listen to silence

Snow falls noiselessly from a windless sky, alighting on back deck and fence post, shed roof and fallow field. We can feel the gathering of snowflakes but cannot hear their conversation. Rabbit tracks crisscross white breast of winter.

Spring crocus push through snow’s crust soundlessly, if not effortlessly. Green spears surround the hardy stem. Bright purple petals display golden stamen and pistil. Life is determined to bloom and reproduce beauty.

Dark eyes watch intently, soft nose wriggles. Wild rabbit moves stealthily on fur-boot feet. No rustle of leaf, no snap of stick, just a flicker of movement and flash of cotton-ball tail. First a twitch, then a hop, final sprint beneath spruce.

earth tilts toward sun
far side of moon holds silence
seasons change places

_______

Haibun Monday at dVerse Poets, hosted by Frank Tassone

abundance

hopeful spring showers

greening grass blades point

prayers up to God

_______

I’m currently reading poems by Mary Oliver; collection entitled “Devotions”

en-danger-ed

Realize that – for every generation of mortals – life is deadly.

attraction

turn on lawn sprinkler

free showers for dirty birds

oh, the worms, the worms!

paradigm shift

old man wanders
cobblestone streets
of seaside village in
Ceredigion county
(though he’s not
indigenous welsh)
his pedigree and
dignity are both
wrapped warmly
in indigo cardigan
as he digresses
from one quaint
little shop to another
in search of dinner
worthy of digestion.

______________

A fun little quadrille for dVerse using some form of the word “dig” (used nine times, including title).

visitor

_______

fluffs soft speckled breast

sports black bib, red bandana

my friend (the) flicker!

_______

Another birdbath visitor and almost as big as a crow! Also, remembering title from youth, My Friend Flicka (about a horse).

yardwork

maple buds unfurl

warmed fists uncurl…spring

wears vibrant green gloves

sighting

birdbath visitor

quick sips–jay on high alert

blue blur whirs away

original

I attended a special art exhibition of watercolors by artist, Judy Thompson, paired with poetry by her daughter, Kristin Gifford.

_____________

leaving the art show

sun blazed pinks on evening sky

in rear view mirror

i’m impasto imposta’

Zuihitsu: Japanese form that blurs poetry, essay, and Chinese characters meaning “follow the impulse of the brush.” An artform some consider to be poetic potpourri incorporating nonfiction, musings, confessions and lyrics to create a spontaneous, layered text.

when i hear “zuihitsu”, hairy little dog runs into room
yip-yipping
sneak out for disorderly conduct… in neighborhood
(bitch in heat)

Winner of the 2023 Ruth Lilly poetry prize and other awards, Kimiko Hahn has been writing and teaching this form for years. In her poetry collection The Narrow Road to the Interior, she writes “the sense of disorder” is “integral” to the form of zuihitsu. Did you sneeze? God bless you!

van gogh believed in God but that didn’t solve
insanity
layered pain(t) thickly with brush… or palette knife
(sharp enough to cut an ear)

Merril D. Smith introduces diverse poets to zuihitsu at the virtual pub. She encourages exploration and experimentation with unique (uni)form. This is my experimental attempt to catch the dog, layer ideas, and weave wild words. An imposing form can make one feel like imposter.

textured tapestry hangs in stairwell
neutrals
woven in layers of loopy clouds…outlined mountain
(luxurious [lunatic] fringe)

wrestling

___________

Live, exploring the questions; trusting you will live into God’s answers.

___________

concept from Michelle DeRusha’s book, Spiritual Misfit.

where does love go?

Where does love go when
the cooking is bad?
does it shred favorite menu
then stomp away mad?

Where does love go when
birthed immature kids?
does it line them all up
to take highest bids?

Where does love go when
beloved grows old?
does it throw open door,
push them out in the cold?

Where does love go when
life’s going gets tough?
does it head for the hills
claiming it’s not enough?

Real love doesn’t leave
when real trouble appears
True love sticks around
and sweetens with years.

______________

I wrote this tongue-in-cheek response to Kim’s prompt at dVerse. The quote is the question raised by poet, Mary Shelley: “Where does love go when it goes?”

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