Poetry ~ Waka
When I think of the word “Happiness”my memory captures a moment of delight…bliss, such as the photo of my children together. Whether they are 3 or 33, my heart bursts at the seams when I see them just hanging out. It is a moment in time, a mother has been blessed seeing the evidence of pure joy…her children.
© Tournesol ’15
At Carpe Diem we are given a beautiful painting by Van Gogh where the artist spent his last years. Our host, Chèvrefeuille chose House of Auvers for our inspiration to write a haiku. It is an image that one can relate to in many ways. See more information at Carpe Diem – House (au Auvers)
Since the industrial revolution, so many “home visits” have been postponed until spring or summertime. In many parts here in the Montreal area and suburbs, that is mainly due to the weather and icy roads. I used to work for a steel company who gave their employees a 4-day weekend at Easter so many could drive down to Gaspé for instance, to visit their family; most of these families had moved here for work but their hearts were still back home.
village réanimé
retrouvaille familiale
cries des goélands
***
emerging village
family reunions
gulls shriek
© Tournesol ’15
It’s been a while since I sense your presence and yet, that may be a good sign. You are finally reunited with the love of your love. I had a dream last night. Bette, my feline friend who is named after your nickname was playing hide-and-go-seek in your house. We were in your bedroom. You had been on some health food diet and you were clearing your closet. I was shocked to see such order! Well, we know that that was not a priority for you. And why should it, when you had more important things to do, like sit by the window, sipping your coffee and watch the birds by the river, pecking at the bird feeder. Or getting all dolled up with your designer outfits; applying Lancôme or Clinique to moisten your skin; a touch of ombre à paupière and a trace of eyeliner; before running out to go shopping, applying your favourite rouge à lèvre and la pièce de résitance...three sprays of Shalimar.
Whenever you visited your scent lingered for days and any clothes you gave me, laundry could not remove that faint scent of your eau de toilette…that trace of Colombe.
In my dream, Bette snuck behind the wall of your closet and when I followed, feeling like Alice in Wonderland, I found a slight opening and there was a narrow room with odd trinkets and old furniture. Bette had adopted a small filing cabinet. I had never seen this room. You were busy washing clothes, sorting the closet and your commode. It was as if I was not really there but you sort of knew I was there…It felt like I was watching a movie of you…there was a screen separating us, preventing us from touching, hugging.
When I awakened, I realized this was another little visit. And now you know why I named my feline friend, Bette. I’m so glad you met her.
my shawl breathes
scents of Shalimar
trace of you
my shawl breathes,
reminiscence woven
you and me
scents of Shalimar
sweet scented sounds
your laughter
trace of you
faint trails of eau de toilette
remind me of you
© Tournesol ’15
A Troiku is a new haiku form created by Chèvrefeuille at Carpe Diem Haiku Kai
A Haibun is a narrative (prose) followed by haiku. For more information check Haibun Thinking.
One expresses emotions in varied ways and for some it is spontaneous and simply who they are. Perhaps you are like me when you see someone you love and have not seen in a while, you run up to the person and hug them, kiss them on each cheek.
Overjoyed the morning I felt my son moving in my tummy…the basement of our new home had flooded and I could not hide my joy. Could not relate to the damage, the flood or any problem whatsoever for a human life did somersaults in MY tummy!!
Oh how I weep with joy every time I see my daughter performing in a choir, when my son did a guitar solo and sang a Bob Dylan song, when they graduated both from high school and college; and even today when I see them smiling and teasing each other…the joy just takes too much place in my heart and so I weep.
Perhaps your emotions are too close to the surface and your heart swells so much you weep the moment a word hurts your feelings; perhaps it is anger that is too difficult to conceal and you shout, rage or cry again. Maybe you have always felt life dealt you a raw deal and everyone and everything you touch must be for your loss, like a child who stomps off angry because Mommy would not let him eat candy before dinner.
