Tankas with Cara Fortey
Welcome to Day 16 of Verselove. We are so happy you are here, however you choose to be present. If you know what to do, carry on; if you are not sure, begin by reading the inspiration and mentor poem, then scroll to the comment section to post your poem. Please respond to at least three other poets in celebration of words, phrases, ideas, and craft that speak to you. Click here for more information on the Verselove.
Cara lives in Salem, Oregon where she is in her 26th year at South Salem High School. She teaches World Literature and Philosophy, Creative Writing, Creative Writing 2 and remedial reading. She spends her free time with her two sons (ages 19 and 16) and Maté, her Goldendoodle.
Inspiration
Though I have a relatively good familiarity with traditional Japanese poetic forms, when taking a continuing education class a couple of summers ago, I was introduced to a different version of tankas.
Process
The term “tanka” is synonymous with the term “waka,” which more broadly denotes all traditional Japanese poetry in classical forms. The word tanka translates to “short poem” or “short song” and they were a common means of communication for personal correspondence. Tankas also feature prominently in Japanese literature, such as The Tale of Genji and the Man’yōshū.
Japanese poets historically wrote these in one unbroken line, but now, modern Japanese poets write them in three lines. Typically, when tankas are written in English, they utilize five lines, similar to a cinquain, and follow certain relatively strict criteria concerning their structure and content.
Harryette Mullen, an American poet and Professor of English at University of California, Los Angeles, took the 31 syllables of the anglicized 5/7/5/7/7 tanka and spread them over three lines like in modern Japanese tankas. This allows a bit more flexibility in the form–especially as each line is variable as long as the total count is 31. With this variation, she made a commitment to keep a tanka diary, linking a daily habit of walking to writing poetry. Her poems are conversational, observational, slices of being outside.
To honor the basis for her Tanka Diary, I invite you to write one or more of your own tankas in the style of Harryette Mullen. Take a walk, literally or imaginatively, and write what comes to you in three lines with 31 syllables. Enjoy!!
Here are some of Mullen’s tankas:
From Tanka Diary
Harryette Mullen – 1953-
The botanical garden is just as I remember,
although it is certain that everything
has changed since my last visit.
How many hilarious questions these fuzzy
fiddleheads are inquiring of spring
will be answered as green ferns unfurl?
Walking the path, I stop to pick up
bleached bark from a tree, curled into
a scroll of ancient wisdom I am unable to read.
Even in my dreams I’m hiking
these mountain trails expecting to find a rock
that nature has shaped to remind me of a heart.
Copyright @ 2014 by Harryette Mullen. Used with permission of the author. This poem appeared in Poem-a-Day on May 12, 2014.
Cara’s Poems
How many steps do I have to take into
the woods to forget the noise of civilization
and calm my soul to the core?
The ice on the edges of the fence top
foretells the crunchy grass and the crisp air
of a morning walk to school in early spring.
Your Turn
Now, scroll to the comment section below to write your own poem. (This is a public space, so you may use only your first name or initials depending on your privacy preferences.) Not ready? That’s okay. Read the poems already posted for more inspiration. Ponder your own throughout the day. Return later. And, if the prompt does not work for you, that is fine. All writing is welcome. Just write something. Oh, and a note about drafting: Since we are writing in short bursts, we all understand (and even welcome) the typos and partial poems that remind us we are human and that writing is always becoming.
Also, in the spirit of reciprocity, please respond to at least three other poets today.
Soccer; it comes and it goes.
Whether you want it to or not, you prepare all summer.
Three months later, your season is over.
Tanka
School is finally coming to an abrupt end.
I had wished it away, and now my wish is coming true.
I will miss it.
Emma, “I had wished it away, and now my wish is coming true” this line speaks measures to me. I want to grow up so quickly without taking in the now.
I went on a walk today to celebrate the holiday. I was walking in a pine forest so the smell was pretty strong
Traversing a path familiar to my soles
An everchanging landscape
Breathes a piney new life into my tired soul.
This poem mad me imagine my favorite walking path. Thanks for sharing, Shaye!
Hey, Cara. Thank you for introducing me to this tanka variation. Your poems are beautiful. I especially like the first one, “to forget the noise of civilization” – my favorite part.
I love watching horror. I discovered over the weekend that I’d missed the entire American Horror Story Season 10. Since it’s now binge-able, I watched 3 episodes in one go before adult responsibilities came calling, lol. My tanka is about the same:
On weekends we binge horror.
We microwave the popcorn, we turn off the lights.
We get comfy on the couch and tune out the world.
Cara, I live not far from you, in McMinnville! It would be great to connect! This prompt reinforced my self-sense that I like to work within a loose framework that has some constraints, yet offers flexibility. I enjoyed playing with this.
volunteers gathered, shovels in hand
faced with a riotous tangle of lush flora
needing unwoven, prepared for rebirth
in a brief respite of blustery weather
the sun warmed them and blessed their work,
they set their tools down just as rain and wind returned
gathered round a rickety bare table
biting into scrumptious paper-wrapped sandwiches
they celebrated community
I love the sense of togetherness and community in this poem. I especially love the 3rd stanza. I can almost hear the unwrapping of sandwiches as folks sit together!
Three Tankas from 4/16/22
Walk 1
As I consider walks (real or imagined)
I glance at the black slash of Fitbit on my wrist:
most steps today were imagined.
Walk 2
Today I walked from my car
uphill to the funeral home where I hugged my neighbor,
felt his farmer bones beneath a Sunday suit.
Walk 3
In my head, I walked right out the door.
I walked the fine line between saying something regrettable
and saying nothing at all.
Most steps today were imagined–such a great line! Love your 3 walks.
I loved so many things about your Tankas, Allison:
“most steps today were imagined” — love this! I find many of my most fruitful “steps” are ones in my imagination.
“farmer bones beneath a Sunday suit” — I can just see this gentleman who is most comfortable in his overalls or jeans gussied up for the rite of public grieving (or not showing grief, as the case may be)
“walked the fine line” — I hear you, how do we communicate honestly, yet graciously?
I enjoyed these Tankas a lot.
Allison, I love how you titled each as a “Walk…” Walk 3 is so relatable. And I love the last line from Walk 1.
Oh, Allison – Each walk has me right in your shadow. So, poignant each tanka. Feeling the “farmer bones beneath” … ooo, so real and even that suit being one for Sunday was important as the sense of something missing… all those other days of the week. Mmm. But that 3rd walk… we’ll heaven knows I have had that fine line way more than once… this one really hits hard. Dang, you are such a brilliant poet, as you put some so simple as a 3-line walk into a deep reflection. Marvelous. Just marvelous. Thank you for the intimacy of our walk. Susie
…sorry for the typos in this. Geez. Susie
Hi Allison! “I glance at the black slash of Fitbit on my wrist” I am totally in the same boat! Thanks for sharing!
How do I process this day in which You slept,
in which salvation’s hope was mourned, lost?
We welcome grief before the celebration.
Oh this poem is beautiful. Thank you for going here today & helping me think about this. I love the idea of welcoming grief before the celebration. ♥️
Hi Britt. I am so sorry for your loss. This poem is a beautiful reflection of the way you felt about them. Thank you for sharing.
This is heartwarming. Sometimes celebrating grief can bring a community together, allowing us to grieve and celebrate.
Cara, I enjoyed reading about this variation on the Tanka form. Thank you for the introduction to something new. I really like the idea of a daily poetry journal. I think I’ll tackle that beginning in May.
My tanka is written from photos I took while on a walk last Sunday.
Birthday Walk
Sun is shining, let’s get outside to explore
Spring Valley has waterfalls, frogs, and turtles,
Ducks and beavers…Wait! Do you see that deer?
There are three in those trees, not at all afraid.
Promposal surprise does not phase the deer one bit!
Should I be sad the deer aren’t spooked?
Jennifer, I really appreciate the attention to detail, the immediacy, and the refocusing of perspective (“Wait! Do you see that deer?”)
The last line is deceptively profound.
I love counting syllables and enjoyed this variation.
This is a poem with the intent to give the reader the experience of a cheerleader leaping into a basket toss.
Their hands locked hand to wrist to form the basket for my feet
My hands locked on their shoulders, then the count
One, two down up. time stops. I soar.
I love your last 4 syllables, “time stops. I soar.” Also the repetition of “locked,” along with your locked in syllable count! I’ve never experienced a basket toss – but I feel like this helps me see & understand it! Exciting 🙂
Alexis, I could FEEL this experience! The “time stops – I soar” is magical.
Alexis, this poem leaps and soars! The separation of ‘time stops’ from the rest of the line, as if those two words are suspended, gives us a pause before the take off.
Thank for for sharing Cara, your poem reminds me about nature and the peace that comes for a clean natural environment.
Palm trees
Preparing the soil
nurturing you daily with water
and from time to time fertilizer.
Watching you grow brings me peace
pure, natural and calming
making a positive impact on mother nature EARTH.
I like your final line-it’s a strong punch.
This is so pretty! I love your 4th line, & I can feel the peace from the palm trees as I read your poem.
Cara, thank you for getting me out on a walk today! I ended up being inspired by something in my own front yard. I love your poem with its melty, icy imagery signaling new life and change.
Should I unroot this unknown plant, poking up timidly
between peony stalks and red tulips?
Is this something unwanted?
I left it.
Three months later white daisies dance in the wind,
a forgotten treasure I buried at the end of last summer.
Hi Rachelle,
Awwh how nice of you to decide to leave the plant and returning back to find growth and beauty.
Rachelle,
I love this! It reminds me of so many past bloom plants in my yard that I don’t pull because I can’t remember if they’re a weed or a deliberately planted something. “Forgotten treasure,” indeed.
