3rd House Journal

Baffled

This reminded me of a kiss I once shared through a screen door. It wasn't very tasty and we both backed up and laughed. But that relationship was ever thus - right there, but fruitless.

Sirius

A sundown of blue notes
clouds like mottled spots on a feral dog.
No pink lick of horizon tonight, folks --
just a tattered madder edge
far below one bright defiant star.

---

Driving home at dusk

Tonight the sky is still visible
as I steer my headlights
southwestward for home.
Graded shades of vivid blue
a rare exposure of curvature
reminds me what planet I'm on,
Earth. Traversing her surface
translucent blue iris of an eye
darkening with evening
turning.

Thoughts on a long commute

Every morning I merge upstream
and every evening down,
our cars swerving with the currents.

-

A prodigal to the pod, I'm subsumed
with proper markings and demeanor.
I too hunch before a sleek screen.

-

Far from here, he sleeps with madronas.
Beneath him an ancient continent recedes
into the Sound, surrounded by orcas.

-

Reflections in a Coffee Shop Window

You can only window shop for so long.
The clock is ticking. Across the street
in a blue bowl your dreams steam,
raining on the restless impatiens.

--

Speaking of poetry...

I mentioned at the end of my last post that the Velveteen Rabbi has a powerful set of poems in her new chapbook, chaplainbook. I want to mention a couple of poetry blogs you may also enjoy. At Living Poetry, poet and poetry-lover Amy shares some outstanding poetry finds and gives her insight into what they mean and/or why she likes them. And at a small stone, Fiona's daily one-liners are exquisite nutshells of fine writing. I myself have not written poetry since December when the killing frost of love loss set in deep and as yet no pale green tendrils have ventured into the light. Maybe the answer lies here.

Archaeology

Found:
fossilized fingerprint
patterns in salt

meandering
traces rivulets
tattoo my spine

extinct
but evident:
your final migration.

---

Just received my copy of The First Hay(na)ku Anthology and felt inspired. I want to also thank Eileen Tabios, creator of the hay(na)ku form, for her link at the Hay(na)ku blog.

Dato/Non Dato*

with thanks and apologies to P

You gave me
black olives
mozzarella

baci
handblown glass
earrings from Venice

fine paper book
empty pages
waiting

two
concert tickets
you couldn't go

flew to Venice
instead missing
you

I
bought you
a blue bowl

daisies and peacock-spots
matches your
table-linens

ungiven
Christmas present
you'd like it

it's sitting on
my credenza
unfilled.

---
*Italian: Given/Not Given
This poem is written in a hay(na)ku form.

Counting blessings

Wishing you all a Happy Thanksgiving!

1. Blue corridors in the clouds
2. My elders anchored in a life raft
3. Friends like dolphins buoying
4. Asanas of the heart
5. A tuned instrument, my strings resounding
6. The floor of my livelihood yet pushing up my feet
7. Beauty stumbled upon
8. Savors favoring tongue and nostrils
9. Wishbones not broken in vain
10. Terra still firma, house still held

And a bonus blessing here in this invisible net, all you virtual angels leaving your marks.

---

Signs of winter

I came home today to find yardstick-high wooden stakes topped with fluorescent orange tape lining the roads in my condo complex. Their annual appearance is as much a sign of approaching winter as squirrels hoarding nuts and birds flying south in formation. When snow blankets everything in sight, the squares of orange tape will appear like runway lights, guiding the snowplow drivers between white road and white sidewalk and white driveway.

Last night our breath mushroomed out before us in visible puffs; like comic-strip characters, our words written in white balloons.

Boots are lined up on long display benches – blunt nosed and lug soled, pointy toed and sharp heeled, fur lined, fleece lined, zippered, laced, quilted, buckled, chunky suede or sleek leather – choose your foot armor for the onslaught of slush, ice, snow and cold.

This afternoon I passed a couple walking a dog, its head plowing under the deep pile of leaves along the roadside. We all laughed. It was just after 4:00 and the sun was already turning tail over the horizon. I climbed the hill up to my house and smelled the first woodsmoke of the season.

---

Update: Playing around with a hay(ha)ku version:

Signs of Winter

Snowstakes
await white
cloaked roads, walkways -

already
our breaths
puff cartoon balloons.

Toe
to toe
our boots meet

winter's
pursuit. See
the sun's quick

exit
trailing curls
of wood smoke.

---