The night is still no wind it has moved on leaving behind drifts of snow and sparkling tree limbs icicles hang like threads of tinsel from the eaves. The world is frozen white and grey and black and the sallow moon, mottled and haloed, freezes in place in one corner of a vast sky.
For this week’s prompt, I’ve selected a few poetic names from Bruce Hamana Sosei’s book, 100 Beautiful Words in The Way of Tea. Pick the English version of one (or more if the mood hits you) to shape your words around.
Zuiun – clouds that predict good fortune Shitamoe – plants sprouting under last year’s dried grass or under the snow Hatsuyume – the first dream of the new year Uzumibi – buried fire Ryokuin – green shadows (sunlight filtering through green leaves) Hotaru-gari – go searching for fireflies Tsuki-koru – the moon freezes
dverse Prosery: Bone Weary Posted by Linda Lee Lyberg Use the following line taken from Spring Azures from the book Wild Geese by Mary Oliver: “Sometimes the great bones of my life feel so heavy” in a 144 word story
All the memories of a lifetime rumble like an empty stomach. They want to fill me, comfort me, but they are poor fodder for loneliness. They are the great bones of my life, gnawed to a pristine whiteness. A blessing and a curse for they bring happiness and pain. Yet, I don’t long for forgetfulness. How could I live without the memory of you? All the better and the worse as though it never happened? Night without the dreams of your presence?
No, not forgetfulness. I’d rather feel the hunger. I’d rather deal with the loneliness the memories bring than to forget and never remember you again. I’ll carry these memories round my neck like a carved bone necklace and though, sometimes, the great bones of my life feel so heavy, they are after all what tethers me here. Keeps me from floating away.
dverse Poetics: Object Poems “title or begin your poem with “ THIS IS NOT A _________” Posted by Mish in Poetics
People you love die they do not come back like a soft whisper a filmy thing that caresses the air around your lips a shadow on the wall the hair on your neck rises at a chill only not at a familiar scent of bergamot and amber the loss does not go but ebbs and wanes and the loneliness is an ache under the skin whose bruise fades but remains tender even after years and years there is regret and what if only and somehow you do move on in a circle of doubt and hope.
The pegboard took up half a wall diplomas, awards, keepsakes, recognition from a long life of doctoring and humanitarian service. After you died, we had the hard task of deciding what to do with these mementos of your life. No one wanted to display them after all they were your honors not ours and yet to throw them on the trash heap seemed too cold. They were wrapped and boxed and carted to the attic to reside until a later generation with vague ties could, without guilt, discard them.
Happy New Year year after year this one will be the best we clink our glass to Auld Lang Syne kiss the new year in and year by year I’ve been blessed within a tangled mess of happy and sad pleasure and pain loss and gain looking for utopia getting some form of dystopia welcome some God speed others and live life the best I can.
“Brains are as unique as snowflakes,” David Eagleman
The brain “has no direct access to the outside world. It’s locked in silence and darkness inside your skull,” says Eagleman. “Our brains have never seen the outside world, and yet we experience it.”
A dream within a dream what does that mean? Reality is perception, perception deception? My eyes see, my fingers touch my brain tells me much… sensory download then interpretation But, is what I see what you see, too? Is my reality unique to me, yours tweak to a different view? Then my dream is not your dream and our dreams are dreams within dreams.
“To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night” (Gibran)
It is easy to find peace in the country solitude on a grassy knoll, soaking in the night, where a golden moon reigns an insect orchestra plays and thoughts meander from star to star. We’ve lost some of what we need the most… to reflect, to pray, to meditate, to be in awe of silence. Just one on one with the universe.
“Everyone is an ocean inside. Every individual walking the street. Everyone is a universe of thoughts, and insights, and feelings. But every person is crippled in his or her own way by our inability to truly present ourselves to the world.” Khaled Hosseini
I am a person shaped ocean kept tightly bound by physics walking around timidly lest I spill over my embankments
no one can see the waves of me sloshing agitatedly inside wanting to be understood yearning to reveal my salty
refreshing scent of life just under the surface. Only my words come to the top and break forth in poetic waves
thru my lisping impediment, my light hidden beneath in phosphorescence strivings, hopeful meanderings of poem.
dverse Posted by lillian in Prosery YOU MUST USE THE LINE I GIVE YOU BELOW, IN THE BODY OF YOUR PROSE. “Reading what I have just written, I now believe” from Louise Gluck’s Faithful and Virtuous Night
Reading what I have just written, I now believe it needs an addendum. When I said I was going to Cape Grave come hell or high water I meant every word but I didn’t go after all. I intended to. I was so angry that nothing could have stopped me. Then, Alice called, told me, sobbing like a child with hiccoughs and gasps, that Richard was dead. He blew his brains out. I hope it hurt. I hope it hurts throughout eternity.
You didn’t know I could be so spiteful, did you? Maybe you’ll want to reconsider your proposal now. But, after what he did to Shelby… the doctors say she may never heal – mentally, I mean. She sits rocking, talking baby talk to her doll.
I feel cheated. It was too easy and I wanted to… well, that’s enough. I await your reply.