When Love is Gone

A world abandoned,  nature now attends.

She grows her roving vines; surrounds the door.

The sound of children’s play is heard no more.

Around the gnarled roots that grow and stray

she grabs at windows once held curtain’s sway.

No human voices echo through her halls

No more the roaming Jasmine odor calls.

What mystery escapes her stucco walls?

What place is this once held such loveliness?

Mad roots now rave and overrun her past.

They strangle unknown cause so long forgot.

When love is gone, then covered is the heart.

overgrown house

Remember Us

“Remember Us”

Like pictures on a screen in seconds, lost

or blips upon a monitor turn long

old memories are flown with deadly cost:

as quarks may separate eternal song.

The picture caught though words may flutter by

though hole is in my net and so I sigh.

A set of words surround my broken thought

say: “You and I” when, clearly, love is sought.

Before our memory may grab stale air

Before time takes the brain and makes a mush

Before the hurt that makes us want to share

Before the mind’s become a muddy lush;

inscribe upon some stone where century

from now our love survives for all to see.

Haiku for Lovers (photo by Robert Doisneau)

Echoes on Easter Island

 

“Echoes on Easter Island”

The silence as the clouds go rushing by
*across the treeless island’s bare terrain
where statues, mute, sit quiet in their clime
to worship, chant yet no one hears their claim.

Signs of their age show in their surface scowl
as muscles strain to move their burden forth.
Men grunt and stretch to transfer giant haul
with logs from trees that roll their statues north.

These silent icons speak of heaven’s hold.
Their antique voices echo from the past.
Harmonic crowds of angels have foretold
a tale of man’s redemption come at last.

They wail! These mighty icons pitch and lean
as mesmerized, they view their layered world;
their nights a holographic, starstruck scene.
What secret dreams has Rapa Nui hurled?

Now drop two stones in silent-surfaced pond
both circles formed may intermingle; die.
Below the surface, interference bonds
as spirit in the man has wings to fly.

That wisdom lies beneath the spreading wave;
encircles sound yet soul is not enslaved

*They say the islanders cut down all the trees on Easter Island so they could move their giant, carved heads to specific locations. They must have been waiting for rescue from another planet as the statues were placed strategically, on the island, as a kind of welcome sign for those coming from outer space to recognize their island as the place to land! The patterns set up on the island look like a kind of airport being readied for visitors from outer space. Reminds me of a modern-day movie,”Close Encounters of the Third Kind.”

 

“Starlight”

Van-Gogh.-Starry-Night-469x376

Starlight

Stars curl across the evening sky:
soulful, spinning out of sight.
So Van Gogh wants all to know
starry, vivid, glowing night.
Still, his canvas sings to us:
Shouts out to shining faithful
Swirling starlight with his brush.


Above called the “Pleiades” form.

Form invented in 1999 by Craig Tigerman, Sol Magazine’s Lead Editor. Only one word is allowed in title followed by a single seven-line stanza. The first word in each line begins with the same letter as the title. Hortensia Anderson, a popular haiku and tanka poet, added her own requirement of restricting the line length to six syllables. (I have restricted mine to 7 in honor of the seven sisters).

Background of the Pleiades: The Pleiades is a star cluster in the constellation Taurus. It is a cluster of stars identified by the ancients, mentioned by Homer in about 750 B.C and Hesiod in about 700 B.C. Six of the stars are readily visible to the naked eye.  Depending on visibility conditions,  between nine and twelve stars can be seen. Modern astronomers note that the cluster contains over 500 stars. The ancients named these stars the seven sisters: Alcyone, Asterope, Celaeno, Electra, Maia, Merope, and Tygeta; nearby are the clearly visible parents, Atlas and Pleione.

“Pandora’s Box”

Pandora’s box will wait upon death’s call
that comes from Charlotte’s violence.  All ears
hear rising tumult over statue, tall.
And there rides Robert Lee. His horse he steers.
Old statesman, warrior of Civil War;
his sword , no longer at the charge or flies.
Yet fought he for the South;  felt duty for;
now moderns see as wrong and strong they cry.

