the gentle dim of autumn, terrified of the ice that would follow, -- ice, outside and inside-- she decided with an adrenaline rush to hit the brakes on a cooled-down love, once and for all.


Drops rigging along
on window panes after stress
as convoys of loss.


She knew she missed again when the communication cords were cut. Now she wonders what she’ll make of the rest of her life. What if the number of her losses outnumbers the places she can escape to? She trembles like a compass needle; yet, sure of her direction, as if she’s going upwards inside a spiral, she feels that hope, her ripened fruit, is waiting for her at the top.


Fantasy cycle
bared trees, scattered leaves color
hope for sights beyond.

------------------
Haibun: Prose plus haiku

September 27, 2003 at 8:42pm
September 27, 2003 at 8:42pm
#258884
Dance as if nobody’s watching,
rising from the soil
naked, cane-like,
spinning your golden legs,
stomping your feet
atop clouds of sparkles,
so nothing stays the same.

Make your own music
with your own special voice,
sensing the touch
as if giving birth,
to the new you.

If you recall your name,
do not stop the dance,
just raise your head,
and purse your lips
to blow a kiss
at the silver streaks
of remembrance.
Then, feeling a sweet strain,
do not leave anything unsaid.

Surrendering your senses,
cast off your tangled ropes;
as stylishly as you wish,
release the woman within,
to the heart of the universe,
to the pain of pleasure,
to your enchanted fire.



128 Entries · *Magnify*
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books/item_id/757065-Green-Peas-at-Stake/sort_by/entry_order DESC, entry_creation_time DESC/page/7