Oh, Rachelle! Should I compare thee to a summer’s day? I love how your opening line pulled on my Shakespeare heart!
You paint such a clear picture of a little unknown plant–poking timidly between confident peonies and red tulips. This took me on a reverse metaphor: the human inclination to exile and reject before offering one another the opportunity to grow and bloom. Thank you for this lovely experience/poem.
Ooooh! I love this…white daisies dance in the wind… So glad you decided not to unroot.
Thanks, Cara, for the prompt and sample Tanka poems. It was fun to read about your walk and to visualize the ice and imagine hearing the crunch. Amazing how much one can show and tell in just 31 syllables of carefully chosen words.
spring on this side, neon green buds
hibernate wake, inhales of fresh air, breaths of
exhales are suffocated down the road…de-
-tour privileged, barricade, fence
reality, walking through life, minoritized
divided by patrol–bang–where are you safe?
Stefsni, i love the way your third and fourth lines connect. Such a creative use of enjambment! And the way you’ve woven together imagery of spring and public safety is fascinating. Thanks for sharing!
Wow, Stefani–this is a powerful poem in so many ways, especially with the rhetorical question at the end. The imagery in the stanzas also highlights the juxtaposition of spring on one side and the “bang” on the other. Thank you for sharing this poem with us today.
Hi Stefani,
Your poem made me reflect how we are slowly destroying nature. If we all take on an active role we can make a difference. I started by planting trees in my yard.
It was a gray day today, but I walked around the yard to take in the emergence of spring. I love tankas, and thank you for introducing us to a different form of tanka.
April survey of the yard reveals a battle
daffodils fighting shriveled brown leaves
green grass overtaking dry golden blades
A line of grackles on the edge of the roof
offer a morning song to the clouds rolling in
and the bushes sway to their trills
Heather, I like this imagery of the weeds battling and your use of grackles is great. Thank you for sharing today.
Heather, we have a daffodil in our front yard that annually battles the crispy leaves. I love this image you’ve put together.
Heather, I the tonal imagery of these lines delighted my ears “A line of grackles on the edge of the roof / offer a morning song to the clouds rolling in” Thank you for this!
Hi Heather,
Your poem illuminated how wonderful spring can be. New life and everything that is bright and colorful. Thanks for sharing.
daffodils fighting shriveled brown leaves
and the bushes sway to their trills
Those are my favorite lines in this beautiful piece!
The moon was stunning last night, love you description of it. Love that you are specific enough to transport the reader but vague enough to let us fill in the blanks. Such a fun journey in three lines!
Unfortunately, walking around today wasn’t the most uplifting experience but to quote my favorite musical “you gotta take the rough with the smooth, baby.”
Not what I came for
A month into spring and the snow is still falling
The sky is a thick blanket of gray
Not what I was looking for this morning
Flowers awaken too soon, regretting their decision to say hello
Birds have returned, unwelcomed by their homes
Where is spring?
Rob –Love this line: “Flowers awaken too soon regretting their decision to say hello”
My flowers are in the same boat and I am wondering the same thing: “Where is spring?”
Ugh! We had rain. I will take that any day over the snow. “Where is spring?” indeed.
Rob, I question where spring is too. This idea of flowers waking too soon makes me laugh, I see this all over. I even heard mosquitoes were out…so maybe the silver lining with this frosty weather is that the bugs will disappear? Here is to hoping and to you having a more uplifting tomorrow.
Rob, I feel the disappointment in your poem! I’m sorry for the snow, but I’m hopeful spring will be with you soon! Hopefully, the flowers won’t regret coming out again!
Rob, this is a profound piece. Seeing the point of view from each different piece of nature is beautiful and mind opening.
Cara –Thank you for this fun form.
I wasn’t sure I was going to get out today, but mother nature pulled through in the end and blessed us Northeast Ohioans with some sun.
Fickle weather rain
morning walk delayed
ashen sky blots out sunny day
vitamin d stolen away
this drippy day
Sunbeams peak in afternoon
cast playful shadows like the moon
Magnolia blossoms, petals pink
Drink the sun, laugh at morning rain
Tammi, your use of “playful shadows” speaks so well to the midwest sunbeams. I want to “drink the sun” as well! Thank you for sharing today.
The weather was just like this here in Utah today!! I absolutely LOVE your last 2 lines & the image of the magnolia blossoms drinking in the sun. Thank you for sharing this!!
At the Basquiat Exhibit on Chelsea
Basquiat’s swatch recalls colorful squalls
bridging the difference between love and rage
in timeless brushstrokes and rainbow collages
______________________________
Thirty-one syllables become expensive
real estate, expressing fleeting beauty,
bottomless sorrow and finitude…
I need to cite Etheridge Knight’s poem “Haiku” as inspiration for the 2nd part of this. It’s so good!
Dave, you are so fortunate to be at a Basquiat exhibition. I saw a great retro of his work in LA a few years back. You said it so clearly in less than thirty-one syllables. Good job! I especially like that you notice the how he bridges the difference between love and rage.
Dave — I love the way your poem creates a painting. I wasn’t familiar with Basquiat’s art and had to google his artwork. I think you’ve really captured his style through your poem, especially this line “timeless brushstrokes and rainbow collages.”
Cara, I really like how this makes me slow down and really see and hear and notice my surroundings. I actually wrote this one while looking out the window, because…wind.
Force of Nature
The chill wind snags my breath; no sweet breeze, this–
but rather, muscled, powerful gusts,
asserting themselves without question.
Springtime is here.
Julie — Yes! You have really captured the force of nature. Your poem reminds of how my breath gets stolen away on cold spring days by the “muscled, powerful gusts.”
Precisely! These are bodybuilder winds going on! Where are you, Julie? I’m on the east coast of Michigan, and I am sick of all this cold windy weather! It really does assert itself into our lives without question – we have no say in this. Not only that, but it takes our breath away – no sweet breeze, this – and there it snags our breath. Dastardly winds! Yet, indeed this is our springtime. As my mother reminds me, farmers need these winds to dry up the fields so they are ready for planting. Still, Mom Nature, it could be just a teensy bit warmer! Thanks for capturing this so well!
View Magic City
From the one hundred year old
House in Owen Park
With ivy-covered tree and
A life of stories.
Katrina — I am intrigued by this ivy covered house. I can just imagine all the stories.
“A life of stories”
I love the possibilities of the millions of stories held within. <3
I love duplicity in poetry, and this one has it, Katrina. Is it the house or the tree with the life of stories the speaker refers to? It’s either, or both – ! Where is this Owen Park? I would love to see some pictures of this. I can imagine a brick structure with big trees and an expansive lawn…sigh. So romantic, right? Also encouraging to know there must be some preservation of this place, which speaks to what the community values. I hope there are stories that are preserved somewhere. Thank you!
Thanks Cara. You sent me on a meander today, inspired by my go-to place of inspiration: the beach. (I love the idea of rule breaking or form relaxing–it’s so fun to see where the move away from strict adherence of rules leads.) I’m including a photo from yesterday’s walk.
Sea Song
One squishy step after another
pulls me into the noisy silence of the sea
where worries slip like water off a duck
Tides ebb and flow revealing an upside down world
tiny crabs, anemones, silver darting fish
dance of predator and prey
Like seabirds, thoughts take wing
breath calms, an echo of water’s rhythms
lullaby sung by the sea, perfect harmony with me
Thank you for transporting me to such a calming place! Loved the imagery. I especially loved the line “breath calms, an echo of water’s rhythms.”
Kim — Your poem is so relaxing. It is amazing how calming water can be. Love this line “pulls me into the noisy silence of the sea”.
Glorious! I want to be there!
“noisy silence” — how true, Kim! As a fellow seashore lover, your poem resonated 1000% with me.
Kasey – This is downright elegant…that moon…I was looking at it last night…egg…perfect…skirts (perfect verb). The Indian Paintbrust (a fav of mine)…the scene feels so…so… nature-rich! Thank you. Susie
TANKA FOR KATE
My pal rides the fire breathing covid dragon;
meds in her left hand, sheer determination in her right.
elephant on her chest;
Sh*t-sh#w – these twenty-five months have delivered
cruel numbers, mayhem, isolation, bad politics, loss,
years sliced off the golden of our lives;
yet,
here sit I scrawling tanka syllables,
breathing mostly clean air into old but pink lungs,
certain that my friend will get through this,
and thanking the scientists who vaxxed us,
who researched into the wee hours to find the code
that would save us to walk again upright.
by Susie Morice, April 16, 2022©
Susie! So sorry about your friend and angry about this relentless virus. Such a powerful contrast of scrawling tanka syllables to the code that would save us. I feel these syllables are saving our souls that have suffered such wounds sliced in these 25 months. Ugh…
Susie — So sorry to hear about your friend. These twenty five months really have been “cruel numbers, mayhem, isolation”
I am sending positive thoughts for your friends quick recovery and thanking those scientists too.
Oh Susie, this hurts! I know how you feel when watching a friend battle this doggone virus. I sure hope she’s victorious and back upright soon! I love how you gave the fire in the first two stanzas and then eased into your calm space of gratitude!
Hugs!
Susie, your poem is a perfect depiction of the last 2 years and why walking is important. Love how you captured so many issues in this poem. I am so glad you are here, writing tankas! Hugs, Barb
Cara — I was just in your neighborhood! I was at the Tulip farm just north of Salem with my niece…is was so gorgeous…so windy! I probably should’ve written about tulips today! Thanks for the tanka prompt! Susie
Love the secretive mood in this—and I will add “fat egg moon” to my vocabulary!
Even though I walked in shoe-polished Keds
at ten, last night I dreamt of sole-severed
Clarks with Sharpied-scuffs called out by Dean Bridgette.
