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)
Poetry ~ Waka
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)
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 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

A Cherita – Daily Reflections – July 21 2017
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
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

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.
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

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
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.
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
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