Momentary Permanence


Momentary Permanence

I paddle and I paddle,
each stroke offering reward.

A bass, thrashing
in a futile struggle to escape
the grasp of an eagle
that swiftly rises from a river
in a slow January crawl.

The graceful nature
of a sycamore’s white lines
against a blue March sky,
just as beautiful the full green
bloom of its leaves
in the coming months.

A dragonfly, the imperceptible
breeze of its lustrous wings
welcome in August heat
as it flits from a tree branch
to the bow of my kayak
to reeds that line the shore,
never still for long, until
it reaches the gray arm
of a tree rising from the river,
pausing to let me pass.

I drive and I drive,
each trip offering reward.

Children who greet me
with open arms, engage
in long talks of events
new and not-so-new,
as if they are one.

Conversations starting up
where they left off,
leaving off where they
are bound to start
once again.  And again.

A granddaughter
who will read to me
the memorized tale
in her favorite book.
One who will walk with me,
a fast crawl more her speed
when last we were together.
Both milestones
in the passing years.

Places that never grow old,
never have when I was close
and never will,
even in my absence.
The sight of maple trees
when oak and hickory
have become my norm.
The blue of rivers,
waterfalls and lakes,
now that I’m surrounded
by muddy waters.

All of this welcome to me.
Permanent bonds, even
with their temporary nature,
like golden sycamore leaves
as they drift beside me, caught
in the swirl of my paddle,
as if to remind me
they will always be with me,
even if waiting inside graceful lines
against a blue November sky.

This poem is my response to earthweal weekly challenge: EVERYTHING IN THE FOREST IS THE FOREST.

Sunlight Savior ~ prose poem

Sunlight Savior

Water or water lily? You lit on the flower, but a breeze pushed you into the water, nonetheless. Not your choice, of course, and your stained-glass wings beat as if to prove the point. Tantalizing inches away, the lily called to you, but the fluid motion of your wings soon succumbed to the weighty water that pulled them down. A small wave washed over you as I reached beneath you, saving you from a watery grave. You drank in the sunlight that dried the tiny beads of water that clung to you, clinging to my finger until you were filled with enough confidence to take wing, this time to the flower bed beside the lily pool. Water lilies could wait while your wings regained their luster. For now, sunlight was the only thing you craved.

My prose poem is inspired by A Beautiful Dragonfly, a poem by Gillena Cox, found here, and voiced here. Coincidentally, I heard/saw Gillena read her poem at dVerse ~ Poets Pub’s OpenLinkNight LIVE on Thursday, just hours after the events in my prose poem.

Such a Still Water – tan renga

Such a Still Water

such a still water
even the dragonfly
splash it with the tail
                         © Tan Taigi

setting sun walks on water
no footsteps to show its path

This is my response to Carpe Diem Tan Renga Challenge Month May 27th, write two lines to follow a given hokku, essentially creating a tanka.  The original haiku is by classical haiku poet Tan Taigi (1709-1771).

Image: Sunset on the Niagara River


Carpe Diem Tan Renga

August Dragon

August Dragon

wings beat,
move in a rhythm
that is mystery



at the rhythm
of my paddle



favoring sunlight,
forsaking trees
over shaded waters

hunt favored
by quarry hovering
in the heat of those rays

alighting, yet not,
on the bow of my kayak

breaking from its hunt,
only to be captured
by my lens