morning stirs

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32

morning4

The clock shows six a.m. Maybe. My eyes don’t quite focus first thing in the morning. My dog Chules has awakened me with his gentle “woof” from halfway down the hall. I don’t know how he expects me to hear such soft greetings, but I do hear them, almost every time. I rise and make my way down the hall to the front door where Chules now waits. “What kind of day do you suppose it is today?” I ask. Chules answers as usual with a generous tail wag and an expectant smile. He doesn’t prejudge days. He’s very Zen about that kind of thing.

I prop the door open with my Himalayan salt crystal. The lamp inside broke some time ago, but it’s quite heavy and makes a perfect door stop, so there it sits. Chules steps out to the  porch and plops down on the cool cement. The lyrics from a Dan Fogelberg song enter my head.

Yes it’s going to be a day // There is really no way to say no // To the morning.

Chules’ eyes meet mine. Does he hear the song, too? In my imagination, I hear us both saying, “Yes.” A most hearty yes to the morning.

morning stirs awake
day unfolds to greet the sun
petals of summer

dVerse Haibun Monday: morning

Rodent Robbers

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27

Snap! smacks the mouse trap,
as the spring is spryly sprung.
The trap slaps shut with a jolt abrupt.
Now the deadly deed is done.

Wheeze! breathes the brave mouse,
as she gasps to grasp some air.
That’s how it goes when the cheese she chose
is a ploy plied to ensnare.

Voilà! exclaims the vainglorious vole.
“You disdained and disbelieved
that a twig tip-tapped could trip the trap.
Such a clean scheme I conceived.”

Shush! shouts the shaking mouse.
“It was I who death defied.
Put a plug in your pompous prattling
while we partake of our purloined prize.”

dVerse Meet the Bar: Onomatopoeia 

Let Sleepy Towns Lie

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jail time

The sands of time had ground to dust.
The wheels of justice left the bus.
My day in court long overdue,
due process – it seemed – had stood me up.

This sleepy town gave me arrest
for stealing nest eggs off their nests.
When left to choose ‘twixt right and wrong,
I wrongly chose, then quickly left.

Blind justice sniffed me out that day,
threw me in jail; the key, away.
Each year, society’s ransom grew.
How long until this debt was paid?

One night I knew just what to do.
I poison-penned an IOU,
slipped through the cracks and stole away,
and vowed my life of crime was through.

I bailed from jail, but I’m still not free.
I watch my back, it watches me.
I’ll no more practice to deceive, ‘cuz
from ‘neath her blindfold, justice sees.

dVerse Poetics: Twisted Adages. “For this week’s Poetics, we will start with an adage, or several adages, but we won’t stop there.  I am asking you to craft your poetry around an adage or two that you must change in some significant way.”

I may have gotten a bit carried away with my wordplay, but you know, when it rhymes, it pours. 

I wrote a previous post that fits the bill for this challenge as well. You may find it here.

 

Turning In

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chules at night2

It is 10 PM. My dog Chules stares up at me from the floor, where he has been sleeping most of the evening. He wants to catch my eye so I will realize it is bedtime. I’m not sure how he distinguishes between his many naps and bedtime, nor do I understand why he feels responsible for getting me to turn in at this particular hour. Nonetheless, bedtime it is.

As per ritual, I open the front door so he can go outside and relieve himself one last time. Not wanting to draw moths to the light inside, I step out onto the porch, close the door, and wait in the dark for Chules to finish his business. Sometimes he gets right to it, sometimes he goes off on a final check of the yard’s perimeter. On warm nights like tonight, he is just as apt to sit on the lawn and gaze at the stars. I join him in sitting and gazing, though I’m certain our ruminations run on very different tracks.

it is quiet tonight except for the chirping of crickets. I don’t recall having heard them for quite some time, and I find comfort in the familiarity of nature’s music. So much of it has gone missing. After a time, I stand and Chules comes trotting back to the porch. We go inside and — having settled my mind and his kidneys — we retire to our beds in peace.

crickets serenade
on dark, warm nights I eavesdrop
songs not meant for me

dVerse haibun Monday: crickets

Hiroshima, reluctantly

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Hiro

August 6th is the anniversary of the atomic bombing of Hiroshima. For the dVerse Monday haibun challenge, poet Frank J. Tassone suggested we write a haibun “that states or alludes to either the Hiroshima attack, or one of the themes of the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Ceremony, such as peace, the abolition of nuclear weapons, or the horror of nuclear war.”

From my place of privilege, I would rather post about my pets, show photos of flowers… you know,  the nice feel good stuff. I almost passed on this week’s poetry challenge, but given the current state of the world, I felt it important that I not do so. So, not my usual fare, but in my thoughts:

It never really registered, when I viewed the black and white newsreels. The children, in the street, crying. Some naked, their clothes having been burned off their bodies. Some… I wouldn’t even want to describe it. I wouldn’t want to put it into words, because then maybe it would cease to be a black and white movie, and it would be real. Real flesh and… flesh and…

… the flesh, it was melting off their arms.

Mushroom cloud rising
I can only imagine –
no, not even that