And then there are those who do not express emotions as easily and it eats at them, festers and makes them sick…they are not “at ease” hence it stirs “dis-ease”. The persons who cannot weep when they grieve, express their love when they long, show their joy when they are gripped with such a powerful love…yet to look at their body language, one cannot read the joy, happiness, rapture or sadness.
Sometimes I speak to a person who has gone through the most dreadful experiences in his past, heard such hurtful comments, witnessed such atrocities and yet I hear no emotion in the voice…flat, no affect whatsoever. Over time the dam may open slowly when a person feels safe…In this case, a person had to hide all emotion to survive. To give in to emotion may weaken them and so life goes on with explosive emotions inflating their soul…heart, like a ticking time bomb.
Emotions are not excluded to humans, and we can see that with animals that we love. It could be a horse you would groom for hours before riding, your dog you have walked, bathed like a baby and cuddled with a towel to keep them warm, a cat that leans in close to get a pet, a scratch but deep inside we know it is to be close to you…expressing their emotions in their loving and natural way.
My grandfather had rescued a golden mix a few years before got terminally ill. GrandPapa died later in his bed at his home; when the ambulance came to take his body, Princess, the golden mix, followed the cot whimpering along the side and then went running in the basement howling so loudly. She did not come up for a whole week, so great was her grief.
****************************
© Tournesol ’15
It was late at night between Christmas and New Year’s, January, 1968. A time where mini skirts,fish-net stockings and short pea coats were the fashion…never warm enough for those winters in Quebec. A tuque or beret was fashionable but never worn covering the ears…that would not be stylish. The walk from the rec centre was several kilometers to her home by the river. How he fell in love with her baby blues…
Beneath wintry skies
pulls her close to him
gasping
~
beneath wintry skies
shivering in their Sunday best
holding hands
pulls her close to him
hearts beating
deafening
gasping
lips moistened like morning dew
their first kiss
© Tournesol ’15
What a great post our interim host, Paloma, has prepared with the prompt Summertime and introduction of a new impressionist, Rihard Jakopič, His art is stunning to depict this theme as well…who could not think of sun and yellow glowing colours and as for sounds we may hear birds, gulls and waves of the ocean. But what usually comes to mind the moment I see the word “summertime” is Ella Fitzgerald singing her (to me) signature song.
Paloma has shared a few haiku from great masters here:
it seems to wash
the summer mountains…
sunrise
© Issa
A summer river being crossed
how pleasing
with sandals in my hands!
© Buson
and our host’s impression:
rising sun
paints her shoulders golden –
summer morning –
golden morning
after a night of thunder –
how silent it is
© Paloma ‘15
I was up all night last night writing to catch up and well, my muse was ready so when she’s in the mood, I follow. Not always wise to stretch myself like that when I had only one day off this weekend.
I watched the sun rise in front of my workstation my patio faces east. The sky started its purplish hues, then turned pink and suddenly I looked up from my laptop and this big round ball of bright yellow above the horizon stared at me. I took photos but it would never do it justice what I witnessed. It looked like it was a ball of fire. It reminded me of something I remembered in religion classes, tongues of floating fire. Within minutes the sky turned misty and the sun just shied away. For about twenty minutes I witnessed this and I wonder just how many people actually did see this beautiful act of nature.
Troiku was created by Chèvrefeuille
golden star
hangs in the distance
morning pleas
~
© Tournesol ’15
This is a Fairy Tale Prompt – Mind Love Misery’s Menagerie
for a while
confined behind the waterfall
summer’s start
© Matsuo Basho (1644-1694)
**************************************************************
A fairy tale
by Tournesol’2015
The thunder of the waterfall echoed in the distance. Cher looked up at the sky and noticed dark rain clouds. She would have to hurry home soon if she didn’t want to get drenched but first she was curious. She walked all the way here for an hour from the other side of the village. She heard there was a path towards a secret garden. Her great-grandmother told her about it just before she died. “Cher, go to the garden luv, you must not miss this last chance to meet true joy.” She thought her grandmother was in her moments of dementia when she said that but still…what if?
