rumbling of the train
commuters nodding their heads
whistle blares last stop
©Tournesol`17/08/06
Poetry ~ Waka
rumbling of the train
commuters nodding their heads
whistle blares last stop
©Tournesol`17/08/06
At Heeding haiku with Chèvrefeuille at MindLoveMiserysMenagerie, our host asks us to write a haibun (prose with a haiku or tanka) inspired by the sculpture below. I looked up the artist, Matteo Pugliese and discovered the name of this piece is La Promessa…
I discovered a new form of poetry last month called The Cherita at Celestine’s blog Reading Pleasure, a gifted Haiku poetess; the Cherita was created by al li. Rather than using prose, I am telling my story with two Cherita followed by a Troiku which is a new form of haiku created by Chèvrefeuille. I name my haibun a troibun since troiku is the core.

The hidden promise (Troibun)
aggravation started bubbling unexpectedly
all those hopes and fantasies
never seeing the dawn of day
sadness and self-pity
wrapped inside a duvet
used to comfort her
pointing fingers and blaming life is so less painful
staying up late at night
wishing upon a star
waking up dismayed
feeding on crestfallen
crunching on uncertainty
©Tournesol’17/08/05
captive
all those years – stalling
prisoner of self-doubt
captive
wall of hidden truths
fooled to feel helpless
all those years –stalling
that prince of fairy tales
held inside a web
prisoner of self-doubt
unrequited promises
trapped inside her soul
©Tournesol’17/08/05

A troiku
perched on his post
overseeing the cornfield
cawing his presence
perched on his post
watching the sun rise slowly
behind the old barn
overseeing the cornfield
scurrying unnoticed
mice squeal with delight
cawing his presence
even the old scarecrow
stands at attention
©Tournesol’17/07/30
A troiku is a new form of haiku created by Chèvrefeuille.
The Troiku is a new haiku form created by Chèvrefeuille
(troiku)
marked with age spots
the old woman holds out a cup
with gnarled fingers
marked with age spots
having lived a long life
beauty rewritten
the old woman holds out a cup
invisible to society
people hurry by
with gnarled fingers
shelled nuts from her secret stash
feeds the squirrels
©Tournesol’17/07/28
The Cherita was created by al li.
dead silence of the day
deafeness hangs
the old woman’s heart stops
still leaves wait
not even the cat purrs
no ripple in the air
©Cheryl-Lynn Roberts 2017/07/28
Retrouvailles
A day filled with hope
kindling new beginnings
testing the waters
despite the cracked surface
will the foundation withstand?
©Cheryl-Lynn Roberts
Daily Reflections – July 22 2017 Retrouvailles

A Cherita – Daily Reflections – July 21 2017
summer haze shrouds me
lazy sleep in on my first day off
hugging my pillow with a sigh
soft thumps of a neighbour’s kitten
insistent meow of my queen
purr of surrender
©Cheryl-Lynn Roberts – 2017/07/21
Cherita #5
helping Grand-Maman made me feel special
some chores were less amusing
dusting can be so boring
watching her cooking
a pinch of this, a pinch of that
savouring herbs teasing me
running to the garden to get les haricots jaunes
slipping one or two in my mouth
crunchy and juicy
down in the cold cellar where wrinkled potatoes rest
dark and scary, spider webs brush my face
my heart flip flops
©Cheryl-Lynn Roberts 2017/07/21

