Fresh Air Walk During a Pandemic
There was rain that would not touch me,
followed by sunlight that surrounded me
but kept a respectful distance.
Even pollen seemed deferential.
Skirting the edge of the trail,
passing hikers offered a simple hello.
The birds treated it like any other day,
their distance a product of instinct,
mine a matter of discretion.
Cedar branches swayed in the breeze,
flinging leftover rain droplets,
a reminder that things could be normal again.
This is my poem for Day 2 of National/Global Poetry Writing Month.
It’s off-prompt, but I’m sharing it at napowrimo.net.
Also shared with Open Link Night #263 at dVerse Poets Pub.
Mountain Travel (visiting Tu Fu)
I return to the temple once seen in my travels,
remembering the bridge as I cross it.
This mountain and its river have been waiting.
I see the flowering willow and become like nothing.
All in this country is vivid, shining in a thin mist.
The sand is soft, colored by the late day’s sun.
I wonder why I have not returned sooner.
Literal translations of classic Chinese poetry can be found at chinese-poems.com. This is my interpretation of a poem by Tu Fu. The literal translation, as provided at chinese-poems.com, is as follows:
Temple remember once travel place
Bridge remember again cross time
River mountain like waiting
Flower willow become selfless
Country vivid mist shine thin
Sand soft sun colour late
Traveller sorrow all become decrease
Stay here again what this
Image source: ukiyo-e.org – Red Temple Gate, by Fujishima Takeji
More Chinese interpretations can be found here.
Today is Day 1 of National/Global Poetry Writing Month, and, though off-prompt, I’m sharing this at napowrimo.net.
red meets dusky red
cardinal feeding its mate
new life beginning
This haiku is my response to Seeing Red!, from Sarah
in Poetics at dVerse Poets Pub.
April is National/Global Poetry Writing Month, and this also meets the Early Bird prompt at napowrimo.net, which is to write a poem about your favorite bird.
The prompt for Haibun Monday 30/03/2020: Snapshots of Our Lives, from Kim at dVerse Poets Pub, is to write a haibun that tells the story behind a poem from our personal archives. This is the story behind How I Knew I was a Poet, my video poem from 2017.
In the Beginning
I first visited YouTube in 2006, and it wasn’t long before I was making videos of my own, including video poetry. As time went on, I joined other video sharing sites. In 2010, one of the vloggers I followed was planning to travel from Chicago to Boston on his motorcycle, and he asked those along his route about meeting up for coffee. I took him to see Niagara Falls, and offered a room and a bed for the night. He told me to visit him any time, offering the use of his spare room.
The following year, we planned a meetup that included four other vloggers. Two of them also were from Chicago, one was from Washington state, and the fourth was from Missouri. Over several days, we visited a blues club, took a boat tour of Chicago’s architecture along the Chicago River, and visited the Green Mill Jazz Club (the home of slam poetry) and The Poetry Foundation. Everyone had a good time, and I had some interesting conversations about poetry at The Poetry Foundation with, little did I know, the woman who would one day be my wife.
I moved to Missouri in 2012.
witnessed by poets
in the beginning
Image: The Poetry Foundation, in Chicago
When Will I See?
Different, this distance
in time of sickness. Neighbor
more distant than new moon
beyond my reach.
Within sight again,
soon enough, will it taunt me
with its presence, my neighbor
still out of sight?
This is my second response to Poetics: Now I Can…, from Mish at dVerse PoetsPub.
She offers the haiga shown above, with a quote by Mizuta Masahide,
“Barn’s burnt down, now I can see the moon.”
huddled in darkness
overwhelming fear of plague
no comfort in stars
This senryū is my response to Colleen’s Weekly #Tanka Tuesday
#Poetry Challenge No. 170: #ThemePrompt,
where the theme is The Night Sky.
Image source: Yale University Art Gallery – Starry Night, by Jean-François Millet
in time of sickness
neighbors become more distant
fearful of disease
care given to those in need
while staying ever mindful
This tanka is my response to Poetics: Now I Can See…,
from Mish at dVerse Poets Pub.
Image source: ukiyo-e.org – Convalescence, by Mizuno Toshikata