Daily Moments July 24, 2017 simmering skin (troiku)

burning
under thin filters
I’m melting

burning
through ozone layers
earth is slipping

under thin filters
barely pink
bubbling

I screaming in the night
silent cries

©Tournesol’17/07/24
Daily Moments July 24, 2017 simmering skin (troiku)

Am I ready? (troiku) Daily Moments July 23, 2017

life
at a standstill
where am I?

life
mine and yours
planets apart

at a standstill
we gaze
different horizons

where am I
detaching
seeking the light

©Tournesol’17/07/23

Daily moments – Am I ready? (Troiku)  July 23, 2017

retrouvailles (a cherita – Daily reflections July 22, 2017)

Retrouvailles

A day filled with hope
kindling new beginnings

testing the waters
despite the cracked surface
will the foundation withstand?

©Cheryl-Lynn Roberts

Daily Reflections – July 22 2017 Retrouvailles

Daily Reflections July 21 2017 A Cherita

©Clr `17

A Cherita – Daily Reflections – July 21  2017

Credits: The Cherita

summer haze shrouds me

lazy sleep in on my first day off
hugging my pillow with a sigh

soft thumps of a neighbour’s kitten
insistent meow of my queen
purr of surrender

©Cheryl-Lynn Roberts – 2017/07/21

Cherita #5

Cherita #5

helping Grand-Maman made me feel special

some chores were less amusing
dusting can be so boring

watching her cooking
a pinch of this, a pinch of that
savouring herbs teasing me

running to the garden to get les haricots jaunes

slipping one or two in my mouth
crunchy and juicy

down in the cold cellar where wrinkled potatoes rest
dark and scary, spider webs brush my face
my heart flip flops

©Cheryl-Lynn Roberts 2017/07/21

Grand-Maman’s tales (Cherita) #1 – #4

© clr Grand-Maman 2014

I have just discovered the Cherita (A haiku/tanka inspired form created by ai li on June 22, 1997. Now this must have been calling me to pay attention. I had noticed a few of Celestine’s beautiful contributions both on Facebook and on her blog Reading Pleasure and she write the cherita as if she is singing ever so softly. She does have a way with words and metaphors that I truly admire.

Now the reason, I am more drawn to this form after reading the source of this(Celestine is generous enough to highlight after each postin), my mother’s birthday was June 22nd…that is one majour attraction; in 1997 I made a majour move away from family and friends, starting a new single life. And, lastly, the word Cherita is the Malay word for “story” or “tale” and I have been looking for a way to write les histoires ranconté by my grand-maman.

 

So I am going to try and write a cherita more often in my Daily reflections similar to what I have been doing in Waka (haiku, tanka, haibun). Thank you, Celestine, for sharing this form with your readers.

 

So for my first try I am simply going on a tale spin (not tailspin) but for my first time, this is a “spin off of tales” raconter (told) by my grandmother. Des histories Grand-maman m’a racontait autour de la table de cuisine avec une bonne tasse de thé. (Stories my grandmother shared at the kitchen table over a good cuppa tea).

Cherita #1

no sterile beginnings for me

twisting and turning
in a hurry to see your face

in the comfort of home
two generations holding me
my first bain d’amour

Cherita #2

Grand-maman was the town mid-wife. Doctors called upon her to stay the long hours, usually at night while expectant mothers were in labour. My grandmother would phone the doctor just when the mother was dilated enough so the doctor had little wait time to deliver the baby.

 

We would hear all sorts of stories about how some households were sometimes ill prepared for the birth of a 2nd, 3rd or 4th child. Growing up in a predominantly French Canadian and Catholic town, the church encouraged procreation and condemned birth control.

 

If you wanted to receive absolution for your sins at confessions and the priest got wind of avoiding copulation for fear of getting pregnant, you would have to forgo absolution for your sins on that day.

an unhappy husband hummed and hoed

needs not having been met
he actually told on his partner!

with a sign of the cross
tongue wagging on how to behave
his wife was not given absolution

Grandmaman told us this story how she found a way to get around “not refusing” her husband but still not being exposed to the chance of getting pregnant.

 

Ma Tante Rose comes for a visit every month

Sometimes this relative makes
unexpected stopovers

no one would question
that extra layer
husbands simply sigh and roll over.

 

Cherita #3

hot summer night

sitting by the riverbank
cicadas and bullfrogs compete

shrill of the musique à bouche (harmonica)
stepping and jigging to the beat

cutting through the thick
Grand-Papa bringing life
summer air

 

Cherita #4

finding perfection out of imperfect moments

There is something so ordinary
and yet so extra-ordinary

sitting
with family
on hot summer nights

no rules of behaviour

young or old
everyone’s engaged

telling tales of this and that
laughing and singing
foot tapping for sure

©Cheryl-Lynn Roberts 17/017/20

My first Cherita attempts…I am not sure if it is okay to include prose within the tales but for a first try, it just fit well.

Daily reflections summer hives and raspberry dreams troibun July 20 2017

 

Some eat raspberries and some wear them in full season like a fashion statement. She chuckles at her sense of humour trying to make fun of her summer hives. So much easier to digest when humour sweetens even the most bitter lemon.

succulent raspberries
sweet and juicy
running down her chin

succulent raspberries
filling her whole being
pink spotted legs

sweet and juicy
crunch of the seeds
stuck between her teeth

running down her chin
with a quick flick of the tongue
good to the last drop

©Tournesol`17/07/20

raspberry fields (troiku)

©Clr’17

(troiku)

children giggling
straw hats in open fields
raspberry smiles

children giggling
one for the basket
and two for me

straw hats in open fields
intent concentration
hovered over bushes

raspberry smiles
a mother’s favourite perfume
sweat mixed with sweetness

©Tournesol’17

CarpeDiem Haiku Kai

remembering when (troibun)

 

When she thinks of beach, today, memories of long ago walking along a sandy beach in Maine resurfaces. It was dusk…the tide was up, so she, her family and friends could not walk on the wet sand like they did in the afternoon. She was only eleven; he was fifteen. But they were almost the same height. He may have thought she was more mature in “that sense”.
The wind picked up as they stared out onto the ocean; they walked slightly away from the family both quiet in thought, as if they were in different worlds. She was so young and naïve, he was a romantic and a vibrant adolescent. He was so handsome, she remembers, and spoke little English. For some reason, his words in French were so poetic.

(troiku)

high tide waves
impressive yet cold
bare foot in the sand

high tide waves
bold and calculating
startling splash rouses

impressive yet cold
warmth of his hand rubs gently
on innocent hand

bare foot in the sand
watching life go by in the sea
dreaming different tales

She remembers the softness of his the back of hand gently stoking her hand. It felt so natural like holding hands with her sister or her best friend…comforting, endearing. Thinking about this in her tent that night, she wondered if he felt something different than she…after all he was so much older than she. That summer of 1963 where innocence is still a nice safe place to be.

©Tournesol’17/07/19

Written for Carpe Diem Haiku Kai : Beach

 

 

Daily reflections July 19 2017 illusive ruminations troiku

time wasted
churning old and spent
living in your head

time wasted
ten and one different ways
blaming

churning old and spent
no matter how hard you try
same old, same old

living in your head
illusory journeys
your wonderland

 

©Tournesol’17/07/19