Poetry ~ Waka
Where would she be without her daydreams? If it were not for reading and tapping on that keyboard from time to time, she might go through most of her days living in her head. Walking stirs such reveries! Driving or sitting on a bus or train opens doors to another world; watching the sun set or sitting in class to a boring lecture…lying in bed the daydreams simply roll on a neverending reel.
Reserved seating
dreams of castles in the air
eyelids screen
© Tournesol ’15
As a youth up to my early teens, my family would go camping from May (Victoria weekend) until mid-October (Canadian Thanksgiving). I would literally go for a quick swim about a week after the ice had melted…just to impress my father and he and my sister would take down the tent often in the snow in October.
Every weekend my parents, sister and I would ride up to Isle le Motte, Vermont (on Champlain Lake) to spend a weekend in the fresh air. Friday night when we arrived, would consist of eating split pea soup before going to bed and Saturday we would often have T-bone steak with huge wieners and baked potatoes on the BBQ for dinner.
Thankfully the family that camped next door were our good friends (more like our second family) from our hometown and had three children, the two eldest were teens; so the parents would sit around a campfire and do adult stuff like tells jokes and drink lots of Bloody Mary’s except for my dad who was sober since I was seven and the teens would listen to The Rolling Stones and the Beatles on our turntable….yes, there was electricity that served for our entertainment so we did not whine to our parents we were bored; electricity was only for tacky lanterns lit around the campsite and our record player.
Before starting the fire however, my father would combine the fixings to make home-baked beans, put it all in an earthenware pot and he had purchased a tiny square oven (looked just like a tin box) and dig it in the centre of the ground beneath the bonfire. The beans baked all night long .
New dawn whispers
Sunday breakfast simmers
neath amber ashes
© Tournesol’15
She is a hugger, born and raised… a touchy feely “minouching” person. Her mother could never get enough holding her, kissing her, hugging her. Her grandmaman rocked her and embraced her when she was sick. She always thought it was an innate asset for most mothers who had birthed children to have this gift of soothing their children regardless of their age. She never did outgrow that need to be hugged. One day she met Amma.
mother breeds love
devotees are her children
hugs with compassion
(c) Tournesol ’15
Written for Carpe Diem Special The Childless Woman
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
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
123rt.com bowling pins under cloudy sky
BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM!! She cowered and ran into her grandmother’s bedroom and dives under a pillow to block the rumble of the thunder. Her grandmother was counting the seconds between each lightening and each clap of thunder to gauge the distance of each lightning.
“N’aie-pas peur, ma belle poule aux oeufs d’or; les éclairs sont loins…il n’y a pas de danger. ” Her grandmother was looking out the window in the veranda and called her grand-daughter to come see. She told her a story that changed her outlook on thunder forever.
“When GrandPapa died last year, I had no money to support myself and so he found a way up in heaven to raise money for me. He joined the heavenly bowling league and plays for money. When you hear the thunder those are the bowling pins you hear and when you hear that huge thunderclap just a few minutes ago, well, that is a strike so I will be getting a nice fat pension this month! ”
Flash of lightning
rumble of the thunderbolt
blessing from heaven
© Tournesol ’15
Carpe Diem Special, Kala Ramesh’s fifth haiku “thunderclap”
thunderclap
the darkening sky splits
into liquid night
© Kala Ramesh
*******
hot summer day
battle between thunder and lightning
ah! cool summer rain
© Chèvrefeuille
Since she was a young child she would often whisper a short prayer on her way to school such as The Lord’s Prayer with the image of her grandfather in her mind’s eye and this practice continued as an adult on her way to work. In the past year she has been chanting her personal mantra with the image of Amma; sometimes her grandmother’s and mother’s images seem to slip in without her control.
Now she simply begins her mantra with the image of Amma and if her grandmother and mother want to slip in, she just goes with the flow. It is a wonderful way to start her day at work. In many ways she feels protected from some of the pain and suffering of her daily work.
scans the heavens
chanting her mantra
filled with devotion
filled with devotion
three mothers protect her
love bursts in tears
(c) Tournesol ’15
Le “cordonier mal chaussé” is often what her peers call her teasingly. When a young person calls her crisis line and is having a panic attack, she asks him to put one hand on his belly, then walks him through mindful breathing and eventually a guided imagery. Breathing in, the belly inflates like a balloon, breathing out, the belly flattens.
So many youths and adults tend to label themselves as suffering from some form of anxiety; however, there are also many youths who hear this “term” but have not been properly diagnosed. Living in a society of information overload it is no wonder many practice “googlism” as they surf the internet.
A young person may call for help with anxiety. The counsellor shakes her head when the youth answers her question to “Where did you get that diagnosis?” and it is “Oh, I googled it.” She shakes her head in dismay as she listens to the youth through her earpiece.
This counsellor, too must learn to practice some form of mindful breathing in order to find balance in her life. She chants daily on her walks or when she is upset; and so many times when her mind won’t shut off and slowly it reduces her breathing and she is able to finally be in control of her breath.
Sitting in a park or garden, she connects with an inner peace hearing only her breath and faint chirps. Her ultimate reward is sitting on the rooftop witnessing that giant golden star slip beneath the horizon and she is thankful to be alive and be part of this universe.
final brush strokes
transform hues on canvas
last slow breath
last slow breath
at one with the heavens
life’s cycle
© Tournesol ’15
Carpe Diem “Pranayana – Controlled breath”
Le “cordonier mal chaussé” literal translation, shoemaker with bad shoes, meaning not practicing what one preaches.
Depression can be a passage in time life offers one to take stalk of one’s life; other times it can be more complex…meeting up with past traumas, a chemical imbalance and the brain needs a boost of “vitamins”, a professional who accompanies one through the darkness so they don’t stumble in those twists and turns in that labyrinth of a tunnel…perhaps it is a moment to grieve which I often call a “necessary depression” to take the time one needs to mourn a loss…to recognize and embrace that moment even when it hurts. I remember telling a youth embracing suffering sounds so absurd but picture embracing a cactus! and once you have felt the pain, with a supportive listener helping you detach from the needles of that plant, a lightness is felt and finally one may find enlightenment.
(Troiku)
waiting in darkness
waiting for the light
nothing seems to…
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Everyone had left for school. The hush in the house was deafening. Edwina lay in her bed, swimming in her tormented pain. Soon she would have to get up. Her eyes looked to her right on the bedside table at the clock. It was 7:45 and she had to be at work at noon. How would she make it on time? Would she even try this time? She closed her eyes tightly, annoyed that she had not improved over the months. All the weeks of therapy, medication…nothing seemed to get her out of this “bain de torture”.
(haiku)
annoyed with self
wades in blistering pain
still awaits the hush
If she did not move any part of her body, breathed lightly and slowly, she might not hear her heart pounding in her ears. It was all in her head, they all said. There was no reason to feel tormented with what no one can see. There is no evidence that she feels what she feels. No proof of the sounds she hears. If only someone could possess her whole being, for one split second, they would surely jump out of her skin, she thought.
(tanka)
lays in wait
tremors stir inside her soul
grisly scream endures
tormenting thru and thru
‘til long desired hush
© Tournesol ’15
Heeding HaIku with HA at Mind Love Misery’s Menagerie
Tournesol dans un Jardin 