Sarah — I love the way you drew from your Tumble Down poem from Thursday. Your dream has a haunting quality. It is amazing how some past experience just stick with us.
Ugggh, don’t we just need to find Dean Bridgette and settle the score??? (That’s little Stacey talking!)
I feel the pain in this poem and your dream. Hopefully, you have given the shoe memories enough attention and they can leave you alone. But I still want to find Bridgette.
Sarah, I am always tickled when I find your poems (little golden eggs). Please, Dean Bridgette, stop. Sarah, I hope the next time you experience this dream, it ends with Ms. Berryhill swooping in, turning you gently toward a vision of your future, where you influence thousands of students, teachers, and future teachers of students to undo this world’s unrelenting pain.
Trotting down the hall
Nudging past the door
A single leap up
With a paw to the face
I am awake
Emma,
Love the scene of surprise you offer in this tanka. The syllables and form really make space for all narrative elements: “paw to the face” is the climax!
Sarah
Emma — Oh, how I miss my doggy… you brought him to me with these lovely syllables! Thank you. Susie
Love this! I could be in the moment of this poem.
An early morning crow has insulted
the mockingbird who angered chases him away.
Already there is war in the skies.
_________________
A sea of yellow daisies
are lifting their faces
towards the sky in glory of Easter.
_____________________
I’m awed by a fallen trunk etched with patterns
displaying the past hunger of beetles
having scratched their marks under shed bark.
Love this trio of scenes, Susan. Bird war, daisies praising, and beetle graffiti. The shed of bark is startling. Thank you for sharing this image.
Sarah
Again, Susan, your words paint as vividly as your paint brush. And with active verbs, I sense the movement, too.
Susan, I love all your poems but this line “Already there is war in the skies.” has me in awe. Such strong phrasing – amazing!
I walk the beach, wind whipping the waves
Gazing out toward jetty’s end where we once ran wildly
Rugged rocks under small fast feet
We’d sit and let our feet dangle
Contemplating whether to jump to the salty ocean below
Now the salt is in my tears
Heidi,
Wow–I did not see that last line of your second tanka coming! You put my heart in my throat. Beautiful and vivid imagery and such wonderful tone. Thank you for sharing.
I was right with you sitting on the jetty and dangling my feet and felt the shock of cold salty water from your last line.
Heidi,
What an unexpected turn in those final lines. I am wondering about the “we” here and what has happened to prompt tears. I feel grief in the past tense and the “jump” takes on new meaning in the second read. Very moving.
Sarah
‘Rugged rocks under small fast feet” is such a joyous moment, which makes your last line all the more poignant…
The Joke
Don’t like the weather in Michigan? Wait five minutes
is less funny when it really does snow four weeks
after the start of spring.
Almost Three Years
and I still am deeply saddened by the simple fact
that we can knock on any surface in our home
and you won’t come running
____________________________________________
Thank you, Cara, for your mentor Tankas and your prompt! There is a real profundity concealed in the (seemingly) simple question of your first Tanka. I really enjoyed that! For my offerings today, my brain went to the crazy weather we’ve had the last few days to remembering how I would need to shovel out pathways in the backyard for Sophie, our Miniature Schnauzer, to the reflection I wrote about in my second Tanka. I so appreciated this walk down memory lane today, so thank you!
Scott,
Thank you so much for two beautiful and touching tankas. Your first, if you hadn’t mentioned Michigan, could have been written about Oregon, where I am–and we did indeed have snow several mornings this last week. False spring fake out! Your second tanka touched my heart. Fur babies burrow themselves so deeply in our hearts that their loss is desperately felt. My heart hurts for your loss. Thank you again for sharing today.
Scott,
These tanka pair beautifullym solemnly when I think about your Sophie in the snow and spring with the first tanka and then missed in the second tanka– even after waiting five minutes.
Sarah
The second stanza—tears, here. We never get over missing the special ones…
Scott — Both ends of your two tankas…loved them both. I was caught out in Portland with family when they set historic records for late spring snow and subsequent mayhem….VERY “less funny.” And the “three years”… I’m at 19 months since I lost the delightful noise in my home…he’s not “com[ing] running” either…alas. Watty is surely having a romp with Sophie! Hugs on this Saturday! Susie
Your “any surface” really got me. Our pets’ omnipresence in the life of our homes makes them truly irreplaceable.
Scott, we just returned to GR from the UP where my daughter is graduating from UNM. We experienced what you wrote about so succinctly! Thdrive across Mackinaw Bridge was so wind swept one could imagine what special effects look like in a movie!
Annual Neighborhood Egg Hunt
a dewy morning, the smell of mowed grass
my sweater-donned toddler scrambles for colored eggs
while I snap pictures from the sidelines
Rachel,
Your poem created an instantaneous picture in my mind of scrambling tiny people running hither and yon gathering plastic eggs. What fun! My sons are nearly 17 and 20, so those days are long past for me. Thank you for reviving the memory. 🙂
Rachel,
Thank you for sharing this beautiful scene of people and place and being. Love this phrase “sweater-donned toddler” and then scramble alongside egg. Clever.
Peace,
Sarah
This has me very excited for our first Easter with the boys we are adopting. They may not be toddlers but I am excited to see the scramble. Thank you for sharing!
Being in a new environment as a new women
I search for all that will fill my soul to its content
How will I know?
Looking for all that I need
But never chase it down because it has to come to me
If I stay true I will have all I need
Ella,
Your poem is a wonderful meditation in being true to yourself and knowing that with patience, it will come to fruition. It makes me want to sing “I Am Woman”! Thank you for sharing.
Ella,
You have me curious with this speaker, Ella. What is the “new” environment and what is the “new women”. And then “because it has to come to me” shows such patience and trust. Wow.
Sarah
Ohhh, love this, Ella. It reminds me of all the times I’ve ‘moved’ in my life to a new place, city or job. There is that kind of excitement and longing to get to know the surroundings and be comfortable and confident in them, but it does just take time. It also makes me think of the kinds of changes we go through as women, that the “new environment” may not be external, but internal, and how we just need to allow the changes to occur and become that next phase in our womanhood. Lovely!
Thank you, Cara! Another new form for me to enjoy. I love the idea of a daily one of these after a walk. Ambitious! Well, here goes…
Wind storms litter streets with leaves and branches.
Church’s outdoor Stations of the Cross all blown over.
Nails weren’t strong enough to hold them down.
I also love the idea of using these poems as a daily reflection after a walk! Your poem is absolutely beautiful! I feel the strong breeze that you describe and its power through your word choice.
Denise,
I love the homage to the strength of nature–she will have her way, won’t she? I wish I had the discipline (and time) to write a tanka after every walk I take, it is an ambitious goal indeed!
Denise,
The image of nails has so many layers of meaning here, Denise. Alongside the cross, thinking about the organizers who didn’t/couldn’t account for wind, the storms of nature over man/person-made structures. Such a scene to witness.
Sarah
Denise — that’s quite a fascinating image… so much to think about here. Thank you. Susie
Cara,
Thanks for the interesting prompt. I love the imagery of your poem, the sound of the grass and the “crisp air” of the cool spring. It inspired me to write about today’s weather.
Tanka
By Shaun
The incessant wind pushes me around,
Nature’s bully, using its size to advantage,
Throwing sand in my eyes to blind me.
Shaun, so true! The “wind” is “Nature’s bully”! (Side note: I love that this brought to mind the old ads in the back of comic books of the bully at the beach, kicking sand in the face of the weakling! Up against Nature, we are all “weaklings.” Nature always wins. Lol.)
Shaun,
I adore your portrayal of nature as a bully. She does indeed use her size to advantage, pushing us with wind, soaking us with rain, and blinding us with whatever she can stir up. Hopefully, nature will calm down and her tantrum in your area will subside soon without damage.
Oh my goodness, I didn’t realize I love the wind so much until I read this poem and it made me want to be down at the beach with everything blowing away.
Love the idea of wind being “Nature’s bully.”
Shaun — Ooo, that “bully” is a perfect persona…”taking advantage”…indeed. I shall think of wind this way as it rolls in tomorrow to crash me with another round of storms. Thank you for the lovely tanka! Susie
I love the personification of the wind. I can picture a phantom wind picking on you.
Fiction Not Falsity
The fact that it’s fiction
Don’t make it ain’t true.
What we read helps us get thru.
Expose, rise, climax, and fall
Then resolve! That’s life. That’s all!
Oops. Second line should read
Don’t mean it ain’t true.
Anna, I love your metaphor between fiction and life. When you say “that’s life,” I immediately thought… yes! Life is full of surprises that can definitely turn into fiction.
I had to stop when I saw the letters (memories of FisherPrice Schoolhouse!). I am down with this poem 100% – just talked with students about the value of reading fiction when they commented how a story we had read earlier in the semester was the most meaningful they could remember – and it was fiction in a composition class. This also speaks to allll the research on how reading fiction can help us develop empathy (and sympathy) skills for our fellow beings. Nicely capture here, Anna. And you know what, I kinda liked the “don’t make it ain’t true” – there is a kind of fun error in that sort of speech that I enjoy hearing in poetry and other dialogue writing. I mean, the speaker is already using “ain’t” so why not? : )
Lovely twist on the Tanka, Cara – I can imagine the beauty one would capture writing a daily three-line poem after a walk.
I am always amazed by what new things I notice on my daily walk – this, just now, a block or so away from my home, after tree cutters passed through:
swarming bees refugees on a wood post
instinctively spontaneously together
perhaps searching for the arborist
LOL, Maureen! This is my fear (one of them at least): that bees, spiders, centipedes — you name it — really do “look for us” to exact their revenge if we fail to squash them. We know that crows can harbor grudges, but if we find out that yellow jackets or mud daubers or spiders can. Oh, no! (Thanks for this fun poem, by the way, and for the hopeful “perhaps” in your last line.)
