Poetry ~ Waka
(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
summer breeze
through the window
quivering blossoms
summer breeze
rustling leaves
muffling moans
through the window
nature procreates
caterwauls
quivering blossoms
stems gyrate with the wind
pure delight
©Tournesol ‘17/11/27
Written for Haiku Horizons: Breeze
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
sinners in red Quadrille & senryu Micro Poetry Month 25
Below them,
the dark streets beckoned
with crimson light
men walking in secretly-
coming out with pure delight
inked red upon their lips
the townspeople knew all too well
the going’s on in this house of sin
lust seekers who’ll be going to hell.
who are you
to judge
casting the last stone?
we are all sinners
in the eyes of the Creator,
self-righteous one!
©Tournesol’17/11/25
At Micro Poetry Monteh #25, we are asked to write a quadrille, a poem of 44 words. I have included the First Line Friday from MindLoveMiserysMenagerie which you see in italics to form my quadrille.
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
first Robin spotted
the low lands are facing the dark
snow falls softly (c) Chėvrefeuille’17
first robin spotted
the low lands are facing the dark
snow falls softly
first robin spotted
pecking with purpose
on mother’s clothes line
the low lands are facing the dark
shadow slowly lifts
at dawn
snow falls softly
marking their spot
amid fallen leaves
(c) Tournesol ‘17/11/24
Written for Heeding Haiku with Chèvrefeuille at MindLoveMiserysMenagerie
Below them,
the dark streets beckoned
with crimson light.
below them
silence of city streets
screamed with loneliness
the dark streets beckoned
warmer hearts
and fuller bellies
with crimson light
feigning love and musky scents
to pay the rent
(c) Tournesol’17/11/24
First Line Friday at MindLoveMiserysMenagerie
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 