Winter Wonderings


Saturday Centus #162

The prompt this week:   “If a June night could talk…”
Number of words:  106 total (including the six words of the prompt)
Style of writing: Any

 

Rain  has splattered our windows noisily all day. As night settles and the rain rattles on, the hissing and slight crackle of our log fire keep pace, testifying that like most June nights, it is indeed a cold, wet night in Cape Town.

If a June night could talk, it is not likely our story – of warmth and wi-fi, hearth and home –  that it would tell.  Why would it? There is no news or horror in the mundane middle-class comforts we enjoy.  Except perhaps, that warm and dry ,we spare no thought for the wet beggar, huddled under the bridge,  her stale dry bread now soggy.

homeless

jennysidebar_button_SAT-2

Aging with Grace


This post was inspired by my first participation in Saturday Centus (although it’s Sunday- please forgive!) another writer’s prompt site. I must admit that it is a whole new discipline to keep to the limit of 100 word plus this week’s  prompt phrase “How beautifully Leaves grow Old”. I was constantly aware of my reliance on rhythm and needing to balance that with word count makes for a whole new question of diction. I enjoyed the challenge and am disappointed that I didn’t push hard enough to find an “out of the box” take on the prompt. Still, I look forward to trying new ideas as I explore the various prompts online for writers working to develop skill.  Thanks, Jenny Matlock, for keeping this going!

How beautifully leaves grow old:

 

They start off soft and bright and green,

working hard to keep air clean

and feed the parent tree.

They age with speed

but feel no need

to slow the work of time.

They flit and bow

not questioning how

to withstand the wind and rain.

Gracefully, they face each storm

Happy to shelter birds, bees and worms.

And as they age

their skin does change

yet this does not upset them.

For when it is time to say good bye

They don’t hold back their beauty:

No, off they go

waving red, orange and gold-

fulfilling their natural duty.

Water Haiku


drops of life

sustained universe

essential

H2O

two-thirds of the whole

pure quencher

Gentle rain

dead Earth re-birthing

Gift from God

Written for Haiku Heights. Love their chalenge…30 Haikai in 30 days…not sure I can do it! How about you?

Red Tape and other sticky matters


Reluctantly I wake to

another day

the same as yesterday.

Gray and expectant.

No anticipated e-mail

or message…snail mail?

 

Can snails hurry?

I wonder…

They have just two paces

sluggish

or still.

They don’t move in straight lines either.

And the more you prod them

the deeper they retreat.

Then nothing happens.

Anticipation and expectation

breed such sweet slow brewed anger.

Inboxed

apologies,  delays

another postponement,

red tape

and other sticky matters…

Smouldering,

I race to strike the keys

that cypher my frustration.

Blast. Send. Extinguish.

There.

Back to the tedium, of waiting

I yawn

and rub  my eyes

Dulled by my own disillusionment.

 

Feigning relaxation

I put up my feet

seeking sleep…

an escape

from the exhaustion of more waiting.

 

 

Inspired by the prompts of Three Word Wednesday (dull, yawn, race), the tardiness of the Saudi Ministry of Foreign Affairs and the poor services of Gulf Visa.

Mum on the edge…


Cheering, Coaxing, Curbing, Warning

Teaching , Preaching, Threatening, Storming

Starting off well

but slowly I spiral

pretending to cope,

but I’m in denial.

Trying hard to keep a grip

to make my point

and not to flip.

But why, oh why is it so hard

for them to listen,

for me to be heard?

My stubborn kids

are driving me crazy

Can’t stand them being stroppy

or sloppy or lazy

Can’t handle that they

just have their own way

of doing their thing

and having their say.

I vaguely recall being

a sharp mouthed teen

but was I so lazy

and sloppy and mean?

Did I roll my eyes at every suggestion

of study and chores

and dress code inspection?

Did I fling back retorts

to passing comments

at my room or my hair or

my cupboards contents?

Did I march away

boldly swinging my hips

as I slammed my room door

and curled up my lips?

If I did, Mum, forgive me,

‘Cause I truly see now

how hurtful it is

and how fragile mums are.

 

 

Haiku


Have you ever tried Haiku?

No,no-  it’s not a type of Sushi!

Haiku is a traditional form of Japanese word art originating in Zen philosophy. As I’ve been surfing other poetry blogs, I’ve been inspired to return to this form of word art.

Japanese Haiku poets follow strict rules in constructing their Haiku. In English there is greater flexibility in the approach and the rules alter slightly. I’ve never been one for formula – I usually get mind-numbing flashbacks to high school trigonometry at the mention of the word! But there’s something appealingly challenging about expressing a concept or observation succinctly- in a maximum of 17 syllables…

In Haiku, the idea is to write a poem of 3 lines, with the first, second and third line containing 5, 7 and 5 syllables respectively. The poem is whole, independent and complete in its communication. Another feature is to create a “cut” in the words through punctuation or meaning. Traditionally, Haiku was written about Nature or contained a seasonal concept. The effect is often tranquil but powerful. Even today, the season of the piece is alluded to subtly.

It is simplicity in poetry.

It is minimalist.

It is beautiful.

“cozy winter evening:

fond family feeding

on news, warmth and love”

That’s my Haiku for tonight, with my sister over for supper, and a hearty catching up around our crackling  fire.

Life Drama


How fond we are

of our  tragic tales-

trilogies or

life long melodrama.

Not in Reality

with what simply is

But trapped

in the swirling emotion

of our character.

Now the Villain

strikes again

with sharp remarks.

Wounded.

I desperately defend

my View : my Position

my Pride : my Identity.

I am at once

Warrior and Victim.

Unable to alter

the mechanics of my reaction

I live Bitter Pain-

my Speaking,

hostile rapid fire

or wailing complaint.

Unimaginable

no-

Unwilling to Be

Tranquil.

A mirror glimpsed.

Reflection?

Revelation:

I am the author

of this Saga.

My speaking

makes it so.

The world is

simply

what it is…

no should or shouldn’t be.

A perfect space

for Choice:

Anger or Love?

Hate or Harmony?