On the way to the powwow . . .

I hear

drumming 

in the air every year.

I go

to stretch my neck

knowing

I'm such an outsider

going to watch the bird-colorful regalia

whirl in dance.

I drive

speeding

past the pond

daydreaming

but catch a flash

of two geese

two heads stretched high

watching my silvery wheels

whirl by.

Season's Turning

The sun's evening ember lies low,

warms with orange the purple branching silhouettes.

Wind's humid breath

whispers to blades of timothy and alfalfa,

stirs the dense taste of summer

into the last crisp tang of spring.

The fallen rain warms to a sweet mist

which lingers in hollows below fallow hills.

Mist slinks across new paved roads,

presses the windows of homes where nothing once stood.

Into itself coiling, mist thickens to fog,

and dims headlights feeling their way back home.

Upward the fog rises begrudgingly

to lurk in the deep blue sky.

Streetside Parking Lot

A day with sun

but I'm looking for shade,

to peer between branches,

green leafed,

orchestrated by birds,

omnidirectionally twittering,

shadows flickering with light.

The trees spit birds to the ground.

Hopping and dusty,  they gaze

amazed by the hissing autos,

wheels spinning to destinations in the sun,

drivers blinded to the living shade.

Lullaby

Sing you to sleep

with songs of the night,

tree frogs and peepers

and birds of dark flight.

Sing you to sleep

to a sleep without fright.

Sing them to sleep

who are lost in the night,

the cold and the hungry

confused, beyond sight.

Sing them a sleep

that is safe through the night.

Sing me to sleep

in the last lonesome night,

past dreams and illusions

no matter how bright.

Sing me to sleep

to awake in the light.

Revision of Ghazal

I revised my 'ghazal' to bring it closer to the correct form. The words of the second line of each couplet, which the repeated ending phrase, should actually rhyme down the length of the poem. I have rearranged and revised the couplets so that they alternate words with -ing and "t" sounding endings, to give the sense of an alternating rhyme at least. I also borrowed a 'piece' of my last name for the feature of ghazals where your own name is included in the final couplet (using 'isle' of Delisle). Still not as true to a ghazal as I'd like, but an effort toward the difficult form.

 Ghazal for Rain

The hint of graying skies some disdain;

they shun the advancing sheet of rain.

I would linger slowly in the lane

to smell the acrid air advanced by rain.

Dominant the flood spreads its domain

over shingled walls rippling with rain.

Harkening to storm - the horses' manes,

bodies quiver, shimmer, streaked with rain.

Slow, stolid, blue and gray a heron

perches unperturbed by sizzling rain.

The wretched wind reels and twists the vane,

flies south west north east to meet the rain.

Rending foundations sandbagged in vain,

churning earth to splashing mud, this rain.

Hail riddles the roof drums a refrain

shivering windows shed tears of rain.

Soft, the breath of earth, mist, marks the wane

rises to herald the ending rain.

I would linger longer where I've strayed,

ashore on this isle awash with rain.

Beyond the Lines

Chinese painting on silk,

mountains thin to wisps of atmosphere.

Rembrandt sketches,

more lively than his paint.

Childhood picture book,

less detailed than remembered.

The viewer embellishes the viewed,

follows the rabbit down the hole,

stops to chat with the hobbled peasant,

traces the winding path

past the disappearing point

past the artist's vision

and steps into inspiration.

Ghazal for Rain

The hint of graying skies some disdain;

they shun the advancing sheet of rain.

I would linger slowly in the lane

to smell the acrid air advanced by rain.

Harkening to storm - the horses' manes,

bodies quiver, shimmer, streaked with rain.

The wretched wind reels and twists the vane

south west north east comes the rain.

Dominant the flood spreads its domain

over shingled walls rippling with rain.

Hail riddles the roof drums a refrain

shivering windows shed tears of rain.

Slow, stolid, blue and gray a heron

perches unperturbed by sizzling rain.

Rending foundations sandbagged in vain,

churning earth to splashing mud, this rain.

Soft, the breath of earth, mist, marks the wane

rising to herald the end of rain.

I would linger longer where I've strayed

in time suspended within the rain.

(revised on May 12, 2012 to more closely follow ghazal form)

Three from the Road

I

young shrubs unfold leaves

tickling trunks of older trees

waking them to leaf

II

I'm in a hurry!

How can you do this to me?

heron perching in mist

III

driver distraction!

there should be legislation!

committing poetry

May Poetry Goal

I plan to continue poetry postings - but at less than break-neck speed - two per week minimum (a weekday and and weekend) to allow for a chance to do more rewriting before posting and tackle some tighter forms.