Maureen,
What an amazing metaphor:
“swarming bees refugees on a wood post”
Im sure you know in my mind I connect this image to refugees in Ukraine walking to the border of Poland, “searching for the arborist.” And I think about how we need both the refugee bees and the refugee peoples.
Maureen,
This is so visual! I can just see the swarm and hear the reverberations as they attempt to find direction. Your tanka created a whole story in my mind–delightfully so!
This was challenging Cara, only because I had to really think about “taking a walk”. I was cleaning earlier this morning and took down my curtains, revealing the shady skies with the threat of imminent rain. While watching the drops fall, this poem came to mind. Your first tanka resonated with me because earlier in the school year, last October, I was out in the woods on our farm for a lesson. The students were looking for spiders..eek! We didn’t go very deep, but the further in we went, the quieter it got. I was ready to get back to “civilization”. Even though we were only a few yards away, it was all unfamiliar to me. But I did notice how calm and peaceful it was…and darker.
“How many steps do I have to take into
the woods to forget the noise of civilization
and calm my soul to the core?”
Answer: not very many!
Here’s my poem:
True Life Calls (TLC)
A deliberate gait hastens the path refused,
uncertainty fibs reveal luxury gardens
for pursued dreams do come true.
Oooh! You have cleverly offered two Tankas, Jessica! Even your question was a 31 syllable three line ask! Cool! Your poem offers extraordinary advice in the line “A deliberate gait hastens the path refused,” – I am reminded of the importance of putting aside fear and anxiety and pressing on. Loved this!
That lovely question was a stanza from Cara’s poem, Maureen. I can’t take the credit for that one. I just answered it. But you are so right about pressing on in spite of anxiety and fear. We can be scared still…we have to move forward even if we don’t want to. Thank you!
Jessica,
Thank you for offering an answer to my questioning tanka. I love the thought that if you just pursue far enough, your dreams will “come true.” Delightful!
You’re welcome Cara. And yes, the pursuit of hope, love, dreams…whatever is possible if only we go far enough. Thanks for the insight!
Hilarious, Jennifer! I think you could reduce your intro down to a poem like we did for the prompt the other day – keep the “eek!” in it! : ) It is funny how ‘out of our element’ we can feel stepping away from what we are so used to into just anything different – a new city, a new coffee shop, a walk in the woods. That second line has me mulling. It’s the kind of line I cannot fully envision in any one particular way, which I enjoy. The tone shift from that first line – refusing – to the release with – reveal luxury gardens – comes to the final ‘reward’ with the pursued dreams coming true. It suddenly reminds me of the ‘hero’s journey’ – it’s on monomyth in three lines! Nicely done!
Thank you Denise! I’m learning so many new techniques and types of poetry. As well as expanding my vocabulary. I’ll have to play around with my intros and see what I can produce.
Mila
The divine bond between two lives that crossed paths
A heart and a paw had been re-homed
To give company and support at all times
I adore these words together – “A heart and a paw” – I am immediately visualizing the happy new pet owner!
Carolina,
“The divine bond” is so apt and true! What a lovely tribute to your furry child!
“To give company and support…” is so true of our furry friends.
I had to stop at this poem when my eye caught “paw” – ! This short form is so seemingly simple and yet so jam-paced. I love that “divine bond” – because it is, isn’t it. I’ve fostered and eventually adopted some serious canine cases, and the vet told me, “God finds people like you for dogs like these.” It’s happenstance that our paths cross, but indeed, we give our hearts to those paws and the return is amazing. I don’t know with this poem if the speaker is receiving the furry friend or fostering it to adopt out. I think it can be read either way, which is what I love about this. I bet if your local shelter or animal group has a newsletter, they would love to have this poem to publish in it – maybe you could offer to be a poetry editor for them and help solicit and publish a poem each time! Thanks, Carolina, for the paw pause!
Hi Cara, thank you for the new freer form of Tanka. I love it and your poems speak to me. I love nature walks too.
I was listening to Poetry Unbound and heard this line from Denise Low’s poem, Walking with My Delaware Grandfather:
“He lodges in my house still
the bone-house where my heart beats.”
I knew I needed to use a version of this in my poem today, the 3rd anniversary of a dear friend’s passing. It was an unexpected loss and one that I still struggle with accepting.
My two poems in honor of Lyn…
She visits me in my house, my heart-house where her love lives
Photos of her beaming smile, seek my eye like rainbows
I hear her, still
Losing a loved one unfetters your tears
A song, a scent, a season’s change can
open death’s damn, releasing love’s missing cries
©Stacey L. Joy, 4/16/22
Stacey, this was beautiful. It very much resonated with me, in that it reminded me of how my mom feels about my dad, who passed two years ago this past January. That whole second stanza: deeply true. I loved the phrase “love’s missing cries” and your ruminations on how little things can trigger “death’s dam.” Love the paradox, too of:
“I hear her, still”
Lovely! Thank you for the piece of catharsis.
I’m so sorry for your loss, Stacey. Your grief must be unending, to lose a dear friend. I love the mournful image of “my heart-house where her love lives” and I strongly believe in these visits, I find it healing to feel the presence of my loved ones after they have died. Sending you blessings! Also, I love Poetry Unbound – it is part of my Saturday morning contemplation to read the On Pause newsletter from On Being and then listen to the poetry…I, too, loved Denise Low’s poem. Thank you!
Stacey,
Words can’t capture how beautiful your poetic tribute is. There’s both quiet and reverence here. It’s on my ears like a lullaby. The words “open death’s damn” resonates as damn death. You are such a big-hearted, loving person. My heart grieves w/ you. Sending love and hugs and peace.
Stacey,
I am so sorry for your loss. This is a beautiful portrayal of the unpredictable nature and process of grief, a poignant reminder that it is never really “finished.” You’re in my heart today.
Dear Stacey – your poems and photo pull hard on my heart. Those words – “she visits me in my house, my heart-house where her love lives” – so beautiful, so true. I know the truth of them, and the truth of a particular song or a scent piercing to the very core. Much strength and love to you this day as you mark the third year of Lyn’s loss. We lose those we love. but the love itself never dies – not ours for them, or theirs for us <3
White azaleas
For a week we admired their buds, wondering:
will they explode tomorrow? While worrying
how soon they’ll become bare again.
Laura, yes, those blossoms are so ephemeral, aren’t they? That’s why I feel I need to walk every day to be sure not to miss any. Cara’s prompt inspired me to do so. I love azaleas so much! “will they explode tomorrow” is a perfect way to describe their appearance.
Laura this poem is so lovely. A little taste of spring!
These blossoms do not last long enough! Love how your Tanka captures the ephemeral beauty of these.
Laura,
Im watching those buds w/ you. I’m gonna try not to worry once the buds burst open.
Laura,
There is such a beautifully bittersweet tone in your poem–we do indeed wait with bated breath for spring to come only to have it’s harbingers fade so quickly. Wonderful tanka!
Laura,
I keep being reminded of IMPERMANENCE. It’s everywhere and in all things. Your poem is lovely! Just remember, they’ll be back! ?
Truer words were never spoken about those elusive azaleas. They indeed “explode” like fireworks and are gone just as soon.
By Mo Daley
4-16-22
The dogs yank eagerly at leashes
Sniffing the ground expectantly, hopefully
Trying to pull spring from the petrichor
Oh, what a great image you have created here. I pictured the dogs yanking, as usual. Then the surprising hope that they might be “trying to pull spring from the petrichor” is just magical and lovely. Thank you, Mo! I too hope they have the power!
Mo, this was great! I love not only the word petrichor, but the notion (and smell!) of it — one of the best in the world. Love the idea of your pooch trying to “pull spring” from it. Thanks for the great image this morning!
I love the word petrichor. Need to work that in to casual conversation today! Mo, teh image is perfect. Let their efforts succeed!
Mo, I think the dogs are just as anxious for Spring’s Dr. Jekyl to remain!!! I don’t recall where you are, but just this month in Arkansas we’ve had sleet, rain, hail, and tornadoes. And did I mention rain? I’m just ready for a full week of sunshine. But what’s the saying? April showers bring May flowers….I truly hope so.
Mo,
My dogs behave the same way. The sniffing accelerates in spring. “Petrichor” is a perfect pet sniffing word.
Mo,
What a beautiful image–the dog as anxious for spring as its owner! Your tanka took me right into my walk yesterday evening with my dog, she was SO anxious to be outside, striding through the brisk spring air. Thank you for sharing.
Ooohhh this is delightful! Petrichor… a word to savor!
The rambling poet who tends to spurt thought in free verse very much needs this shove into form. I love this!
Opening
After perpetual days of rain,
the sun shoves its way through the clouds
yanking open the curtain of darkness that cloaks my soul.
~Susan Ahlbrand
16 April 2022
Wow, what a great image of the power of the sun: “the sun shoves its way” and “yanking open.”
“Enough,” said Sun! And you get sunshine. So happy for you on this glad day!
Susan this captures what it’s like to finally get over SAD each year. Feeling the sun on your skin and the warmth in the air, it makes a world of difference.
Your poem took me to a beautiful spring day after weeks of rain. This poem shows the light at the end of a dark tunnel and brings the reader hope for brighter days.
Susan,
As a resident of one of the rainiest states (Oregon), I feel your poem in my deepest heart! The “darkness that cloaks my soul” is such an apt description of how it feels after a dark, wet winter with very few sightings of the sun. Thank you for sharing!
Your poem depicts exactly how I feel as winter comes to a close and the focus on warmer, brighter weather begins.
