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We looked inside some of the posts by tdihaiku and here's what we found interesting.
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aspen trees see with the forest's dark eyes the roots in the groves interlace as one whispering leaves echo earth's muted sighs a sensing witness to nature's faint cries alert to signs detected by none aspen trees see with the forest's dark eyes noting the twitch of a bird as it flies mark dwindling numbers in the salmon run whispering leaves echo earth's muted sighs shaky flutters in a dove mate's replies small adjustments, but not easily done aspen trees see with the forest's dark eyes man's the ally on which the earth relies part of life's journey since time was begun whispering leaves echo earth's muted sighs man needs awareness of seminal ties a caring partner as wholnesss is won aspen trees see with the forest's dark eyes whispering leaves echo earth's muted sighs
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gliding in majesty, regal and still with persistent passage in the dark sky the lambent moon whets a keen wintry chill conducts austere demonstrations of will rules tides and times on which we all rely gliding in majesty, regal and still spawns monsters, triggers emotional ill exploits a fixed gravitational tie the Lambent moon whets a keen wintry chill its conflicting effects control us until we resist, old superstition deny gliding in majesty, regal and still we design systems, strict order instill some cling to pagan belief and imply we should ask questions of this lunar shill press this orb for prophecy to distill cosmic indifference, the reflected reply gliding in majesy, regal and still the Lambent moon whets a keen wintry chill
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I open the door to a bright full moon
the white covered yard is silent and still
spring green and fresh buds will be coming soon
melting warm winds over night was a boon
though the storm raged and wreaked damage at will
I open the door to a bright full moon
welcome the sunshine with bird's morning tune
I've recovered from fall harvest's dank chill
spring green and fresh buds will be coming soon
each midday orb is a blazing balloon
of grey overcast days I've had my fill
I open the door to a bright full moon
where snow now blankets the frozen lagoon
and brown leaves from autumn littered the hill
spring green and fresh buds will be coming soon
I nap after lunch in late afternoon
relax in soft evening twilight until
I open the door to a bright full moon
spring green and fresh buds will be coming soon
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turbulence often precedes transition
to change of state resolving in stasis.
chaos stops, reforms in staid condition.
this works as a science definition.
does it apply on a human basis?
turbulence often precedes transition
in a case of personal volition
when troubles ease, become less tenacious
chaos stops, reforms in staid condition
but if problems return in repetition
order's strict shape is less efficacious
turbulence again precedes transition
endless rondos in superposition
a consuming process quite voracious
chaos reigns, never in staid condition
constancy's pipe dream a false rendition
a deception in life's exposition
turbulence precedes a short transition
chaos never stops, mankind's condition
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the solid pat ending isn't so bad
it's ambiguity that will kill you
a curtain call coda is pleasingly sad
to be or not was the closure we had
instead we have queries without a clue
a solid pat ending isn't so bad
a sure fire downer makes readers so glad
unanswerable questions now claim their due
a curtain call coda is pleasingly sad
unresolved finality is the fad
all forms of certitude now wildly askew
a solid pat ending isn't so bad
open ended, vague, ironically clad
unstable outcome and process ensue
a curtain call coda is pleasingly sad
the vagaries of chance, erratic and mad
plus more thematic ideas accrue
a solid pat ending isn't so bad
a curtain call coda is pleasingly sad
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9/25/24
the difficult part is to just let go
things can't be undone - start living anew
release the regrets that trouble you so
boring burdens were a part of your show
slow steeped in angst you turned morbid - withdrew
the difficult part is to just let go
poor choices persist in life, that we know
but our decisions improved as we grew
now release regrets that trouble you so
paths to sound judgement were painful and slow
nothing worth having arrives right on cue
the difficult part is to just let go
so enjoy a reprieve. go with the flow
a guilt free Outlook is well overdue
release the regrets that trouble you so
you've outworn sins that have long kept you low
explore new vistas. enjoy the great view
the difficult part is to just let go
release the regrets that trouble you so
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9/23/24
I'm old but still the child I was before to some that is a foolish confession a tiny bare foot rube thrives at the core a naive short pants pal I can't ignore not a twin just ME with no profession I'm old but still the child I was before we both could run mom's errands to the store but no, I've moved on in life's progression that scrawney rube thrives only in my core we'll walk the tracks-camp in the woods-explore just a nostalgic wishful digression I'm old but still the child I was before teamed again nothing would be deemed a chore paired side by side in shared succession with a dumpy bare foot rube at the core past times are impossible to restore their return a bittersweet suggestion I'm old but still the child I was before a tiny barefoot rube thrives at the core
