Poetry ~ Waka
Walking home after school in spring, she drags her feet singing “Cherish” under her breath. The sun was still shining but a few clouds started moving overhead slowly. She hardly noticed droplets on her chin. Looking up she smiles, knowing somewhere there will be a rainbow.
dancing softly
tiny puddles on the river
raindrops
~
warm droplets
kiss her eyelashes
sun winks
© Tournesol ’15
At Carpe Diem we are given a beautiful painting by Van Gogh where the artist spent his last years. Our host, Chèvrefeuille chose House of Auvers for our inspiration to write a haiku. It is an image that one can relate to in many ways. See more information at Carpe Diem – House (au Auvers)
Since the industrial revolution, so many “home visits” have been postponed until spring or summertime. In many parts here in the Montreal area and suburbs, that is mainly due to the weather and icy roads. I used to work for a steel company who gave their employees a 4-day weekend at Easter so many could drive down to Gaspé for instance, to visit their family; most of these families had moved here for work but their hearts were still back home.
village réanimé
retrouvaille familiale
cries des goélands
***
emerging village
family reunions
gulls shriek
© Tournesol ’15
It’s been a while since I sense your presence and yet, that may be a good sign. You are finally reunited with the love of your love. I had a dream last night. Bette, my feline friend who is named after your nickname was playing hide-and-go-seek in your house. We were in your bedroom. You had been on some health food diet and you were clearing your closet. I was shocked to see such order! Well, we know that that was not a priority for you. And why should it, when you had more important things to do, like sit by the window, sipping your coffee and watch the birds by the river, pecking at the bird feeder. Or getting all dolled up with your designer outfits; applying Lancôme or Clinique to moisten your skin; a touch of ombre à paupière and a trace of eyeliner; before running out to go shopping, applying your favourite rouge à lèvre and la pièce de résitance...three sprays of Shalimar.
Whenever you visited your scent lingered for days and any clothes you gave me, laundry could not remove that faint scent of your eau de toilette…that trace of Colombe.
In my dream, Bette snuck behind the wall of your closet and when I followed, feeling like Alice in Wonderland, I found a slight opening and there was a narrow room with odd trinkets and old furniture. Bette had adopted a small filing cabinet. I had never seen this room. You were busy washing clothes, sorting the closet and your commode. It was as if I was not really there but you sort of knew I was there…It felt like I was watching a movie of you…there was a screen separating us, preventing us from touching, hugging.
When I awakened, I realized this was another little visit. And now you know why I named my feline friend, Bette. I’m so glad you met her.
my shawl breathes
scents of Shalimar
trace of you
my shawl breathes,
reminiscence woven
you and me
scents of Shalimar
sweet scented sounds
your laughter
trace of you
faint trails of eau de toilette
remind me of you
© Tournesol ’15
A Troiku is a new haiku form created by Chèvrefeuille at Carpe Diem Haiku Kai
A Haibun is a narrative (prose) followed by haiku. For more information check Haibun Thinking.
One expresses emotions in varied ways and for some it is spontaneous and simply who they are. Perhaps you are like me when you see someone you love and have not seen in a while, you run up to the person and hug them, kiss them on each cheek.
Overjoyed the morning I felt my son moving in my tummy…the basement of our new home had flooded and I could not hide my joy. Could not relate to the damage, the flood or any problem whatsoever for a human life did somersaults in MY tummy!!
Oh how I weep with joy every time I see my daughter performing in a choir, when my son did a guitar solo and sang a Bob Dylan song, when they graduated both from high school and college; and even today when I see them smiling and teasing each other…the joy just takes too much place in my heart and so I weep.
Perhaps your emotions are too close to the surface and your heart swells so much you weep the moment a word hurts your feelings; perhaps it is anger that is too difficult to conceal and you shout, rage or cry again. Maybe you have always felt life dealt you a raw deal and everyone and everything you touch must be for your loss, like a child who stomps off angry because Mommy would not let him eat candy before dinner.