Susan, I adore the imagery! The “sun shoves its way…” I love it! Keep shoving and shining! ?☀️
I love how you personify the sun. Your last line if powerful.
Cara, I forgot to mention your sweet tankas. You know what I love about counting syllables, is we change words to fit and come up with shortened or extended phrases, synonyms and other ways to say what we wish. Sometimes the constraints make us think of things we wouldn’t otherwise. I have no idea about how your poems evolved, but these words were perfection “calm my soul to the core.” How many steps, indeed? I also love the memory of walking on “crunchy grass” — it’s been a lot of years since I’ve been in an icy early spring. Thanks for your models today!
Denise,
Thank you for your kind words. I, too, love syllable count poems for the very reasons you mention–they truly do nudge your mind to vocabulary you might not have chosen without the restraints. I love your picture and your tanka below–I could just see bumblebees dancing around the vibrant flowers with their low hum reverberating! Thank you for sharing!
Cara, what fun. I love that I learn something new every day here during #Verselove. I never knew of this kind of tanka or of Harryette Mullen, so now I’m wiser and my heart is filling with the idea of linking walking and poetry writing. For the past year, I have kept a hay(na)ku diary, so maybe I’ll begin a tanka diary, like Mullen. Here’s mine for today.
A step closer and gasp. Each day new blossoms
welcome the bumblebees and surprise me.
Today fuchsia fireworks call, “Look at me!”
Denise, oh, I loved these “fuchsia fireworks”! I have only been in the southwest once and took a bus trip through the desert, but it was not nearly enough time to enjoy the beauty that I see of it in art like this picture and your poem. Retirement isn’t very far, so someday! Your poem and picture paint a beautiful and inviting picture!
Fuchsia fireworks is perfect, Denise. I could see this even without the photo!
Denise, we must be on the same wavelength. I love the alliteration and imagery of “fuchsia fireworks”! Thanks for sharing your words and the photo!
Welcome the bumblebees…welcome, fuschia fireworks!
Denise, what a beautiful bloom! I love this line, “Today fuchsia fireworks call, “Look at me!”
The fuchsia fireworks are a part of nature’s handiwork and a stark contrast to the prickly cactus. I can relate to the bumblebees. There is a nest in one of my bushes and I scramble quickly to get in the house as they protect their territory. If only they could help me with my mortgage!
Denise,
That cactus is gorgeous! The desert in spring is a spectacular rainbow of color. “fuchsia fireworks” is popping alliteration, and the plant personification seals the deal.
I love the comparison to fireworks, and the picture really complements that line.
finding you
that one time we said let’s meet in Paris
you sent me the precise number of steps vers le droit et gauche
my heart raced, you rushed window to window, inside.
Wow! Passion and intrigue in Paris. You’ve truly captured it, Kevin!
how kind. Thank you, Mo!
Kevin, this is everything: intrigue, romance, suspense. BOOM!
haha–thank you Brian. It’s fun trying to find single moments that open up a whole world.
Kevin,
We’re all wanting to know more about this intriguing romance in the City of Light. The code switching is perfect.
Thanks for your kind words Glenda! I think I am learning something about writing “less” in this little exercise. 😉
Ahhhh yes! The pulling and longing make
me want more! Delightful romance!
thank you Stacey!
Oh, how romantic! This invites a story. I love the title “finding you” and the beginning with the simple…”that one time…”
thank you Denise!
Your words create a story: “my heart raced, you rushed window to window, inside.” The surrounding whitespace creates the mystery. Such is poetry.
Thank you for noticing that and for your kind words, Katrina.
Spring morning, endless
grey sky not sad but soothing;
an invitation
to walk calmly, rest your eyes,
know the sun will not find you.
Paul, I love how you’ve turned that grey sky into something welcoming and a respite from the sun. Very unexpected!
Thank you! I like reversals; in class, I talk about writers using the power of the unexpected, and how you can generate original thinking by flipping something on its head. In this case, sometimes you just want/need a low-key day; the sun doesn’t always have to be shining!
I love the sense of mystery your poem gives. Very well written!
Thank you! I was aiming to make the last two lines something a reader could fill in with their own perceptions and experiences.
Paul,
I just finished the book “Stolen Focus” this morning. There’s a section about how our world has been accelerating, speeding up, since WWII. This is something that steals our ability to focus. I mention this because your poem is a response to this acceleration; it’s an invitation to slow down. Words like “endless, soothing, rest” offer catharsis in a world of disruption. Beautiful.
Thanks as always, Glenda! Yes, I definitely see a calmness, a slowness to those days where you just need to slip under the radar and be. A necessary antidote to “make hay while the sun shines”, perhaps?
Will take note of the book and put it on the list!
As much as I love the sun, I appreciate a spring morning with the “grey sky not sad but soothing.” What a perfect description of a calm morning.
Thank you! All it took was a glance out the window today. We ended up having some half-hearted, gentle snow, which just reinforced the calm mood!
I often have the same wondering Cara, just how many steps into the woods before I forget the noise of civilization? Thank you for this lovely prompt.
Solitary sparrow nibbling fallen seed in howling wind and morning rain,
I wish I could feed and shelter you
forever.
I love the sweet idea of protecting the sparrow from a harsh nature. Fortunately for us, the sparrows will be okay!
Love the way this piece distributes syllables! The first line is all quick, descriptive brushstrokes (four adjectives), then rapidly tapers down to a single word, creating emotional focus and intensity. Great!
Ann, sweet sentiments! I hate seeing those poor birds out in this weather — especially when they’ve been teased with warmer temps lately. I know they’re okay. But they still look so cold. XD
Ann,
I love the staggered line form of your tanka. It gives a forlorn tone to your poem that is very engaging. Thank you for sharing.
Cara, thank you for hosting. Your tankas are both striking and relatable. I believe the woods offer peace and the perfect place “to calm the soul”.
dawn wakes blushing─quivering with promise
lavender spirits shiver above the river
darkness recedes, ebony trees breathe
moon paves an avenue of gold
across the river’s silvery face, luring
fairy dreams to dance with the evergreens
Barb Edler
16 April 2022
First tanka’s photo.
Oh, the color imagery in these! Really, really lovely, Barb! (“Lavender” is such a gorgeous word.). And great pictures. 🙂
Barb, this is beautiful! I particularly like the lavender spirits shivering above the river ~ what an exquisite line!
Barb,
Thst view is gorgeous. I’m jealous. I admit it. Favorite lines:
“moon paves an avenue of gold
across the river’s silvery face,”
The picture brings these lines to life beautifully.
Barb, you have doubled my joy for nature with these photos alongside your beautiful poetry. I am particularly spellbound by lavender spirits and ebony trees.
Barb, this line: “moon paves an avenue of gold”. I sometimes forget how the moonlight can cast just as much light as the sun. Not all meander during the day. The Nightwalkers need light too, as well as those who bask in the moonlight, listening to the creatures who make midnight music. Love this! Thank you for sharing!
Barb, these are great! I love the description of “lavender spirits shiver[ing] above the river” alongside the actual picture that you took. Lovely! And that “pav[ing]” of the “avenue of gold” from the moon is such an apt description. Thank you for this!
Barb,
A beautiful picture and tankas. I especially love your “lavender spirits” and the “fairy dreams” dancing on the river avenue. I don’t usually walk after dark, but it makes me want to see my local wetlands in the moonlight.
Barb, I am in awe at the poems and the photos. Just incredibly spectacular…nature at its finest!
Cat Tale
I was awakened by thunder
BOOM! A mouse scampered across the kitchen floor!
Nermal and Minnie (our cats) were “watching the show.”
Jennifer, the action here is fantastic. I think I would have been screaming as loud as the thunder if I saw a mouse scampering across the kitchen floor, but while living on the farm we lived with many of these. Not quite sure if Nermal and Minnie were doing their duty here. Very fun poem!
Jennifer,
My question is, what did the cats do about the mouse? I have an image in my head of them sitting, eyes darting, heads turning back and forth. I love watching cats watch.
You’re right! They just sat there, eyes darting!
Jennifer,
I rather pictured a Tom and Jerry cartoon with your tanka. Sound effects and bewildered cats not sure quite what to do. What fun! (Well, not that you have mice, but hey.)
Your poem made me chuckle as I pictured this chaotic start to the day.
Cara, I really resonated with your first stanza because I love that trek into the woods where the trees muffle more and more of the sounds of civilization that is actually much closer than I think. I always like to pretend I’m further in the woods than that.
Unfortunately, today has some morning storms so I had to settle for an imaginative walk — but I think it worked out all the same for today’s writing. Thank you for sharing!
Spring Showers
When will the storms be
done with their blustering rage
and oppressive gloom?
Longing alfresco weather,
quiet dinners on my porch.
Perfect sunsets seen
between the overlapped green,
of just sprouted leaves.
Nourished by the very rain
that keeps me confined most Springs.
Erica, I can definitely relate to the oppressive gloom and the “Longing alfresco weather”. Love the rhyme and rhythm you’ve created in these beautiful tankas!
Erica, this was great! Love the insightful paradox of the rains that nourish the tress while they keep us from enjoying them more. 🙂
Where are you, Erica? I’m in Michigan – east coast – and we have had nothing but exactly this kind of ‘blustering rage and oppressive gloom’! And ice on the roads for cripes sake! I felt my own blustering rage when I started reading this, but it immediately dissipated when I read that line “alfresco weather” – and my memory also leaped to porch meals. Soon soon soon my friend! (Although we enjoy “porch beers” here!) I also enjoyed the sun behind the trees imagery. Every season gives us different versions of our tree-lined skies, and any mention of those in poetry will catch my favor. Nicely captured here.
Cara, your verses are inspiring. I love the escape from civilization. It prompted me to write my tanka based on a recent hike in the woods tucked into a nearby city. Always a surprise to visit this hidden gem.
