January 2022: into the darkness

all of it, this New Year,
erasing the old one–
we wish it gone–
but it lingers, overlapping—

erasing the old one
in a circle of continuous return–
it lingers, overlapping–
there seems to be not enough space

for a circle of continuous return–
branches extending in all directions–
there seems to be not enough space
to hold everything–and yet

branches extend in all directions–
sometimes, for a moment,
we hold everything—and yet, still,
here we are, as always, between—

sometimes, for a moment,
pausing on the threshold–
here, where we are, between,
we can see eternity filling,

pausing on the threshold
under an infinite star-filled sky–
we can see eternity filling,
brimming with birds

under an infinite star-filled sky–
we wish it to stay,
brimming with birds,
all of it–welcoming this New Year

A pantoum for 2022. Happy New Year!

December 2021

deceptive,
this amidst—always
searching for
hereafter–
breath catches, consumed, clinging
to vanishing light

silence waits,
determinedly grey,
unfinished–
holding on
to the bare crowns of branches–
expectant, fallow

wind rattles
inside—brumal, edged
with frozen
promises–
hope hangs tenuous, threaded–
taut, still, wintering

A seasonal dVerse quadrille for my December grid. De provided the word crown as inspiration.

Thursday Doors on Friday: Red Doors

In the beginning you can divide the questions
into a multitude of forms.
For your second act define your journey.
Offer your voice to the silence of light.
Remember to open the secret red door.
Do you know why?
It’s too early to be the end.
Simple, really.

For the Kick-About prompt this week I did a collage inspired by Leger’s painting The City. When I consulted the collage box Oracle, it gave me some cryptic advice about a red door. Which led me to search in my files for any red doors I had photographed–perhaps one of them was the secret city door of the message. The one above I had obviously noticed on more than one occasion, as I had multiple photos from different dates.

It certainly looks as if it could hold a few secrets.

Here’s a preschool door–on weekdays there are strollers parked both inside and out. Who knows what secrets reside in the mind of a 3-year-old?

And here’s a handsome red church door, in an old building that I’m sure holds many of its own secrets.

As always, you can see more doors and join in Thursday doors yourself here.

November 2021

what carries the truth?
wind scattering fallen leaves–
fragile, decaying

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

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

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)

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