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winter's warmth is a wan fragile ember
a guttering glow that survived the fall
sheltered tinder is life we remember
autumn guarded what must last December
flickering fragments of early recall
winter's warmth is a wan fragile ember
frail minds fade as faculties dismember
begin to dim become feeble and pall
sheltered tinder is life we remember
young tender bodies supple and limber
that burned fiercely now stumble and stall
winter's warmth is a wan fragile ember
once being blazed like forest fires timber
everything fades there's an end to it all
sheltered tinder is life we remember
the spark of memory passed to each member
ignites a heat source you never install
winter's warmth is a wan fragile ember
sheltered tinder is life we remember
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seemingly awake but yet we slumber
covered in dreaming that distorts the real
content in a life dulled dark as umber
habits repeat that will make us dumber
set empty cycles with naught to reveal
seemingly awake but yet we slumber
mindless inertia makes senses number
to subtle cues and responses we feel
content in a life dulled dark as umber
blind to hidden signs to vast in number
what's beyond our vision has no appeal
seemingly awake but yet we slumber
a finer focus can unencumber
rapt sleepers to arise and repeal
content in a life dulled dark as umber
shambling through our days and nights we lumber
dozing on an endless treadmill we reel
seemingly awake but yet we slumber
content in a life dulled dark as umber
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villanelle2
there is no fixed course for time's direction
and no assured outcome or set ending
only a varied model selection
a back and forward image reflection
is a mathematic proof now trending
there is no fixed course for time's direction
the ancient ones had a predilection
for the circle and eternal return
this a stochastic model selection
replaced by a seasonal collection
of sucessive yearly cycles blending
another varied model selection
the pervasive present intersection
of all pasts in the ever now transcending
a chronologic model selection
a sense of passage is your election
of the sequence of events impending
there is no fixed course for time's direction
only a varied model selection
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villanelle
the boldness of old age has no manners
a rude shoe shoved and thrust to force the door
bearing stark pronouncements with no banners
process serving papers from the scanners
glaring x-ray scars from long before
the boldness of old age has no manners
bares toxic bounties like old gold panners
chronic complaints, fresh symptoms and much more
sharing stark surprises with no banners
uninvited guest by party planners
the crasher summons noxious gifts galore
the boldness of old age has no manners
revealing hidden bodily slanders
with final cold verdicts you can't ignore
the shared health pronouncements with no banners
stroke, bad hearts cancer for sun tanners
harsh end of life failures you can't restore
the boldness of old age has no manners
bearing stark pronouncements with no banners
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the cameras
at the stoplights
take images
of the pace of life
and exact a toll
Atlas Poetica - Special Feature - The garage, not the garden" 10/18/2013
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night kiss of a damp fur coat and mom's gin breath inconstant angel with bruised and tattered wings
the brazier in the shaded grove warms me the sheltered bower of my last earthly home
Terry Ingram, USA
Skylark - Summer 2013 - Vol. 1 - Num. 1
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16. A Short Con
the empty lot where they held camp meetings now a highrise faint strains of songs float in the rain
My grandfather was a Southern Baptist minister, my grandmother his choir director and pianist. When I was a child they took me with them to old fashioned tent revivals.
I had a job to do. Before the congregation was exhorted to be saved, I was asked to sing a hymn. As I sang “I Come to the Garden Alone”, I stepped from the altar and walked down the center aisle, pausing halfway to turn and face my grandfather, and while still singing, gesture for the crowd to step up and accept salvation. At the hymn’s conclusion I would fall to my knees and bow my head.
While the sinners and faithful surged forward, other children were dispatched from the back of the tent to escort me outside to play, providing a swift and efficient exit.
Soon I grew older and was no longer asked to accompany my grandparents.
They preferred singers under eight years of age.
sunbathing in green celluloid visor au naturel my nudist grandfather a doubly defrocked preacher
~Southern Illinois, 1949
Atlas Poetica Special - 25 Taanka Prose
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midnight snow
blows from black to black
through the streetlights
a handful of stones 07-13-2011
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winter begins
harsh words with my son
sharpen the chill
Notes from the Gean - Volume 3-Issue #1
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