City Surprise
Cascading waters tumble nearby and beckon me
to venture deeper where hills are steep
and meadows blush with newborn glory
Autumn’s litter crunches underfoot
determined silver foliage muscles through
a suit of armor protects virgin white bloom
A carpet of glory appears round the bend
surprise of purple boasts amidst the verdant fields
All within the city limits
Christine I love the last line in particular since it serves as a call back to the title and reminds the reader that where they walked with you in the poem was actually found some place unexpected — making the last line a surprise in and of itself. I also appreciated the line in the first stanza “meadows blush with newborn glory” for the imagery and personification. Truly a beautiful poem and the location must be beautiful as well!
Christine, wonderful word choice to capture nature. Loved “newborn glory” “silver foliage muscles” “virgin white bloom” “purple boasts” Absolutely gorgeous imagery and personification! Excellent poems!
Christine,
I love this! My go-to favorite nature escape is a little known nature preserve tucked in an industrial area, so your poem hit my heart. Thank goodness for these hidden gems that allow us an opportunity to refresh close to home.
Cara – the tanka is a perfect fit for walking in the woods. The 31-syllables are the same pattern as my footsteps. Thank you for this idea.
Every Bend
I concentrate on my feet as I walk
The towpath in early April,
Follow patterns of footprints
A mix of frost and mud.
I stop on the canal bank,
Watch he wild asparagus,
Purple heads and straight backs.
They ignore the beauty of their reflections.
I was born in April and this day,
This walk along the towpath,
A springtime present to myself
The smell of moss and rich earth.
I walk along the winding path,
Kicking up clumps of mud and gravel,
At every bend, the woods
Hold out another wondrous view.
A tick-ticking in the trees,
The wind rubs a dry, brown leaf
Against the smooth gray skin of an elm tree,
Persistently keeping time.
Suddenly from under a thicket of bushes,
A new green snake darts out,
Swiftly sliding through the leaves,
On his back a yellow ribbon.
Your poem is filled with images reaching all the senses especially that moss and rich earth – often encouraging me to walk on. But that snake – yikes – I scream despite the thought of a yellow ribbon.
Word Dancer, oh your poetry is so beautiful here.These tankas remind me of Whitman and Dickenson’s poetry. I felt completely pulled into the scene and your journey. From the mud and gravel to the new green snake, I love the color, sound, and striking imagery. Absolutely gorgeous poetry, and have a very happy birthday!
Word Dancer,
I can think of no better gift to give oneself than a walk in nature. Your poem gives me a clear vision of your trek and reminds me of images in Braiding Sweetgrass, a book I love. That last image of a snake echoes Emily Dickinson in its ability to chill me to the bone. I keep my distance when I see a snake.
Soooo much to behold here and in every stanza! I want to be on that gorgeous path with so many wondrous sights to see!
Such a beautiful, sensory poem, appreciating the gifts of nature and the season – even the new green snake is festive, with that pretty yellow ribbon on his back! Your images are so clear that I feel I am walking there with you, Joanne.
Thank you, Cara, for the variation on the Tanka and your walk to school – the lines ‘The ice on the edges of the fence-top’ stood out to me most, especially on a spring day with crunchy grass and crisp air. Took the opportunity to syllabically try to capture a meal last night with neighborhood friends.
Upon Contact
~b.r. crandall
After green beans steamed in a sauna of hot olive oil,
the almonds and cranberries began to heal
spontaneously…
…tips of steak, marinated with Worcestershire sauce,
waltzed with peppercorn, barbecue rub, and garlic
homeopathy.
Cajun-skewered zucchini with shrimp bikinis,
lymed with tomatoes tossed on spinach & romaine…
Stratford creolization.
Friday evening, a friendship & conference with IPAs and wine,
a colonial conversation capped with cannolis,
strawberries.
Bryan,
This poem makes me hungry, especially for those green beans. I think I’ll make them for Easter. Anyway, the last line is the meat of the poem for me. It reminded me of the strawberries in Richard III and it complicates the food imagery that precedes it.
“My lord of Ely, when I was last in Holborn,
I saw good strawberries in your garden there;
I do beseech you, send for some of them!”
Thinking about and talking about food in literature is something I relish. Fantastic poem.
What a feast! Your description makes me hungry. I especially loved the conversation topped with cannolis!
Hmm. What a beautiful celebration of a meal. I love the way you describe the food and how it plays in harmony with the company you kept during said meal. My mouth was definitely watering while I read this.
You have me at shrimp bikinis! Love the playfulness…a colonial conversation capped with cannolis ~ perfect alliteration. Love LOVE this poem.
This is a great poem Bryan! I wish I lived your neighborhood! I particularly liked the first stanza ~ the green beans steamed in a sauna of hot oil ~ love that line ~ and the next one too ~ the almond and cranberries healing ~ just wonderful! Any ending (poem or meal) capped with cannolis is perfect!
Oh my. What a vertitable smorgasbord of delectable delicacies! The cannolis and strawberries are what draw me in – – ever the sugar addict. But those steak tips sound pretty alluring too. Yummmmmmm!
Spoken Word Cooking with Crandall® It’s one of my favorite shows.
Agreed!
Hahaha, yes!
Bryan, you already know how much I love your tanka. Odes to memories, the inherent power of food to imbue a specific intimacy that comes with culinary gatherings, the healing of cranberries through love and laughter — I am full from the warmth of it all.
And to see what has ultimately become a list of tanka-recipes? I feel like there could be an entire book of just these. Snap, snap. Love, love. Elephant shoes and rip-tides.
This is glorious.
Wow, so now I’m really hungry! You paint such vivid pictures of the food that I could nearly smell it. Wonderful and delicious!
Bryan, this is so good! (On many levels. lol.)
Wow, well aren’t you just the most talented here today with the food poem that is sure to make me want to eat again tonight! Your descriptions and word choices are spot-on and fun to devour!
We want seconds!!?
Food glorious food… not just a song, really, truly glorious, Bryan; my mouth is watering. “Garlic homeopathy” is fabulous and so is the rolling alliteration in “colonial”/”cannoli” – then there’s the crown, the singular (hence powerful) word – “strawberries” (I taste the sweetness as I write!); all in all, a culin-lyrical delight!
Bryan,
This is the most delicious poetry I have ever read! All menus should be written in Tanka form – by you!
Yikes! I loved this Bryan, perhaps most the gut punch of your ending, “a colonial conversation capped with cannolis, strawberries.” The reminder that a lovely meal like this is not enjoyed by all on planet earth.
This Saturday morning I had to push myself out the door as it is still winterish here- cold, tiny snowflakes falling and just continued gray. My attitude for the day changed when I rounded a corner to find a beautiful patch of daffodils spreading their joyful color into this dreariness. Positivity for the day begins.
Winter’s grayness lingers this April morn,
A corner shouts- SURPRISE-as vibrant golden stars greet me
a constellation of spring.
I love – “constellation of spring” – beautiful!
Cathy,
We have that gray, lingering winter here, too, but a peek of spring tulips make me hopeful. Hope your winter departs soon.
I love that last line! Daffodils really are like a constellation that heralds in the next season. Spring will be with you soon, Cathy.
A surprise gift indeed of golden stars, great line! Spring is coming!
Cathy, this poem is perfect for the weather where I am right now. It’s finally starting to feel like spring! I love this.
Cathy, a lovely way to describe those blooms! <3
Cathy,
Daffodils do indeed serve such an important role in the transition between the doldrums of winter and the color bursts of spring, and you captured that beautifully. Lovely!
Thanks for this challenge, Cara, and for introducing me to Haryette Mullen and tanka poetry.
Questions When I Lay Awake
By Nancy White
How long will I wait and wonder
About what lies beyond?
Sometimes I lose sleep
By seeking answers to impossible questions.
Is it normal
That I worry about eternity?
It would seem that most natural creatures
Don’t give it a second thought.
Yet I lay awake praying
For just a glimpse of heaven.
It’s hard for me to have hope
For something so unfathomable.
This hits home, Nancy, and I’m sure millions of people can relate to this. We are all seeking a glimpse of heave – and maybe its in the all the natural things around us – that gives me hope.
Nancy,
I often lie awake at night contemplating what’s after. I think this is a universal question, so you are not alone.
Linda, your poetry is relatable and deeply moving. I feel that desire “For just a glimpse of heaven”. Hugs, Barb.
Nancy,
While I’ve met my three responses, your poem compels me to respond once more. While we all have our existential moments, there are times where some of us — myself and you included — become trapped in a cycle of “seeking answers to impossible questions” and the haunting self-reflection of “Is it normal That I worry about eternity? It would seem that most natural creatures Don’t give it a second thought.” So powerfully written; how often I’ve wondered these exact sentiments.
I envy the natural world in their unyielding presence in the present. It is a reason why I so often seek to be with nature — to surround myself with mentors.
One of the many things I adore about writing is the comfort we find when a writer voices your inner-most thoughts. Thank you for that gift.
Thanks, Rhiannon, for understanding and pointing out the “unyielding presence in the present” about nature. That must be why I love “to surround myself with mentors” as well! You described that perfectly!
Nancy, this is a poem that strikes deep. I can recall a youth pastor telling my group many years ago about how long “forever” is – I won’t go into the imagery he used, but I found the concept more overwhelming than reassuring. I also heard many stories from older generations, how they used to take turns staying with the sick and dying (“before nursing homes and hospitals, when people took care of each other at home” my grandfather said). Many of the dying seemed to glimpse something the living couldn’t see… these are stories I need to capture but oh, your poem speaks to me this day, in its earnest longings.
