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Poetic Bloomings Does Goodbyes
Goodbye to Summer I’m reading this past summer backwards. Like a book. From a distance. And I’m uncertain why I hold this season in such high regard because for most of it – I was flushed hot, barely able to breathe in dripping humidity and swarthy air, and then came those dry sheets of wind…
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Poetic Bloomings In-Form: Naani
I’m content to cook, to fill platters and gather up friends and family — time is lost on us. written for Poetic Bloomings In-Form: Naani The NAANI is one of India’s most popular Telugu forms introduced by poet Dr. N. Gopi. It consists of 4 lines, totalling 20 to 25 syllables. It…
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dVerse Poets Haibun Monday
Conversations with My Mother I wish her a happy birthday. She turned 92 yesterday. She once said she prefers that I phone. Don’t bother with a visit, she said, we get on better when you ring. I make allowances. She 92. I wonder if I’ll make it to 92. I wonder if anyone will make…
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Poetic Bloomings Does Autumn
Plucking Autumn This autumn day is wrapped in grains of golden light that falls as rain might gather or as hours might braid without a hand’s restraint. We pull wheat tight through fingers, and pluck ripe berries that trickle purpled heavy stain. And winter waits another day. written for Poetic Bloomings
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Journal: The Fishmonger
Joseph Harker returns with an essay on writing, carving out habits to keep in mind, pairing random combinations that feel unlikely but comfortable together. I’m very pleased that Joseph is posting articles again. His latest post is at Carving Wood, Poaching Eggs, and anyone interested in writing should Follow his blog. Process Notes: Before supermarkets moved…
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Poetic Bloomings Explores Food
As I Recall It wasn’t the white cake with white frosting with shredded coconut, or pink spindle-turned candles, or all the balloons that Dad blew-up before he drove off to work, or the all-beef hotdogs with green pickle relish and squirts of yellow mustard, or as many potato chips as I wanted to eat, nor…
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Coffee with Sunday Whirl #265
Ten Minutes Over a Coffee I leaned in for a listen – like a windmill tilting into the direction of talk. Such silliness, I know, wild gossip. “Where’s the authenticity in doubt,” she said. You see, she and I, we meet at the same time every day for a 10-minute coffee break. The coffee goes…
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A Bussokusekika for Poetic Bloomings
Bare Bones Yesterday’s calm slipped into a blind feral wind, naked and ruthless, a murdered bruising day for wasps drunk on whiffs of apple with bare bones that gores the sky. for Poetic Bloomings: Form bussokusekika 5.7.5.7.7.7
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For dVerse: Haibun #20
An Absolute Night Up here, the moon watches, a silent astronomer gazing at us through stellar crowds. Fascinated, faintly dazzled by our unaccustomed ways, our wilds that leave its thoughts vacant as an open sea. Speechless. Barren. Spent. And that moon, searches the absolute night through sable stares of its pious eye, deep into our…
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Ice Cream with Poetic Bloomings
Mint Bright because the air bites cool and wintergreen, and bare bough trees hang withered leaves, and because they fall, they crunch like sugared cones and crispy flake, and because days are rushing into heavy fog and damp brick walls, and because autumn’s halo golden glows — we will eat minty green ice cream because…
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