Cher was near the falls now and the booming sound of tons of water falling was impressive and a bit daunting. Should she continue, she thought to herself peaking in the little opening between the two plum trees…and then she saw…
wild flowers
competing for attention
bursting in colours
There were mini gardens within the largest most spectacular garden she had ever seen. Daisies, buttercups, marigolds, lilies, sunflowers and so much more. At the centre of the garden was a cherry tree and the fragrance from the blossoms were so tantalizing. There was a section beneath the tree that looked like a velvet emerald carpet it was surreal…too perfect to be grass…and yet it was with tiny clovers interspersed and part of this exquisite verdure. She sat beneath the tree, picking at clover leaves and tasting their sweetness. She lay on her back for a moment admiring the clear blue sky …funny how the clouds disappeared here, she thought. The scented cherry blossoms seemed to have a hypnotic effect on her…she closed her eyes, “Just for a few minutes, I am so tired”…not realizing she was actually sleeping on a bed of poppies. They were so minuscule and not visible to the naked human eye.
soothing relief
entranced on a bed
of poppies
She was bathing in bubbling hot springs and suddenly soft laughter of what appeared to be children, woke her up from this wonderful dream. She looked around and saw little people the size of her thumb dressed in glitzy costumes of gold, silver and her favourite of all…azure blues. They giggled louder when they saw her raiser an eyebrow. A chipmunk sounding voice shouted, “Come along, let’s set the tea and sweets. The human is awake…quickly now!!”
It took ten little people to push a porcelain floral cup and saucer towards Cher. When she realized the tea was for her, she reached out and picked it up saving them another two “human” feet would have taken another five minutes for them. The tea was sweet like honey and fragrant like cerise noir. She felt like a queen being served by these tiny people. Could they actually be fairies, she thought. She must be dreaming.
honourable guest
visiting the Cherry garden
Way of Tea
She heard a melody that seemed familiar as she put her cup down. Over by the daisies, on an elevated grassy turf, a beautiful petite woman with a white silk gown sang like an angel. She must be an angel, Cher thought, Oh, my I can’t seem to get out of this dream. Gosh! I don’t want to get out of this dream!
voix mielleuse
refrain d’amour et longue vie
transpire doucement
~
honey tones
refrain of love and long life
gently trickle
Closing her eyes, she let that sweet voice wrap her in a spiritual wellness. Each note lightened her heart, made her feel refreshed… reborn.
bathed in
pure positive energy
born again
~
born again
releasing her grip
softening chi
*Tetsuya says that holding on to the bow too tightly too long only weakens the bow. I must know when it is time to soften my grip. This garden is one way to be in the moment and float on a bed of poppies…drift away from worries, work. Here I am me, beautiful and perfect in all my imperfections.
Cher left the garden feeling refreshed and revitalized; she reminded herself to come back more often and not wait until the clouds turned dark and heavy…regular visits here would be a mindful choice.
© Tournesol ’15
Lyrics
“May It Be”
May it be an evening star
Shines down upon you
May it be when darkness falls
Your heart will be true
You walk a lonely road
Oh! How far you are from home
Mornië utúlië ([Quenya:] Darkness has come)
Believe and you will find your way
Mornië alantië ([Quenya:] Darkness has fallen)
A promise lives within you now
May it be the shadow’s call
Will fly away
May it be your journey on
To light the day
When the night is overcome
You may rise to find the sun
Mornië utúlië ([Quenya:] Darkness has come)
Believe and you will find your way
Mornië alantië ([Quenya:] Darkness has fallen)
A promise lives within you now
A promise lives within you now
Carpe Diem Shuukan – Revitalize
Fairy Tale Prompt – Mind Love Misery’s Menagerie
What a pleasant surprise to see our poet, extraordinaire, filling in for Chévrefeuille today. Paloma not only writes beautiful poems, haiku and other Japanese forms, she goes into depth with each “prompt”…she truly takes her homework seriously and I have learned so much reading her creations and the added information and lovely music videos she chooses so well and that add flavour and warmth to her posts.