And then there are those who do not express emotions as easily and it eats at them, festers and makes them sick…they are not “at ease” hence it stirs “dis-ease”. The persons who cannot weep when they grieve, express their love when they long, show their joy when they are gripped with such a powerful love…yet to look at their body language, one cannot read the joy, happiness, rapture or sadness.
Sometimes I speak to a person who has gone through the most dreadful experiences in his past, heard such hurtful comments, witnessed such atrocities and yet I hear no emotion in the voice…flat, no affect whatsoever. Over time the dam may open slowly when a person feels safe…In this case, a person had to hide all emotion to survive. To give in to emotion may weaken them and so life goes on with explosive emotions inflating their soul…heart, like a ticking time bomb.
Emotions are not excluded to humans, and we can see that with animals that we love. It could be a horse you would groom for hours before riding, your dog you have walked, bathed like a baby and cuddled with a towel to keep them warm, a cat that leans in close to get a pet, a scratch but deep inside we know it is to be close to you…expressing their emotions in their loving and natural way.
My grandfather had rescued a golden mix a few years before got terminally ill. GrandPapa died later in his bed at his home; when the ambulance came to take his body, Princess, the golden mix, followed the cot whimpering along the side and then went running in the basement howling so loudly. She did not come up for a whole week, so great was her grief.
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© Tournesol ’15
It was late at night between Christmas and New Year’s, January, 1968. A time where mini skirts,fish-net stockings and short pea coats were the fashion…never warm enough for those winters in Quebec. A tuque or beret was fashionable but never worn covering the ears…that would not be stylish. The walk from the rec centre was several kilometers to her home by the river. How he fell in love with her baby blues…
Beneath wintry skies
pulls her close to him
gasping
~
beneath wintry skies
shivering in their Sunday best
holding hands
pulls her close to him
hearts beating
deafening
gasping
lips moistened like morning dew
their first kiss
© Tournesol ’15
What a great post our interim host, Paloma, has prepared with the prompt Summertime and introduction of a new impressionist, Rihard Jakopič, His art is stunning to depict this theme as well…who could not think of sun and yellow glowing colours and as for sounds we may hear birds, gulls and waves of the ocean. But what usually comes to mind the moment I see the word “summertime” is Ella Fitzgerald singing her (to me) signature song.
Paloma has shared a few haiku from great masters here:
it seems to wash
the summer mountains…
sunrise
© Issa
A summer river being crossed
how pleasing
with sandals in my hands!
© Buson
and our host’s impression:
rising sun
paints her shoulders golden –
summer morning –
golden morning
after a night of thunder –
how silent it is
© Paloma ‘15
I was up all night last night writing to catch up and well, my muse was ready so when she’s in the mood, I follow. Not always wise to stretch myself like that when I had only one day off this weekend.
I watched the sun rise in front of my workstation my patio faces east. The sky started its purplish hues, then turned pink and suddenly I looked up from my laptop and this big round ball of bright yellow above the horizon stared at me. I took photos but it would never do it justice what I witnessed. It looked like it was a ball of fire. It reminded me of something I remembered in religion classes, tongues of floating fire. Within minutes the sky turned misty and the sun just shied away. For about twenty minutes I witnessed this and I wonder just how many people actually did see this beautiful act of nature.
Troiku was created by Chèvrefeuille
golden star
hangs in the distance
morning pleas
~
© Tournesol ’15
What a pleasant surprise to see our poet, extraordinaire, filling in for Chévrefeuille today. Paloma not only writes beautiful poems, haiku and other Japanese forms, she goes into depth with each “prompt”…she truly takes her homework seriously and I have learned so much reading her creations and the added information and lovely music videos she chooses so well and that add flavour and warmth to her posts.
For today, we return to our featured poet, Fuyuko Tomita
Sansan to/ sosogu asahi no/fuzukue ni/ nokosu mikan no/ uta zo samishiki
How lonely I would be
left behind on my desk
an unfinished poem
in the glorious morning sun
© Fuyuko Tomita
(Note that the Japanese version is in five lines – but – as she explained to Chévrefeuille in a separate post – the English version is slightly different. She is translating her poem so as to keep the spirit of the original, more so than the structure of the original.) I love that idea! Occasionally I will compose a haiku or tanka in French or in English and feel confined when following the form when the meaning can be compromised.
