Poetry ~ Waka
what am I?
in the cosmos
a spec of dust
what am I?
taking up space
and to what end?
in the cosmos
fighting to stay alive
all living things
a spec of dust
in a vacuum
of uncertainties
©Tournesol’ 17/12/08
Daily Moments – uncertainty of Life – December 8, 2017
(troiku)
early morning start
Monday in the city
people watching
early morning start
unaccustomed
autumn dark skies
Monday in the city
rush hour push and shove
coins drop in tin cup
people watching
one by one they shuffle by
empty cups in hand
©Tournesol’17/12/03
(a cherita)
a time to live, a time to love
she lived with an open heart
compassion her middle name
turned the heads of many men
touched the hearts of all ages
then parted to eternal bliss
~
shrill of the cicadas
drawing one’s attention
piercing and disturbing
transforms to a lullaby
one of nature’s wonders
a call from the other side
©Tournesol’ 17/12/01
June 22, 1926 – December 2, 2014
Written for Tale Weaver 148 – Dust – at MindloveMiserysMenagerie
On this day three years ago I had dreamed half the night. The dream of my mother and I trying to save a dying child. Each time I woke up shocked by the dream, I would go back to sleep and dream the exact same scene…3 times until I could no long sleep. I waited until sunrise and called the nursing home to ask how my mother was. The nurse said, « Viens vite, il ne lui reste plus grand temps.»
I no longer had a car since the fall and called a taxi. It was snowing lightly and it was very cold. The sky was so grey and morbid. I talked all the way down with the taxi driver. His mother had recently passed…
She used every means to get me by her side…I will be forever thankful and she passed a little after midnight…
you poked me
three times
I was by your side
one last time …you looked at me
passing to the other side
missing you
embraced by your soothing voice
telling me each time
I love you darling –
don’t forget your Hail Mary’s
never too old
j’suis toujours ton bébé
miss you Mom…
©Tournesol’17/12/01
(a cherita)
even the sky seizes
sun rays hold steady
on a pale blue backdrop
tiny icicles form
eyelashes melt in liquid blue
exhaling white clouds
©Tournesol’17/11/28
or the above moment in Waka:
even the sky seizes
on a pale blue backdrop
sun rays hold steady
tiny icicles form
melting in liquid blues
exhaling white clouds
©Tournesol’17/11/28
Written for Micro Poetry Month #28
Saturday’s tears, hidden by Sunday morning snow, until tomorrow.
Listening to yesterday’s songs in Mom’s rocking chair, then she appears.
First snow, I’m a child again, laying on my back making snow angels.
If only the world was led by their hearts instead of their egos.
old man walking
heading to his last demise
knows not what’s ahead
old man walking
hoping for a better draw
winnings from his game
heading to his last demise
his pockets bare, he lost again
heart filled with despair
knows not what’s ahead
stepping off the curb to cross
crashing to his fate
life is filled
with obstacles to grip
do at what you may
life if filled
compassion is the game
despite miseries
with obstacles to grip
chance to live and learn
turn your life around
do at what you may
if you can get it right this time
paradise awaits
©Tournesol’17/11/26
day after day
waiting
still – no sunrise
day after day
Time passes
without me
waiting
under the weeping willow
shadows mocking
still – no sunrise
Mother Earth can’t even rescue
she’s stopped spinning
Daily moments – Nigh reflections November 25/17
My hands are cold
My heart is numb and silent
My eyes keep swimming
Aiming to the surface _ yet
the light’s so far away
Hunching forward
Shrinking to the fetal state
turning to my heart
tomorrow
is another day
…so they say
©️Tournesol’ 17/11/25
November 25/17 Daily Moments cold breaths of autumn
He lived a humble life alone…a niece or a nephew here and there brought sunshine to his life…his offspring found no time, nor care to watch the sunset by his side. Before he reached this tranquil life, he’d tested his boundaries, stretching the elastics of addictions. Too many “last calls” and rolling dice and flirting reckonings from the meanest loan sharks. Like a cat, he had at least eight lives.
After umpteenth losses, he faced illness and disability, rooming in the most modest abode…a small room among others slightly different yet much the same; not in any kind of bed and breakfast, yet three fixed meals a day.
rags to riches
unrequited love
to borrowed rags.
Last week, he went for a stroll. Waiting at the corner for the light to change, he steps down the curb leaning on his cane, minding his own business like he’s done all his life…
unforeseen
meeting his maker
with a BANG
smell of burnt rubber
wail of niece and nephew
maman et papa
sisters and big brothers
show the way
most unusual racetrack
with perpetual winnings
This is in honour of my uncle, after hearing the news I received today about his sudden death …my mother’s brother.
Written for Micro Poetry Month #24
Daily moments paradise beyond November 24 2017
Tournesol dans un Jardin 