In November the sunlight dapples over dead leaves wind rustles memories free storms sweep tombs, unearth bones beleaguer dead valleys to awaken an exiled Ezekiel’s breath: “The end is not night Sleep is not death Your seed-borne husk betokens Jerusalem’s dawn is nigh.”
For dVerse’s MTB this week, Frank asks us to write a Jisei (Japanese Death Poem) in either a haikai or haikai-esque form of ten lines or less.Click on Mr. Linky to join in!
Every day I see her there child by the chain link fence imagining friends and school games her mouth forming an O at the clouds as if they were breath-formed to shower the blighted with dreams dragons incinerating fences between a million small figures as time passes like wind over grass, blown green now brown, while the limitless sky watches unblinking.
dVerse Poetics #428, “Poetry as Witness”: Frank writes, “So tonight poets, let’s bear witness in our local neighbourhood.” I chose to write on the harm that is being done to our children during this time of enforced social isolation.
Aloft a brothel’s barge with two beside liquid lines processional, embowered golden scents, stood a painted courtesan as in a vision the monk saw.
His chanting fingers trembled, as if her subdued scarlet figure were of a bride, pink as dew, whom he had left to follow the path of his enlightenment.
Fearful he took a closer look: the vision turned, her gaze obsidian and chill his blood like the Yangtze ran his visage grayed like the Changjiang Plain where she for him in dishonor won his pellucid peace with her forsaken cries.
He made as to rise, prostrate to sink, reverent, but she her glance of saber-scorn withdrew and looking behind at her companion true whispered, “There sits a saintly hooded fool!”
For dVerse’s MTB, synesthesia is the name of the game and I thought I’d add a bit of ekphrasis to it to spin an operatic tale. Be sure the check out Mr. Linky for more offerings in this vein.