Here is our interim host, Paloma’s response to this prompt:
at the bird feeder
three cardinals are squabbling –
a love triangle?
the poem that nudges my ribs
is fading with the laundry
© Paloma
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I commute to and from work on public transit and most of my thinking and composing is done walking or waiting for the Métro or the bus. I have a mini notebook I can hold in the palm of my hand and I scribble haiku when I am still standing or sitting but when I am walking, the words seem to dribble even more. I try to remember when I get to work or home but most often the thought may be there but “that verse” or “ that line” is somewhere floating and I am left waiting for my muse to conspire…she comes when she IS ready…
(tanka)
shuffling home tonight
words spill recklessly
her muse takes over
she waits expectantly
just the hum of a laptop
© Tournesol ’15
I close my eyes off and on today and I seem to be in a wabi-sabi mood if that makes any sense. If I let myself float to places of nothingness I feel nano seconds of peace, sometimes sadness but not a hurting sadness. A feeling of when your heart swells and forces you to take a deeper breath, a louder exhalation…a sigh of melancholy. That is my day today…pure, simple and free. I close my eyes and remember those moments nursing my children…those precious moments in the middle of the night…no distractions in those days…no cell phones, no television…no dvd’s either. Just that opportunity to look into their eyes as they look up with wonder, with loving adoration, depending so much on me for love, sustenance and nurturing…those liquid blue eyes gaze at me.
such sweetness/so long ago, I close my eyes/back in time.
(Troiku)
pure innocence
love runs through my veins
I look at you
pure innocence
looks up in adulation
my heart melts
love runs through my veins
wrapping you in warmth
forever more
I look at you
purity of yesterday
revisits me
(c) Tournesol ’15
lean yet robust
keeps me whole in bitter chills,
shadow of your leaves
(c) Tournesol ’15
I just started reading Put your Lips Together by Hamish ‘Managua’ Gunn on my day off and sleepiness seems to take over me yet my mind won’t shut off…and so I quickly transferred those intruding thoughts to my keyboard, so I could go back to nothingness and passively pass the rest of my day off.
My mind’s entranced by words I read. It’s nice to wander to nowhere lands. But soon I feel a heaviness… I am too sleepy to read … I rest my head on velvet softness. Such a quandary since I must read to stop the thoughts exhausting me. I hang onto words from a new writer’s thoughts; his thoughts are motivating and let me to travel to places I’ve never been; ah yes, I remember one that I’d been long long ago in Aberdeen. Memories flood my soul as I drift in and out of alpha waves. IlLike riding the waves; I am so light …no featherlike, the sea transports me to islands where fishing is the only means of survival.
My eyes are heavy but my mind will not sleep. STOP!! I just want the mind to dull…be rid of any thoughts for a few moments…no contemplations, please, some respite, I implore.
I love to write but writing unlocks the dam of thoughts that gush forth so strong at times I can’t decipher good from bad, hell from heaven and so I read when my eyes can stay open to escape…And travel in the minds and thoughts of other writers so easier to take those words. They do not rush in tsunamis but more like streams of honey and melted butter. Small increments at a time …tiny palatable morsels. The perfect balance to satiate a hungry reader.
quiescent
laced in warm abode
melting lyrics
slumber meets me
I am compliant
silly putty
notions flutter
buzzing me to wakefulness
grief settles
grief settles
bleeds in every crevice
holds me hostage.