For today, we return to our featured poet, Fuyuko Tomita
Sansan to/ sosogu asahi no/fuzukue ni/ nokosu mikan no/ uta zo samishiki
How lonely I would be
left behind on my desk
an unfinished poem
in the glorious morning sun
© Fuyuko Tomita
(Note that the Japanese version is in five lines – but – as she explained to Chévrefeuille in a separate post – the English version is slightly different. She is translating her poem so as to keep the spirit of the original, more so than the structure of the original.) I love that idea! Occasionally I will compose a haiku or tanka in French or in English and feel confined when following the form when the meaning can be compromised.
Here is our interim host, Paloma’s response to this prompt:
at the bird feeder
three cardinals are squabbling –
a love triangle?
the poem that nudges my ribs
is fading with the laundry
© Paloma
**********************************************************************
I commute to and from work on public transit and most of my thinking and composing is done walking or waiting for the Métro or the bus. I have a mini notebook I can hold in the palm of my hand and I scribble haiku when I am still standing or sitting but when I am walking, the words seem to dribble even more. I try to remember when I get to work or home but most often the thought may be there but “that verse” or “ that line” is somewhere floating and I am left waiting for my muse to conspire…she comes when she IS ready…
(tanka)
shuffling home tonight
words spill recklessly
her muse takes over
she waits expectantly
just the hum of a laptop
© Tournesol ’15
I close my eyes off and on today and I seem to be in a wabi-sabi mood if that makes any sense. If I let myself float to places of nothingness I feel nano seconds of peace, sometimes sadness but not a hurting sadness. A feeling of when your heart swells and forces you to take a deeper breath, a louder exhalation…a sigh of melancholy. That is my day today…pure, simple and free. I close my eyes and remember those moments nursing my children…those precious moments in the middle of the night…no distractions in those days…no cell phones, no television…no dvd’s either. Just that opportunity to look into their eyes as they look up with wonder, with loving adoration, depending so much on me for love, sustenance and nurturing…those liquid blue eyes gaze at me.
such sweetness/so long ago, I close my eyes/back in time.
(Troiku)
pure innocence
love runs through my veins
I look at you
pure innocence
looks up in adulation
my heart melts
love runs through my veins
wrapping you in warmth
forever more
I look at you
purity of yesterday
revisits me
(c) Tournesol ’15
lean yet robust
keeps me whole in bitter chills,
shadow of your leaves
(c) Tournesol ’15
I just started reading Put your Lips Together by Hamish ‘Managua’ Gunn on my day off and sleepiness seems to take over me yet my mind won’t shut off…and so I quickly transferred those intruding thoughts to my keyboard, so I could go back to nothingness and passively pass the rest of my day off.
My mind’s entranced by words I read. It’s nice to wander to nowhere lands. But soon I feel a heaviness… I am too sleepy to read … I rest my head on velvet softness. Such a quandary since I must read to stop the thoughts exhausting me. I hang onto words from a new writer’s thoughts; his thoughts are motivating and let me to travel to places I’ve never been; ah yes, I remember one that I’d been long long ago in Aberdeen. Memories flood my soul as I drift in and out of alpha waves. IlLike riding the waves; I am so light …no featherlike, the sea transports me to islands where fishing is the only means of survival.
My eyes are heavy but my mind will not sleep. STOP!! I just want the mind to dull…be rid of any thoughts for a few moments…no contemplations, please, some respite, I implore.
I love to write but writing unlocks the dam of thoughts that gush forth so strong at times I can’t decipher good from bad, hell from heaven and so I read when my eyes can stay open to escape…And travel in the minds and thoughts of other writers so easier to take those words. They do not rush in tsunamis but more like streams of honey and melted butter. Small increments at a time …tiny palatable morsels. The perfect balance to satiate a hungry reader.
quiescent
laced in warm abode
melting lyrics
slumber meets me
I am compliant
silly putty
notions flutter
buzzing me to wakefulness
grief settles
grief settles
bleeds in every crevice
holds me hostage.
(c) Tournesol ’15
Tournesol dans un Jardin 