NaPoWriMo – Day Fourteen

going through tunnel
we cannot see Devil’s Slide-
also no rain now

/ / /

the sky is clear blue-
off the ocean a strong wind-
rain is on the way

/ / /

mist blown from the sea
by the constant onshore winds-
rain on my windshield

/ / /

Inspired by the April Showers prompt at Poetic Bloomings, and the amount of time I spent in El Granada and Half Moon Bay this weekend, I submit three haiku.

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Fire and Forethought

He came to me in a dream,
pushing back the darkness,
a coal flickering in a fennel-stalk.

The fennel-scent surrounded me,
like entering a house where food
has simmered the whole day.

Suddenly, the flame was mine,
and I was roasting vegetables,
basting them with olive oil.

Those scents surrounded me,
as he stepped forward, touching
my hands and then my forehead.

Then the fire was within me,
and I found myself at a desk,
writing poems based on myths.

Before he could turn away,
I touched my forehead and
opened my palms to him.

I bowed in gratitude
for his gifts, the many flames,
and he nodded in reply.

As he walked from my dream,
the darkness tried to return,
but I held it back with my fire.

/ / /

This poem was written in response to prompt #60, burning passion, at Poetic Bloomings.

It is my first attempt at a triversen, a form I learned about from Brenda Warren at her blog, undercaws, with her poem, “Exiting Nests”. She pointed me to dVerse, which had an article on the triversen form.

The Sky

Fog clings to foothills-
unwilling to descend
into the valley

Wisps of fog-
I’m taken with how
they disappear

The fog murmurs-
before it’s invisible
listen to it

/ / /

These haiku/senyru were written in response to an idea about looking at the sky. I incorporated words from Three Word Wednesday: cling, murmur, and taken. They are also an unintentional response to the water, water everywhere prompt from Poetic Bloomings.

water, water everywhere

Good is like water;
it nourishes in being.
Without effort
it just is.

It does
without thinking.
It is
without thinking.

It is everywhere
within us
sustaining life.
It is life.

It does not contend,
but flows naturally,
finding a way to be
where it needs to be.

It flows down
as streams and rivers
to the world ocean.

It rises up
as vapor,
the spirit of life.

It is soft
falling from the sky.
It cleanses.
It makes things grow.

Supple and alive,
it bends the inflexible.
It weakens the hard;
rocks become sand.

Gentle sands now
to walk on,
lapped by the waves,
the sound of life.

It is calm here,
down low
where land meets water
and the sky is open.

Dive in,
buoyed by life.
Drink deep,
it tastes good.

/ / /

This poem was written in response to the water, water everywhere prompt at Poetic Bloomings.

It was inspired by some lines in the Tao Te Ching.

Walking the Way

As a young man, I was angry
that I was learning everything the hard way.
I wanted some guidance, some warning
about the sharp turns in the road ahead.

I railed at everyone around me,
frustrated that I had no road map,
until I began to understand that I had the tools
I needed to make my own way.

I began to draw and write,
crude at first, without a doubt,
but it was my map, and it was enough,
and more, it empowered me to be me.

I’m still unfolding that map today,
fleshing out details here, looking fondly
on areas I no longer walk, as well as
all the new spaces, ever expanding.

Doubt drives me still, so I check
the map often to be sure I’m on track.
And I’ve let go of the anger at myself
when I find myself off the path.

Some days, the map folds up neatly,
the creases aligning, beauty like origami.
Other days, I fold it the wrong way,
and struggle to make it pocket-size again.

And on the occasional day, it’s a prop
for a bit of sleight of hand.
You may not know where it is,
because I misdirected you, but I know.

And now I wonder: will my sons want
me to give them a road map?
Or will they make their own metaphor?
It’s this big blank space right here.

I’ll give them more guidance than I got,
but I won’t be upset when they ignore me.
It will be their map that they’re writing
and drawing on – and walking and dancing.

I’ll give them a map and suggest some places
to begin, but then I’ll cede control,
and tell them it’s okay to be off the path,
as long as you’re still on the map.

/ / /

This poem was written in response to the walk of life prompt at Poetic Bloomings.

Lost

for the purposes of dramatic tension
we need people to be Lost

the creators Design a set piece
where there is no cell reception

miscommunication means People are
not where they are supposed to be

there is going to be no Rescue
you are on your own

or so they would have you believe
as Act one unfolds the story

but as the complications begin to Surface
we see the relationships deepen

and we begin to understand that
we are not alone, we are not Lost

/ / /

This poem was written in response to the playing favorites… again prompt – #54 at Poetic Bloomings.

Verdant

I have a brown thumb
I kill plants

I don’t mean to
It just happens

So, you should probably
keep seeds away from me

Words are my soil
That’s where I plant

Some are forests
November novels

Some a clump of trees
an adapted screenplay

Some a bush
leaves on each side

of the branches
stanzas of couplets

Some a blade of grass
a haiku

These are my seeds
I share them with you

Plant them in your fertile soil
your imagination

That would make me happy
and maybe you too

That green
that is our life

/ / /

This poem was written in response to returning to the soil prompt at Poetic Bloomings.