Cara, I love this form of tanka. Your poem’s opening question prompted me to think about my morning walks and the changes in our once rural neighborhood. Your poem is full of nature sounds in its assonance and alliteration.
I live a short distance from the Fort Hall Indian Reservation, home of the Shoshone-Bannock tribes.Yesterday evening we ate dinner at the casino where I spoke to a tribal member about history, culture, community support and our white community’s need to learn.
People of the Horse
I too would like to feed the horses as
I walk past their coral each morning and watch their regal heads rise in recognition.
One horse ambles to the fence. I pause to
pat its head and contemplate its history with Shoshone-Bannock, people of the horse.
Along the Snake petroglyphs tell the story:
Cayuse Indian ponies traded to Utes, Comanche. Then white men brought their guns.
Now like the horses I see along my walk, People of the Horse live on a patch of
land hemmed by the Snake and a reservoir.
—Glenda Funk
April 16, 2022
Glenda – I always love reading your poems – they take me on a journey to n unfamiliar land. I can see it in my mind’s eye through your words, and it is eerie and spectacular. Thank you.
The finger-snaps are loud for you this morning, Glenda. This is absolutely beautiful…if not frustrating. The history….wow….These lines…
Glenda, your poem is deeply moving. I love how you pull the reader into this striking and stunning scene of horses and history of the Shoshone-Bannock people to witness the beauty, the place, and its deadly history. I absolutely adored the last stanza and line “land hemmed by the Snake and a reservoir.” Hauntingly beautiful. Thank you for taking me to this beautiful and special place today. Mesmerizing poetry! I could see this being part of stunning picture book.
Smooth alliteration in “regal heads rise in recognition” and “pause to pat” — nice! Like the specific choices: “ambles” is slow and deliberate because there is a fence, and “hemmed” suggests deliberate, conscious action.
Glenda, you are a storyteller extraordinaire, telling meaningful stories. The simple: “Then white men brought their guns” says so much, and makes us stop. The way you liken the corralled horses you see on your walk with the People of the Horse is heart wrenching. Thank you again for your prophetic voice.
Glenda, beginning with “I, too…” was an attention-getter. (Who are those others?). And then the poem opens up to tell the story of the Shoshone-Bannock “people of the horse” in fascinating yet concise detail. That last stanza! Mournful. Beautiful poem.
Hi Wendy,
The “others” started out as adults in a rehab house two houses north of the house w/ the horses. The rehab opened a few months ago, and until last week I never saw those in treatment. Lately they’ve been out walking, and when I stopped to pet the horses one woman asked me if I knew whether or not the owners would mind if she fed the horse an apple. I thought I’d be writing about the walk and new neighbors in rehab, but as the poem developed, I started thinking about the horse as a symbol of the relationship between the Shoshone-Bannock and horses to the white folk who have been less than accepting of the rehab home.
You are taking me to a new location today…”Cayuse Indian ponies…then white men brought their guns…so much history there, in so few words…
Images of horses running free, and an introduction to “Shoshone-Bannock, people of the horse”- your tankas have drawn me in, captivated me, Glenda; you offer so much history and insight with just a few words, it is truly a marvel. This concluding tanka hurts – the idea that these people have been reduced to “a patch of land.”
Glenda,
I like how you took the form one step closer the original Japanese one liners. I am always fond of historical walks and you certainly took me on one this morning. An engaging entreaty into a different time.
A deeply haunting poem, Glenda – I can see the beauty of the horses and the intrigue of the petroglyphs; I can also feel the despair over age-old wrongness still not righted. My son is taking a psychology course for his mortuary science degree and recently had to review data on suicides: of all races and ethnicities, the Native American/Indian was consistently highest. That last image you leave us with – People of the Horse on a patch of land hemmed by the Snake and a reservoir – is indelible. It lingers. And should.
Fluffy Ruffles Sands
Too beautiful for brilliance;
Fluff—eight pounds of not-so-bright beauty.
Born in poverty in our shed; meant for royalty instead.
A tail with a cat attached,
she floated into rooms
gracing us with her presence, demanding fealty from her citizens.
We obeyed.
GJSands
4-16-22
Gayle, what a beautiful cat! I love how the paradoxes of your first stanza gave me pause and (for me) spoke to the idea of the beauty in simplicity and the everyday. Loved, then, the regal imagery in the second stanza: a fitting ode to such a beautiful creature!
That first line: magical!
Gayle, “born in poverty…meant for royalty” is endearing. And I love the “tail with a cat attached” – this makes me smile!!
Gayle, such sweetness here – – I love this photo of your princess kitty and I love this line most, I think:
Born in poverty in our shed; meant for royalty instead.
We do this. We dog and cat lovers, we do this thing where we rescue, adopt, take in and reverse the spectrum. That is one blessed cat, and you are one blessed family to call her yours. Look at that FACE! And that tail!
Gayle,
I giggled in recognition at this line:
“A tail with a cat attached,” We have such a cat. She’s less attractive by the day. I adore your queen kitty. Thanks for the poem and the photo.
Oh my gosh! This is wonderful – “a tail with a cat attached.” BRILLIANT!
Love this poem, and thanks for sending a picture of your cat. Your poem made me smile.
Gayle, what wonderful tankas to celebrate your rescue cat. Loved your final line to show Fluff’s ability to rule. What a sweet picture, too!
What a beautiful poem. What a beautiful cat. Born in poverty, meant for royalty tugged at my heart, but the description of a tail with cat attached made me laugh! She has my fealty!
I love this, Gayle! I love “tail attached to a cat” and “demanding fealty”! She is a delightful princess and look how proud she is of her royal plume-like tail!
Gayle,
Such a pretty girl! She inspired such lovely tankas, as well. I love “A tail with a cat attached.”
Ohhhh she’s gorgeous and so is your poem! I am so happy you obeyed! ?
Cara, thanks for this lovely Saturday morning prompt! I love your tankas: the plaintive nature of the first one! (Possible answer: These days, too many.). And the sound and sense of the second. Both were just lovely!
At the foot of our road, there lives…a tree god. I always give him a nod of respect on my walks, and my kids chuckle and shake their heads at me. But…judge for yourself…
Prayer of Thanks
Ancient guardian of this rough road,
his hoary head – sacred moai! – gazes eyeless,
wordless – a watchful, mournful gatekeeper.
I had to share one more picture of him. XD
Just love how you saw this tree in a new perspective from others who walk by it daily. Thanks for sharing about this guardian and reminding me to look at things with an artist’s eye- seeing ordinary things in a new way.
Wendy, my mind works so like yours – I’d have seen the face, too (pareidolia) and have felt beholden to the tree guardian. Mystical stories are now spiraling through my thoughts – infinite fun. Love love love this ancient moai (perfect word!) and its mournful, watchful, eyeless, wordless gaze.
Fran, thanks so much for introducing me to the word pareidolia! <3
I love the idea of trees as Ancient Guardians ….
Wow Wendy! He’s really something! Indeed a gatekeeper!
Wendy,
Your poem is reverent, and that view is priceless. “sacred moai” is precise and perfect.
I know this tree, this guardian! He stand bumpy and weathered – thank goodness for trees.
Wendy, this is an incredible tree god! He has the best spirit. We spent some of our trip to Ireland finding these within the trees under the direction of a guide. I can’t remember what she called them. But guardian and gatekeeper works perfectly.
Jennifer, all of these comments got me researching, and I discovered that thee growths are called “burls.” 🙂
They were called gronkydoddles when found in rocks!
Wow, this is amazing. I’m so glad you had this prompt and chose this day to write about him. “sacred moai” to be sure. The images are crystal clear, and your tanka, perfection.
Wendy,
All hail the guardian of the road! Your tanka does indeed echo a prayer. Lovely! and what a cool tree!
Cara – I love the freedoms that this revised tanka form offers. I will be playing with it long past today. 🙂 So many glorious lines in the mentor poem and in yours, especially your observations of nature calming the “soul to the core” – so what nature does. This is a thread in my own tanka today – thank you.
Mourning Walk
Last summer when I walked here
the fallow field at the end of the lane opened up before me
an undulating sea of green
Long before I reached the shimmering expanse
I could feel the mystical, quivering aliveness
in the depths of the grasses
Infinitesimal orchestra, vast insect choir
assembled in its tabernacle, offering lifesong
to all the Earth
Today, I stand here in memoriam
for the field is no more, shorn of its green tresses
its body ravaged by bulldozers
An unseasonably cold wind
whips with knife-shivering emptiness
even doves, high on the power lines, bear silent witness
Oh, Fran, this is lovely! You brought tears to my eyes, reading about something that I don’t know and have never seen: a feat. A roller coaster of emotion, and I loved the uplift of the “insect choir/assembled in its tabernacle”: glorious! And then the next stanza made me gasp aloud, dismayed. That last stanza with its beautiful and apt word choice: wow. This whole piece was just great!
Oh Fran, I know what you mean about bulldozed land. Miles of housing tract went in just down the street from me; I was so sad because I used to love the horses and goats that had lived there.
I love your phrases “quivering aliveness “ and “knife-shivering emptiness”. I could feel the contrast of life and loss.
Fran,
I mourn w/ you as I witness the ploughing under and sprawl devouring once verdant fields. The musicality in
“Infinitesimal orchestra, vast insect choir
assembled in its tabernacle, offering lifesong
to all the Earth”
reminds me we lose so much more than the land when “progress” wreaks havoc on nature. The next to the last stanza lamenting the bulldozer’s rape of the land is a gut punch. I used to teach “My Antonia” and included lots of information about the plow symbolism. A bulldozer is its offspring.
Beautiful – as always, Fran. So many images:
undulating sea of green
vast insect choir
body ravaged by bulldozers
knife-shivering emptiness
even doves, high on the power lines, bear silent witness
You create such a powerful and solemn song.
