the fate of a heart
in the sweetness of a kiss
a lover’s blessing
This senryū is my response to RonovanWrites Weekly Haiku Prompt Challenge #254,
where the prompt words are sweet and heart.
Image source: unsplash.com / Andrew Santellan
The prompt for NaPoWriMo.net Day 30 is to write a minimalist poem. I probably write more haiku than anything else, but I’m going to take a different route with this. I’ve taken a poem that I wrote 18 years ago, “The Love You Share,” and changed it, first by rewriting it, then reducing it in stages, until it’s a senryū, and then just one word.
The Love You Share
The moonlight, seen through your lovers eyes,
While holding hands under starry skies.
A gentle whisper that none will hear,
Except the lover that you hold near.
A tear that lies just above your cheek
And dries when you hear your lover speak.
A smile on your lips each time you take
A moment to watch your lover wake.
All this will be yours, for this I know:
The love that you share will make it so.
Born of a Whisper
Looking upon the moon reflected in her eyes,
he is overwhelmed by a flood of emotions.
Leaning closer as he holds her hand,
he strokes her soul with a gentle whisper.
A tear at the corner of her eye is poised
to fall, slowly drying as he speaks.
Born of a whisper, the bond that joins
their hearts is stronger than any word.
Lying beside him now, she smiles softly
as he stirs, reliving that first whisper.
Every time he wakes, her smile and gaze
assure him of the love they share.
a bond is born of a gentle whisper
that strokes her soul
a flood of emotion brings tears
soon dried by the words
echoes stir her emotions
each time she sees him wake
remembering that first whisper
a gentle whisper
strokes her soul,
as a bond is born
Image source: giphy.com (edited here)
Always Here in Heart
I am not at home in my place,
yet transplanted by choice.
Such is what the heart will do
to be fulfilled. And it is.
She will always be my muse; has been
since our eyes first met. Many times
the words I write have been
taken from the joy she brings.
I see the birds, am inspired
by cedar and oak, as I walk
along magnificent bluffs, paddle
on muddy rivers and streams.
But they are not the maples
I have known all my life.
Not the blue waters of great lakes,
nor mighty falls with their mist.
Yet happiness is mine, by choice.
One I would repeat again
and again. A choice made clear
when I was there and she was here.
The prompt from Gina for Poetics: your poetic hum asks about your life when you are not writing. How does it influence your writing? I moved from Western New York to mid-Missouri nearly seven years ago to be with someone special, and she is now my wife. I bought a house in October 2013, but it has only just occurred to me that, as much as I miss New York, I do consider Missouri my home.
Image: Autumn at Ha Ha Tonka State Park, Missouri
All it took was one look
into your eyes, and my heartbeat
spiked, like nothing
meant a thing before that
moment. I just fell into
those dark wells leading
to your soul, my whole being
fleeing before me
to be a part of you.
This is my response to Quadrille #75: Spike Up a Poem, the prompt from De Jackson at dVerse, which is to use any form of the word spike in a quadrille, a 44-word poem that does not require meter or rhyme.
Casting a light across the shadow
that would have brought me down,
you were my future, the horizon
that would bring me out of my darkness.
Now all is light.
This is my response to Thursday Photo Prompt: Timeless #writephoto,
from Sue Vincent at Daily Echo, with her photo (slightly modified here).
~~ click image for full size in new tab ~~
As if they were one,
the rhythm of our hearts,
consumed by a spark shared
by two souls in love,
swells with each beat.
In our kiss lie words
unspoken, their meaning
intoxicating, like the beauty
of the stars, known
but uncounted, above us.
This could be a distillation of Love, the nonet/tanka/senryū I wrote for Colleen Chesebro’s Tanka Tuesday Challenge, but it’s still my response to the prompt from De Jackson for Quadrille #73: A Prelude to a Kiss at dVerse, which is to use the word kiss in a quadrille, a 44-word poem that does not require meter or rhyme.
Piece-by-piece, laid out
carefully, just as you explained.
Float, gaskets, fittings. New parts arrayed
to the left of the damaged carburetor.
Screws turned, separation, methodical
disassembly – after all, part of
the recovery process – parts placed
to the right to be cleaned, reassembled.
You coming by every few minutes,
to check my progress, give a reminder,
less hands-on than when we replaced
a transmission the year before.
Glancing beneath the back edge
of the upraised hood, starting the engine
and seeing your smile as you pull the throttle
and those barrels come to life.
Life, and those lessons. We do our best
to build. Sometimes, we need to rebuild.
No more reminders, but I still remember
those lessons and feel your presence.
Twenty-five years ago from today, we lost my father.
I prefer to focus on his birthday, but this came to me last night, a silver lining, of sorts.
Image source: hotrod.com