Poetry ~ Waka
Memories of long ago so vivid, she can taste it. A young girl walks to school in the bitter cold. Crunch crunch, echo from her tiny feet. White smoke comes out her mouth like magic and dewdrops trickle from her eyes clouding her vision.
florets
smaller than springtime buds
sit on eyelashes
looks up open-mouthed
flower tingles her warm tongue
snowflake melts
© Tournesol’15/11/06
The sun is smiling today. There is still an extra hour of bright colours before I am forced to retire to the gloom of old church dorms. I must hurry and not waste time in the narrows of my mind! It is time to capture what my heart might see some day…again. Oh to have lived among the life of such hints, once sparked my life.
The sky is bursting with bright aqua and the sun is so bright it dominates the clouds. Billows smile in her golden glow. Oh how I would love to be there some day and run through the fields with my lover. Hand in hand skipping like youngsters again. Oh, to be young again and soulfully alive.
It is a good harvest, I overheard a farmer say to the cook last week. And yes, I can see the wealth of wheat so much prettier in the fields; blow, blow wind! Run while you still can until we meet again in the grey pit of my breakfast bowl where only milk and brown sugar will turn you into a shade of mud.
feel nature’s pulse
golden wheat waltz
lilt of the wind
© Tournesol ’15
November Haibun #3
THE WALTZING WIND – Michiel Merkies – Piano Solos volume 1
It’s not even three in the afternoon and already the day is ready to close right before my eyes. Sadly, I watch the clouds get darker from my window. Even the cars passing by on the boulevard are louder. I hear a humming that was not there in the summer. I just realized this a few days ago, it is the winter tires that make the traffic sound louder and soon I will be hearing the studded tires crackling along on the pavement too.
As the season gets darker, bleaker, barren and colourless perhaps the sounds seem more acute as well notwithstanding those studded tires of course.
humming lullabies
daylight slowly sinks –
sleep well
© Tournesol ’15
Inspired by these gems written by our host at CDHK “frosted grass”
early morning sunlight
frosted grass around the yurt
puffs of breath
© Chèvrefeuille
hoarfrost on the grass
melts in the early sunlight
life passes
© Chèvrefeuille
rime tipped grass
catching rays of sunshine
co-exist
© Tournesol’15-11-02
Thinks of her mother
leaving this world unknowingly
will she forget too?
© Tournesol ‘15/11/02
Summer come and gone
their love like footprints on sand
forget me not
© Tournesol’15/11/02
cobwebbed stairwells
children playing “dress-up”– shout!
trick or treat!
old lady adjusts her hat
well, now my little pretties!
Heeding Haiku with Chèvrefeuille at MindLoveMiserysMenagerie
red door at night
hidden under the stairs
still caught my eye
© Tournesol ’15
late night stroll
life shines through draped windows,
are we there yet?
© Tournesol ’15
On my way home to the Métro from work, I stopped a moment to embrace the quiet of the night and the lovely autumn colours. Then I admired the doors along the way.
Tonight I walked home from work after eleven and just soaked up what I saw and stopped a few moments to take photos to capture those moments. I got to the Métro and wrote this troiku immediately before losing that feeling I had just a few moments ago. Of course these are ” Shasei” rather than haiku developped into a troiku.
Walking home
slippery streets mock
autumn leaves
~
walking home
beauty swells in the light
silent night
~
slippery streets mock
I walk gingerly
catch a twilight view
~
autumn leaves mock
cold and wet – yet,
colour my world
© Tournesol ’15
“Though this technique is often given Shiki’s term Shasei (sketch from life) or Shajitsu (reality), it has been in use since the beginning of poetry in the Orient. The poetic principle is “to depict the thing just as it is“…He favored the quiet simplicity of just stating what he saw without anything else happening in the haiku. He found the greatest beauty in the common sight, simply reported exactly as it was seen, and ninety-nine percent of his haiku written in his style. Many people still feel he was right.”
She thinks of times her muse would visit and literally just take over. Looking over old poems of various forms, she has no choice but to believe this must be so because of the depth and eloquence of some poetry. No, it must be some spiritual intervention, that has to be the answer.
September had thirty days of haiga and that may have forced the hand of her muse a bit. Then she dared to attempt the challenge of 31 days of poetry at OctPoWriMo and now she is feeling the crunch. Her muse may be a little passive aggressive. And she should be! Why should she expect her muse to produce “on command”? And so she waits tonight at one in the morning …
humble insights,
pen cannot scratch the surface
muse is ripe
muse is ripe
wildflower blossoms
even in autumn
© Tournesol ’15
Written for Ronovan Writes Poetry prompt 68 – Hiaku – Pen & Muse
Tournesol dans un Jardin 
