tarantella

Folk music from southern Italy featured on Carpe Diem Haiku Kai .


 

feel venomous bite

pain and fevered frenzy rise

dance of wolf spider

son plays piano music

fingers bounce faster–faster!

 

 

watercolor verse

colorful_colourful_umbrellas-1043217.jpg!d

 

Sky full of kites

or hot air balloons,

Parasol canopy or

favorite cartoons,

 

Gram’s flower pots

and sweet jelly beans,

Flags of all countries,

kaleidoscope dreams,

 

To color with crayons or

blow bubbles oblate;

God creates rainbows

— then we imitate!

 


A poem for children…and prompt hosted by Bjorn at dVerse.  (Image from pxhere.)

who has ears to hear…

 

Hell may

assault ears with

unearthly shrieks of

self-condemned rebels

tortured by vicious demons,

an infernal crackling

of eternal fire,

but worse yet

will be the

echoing miseries of sin,

utter absence of love,

awful silence of God.

peace…and quiet?

 

pack me light

stamped for camp

undress the stress

in quiet wilderness

 

where grass rustles

stream gurgles clear

beaver crew bustles

clouds thunder near

 

meadow lark sings

mosquitos start riot

forest tree rings

stones, alone, silent

 


Listen to the “sounds of silence” with Dwight tonight at dVerse Poets pub…

 

puzzling origins

“if it doesn’t have a tail,
it’s an ape.”  – veggietales

does that mean we are
living on planet of apes?

evolutionary theory puzzles
over missing links

missing, non-existent,
pieces to puzzle

genesis one is epic poem
worth pondering

i believe God creates
beginnings!

 

 


We’re doing “puzzle” quadrilles with Mish at dVerse poets pub this week 😀

life, in pursuit of happiness

 

fourth of julyIMG_7329
was his favorite
holiday when
dad, guardian
of hot punk,
would light
our sparklers;
we’d laugh and
dance in grass,
swirling
happy sparks
in waves of
patriotism.

now he comes
to iowa to
visit us, his
temp guardians,
and to watch
fireflies & fireworks,
celebrating his
independence
from assisted living;
he laughs aloud
at whistling stars
and deaf-defying
bangs.

how can i
bear the time
when dad’s
bright spark
explodes and
sizzles out,
smoking white,
and all my
holidays die?
i’ll remember
the laughter,
holding warm
embers.

 

nectar to honey

 

buzzing underfoot

bee’s legs heavy with pollen

white clover’s sweetness

 

bee-working-on-white-clover-flower-close-up-picjumbo-com.jpg

image: pic jumbo

still life

 

exploring attic

reclaim grandma’s old dresser

drawers of mementos

from her youthful adventures

lily of valley bouquet

 

 

victorian love notes

 

my dear iris,

you left me with

dewdrop tears3dbc9515476b6a54a35dfdd2c7a1dcf6--vintage-diy-flower-vintage
on my garden anemone

how can i trust your foxglove love?

offer me bluebells and ivy…

perhaps i shall arrange them in a
vase with fragrant yellow roses.

 

ah, sweet william,

now that i’ve returned

it is best to plant pansies
in the windowboxes

come away with me and
enjoy the lillies of the valley

let us climb the ripe plum tree!

 

 

 


In the Victorian era, flowers spoke secret messages. Sarah at dVerse poets explains the meanings of different blooms (as used in my poem). Say it with flowers!

slanted ceilings of childhood

Running up to my bedroom on second floor, I’d turn on the landing and pass through loft area with railing overlooking stairwell. I entered my private world with yellow walls that reflected sunlight, white furniture, and a small closet with loose doorknob. I flopped on the comfy double bed, knocking headboard against the wall, and fingered the bright patchwork quilt handmade by my maternal grandmother, tracing lines of my imagination.  In this cheery space, I would draw or do homework at my small desk, listen to popular hits on the radio, and read my latest library stack in bed. Three shelves on the wall held treasures I’d crafted of decoupage, miniature paintings, marble mice and clay.

I opened my double hung window on summer nights to let breeze and neighbors’ voices through the screen. Sometimes I’d hear a siren passing nearby on a busier street or the pizza delivery guy come to the door (after my brother and I were to bed). I experienced both sweet dreams and frightful nightmares in that room, learned to pray, and fantasized about boys. Sometimes a best friend or two would sleep over and we’d talk and laugh until late. In the morning, my mom would open the stairway door so our miniature poodle, Jock, could scamper up carpeted steps and leap on bed to wake me.

 

city summer night…

fragrance of backyard lilacs

wafts into bedroom

 

 

 


Lillian invites us to write haibun of a childhood room, including a traditional haiku with kigo (seasonal) word and kireji (cutting) word/turn of idea. Read more at dVerse.

citrus morning

 

sun is ripe orange

luscious wet, bursting flavor

caught in rainy trees

 

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photo source: mapio.net

sounds of silver

 

breeze whispers in trees

shaking,  sighing, quivering

summit ash leaves quake

 

listen to metal

red tail fin turns, grey blades spin

garden windmill squeaks

 

hear tinkling music

chimes dangle on staggered strings

dance with spring zephyr

 

Version 2

view from my kitchen window

 

epilogue:

do you hear the wind?

whirring sound but no air moves

fan noise app for sleep

 

 

Linking to Carpe Diem Haiku Kai

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