Rolling waves
wind gusts bind the jib
stirring bellies
staring at the mocking sky
through the porthole
© Tournesol ’15
Written for Tanka Poets on Site on Facebook
Prompt: Through the porthole
Poetry ~ Waka
Rolling waves
wind gusts bind the jib
stirring bellies
staring at the mocking sky
through the porthole
© Tournesol ’15
Written for Tanka Poets on Site on Facebook
Prompt: Through the porthole

She sits with mixed feelings, watching the sun set. The wind picks up from le Mont Royale on the rooftop. She is saddened to see such beauty leave her hemisphere. And then she smiles, reminded that as she bows in reverence thinking of her friends on the other side.
star of my heart
baring thy omnipresence
fills me with bliss
star of my heart
so much love to share
radiance released
baring thy omnipresence
all-pervading love unfolds
rising in the East
fills me with bliss
whispering good morning
my brothers’ new dawn
© Tournesol ’15

nightlife grabs her
feet tap-tap to the beat
leaping to a tango
nightlife grabs her
blossoms like a moonflower
alive and wanting
feet tap-tap to the beat
their bodies cling urgently
little space to breathe
leaping to a tango
grabs her like a rag doll
locked in hot embrace
© Tournesol ’15

moments of delight
yesteryear or yesterday
joys reborn
bitter cold winters
darkness shrouds light of day
recalling blossoms
budding on apple trees
visions bring me back to joy
all those firsts
hearing “Mommy, I wuv you”
brings such joy
sun kissed skies
dewdrops on soft white petals
early dawn of joy
sunset
dips beneath blue azure
fluid hues of joy
© Tournesol ’15
He read the pink note again she had given him in math class. He hurriedly stuffed it in his pocket and walked home with a goofy grin.
mind buzzing
butterflies in his tummy
drunk on love
(c) Tournesol’15
pre-dawn cloudburst
flowers hang their heavy heads
old man heaves
coming home from Hurley’s Pub
hanging low away from mum
(c) Tournesol ’15
http://chevrefeuillescarpediem.blogspot.ca/2015/08/on-trail-with-basho-encore-11-drinking.html
–
– NEKNEERAJ
The little prince would wake up before the servants so he could watch the sun rise. He would run out into the field, such a little tyke of only five and sit crossed legged in the darkness and wait. The sun peeked slowly through dark clouds and he felt the ground tremble under him …a steady drumming until the sun shone on his face. He heard singing in a language he did not understand but the voices came from children he could not quite see. He imagined cherubs smiling and floating around him…he remembers Mother showing him images of these “angels”, she called them.
He would run back home and climb back into bed and pretend to be asleep when Mother came in to kiss him good morning.
“Come, child, it is time for your singing lessons.” He jumped out of bed so excited to learn more. His spirit seemed to soar when he sang. The lesson lasted three hours and for a child his age it was like an entire day. The rest of the day he went out to play in the field with the children of servants until sunset…
At that moment he would run away from the children to his special spot he usually sat early mornings and looked at the sun dip into the horizon. The trembling was not there, the singing was not either, only the faint sound of a flute that seemed to cry softly bringing tears to his eyes as Mother Nature bid him good night.
(tanka)
morning sunshine
earth shudders…`tis time
message in the glow
enchanting chorus echoes
communion of their souls
© Tournesol’15