I have just discovered the Cherita (A haiku/tanka inspired form created by ai li on June 22, 1997. Now this must have been calling me to pay attention. I had noticed a few of Celestine’s beautiful contributions both on Facebook and on her blog Reading Pleasure and she write the cherita as if she is singing ever so softly. She does have a way with words and metaphors that I truly admire.
Now the reason, I am more drawn to this form after reading the source of this(Celestine is generous enough to highlight after each postin), my mother’s birthday was June 22nd…that is one majour attraction; in 1997 I made a majour move away from family and friends, starting a new single life. And, lastly, the word Cherita is the Malay word for “story” or “tale” and I have been looking for a way to write les histoires ranconté by my grand-maman.
So I am going to try and write a cherita more often in my Daily reflections similar to what I have been doing in Waka (haiku, tanka, haibun). Thank you, Celestine, for sharing this form with your readers.
So for my first try I am simply going on a tale spin (not tailspin) but for my first time, this is a “spin off of tales” raconter (told) by my grandmother. Des histories Grand-maman m’a racontait autour de la table de cuisine avec une bonne tasse de thé. (Stories my grandmother shared at the kitchen table over a good cuppa tea).
Cherita #1
no sterile beginnings for me
twisting and turning
in a hurry to see your face
in the comfort of home
two generations holding me
my first bain d’amour
Cherita #2
Grand-maman was the town mid-wife. Doctors called upon her to stay the long hours, usually at night while expectant mothers were in labour. My grandmother would phone the doctor just when the mother was dilated enough so the doctor had little wait time to deliver the baby.
We would hear all sorts of stories about how some households were sometimes ill prepared for the birth of a 2nd, 3rd or 4th child. Growing up in a predominantly French Canadian and Catholic town, the church encouraged procreation and condemned birth control.
If you wanted to receive absolution for your sins at confessions and the priest got wind of avoiding copulation for fear of getting pregnant, you would have to forgo absolution for your sins on that day.
an unhappy husband hummed and hoed
needs not having been met
he actually told on his partner!
with a sign of the cross
tongue wagging on how to behave
his wife was not given absolution
Grandmaman told us this story how she found a way to get around “not refusing” her husband but still not being exposed to the chance of getting pregnant.
Ma Tante Rose comes for a visit every month
Sometimes this relative makes
unexpected stopovers
no one would question
that extra layer
husbands simply sigh and roll over.
Cherita #3
hot summer night
sitting by the riverbank
cicadas and bullfrogs compete
shrill of the musique à bouche (harmonica)
stepping and jigging to the beat
cutting through the thick
Grand-Papa bringing life
summer air
Cherita #4
finding perfection out of imperfect moments
There is something so ordinary
and yet so extra-ordinary
sitting
with family
on hot summer nights
no rules of behaviour
young or old
everyone’s engaged
telling tales of this and that
laughing and singing
foot tapping for sure
©Cheryl-Lynn Roberts 17/017/20
My first Cherita attempts…I am not sure if it is okay to include prose within the tales but for a first try, it just fit well.
Suzanne has asked us to write about the Road to the Holy Grail, and quotes from “Reflections on the Art of Living” edited by Diane K Osbon:
“What the Holy Grail symbolizes is the highest spiritual fulfillment of a human life. Each life has some kind of high fulfillment, and each has its own gift from the Grail… It has to do with overcoming the same temptations that the Buddha overcame; of attachment to this, that or the other life detail that has pulled you off course… In the Grail legends, the land of people doing what they think they ought to do or have to do is the wasteland.”
I am not sure if I have interpreted this well but have tried interpreting a journey to engulfment.
***
So much time seems to be wasted when we all seem to think that time is plentiful. Is it? Really? In the past decade, she has returned to her path of spirituality. Usually strife and hopelessness draws her there and in time, she feels at peace. She is astounded at how often she rereads a passage of wisdom and spiritual growth twenty to thirty years later as if it were the very first time. What does that mean?
There are times when she was in her early twenty’s she may have digested words intellectually rather than emotionally. That is the only answer that makes sense to her. Life happens and too many times attachment to things and persons cloud our vision but the path is always there, waiting, forgiving and embracing.
Nothing can be rushed…it is not like spring cleaning with a power wash but letting yourself go and be. Emptying your mind and allowing to be filled with light.
meditating
visions of white doves
inviting her home
©Tournesol`17
For those who know me, also know my late mother’s name is dove in French, Colombe.