A strange, new hatred clashes in our day:
Old Robert’s history must die, some say.

Pandora’s box of symbols open snakes.

(Form: “821” Rules: Must contain 3 stanzas. lst=8 lines; 2nd=2 lines; 3rd=1 line summation.)

 

 

The Blue Grass Trailer Park

The Blue Grass Trailer Park

The Blue Grass Trailer Park. A crowded court

where sis and I grew up; played in the sand.

Where summers were a hopscotch and cavort

while list’ning to the sound of Dorsey’s band.

Our home a cosy space for count of five.

A closet kitchen with three rooms beside.

A paneled, sandy floor where roaches hide

a mile from beach where royal palms reside.

My Daddy moved us here in Forty-Four

and we were those who lived across the tracks

from Mar-A-Lago glamour I adore.

That bridge too far was minutes from our shack.

The Blue Grass Trailer Park:  life still a thrill

so close to other worlds that are surreal.

Sonnet for Shylah

Shyla cocoonSonnet for Shylah

While Shylah rocks, cocooned within her sleep

what dreams are viewed inside her tiny head?

With all her world of warmth she snuggles, deep,

how near or far from heaven is her bed? 

What are such flights for dreamy baby girl?

She wanders far in whirls of silken trees.

She floats ‘oer hills where wing`ed fairies swirl.

She’s flung, aloft, amid a lilac’s sneeze.

A whispered tease from nature tweaks her nose

as drifting now, meanders forth the breeze.

The lark will pause to serenade this rose.

On wings of praise, shared notes with nature freeze

in awe.  They halt before their song begins:

it’s Shylah’s hushed, small breath they must attend.

A Dose of Castor Oil”

A Dose of Castor Oil

A dose of castor oil was once the trick

our fathers often said we must imbibe.

Then gagging does embrace the mucous thick

as down it goes so foulness may not thrive.

A stuttering, red evil here is strewn

as AR Fifteens shatter all the love.

We need an antidote from heaven-hewn

yet no such medic issues from above.

Oh, world of endless joy and ruthless pain,

we’re crying out ; please send a cure for us

before dead children drive us all insane;

before this globe and hope is turned to dust.

Yet, comes no answer for our sickened sighs

or family of man. Cold blood defies.munch_edvard_3

Settled in Alabama

 Halloween 1942-1(the author, Jackie, far right, at age depicted in poem)

Settled in Alabama

We plant ourselves in hard, red clay out back.
A dusty game of Jacks we champion
but near mid-morning, turn, as hungry birds
and stand outside our granny’s country store.
We shuffle dirty, bare feet; outstretched hands:
Six howling worshipers at open door
and hanker for an Orange Crush, Moon Pie.

Her checkered oil cloth table later swells:
the smell of steaming, hand-tilled butter-beans.
Her cornfield grows up to the railroad track.
Fried chicken was a staple from her hens
who cluck and peck, roam ’bout without a pen.

I marvel how they simply fed us all.
So many children, grand, with gaping mouth.
No Social nor Security is known;
your option is to work or else you starve.

Late afternoon, we run the mile of road
to meet the city bus brings Granddad home.
And we, his soldiers marching happily
we settle in behind him, spirit free.

 

The Garden

Field of Flowers

The Garden

Imagine all the love our lives enclose

 if placed within walled garden’s memory.

There gently falls the rain where grows the rose

as droplets tremble in the wind and flee.

A wondrous world with rain-bowed colors blown

‘neath places in the sun where true things grow.

So be our rose whose petals now are flown

yet youth and passion’s heart remain and glow.

Oh, love’s true colors want to beam and breathe.

She grows, undying,  in green bowers where

her petals show a bold, bright destiny

so wild,  her vines are willing yet to share.

And our imagined rose, forever free

remains within our garden’s memory.