Mountain peak (troiku)

cherry blossoms
tender petals weep
like snowflakes

cheery blossoms reel
sighs of a woman
peaked

tender petals weep
whisper with the wind,
teardrops on ivory

like snowflakes
on tender cheeks
blush

blessed horizon (haibun)

On the rooftop, she sits gazing at the horizon. The wind from Mont Royale blows long dark strands defying any rules of fashion. She brushes her hair off her face to take in the show…curtains draped back to see the whole view.

sun slips
into the horizon
fills me with grace

river flows (haiku)

river rapids roll,
waves of doubts spill over
babbling clear waters

babbling clear waters
overflowing words
a haiku beckons

Carpe Diem Haiku Kai

a silent wash of tears (haibun)

It was my first retreat. I was sharing a room with a long time devotee I had never met. I was not even worried but what did unnerve me, was how would I react when this spiritual Mother, this world renowned guru would arrive? Would I feel something special within? Would there be a sign from the universe? I was going out of curiosity that summer of 2014 as I had been seeking something to help me grow spiritually. I was open to learn.

The first day I arrived I waited with my token, in a long line, to be embraced by this amazing woman. I reached the stage and sat down waiting to be summoned to move forward. I could feel my body shake out of anticipation or nervousness.
I wasn’t sure which.

My mind went back to when I had to face the bishop as a child at my Confirmation. I was so nervous I had to pee so bad! Not unusual since I was confirmed at five years old. Young? Yes, but I was tall and my mother wanted to spare the embarrassment of towering over my peers, so the priest gave his permission. I took extra Catechism lessons and memorized The Apostles’ Creed and I would be led to that man with the tall pointed hat! I did not appreciate the slap on the cheek (The teacher forgotten to tell me about that part)

Minutes later, I was standing in front of the beloved Mother and I lowered my body to be embraced. Her warm hug was like that of my grandmother’s, as if we knew each other forever and yet we were strangers…or had we once met in another lifetime?

Three days of similar rituals, meditations, warm compassionate talks and beautiful stories, singing…so much singing and the tap tap of the Tabla drums filled the room. On Devi Bhava, after Amma had completed all her hugs, her blessings and it was time to leave…she stood up on the stage, looking at all her devotees for one last long endearing moment.

The vast room filled with thousands of people fell silent…mere echoes of a far away cough, a tiny baby gurgling and Amma’s eyes on all of her devotees; was it possible to feel this pure love wash over each and everyone in that hall?

crowd falls silent
Holy Mother’s reverent gaze
beat of a heart,
echoes in the chamber of a chest
tears roll softly down a cheek

preys of deception (troiku)

that innocent look,
puppy dog eyes luring
victims of his charm

that innocent look
they fall prey
his deceptive charm

puppy dog eyes wait
charm them in parks and beaches
false look of kindness

victims of his charm
sobbing victims betrayed,
look of pretense

This week, we are to do opposite meanings in our two formed sentences. RonavanWrites Weekly Haiku Poetry Prompt Challenge “Charm & Look”

traces (troiku)

taoraruru hito ni kaoru ya ume no hana

the flowering branch of the plum
gives its scent
to him who broke it off

************

frail and broken
trace of plum blossoms linger
on his fingers

frail and broken
during winter’s slumber
waiting to heal

trace of plum blossoms linger
now and forever
their first love

on his fingers
only an illusion
scent of her shampoo

Heeding Haiku with Chèvrefeuille at MindLoveMiserysMenagerie

treasures (haiku)

hidden treasures
at the bottom of the sea
on a string of pearls

le temps des fêtes (haibun)

The week before Christmas was a busy time in la famille Lafleuré. Baking of tourtières with veal and moose, maple syrup doughnuts, apple pies, sugar and pecan pies. Pheasants were killed and cleaned for Christmas dinner. Grandmère Lafleur was busy making toffee candy for the children Christmas Eve when they would sit around the decorated tree telling stories of Noël long ago.

Children were excited and cleaning their rooms including under the bed since they were told le Père Noël did a survey in all childrens’ bedrooms to ensure they did all their chores.

Papa Lafleur had finished cleaning the fireplace and Christmas Eve afternoon, he went up on the roof of the house while the children were skating on the pond. They loved watching their father clean the chimney singing old ballads from long ago. Before coming down, he tied a long red velvet ribbon around the chimney. Tonight was the night Santa would visit from the north Pole.

C’est le temps des fêtes
les enfants crient de joie
l’arrivé du Père Noël

©Tournesol ’15

Carpe Diem Haiku Kai

melancholy (haibun)

This is a time of year a virus peaks its ugly head around mid-November. It spreads a virus to those most vulnerable. You may not “catch” it at the same time; you may not catch it every year and yet, there does not seem to be guaranteed antibiotic to cure its infective powers.

September days start waning as the sun sets sooner; October days rob you of nature’s dinner’s sweetest and most potent “digestif”. November drops its veil of hoary matter and thickens day after day, week after week hiding nature’s Monet, slowly slipping into Picasso’s Blue period. Nights are longer than days and symptoms of this virus multiply

Humans are deprived of nature’s nutrient feeding brains with hope and cheer. Life, death, separation and loss blend. Waiting, as it stings open wounds and those who’ve barely healed are reminded of life’s demises.

Children as well as adults struggle through these muddy paths sucked into the windstorm of grief and loss adjusting to season’s changes in the depths of their heart and soul.

Staring out her window, faithful cat by her side, cloves comes to mind. That dark bud stares at her, hard and bitter scents bleed into her soul, remembering Grandmaman in the kitchen adding spices to the turkey dressing. A portion of sage, pepper, salt and savory, are measured in the palm of her hand. She smiles when asked the portions as she adds just a pinch of cloves. Only she had the antidote that lifts the greyness of the soul and makes the heart beat anew.

Mother’s spice of life
unopened flower buds
cloves of promise

The prompt at Linda Hill’s Friday reminder for Stream of Conciousness Saturday is “clo”

Indian Summer (haibun)

©Clr`15/12/08

Fallen leaves carpet grounds in ambers, except for those that hold on limbs for dear life. Parks are barren, missing squeals of youths and laughter among families. Park benches are abandoned by lovers, both young and old. Autumn’s melancholy mushrooms over time as winds blow mockingly. Suddenly, temperatures rise to unseasonal heights with warmer days, oh! so short-lived, teasing all things living.

Indian Summer squats
basking under sun kissed skies
Mother Nature lies.

Six Sentence Stories “lie”