(c) Tournesol ’15
A funny thing happened to me on my way home tonight. I dressed warm, ready for my usual bitter cold walk to the metro. I actually look like a burglar dressed up in black, all you can see are my nose and eyes. I still chanced the shortcut out back and there was only about 300 metres with snow drifts to get to the street. No problem. I was quite pleased with myself considering that the street was only half ploughed. The scraper had scraped right to the icy surface. The street looked like a skating rink. No kidding! If more people would have been awake at this time, for sure some might have skated and youngsters would have slid on their boots. I get to the Métro Rosemont and for the first time I see dozens of people inside the small square waiting for their busses. Yep, it is that cold! (Oh did I tell you I froze for an hour Valentine’s evening after my nice café adventure? I waited an hour in the cold for a bus to get home. I was so cold by the time I got home, my body would not get warm enough. I felt feverish and achy all over. Had to call in sick the next day (Sunday) as there was NO way in this century I was braving the cold.)
So back to tonight. I take the métro to Bonaventure and my bus is already there awaiting me (well, it feels good to think so). I get on the bus engrossed in my novel I am reading by Alice Keys, Rose (check her out at Aliceville)…up to Chapter 89 now. Gosh! One thing I do not like about e-readers is you cannot tell if you are close to the end so for the past 20+ chapters I am wondering when that will be. I will let ya’ll know about this book that has captured my attention for the past 2 days now. I am a slow reader and when I want to remember something I highlight it…and read it over. I know, weird but that is me if I read a book that someone I sort of know wrote itJ. I have been too brain dead and tired to write much lately, so I am so glad I have a novel that is keeping me absorbed.
I settle on the bus and open my Kindle again and once I get on le pont Champlain I hear a funny sound. It sounds like a phone but no one is picking up. I feel in my breast pocket of my winter coat and take my new I-phone out and yep, it was for me. I have to change that ringer to match what I had on my Samsung…a little Motown sounds I recognize…not this techno weird stuff.
A colleague tells me I forgot my home keys at the office. OH NO!! NOT AGAIN! My heart drops for a split second and then I realize I am still on the bus, I have not walked the 10 minute walk to my apartment in the cold to discover I did not have my keys and walk back again in the cold to the bus. All I had to do was sit on the warm bus that was going back to Montreal in five minutes. No problem, I tell my colleague but it would be nice if someone is off work to bring the keys to the subway near work so I don’t have to brave the cold walk again to the office. A colleague offers to drive to the Métro with her hubby who was picking her up and she would wait for me there. She has done this already once for me two years ago. Good Lord there are angels on this planet!!
So I stay on the bus, get on the Métro again. Then I see about six Montreal Police officers waiting to check the trains on the line I was taking. Shoot! They have this Miami Vice swagger when they walk, and feathered hair spiked up…nice and messy…in their camo pants and high laced boots…they have been negotiating their pension for the past year and this is one way they are protesting (dressing like this)… …like that’ll get the public respect for law enforcement. I digress…they look in each train and find no one. One police officer takes a snapshot with his phone of a tag from a gang member in my car. I didn’t dare tell him there was another tag next to me near the window…I was in a hurry to get my home keys!! Priorities now people!!
On the ride I read an email on my phone from a person who has been following me on Stigma Hurts Everyone for two years. She wrote a beautiful long letter telling me how my blog impacted on her especially a post I wrote about a homeless person entitled “Do you even see me?” Her words truly touched me how she has changed her attitude towards homelessness now and well, that truly warmed my heart to read this. I had no idea my words could have such an impact!
Then I read another email from my favourite supervisor in Toronto and friend. It is sort of a chain letter regarding an angel and G-d will do two BIG positive things for me in the next few days. As I read this I wanted to answer but didn’t have WiFi. I wanted to reply right away: G-d already did the two amazing things…my colleague who was meeting me at the Métro with my keys and this beautiful letter from a follower of my blog.
I am beaming just about now and my chest is bursting in my mom’s psychedelic housecoat (smiles).
I love days like today…not expecting anything and then being blessed with such kindness it makes me want to cry with joy.
crunch crunch on the snow
Icicles on eyelashes
a near starless sky
crunch crunch on the snow
exhaling smoke-like vapours
wobbling on ice
icicles from on lashes
body moves on automat
same old same old
a near starless sky
two angels winked down on me
what a blessed day!
© Tournesol ’14
The Troiku was created by Chévrefeuille at Carpe Diem Haiku Kai. Please check here to learn more.
Tournesol dans un Jardin 
