polishing cedar ~ fusion troiku

The prompt for Carpe Diem #1789 The Winter Trees (Crossroads)
starts with two haiku by Yosa Buson (
in blue) to be used
to create a “fusion” haiku which is then to be the base for a troiku.

cutting into with the ax,
I was surprised at the scent.
the winter trees.

unfolding at the
hand of the glass polisher:
a camellia!

               Yosa Buson

polishing cedar
beauty of the grain unfolds
stimulating scents

polishing cedar
respecting treasured heirloom
held in loving hands

beauty of the grain unfolds
revealing further treasures
beloved keepsakes

stimulating scents
reminders of days long gone
held close to the heart

A troiku is three haiku, with each of the three lines from a suggested haiku as the first line of each haiku in the troiku. It’s not always possible to have a 5-7-5 format in the second haiku, due to the limitations of the suggested haiku. The name of the form is derived from “troika,” a sled or carriage drawn by three horses harnessed side-by-side, an iconic symbol of Imperial Russia.

Troika

Image source: wikimedia.org (troika)

Fleeting Memories ~ ekphrastic poem

Fleeting Memories

Tiny currents brush the edges of my mind.
Random details, trivial and not-so-
minor, flutter, teasing my thoughts.
Never clear in their intent. Prodding me
to remember, or struggling
to break the tethers imposed
by those details, always out of reach?

This is my response to Reena’s Exploration Challenge #113,
which offers a variety of images for inspiration.

Image source: pexels.com / Anthony

Lost Keepsakes ~ quadrille

Lost Keepsakes

Do you still keep those memories
we once held dear, now that we have
nothing else to share? The one thing
we could not divide between us
dwindled away for me, once we went
our separate ways, leaving nothing
but faint memories of memories.

This is my response to Quadrille #91 – Keep — the prompt from Kim at dVerse, which is to use the word keep in a 44-word poem that does not require meter or rhyme.

On Visiting Lost Waters ~ prosery

On Visiting Lost Waters

It was his heart that took him away, but his heart still missed the waters flowing through a canyon of green that would explode with color when the first frost found its home in leaves that could bring light to the grayest day.

Trails that bordered the rim of the majestic gorge and paths that descended to follow the shore of the winding river had called to him often over the years, and many were the times he had answered that call.

But love had taken him to a distant place, and years had passed since last his footsteps had fallen in this forest, since his eyes had seen the splendor of the river’s descent, and his face had felt the mist rising from the falls.

Sadly, with these thoughts on this brief visit, he knew these memories were left here with the trees.

Prosery is a form devised at dVerse, and the challenge is to write a piece of flash fiction with a 144-word limit (144 words, here). Included in the bit of prose is to be a complete line from a poem. With Prosery: Memories with the Trees from Merril, the line to be included is “These memories were left here with the trees” from Joy Harjo’s “How to Write a Poem in a Time of War.”  While that poem speaks of the lost or stolen beauty of a homeland, my piece describes Letchworth State Park, a place I often visited when I lived in Western New York (revisited this past week).

Image
Middle and Upper Falls – Genesee River at Letchworth State Park, Portageville, New York
~ left: 09 Sept 2019 & right: 19 Oct 2010 (note the old train bridge in 2010 photo) ~
(click image for larger view in new tab)

As the Pale Moon Rises

The Dark of December

As the Pale Moon Rises

An autumn night, and the pale moon rises.
My mind goes back as the pale moon rises,

To a man in the autumn of his life,
In autumn days as the pale moon rises.

With talk of work that’s done and left to do.
A day well spent as the pale moon rises.

Having no regrets, taking stock of life
And what’s in store as the pale moon rises.

In quiet moments under the stars,
Stirring embers as the pale moon rises.

Seasons, people, and places fade away.
I miss those talks as the pale moon rises.

There are lessons held in these memories,
If I may ken, when the pale moon rises.

My father retired early due to health issues. As I wrote this ghazal for the dVerse prompt, my thoughts turned to him and time spent with my parents in the Eighties, during weekend visits to their home in the country.
Ghazal ~ five or more couplets, lines the same length, meter not required
~ first couplet same end words; 1 to 3 words in 2nd lines repeated; rhyme – aA bA cA dA eA
~ (optional) internal rhyme in second lines, preceding repeated rhyme
~ possible naming or reference to author in last couplet
~ traditionally invoking melancholy, love, longing, and metaphysical questions, ghazals are often sung by Iranian, Indian, and Pakistani musicians

misty morning walk ~ haibun

misty morning walk.jpg

My parents had a home in the country. It was in a narrow valley that had a stream running through it, and fog at sunrise was a common autumn occurrence. When visiting my parents, I enjoyed morning walks with my father on those foggy days, in spite of the cool air.

misty morning walk
grass in the valley is wet
exploring with dogs
bacon and eggs afterwards
more wood added to the fire

Carpe Diem Special #222 Candy’s second – morning walk

Haibun ~ prose, often about a journey and in the first person
~ followed by a haiku or tanka

Image source: wpnature.com