Released
I languished in a sea of untamed thoughts
I am powerless to reign
the tempest within
Some say that there are no new stars
But I have never been this way before
Thus my story keens
As an infant born in the bowels of a boat
I seek stormy release
Fearful of the deep
As the word winds sweep
My words land disheveled
In a heap, released safely to shore
Vulnerable but with relief.
Picture credit: Horacio Cardozo
I vowed to live simply.
My internet crashed.
I learned that I could not live
As simply as that.
I am redefining simply.
Vcl©️Gogyoshi
Poetry is my first love. I remember arguing with my various English teachers about the poetry assignments. How could we truly know the meaning of a poem if the poet wasn’t alive to tell us? How could my interpretation be wrong if that was how I read it? Who really understands a poet’s heart except one who feels the same angst, awe or joy from the outpourings of the individual heart? Why did l feel such joy in perusing the pencilled words, black against the crisp white page? (Always pencil- revise, revise)😬
The internet has opened up such a banquet table from which to feast (and occasionally gorge ) on an innumerable array of poetic offerings. I enjoy various styles, but find great delight in the Tanka (Gogyoshi style ) promoted by Japanese mentor Taro Aizu. You can catch more of our work on Facebook * World Five-Line Poems.
This page requests submissions of 5 line poetry only. Other examples of 5 lines are limericks, Tanka, Cinquain and so on. Perhaps I’ll see you there?
Caio~❤️Val
Well July is the month of new birth and lovely summer lollygagging.
It is also the season of butterflies.
One of the disasters of growing old in the city is the lack of natural life. When I was young I had the gift of field and brook, beavers building dams, lovely lily of the valley, and Canterbury snow bells. Did I mention Bleeding Hearts and the rare Lynx sitting in the back yard licking its paws at dawn? Then there was the moose that ran past the window on its way to the river….but I digress.
Butterflies~I must confess, fill me with awe. I had the joy of visiting the Butterfly House in Victoria BC awhile back. It was a lovely experience, all stages of butterfly life in one spot.
I remember well the butterflies of my childhood, as they danced and flitted, fluttered and kissed the flowers as they swayed in the sunshine. I lay in the un-mowed grasses wishing one would land on my nose…and if it did I promised myself I would lay so still, with no breath at all…to see if the butterfly would smile back at me or kiss the tip before it moved on.
So July for me, is still the season of butterflies. We have planted the flowers and of course I lay in the tall grasses. But now my grandchildren worry that I need help getting up. I want them to experience the wonder, the ecstasy, the fluttering of Butterflies. I want to tell them and you dear reader that we are all butterflies.
“What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the master calls a butterfly.”
~Richard Bach
For me, turning on the kettle has a relaxing quality about it. The sound of the water boiling. The spoon resting in the china cup. The clanking of the spoon as it stirs the sugar.
Growing up, when my family received important news, good or bad, we would boil water and make tea.This ritual allowed us a moment I think to take in the enormity of what had happened.
It’s a way to reset ourselves. To symbolically “count to ten” before we react to the world around us.
Refueling our mind is an imperative step that we owe ourselves as we move through life. It’s the path to clarity and perspective. Acceptance and peace.
It’s the only way to live our best life and offer our gift to the world. As Wynonna Judd once said, “You have to fill your cup. You then give away the overflowing, but you keep a cupful for yourself.” That’s how this day has been.
I’m in a tanka*-ish mood this evening 🤗
Here is a pic of my tea in its obligatory china cup.
cold spring frost lies thick –
I wait for the tea kettle
sun parts cloud-curtains
water boils to waken leaves
mist and steam rise together
*tanka – elder cousin of the haiku – a Japanese syllabic poetry form, the lines of which are 5-7-5-7-7
Ciao ~Val 2018
You’ve got to dream bigger dreams when the old dreams don’t fit lest the world grow dark and silent No oceans roar, no birds soar No singing in the street No sounds of running feet Just defeat. For dreams are wishes that are unafraid They add brightness and colour New life to the day Clouds disperse, I summon inner praise, Dispersing the silence I stir myself Singing helps.
Each Christmas the coniferous trees
Stand righteously
Bedecked in their fir finery
on hill or home ~
While the Ash turn ashen in their nudity
The Maple exposed, stands frigidly
No adornment covering in the leafless breeze.
But the stately Spruce and Pine
Shine like the star, spangled
Bedazzled, bejeweled
Dispelling darkness ~
Lighting hearts, untangled
Awaiting Christmas bliss
We knowledge our need for this.
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