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October 2021

fallen leaves
the crunch of footsteps
clear blue sky

reflecting the rain
changeable skywind spatters
colors patterned light

full moon of autumn appears
leaves too soon amidst hopes of endless harvest
fragments linger, gold glittering

stars remember every invisible map
imprinted on the approaching dark
paradigm

earth saturated with bonfires and bones

Two haiku and a sevenling for October and Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday theme, suggested by Franci Hoffman, the harvest moon. The photos are of September’s full moon traveling across the southern sky outside my window. In the first one, it’s half reflected on the window pane.

The artwork is the first page, front and back, of a handmade paper journal I bought on Etsy. I bought three, one each for myself and my sisters-in-law, as we all have great intentions to do art journals–and hopefully this will get us going. I painted the page, and stitched over the front with a technique I’ve been wanting to try. Since the color bled through the paper, I did a small autumn grid on the back.

Happy October!

The Anthropocene Hymnal

The Anthropocene Hymnal: Songs of a self-defining era by [Ingrid Wilson]

I’m pleased to be part of Ingrid Wilson’s project, The Anthropocene Hymnal: Songs of a self-defining era, “A poetic response to the joint crises of climate change and biodiversity loss. Featuring the work of internationally-renowned and bestselling poets including Gabriela Marie Milton, Ivor Steven and Sherry Marr. Voices from five continents join in song to protest the damage we are doing to our only home, planet earth: these ‘songs of a self-defining era’ are the poems which comprise The Anthropocene Hymnal”.

Some of my poems are included, and that’s my collage on the cover.

Available on Amazon in both print and kindle versions, and read Ingrid’s post for information on obtaining a PDF copy. All profits will be donated to the WWF.

July 2021 with blue door

let yourself be
enchanted with each moment
as it appears

July makes me long for the ocean, so my grid is composed of ocean doors. But I also found a blue house door into the garden level of a brownstone that makes me think its owners are reminding themselves too every day of the sea.

You can join Thursday Doors here.

June 2021

long green days
open like roses
like fresh dreams

fragrances whispered
into clear blue skies

That’s my hope for June anyway.

Poem up at Pure Haiku

summer forest 4 x 6 text

My haiku written for the Unfurling series, based on a painting by Elisa Ang, is featured today at Pure Haiku. I thought it paired nicely with this haiga from 2017.

My thanks to Freya Pickard for including me in this series.

April 2021 (Renewal)

#6 water lilies s

the seed waits, dreaming–
colors pulse in liquid sound
spirit overflows

This is a reprisal of my April 2015 grid with a new poem for Colleen’s #TankaTuesday, haiku/senryu. The collage and original haiku were inspired by Monet’s waterlilies.

I’m going to continue my monthly grid and draw-a-bird day here, while I will be posting for NaPoWriMo on kblog.

water lilies: green
creeping, imperceptible,
suddenly present

Green Jay (Draw a Bird Day)

clever, curious–
your flashy loud mimicry
a family trait

Continuing my explorations of the Corvid family, I decided to collage and draw a green jay this month. Residents of the Texas borderlands, they are also found in Central and South America. Like all corvids, they are intelligent, adaptable, brash, and have a large variety of vocalizations, including imitating the calls of hawks to drive away food competitors. They also use sticks as tools to pry bark up to get to the insects underneath.

Green jays live and forage communally, in family groups. The populations are currently stable, although habitat destruction is a concern, particularly in Mexico, and around the proposed border wall to be built through the Santa Ana National Wildlife Refuge.

March 2021

what dream is this?  circling
spiralling into form
slipstreamed fertile reborn
continuous

Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday theme is dreams, so I’ve written a variety of dream poems for March, a dreamy month I think. I’ve interspersed some of my previous March grids.

March 19 grid 2s

in March I
ruminate return
remember
rains that be
come sun-dappled spring—shining,
blooming with birdwings

march 2018 grid s

dreams become
part of the landscape
filling in

march-17-grid-s2

colors
begin to dance
with waves of light, singing
sun into roots, filling
my nights with dreams
of dawn

Poetic forms are, in order, abhanga, shadorma, haiku, badger’s hexastitch.

Year of the Metal Ox

holding pattern—keep
at it, follow through, rebuild,
preserve—demand truth

Happy Chinese New Year!

You can see previous Chinese New Year posts (I missed last year as I was moving) here, here, here, here, and here.

February 2021

are the days
moving on, circling
back, slipping
through?  or are
they giving up, slowing down,
following the un

seen astride
the invisible
vibrations
of tidings reaching for shore
lines that aren’t there–echos of
places remembered,

emerging
from folds of pages–
not maps, but
renderings
sparkling against the stardust
of reflected nights–

between here
there and then not now
conclusions
masquerade
as omens—uncaught, eddied
by prevailing winds

For my February grid, another mandala. We are still mired in confusing times. Too many trees, not enough forest.

Sometimes a change of perspective can clarify, or at least calm the stormy seas.