Poetry ~ Waka
She loved her road trips and spinning those wheels, playing her music and singing aloud with an open window. Truck stops were spread out in timely fashions almost as if fast food industries knew when you had to eat but more likely to gas up and pee.
Her fuel gauge told her she should stop soon; she sees a rest-stop with picnic tables surrounded by pine trees. The place is deserted and she sighs with relief.
highway rest-stop
scented pine and Camembert
make-believe terrace
© Tournesol ’15
The girls were at the family cottage up North for the summer and the local girls met up with them to go on a picnic. With packed lunches in their backpacks, off they went towards the creek, skipping stones to the other side. This led them to a darker, damp terrain leading into the woods. Sounds of various birds and crickets were heard over the rushing water of the creek
The youngest, chubby girl started whining she was scared. One of the locals mocked her, “Ooooo, stranger danger!! Are you afraid of the boogie man?”. She squealed and said she’d rather wait by the water and they took off into the woods. Minutes felt like hours to chubby, so she started skipping rocks by the creek until she slipped on one looking strangely different. She took a stick to poke the odd looking shape…
Moss covered stone
sleeps lazily by the creek
army of ants
army of ants
secured by rock-hard shield
camouflaged with moss
© Tournesol`’15
Photo credits: Totoiriyaasagao Hiroshige at Wikipedia Commons
Morning glories
dawn unfolds such beauty
the old nun prays
the old nun prays
loving memories soothe
dusk awaits
© Tournesol ’15
priest and morning glory
how many times reincarnated
under pine tree law
© Basho
in deep silence
under the cherry tree
a young priest
© Chèvrefeuille
Late in the night, after her shift she walked through the bush, her shortcut to the Métro. As she stepped onto the deserted street she could not help but notice a huge light beam down at her. She looked up and saw it smile at her. She stood moments in awe, enthralled by the magnificence of its beauty. Surely this was a sign…a blessing for her week.
Showered with grace
moonbeams ignite lone path
echoes a mantra
© Tournesol ’15
“The woman who follows the crowd will usually go no further than the crowd. The woman who walks alone is likely to find herself in places no one has ever been before.” ― Albert Einstein.
Fear not dear one
you know no limits
the world awaits
discover
learn, flower like a lotus
risk loving
world`s here for you
help to mend your broken heart
cheer you to go on
no boundaries
no limits that will bar you
believe in you
your potentiials
your power to rise
undying love
love amply
you will be loved
passionately
follow your heart
not the crowd who’s stuck
march further
seek curiously
live life like no tomorrows
believe in you.
© Tournesol`15
She follows the inspector like a mid-day shadow. He scratches on his notepad, silently walking the perimeter of the weather-beaten house. It leans more towards the river now. She sighs with a heavy heart, not realizing how time and weather has bent the ancestral abode.
weighed memories
sagging shoulders slope
weathered house bows
by the bank
feeder swings on rusted wire
lives perch
© Tournesol ’15
Written for Carp Diem “Weatherbeaten” meme
Glorious sunshine
captivates to distraction
stumbles on sidewalk
stumbles on sidewalk
sunshine infuses content
despite bitter winds
© Tournesol ’15
Y is for yesterday like yesteryear, the past. Such a word brings up so many different meanings. You walk into the office ready for that meeting you had been prepping for the past three weeks; the administrative assistance looks at you wide-eyed when you ask which room was reserved for said meeting. Stammering somewhat, she tells you it was “yesterday”…palm to forehead you jammed it so hard you are left with a red mark for a few hours and a splitting headache.
Poets and writers use this word with such passion; we do too especially if we are mourning a lost love, we feel pain and sadness at first. Later, hopefully, we can reminisce of sweet memories of yesterday’s precious moments.
And one cannot …EVER…forget the first loves of your youth…
(tanka)
Ah pure innocence!
yesterday, was such a fool
butterfly wings
loving you with heart and soul
like no…
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Purity made me think of Robert Munsch’s book “I love you Forever” which is a classic. You can read up more here and click on the sound and Munsch narrates his book…we never outgrow this book.
“I’ll love you forever,
I’ll like you for always,
as long as I’m living
my baby you’ll be.”
© Robert Munsch
tendresse pure
nourrisson dans son berceau
l’amour d’une maman
~
pure tenderness
newborn in his cradle
a mother’s love
© Tournesol ’15
Tournesol dans un Jardin 