This was a Tanka-punch…Phew…bearing witness to the ravage is somehow ubiquitously human
Fran, absolutely love these lines,
Fran, this moment on your walk, this realization that the once thriving quivering aliveness has been bulldozer-ravaged is a tearful mourning of all that is sacred, all that is God’s canvas of creation, tossed aside for the almighty dollar of emptiness – – maybe homes for some, guaranteed homelessness for others. How many bird families fallen, how many burrows uprooted? You take us there with you today for this silent funeral, this testament to all that was and is no more.
Fran, oh my have you packed a punch. There is such a sense of loss when the earth is “ravaged” — what a perfect word — for for our own “growth” (which continues to lead towards demise).
Are you familiar with Sara Teasdale’s “There Will Come Soft Rains”? Your entire poem drew me towards the somberness of her words, particularly your line of “doves, high on the power lines, bear silent witness.”
Stunning, raw, honest, and a feeling that so many either choose to ignore or cannot see. Baffling. Thank you for this.
What a poem! It started with the title which had me intrigued about what we were mourning. Then I loved “infinitesimal orchestra, vast insect choir”- what stunning word choice. In memoriam was perfect and the last line shows it is not just humans who mourn. Great job~
Fran,
These are just wonderful and meditative. I love how the form allows you to have varying line lengths that work so well in your thread today. I’m so glad you like the form.
I felt every emotion from start to finish. I am saddened by the end of such a sacred space as the one you’ve described. It leaves me wondering what Earth does when the “offering lifesongs” are gone.
?
Cara,
Ah, freedom (cue George Michael) to find the new within the familiar. I love the different poetic structures in various cultures, but I love those who allow themselves to be inspired and take on a form with their own unique flair. Thanks for giving us the opportunity to do the same.
Morning Song
Silent snowfalls,
The tick-tack of keystrokes,
Tinnitus in my ears —
Onomatopoeias of April Adirondack mornings
Rhiannon, “silent snowfalls” draws me in gently before the sound begins. And I love the alliteration in “April Adirondack”
An April Adirondack morning and the click of keyboard sounds like sheer heaven. Oh, the fresh air and feels of springtime after a cold winter!
Just gorgeous, Rhiannon – I hear it and sense the depths “being” in those still-wintry April Adirondack mornings.
Rhiannon, love your language in this! Beautiful, peaceful, April morning sounds.
Rhiannon,
This starts out so calm and peaceful. Then I see “Tinnitus” and the poem’s world shifts. That last line is pure gold.
The last line, Rhiannon…that’s what wins it for me (and I know it comes from tick-tack tinnitus of keystrokes – music to your ears)
Cara, a new twist on the familiar! My students will love the flexibility of having options when tanka writing. Yours bring me into the moment – the steps toward soul nourishment and spring ice, which immediately places me on my own walks as I watch its thinness dissolve into water.
Morning Musings
yesterday, the daffodils tipped their heads
in a blush of yellow, bowing before blossoming
their nod to slow awakenings
a solitary sandhill crane, floated overhead
breathing air currents in long drawn wing flaps
a noiseless partnering with spring
Jennifer, what a beautiful picture you create here! The “blush of yellow,” the crane floating overhead and “breathing air currents” are lovely and peaceful imagery; thanks for this today!
I love the personification of the daffodil and the color of “blush of yellow”, the alliteration throughout and mostly the “noiseless partnering” – something about being able to work together in silence brings me great comfort.
Jennifer, it’s a painting! Oh my goodness, what beauty! It was like I was in immersive VanGogh watching it come alive,
only it was a happier painter. Stunning and peaceful!
Your lines are pure music, Jennifer. A celebratory song of spring, even in the “noiseless partnering” – peace is rustling throughout (assisted by all that soft -s alliteration). How I love the image of the solitary sandhill crane, floating overhead.
I enjoyed your description of daffodils- “ bowing before blossoming,their nod to slow awakenings”. Looking out my window, right now, I see exactly what you described.
Jennifer,
Gorgeous nod to spring w/ fantastic alliteration: “blush…bowing before blossoming” and “solitary sand hill.” Love the way the last line sums up the imagery.
Jennifer,
These are lovely! The daffodils “bowing before blossoming” and the “noiseless partnering with spring” had me holding my breath.
Wow, Jennifer, I adore the images your poems paint for us.
Then the ending is quiet and breathtaking with the “noiseless partnering with spring” ooooo ahhhh!
?
Thanks for the prompt and introduction to a different tanka form, Cara. The ice foretelling the feel of this early spring morning emphasizes its power beautifully. I want to walk in that day.
The canyon’s immense size is clear,
but its depth cannot be captured,
gifting a reminder of how possibly deep we are.
Your last line (set up perfectly by the first two) is magical.
Kevin
Angie, this simile depth of the human capacity next to the image of a canyon is fantastic! Great infinite comparison!
Lovely, Angie. I love the depth of that last line!
Ooh! Angie, this is an incredible pondering – tempted to say it’s so deep 🙂
Angie, the inclusion of “possibly” is a reminder of the power of one word! There’s so much more to the canyon’s immensity than we can gauge – and so it is with humans and hidden depths. These are mighty thoughts.
Angie,
The first thing I notice is the paradox forcing me to think about what I know and what I think I know.
“gifting a reminder of how possibly deep we are”
will keep me thinking and returning all day.
Oh your first two lines brought me back to a hike on the edge of the Grand Canyon and the gifts it has given me. It is indeed a grand time to remember how possibly deep we can be. Great analogy!
Talk about short but sweet- That last line really got me.
Angie,
Yes! I love the parallel between the wonders of nature and what is within us!
Cara, this tanka form you share is new and fresh and inviting! Thank you for hosting today. I feel that need to escape that you share in your poem – I often think of the movie The Village – as far fetched as it was, they had something right in their need to walk away from it all! And it also makes me think of the owl and the 3 licks to the center of the Tootsie pop commercial, when you start with How many steps….fabulous! We need more poetry with questions like yours! I love it.
Bumblebee Tik Tok
Security Cam Notification Alert
I check the footage~A bumblebee
dances like it’s his personal Tik Tok
Irish jig step groove, shimmy shimmy Coco Puff Shimmy shimmy pow Tik Tok salsa,
sashaycrunk Virginia Reel promenade
then the two steppin’ cowboy boogie do the butterfly round round round and round you go it’s time to show out wit’ yo
bad
bee
self
Ha. A perfect start to the day (for me). I love the visuals and the playfulness and the voice here, Kim.
LOL. “Tik Tok salsa” and “bad bee self” are my faves. Such fun sound in this ??
Kim, I could not adore this more! Bumblebees are a favorite (I call them Winnie the Pooh bees) and I loved the personality you gave to yours. I could picture every two step of the bad bee self. This is just pure fun.
Kim—how to start my day with joy!! The 31 syllable constraint is invisible in the wiggle of your movement. “Like it’s his personal Tik Tok”, all those dances, then his two-steppin’ cowboy boogie.” I will go back to re-read this Tik Tok!
Kim, this was too funny and it had me chuckling after your first stanza. That cute and sassy bee!
Kim – the amusement all begins with a bee setting off the security cam, but then to see it so clearly in your wonderful, whimsical words, dancing like nobody’s watching… so hilarious, endearing and real that I wish it was an animated short. It practically is already, in your powerful poet-hands.
This made me smile as I envisioned that bumble bee’s soundtrack for his personal TikTok. I just love how you connected nature and modern life. I actually would love to see this video.
Kim,
This poem is so fun and inviting. We get “animal detected at door” notifications. Sometimes it’s a spider weaving a web at night. I love watching those videos.
“A bumblebee / dances like it’s his personal Tik Tok” is a laugh out loud line. Now I’m imagining that bee dancing to all those songs and dances. The ending is perfect.
“out wit’ yo
bad
bee
self.”
Im gonna start saying that to our porch critters. Love this poem.
Love it, Kim…bumblee dancing on Tik-Tock – yo / bad / bee / self. BOOM! You brilliantly bombed the structure and made it your own. Sipping my coffee with admiration and a smirk this morning.
Kim! This is a delicious cocktail of words. So playful and fun. My mind is imagining a Pixar creation with your poem as the script, and I am shimmying right along with it.
Kim,
What fun! I especially love the extended one line with the four beat finale in your second poem. I’m glad you liked the form. 🙂
Kim,
STANDING AND CLAPPING!! OMG, so much to take in and enjoy! I felt the rhythm and fun of every move!
???
One can’t consider the weight of a raindrop
until a flower petal baseball mitt
catches a fly ball, then droops down to Earth
—-
Gorgeous light, fading from a falling sun,
lingers in the mirrored reflection, a wink
of an eye like a lure, and then its gone
Kevin
Kevin, the flower petal baseball mitt catching a raindrop is metaphor at its pinnacle finest! I love the imagery of nature personified this way.
Oh I love the image of the flower as baseball mitt and raindrop as a ball. Beautifully described images.
Kevin, I’m now pondering the weight of a raindrop (and enjoying it). Love the visual of the fly ball caught in the petal mitt.
Kevin, these are beautiful and memorable images. I love your use of “one” in the first poem; it makes the experience feel universal. And loved the “flower petal baseball mitt.” Thanks for this!
“flower petal baseball mitt” is a brilliant metaphor!
Kevin,
These are beautiful! I love the images of the “petal baseball mitt” and “a wink / of an eye like a lure” in particular. Thank you for sharing!
Love what you’ve captured here in both poems. The splendor shines through in every line. Well done, Kevin!
Kevin,
The imagery of your first poem is so vivid. The perspective of the raindrop from the “flower petal baseball mitt” is so clever and fun. Such a great metaphor.