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COLLABORATIVE POETRY
EARLY SPRING
Catherine Mair
Patricia Prime
from shadow into sunshine, stepping over magnolia petals
bare cherry trees - no hint of the blossom to come
to be felled - a cross marks the pin oak's trunk
filled with scarlet seed pods - thestone bird bath
a truck laden with gas cylinders revs up the road
lined up in a window coloured glass bottles
twig on the path, her shadow steps over it
through the umbrella-palm, wind rattles
on the west side the letterbox roof broken
lying in sunshine the tabby cat stretches its legs
in the raised garden a tepee of bamboo sticks
caught inthe fork of a tree a tiny bird's nest
the whirr and spray of a water blaster
carrying a plastic bucket and a newspaper - the old man
Collaborative
Haiga: burning sky: Haiku by John Daleiden; art by Juilana Galluccio
TEAPOTS
Patricia Prime
Catherine Mair
perched on the bird feeder - artificial budgies
miniature shade-houses billow in a front garden
a tuft of moss on the magnolia's branch
that dip in the hills holding the clouds
over the fence gleams a line of white washing
behind the park bench just a hint of insects
hidden by hedges, the murmur of voices
one-legged postie swerves her bike to a letterbox
filling the dog's bowl - clatter of the bucket
warming the right side of my face, winter sunshine
holding a basket of flowers - small statue
a lean figure in black - the click of her walking stick
on the front steps a collection of mosaic teapots
aggregate pathway - each pebble shining
DANCING PARTNERS
Colin Stewart Jones
Jane Reichhold
Still waiting on the dance floor, Jane!
Do I hear a waltz?
Strauss. I think. Perhaps it’s not the done thing in Vienna but how about we make our own moves and see where the music leads.
If the world was flat we could go to the edge and jump off.
Before we leap into another reality, first dance me to the end of love.
Any love is another reality, isn’t it.
And yet even nothing always means something when said by a woman!
the steep hillside
wanting to give all
and let go
one foot follows the other
but I hear clouds beckon
I had to get out of bed early because the grass was talking to me.
Return O night and let your whispers take me softly into a dream.
Why do I feel you sleep with a Dylan Thomas book under your pillow?
Perhaps the bottle by the bed gave me away.
I’ve often wondered if alcohol makes a better writer.
Though the slur is hard to translate to the page it certainly makes for more interesting reading.
None intended. Now I am wondering why you see my comments as a ‘slur.’
And none taken. Yet see how we stagger when we involve the drink.
I often feel I would be nicer person if I occasionally loosened up.
Play it Sam!
but first you must
part your lips
3 TAN-RENGA
Ramona Linke
Simone K. Busch
Sommerfest …
Über dem See verglühen
weiße Chrysanthemen
auf halbem Wege
das alte Wiegenlied
Summer festival …
white chrysanthemums burn up
above the lake
a forgotten lullaby
cuts surface
Sommermond
auf seiner bleichen Wange
ein wenig Maskara
verfrüht – aus der Kastanie
fallen unreife Früchte
summer moon
on his sallow cheek
a little mascara
untimely - green fruits falling
from the chestnut tree
auf dem Dachboden
das alte Gespenst pfeift
mein Lied
zu seiner Abschlussfeier
die Blumenduftnote
in the attic
the old wraith whistles
my song
for his graduation party
the flowery scent
SHADING THE SKY
Lynne Leach
David Rice
first heat of summer
a white moth orchid wilts
plopping on the sill
even with a big sunhat
all my petals have dropped
revived
by ripe boysenberries
picked from our vine
I sit on the porch
and listen to a wren
how rare...perfection...
the taste of fruit
still plump with juice
and after birdsong
sweet silence
midday quiet
even the wind is still
I listen
to my worries
chattering
arbutus branch
curls of crackled skin peeling
down to pale pink bark
the hotter our earth becomes
the more fragile I feel
leaves touching
the garden's micro-climate
keeps the soil cool
no way to shade
the whole sky
DRIFTWOOD
Claudia Brefeld
Helga Stania |
FADED SONGS |
|
|
amber
at the edge of the waves
time breaks away |
message in a bottle
when unstopping a dream
blows away |
while clamming
find her second half |
in the roar of the surf
“Will you …?” |
in father's pocket
a note
with his name
|
the place to sleep
under the bridge
dispose of waste |
sea foam
the hermit crab
shifts the shell |
salt lips and
names in the sand –
the sea hesitates |
bunker nearly buried
by sand
|
faded songs
beer cases remain |
my foot
touching cold ashes –
driftwood lands |
hand in hand
looking back for the last time …
film tear |
WORLDS COLLIDE
André Surridge
Owen Bullock
reading
on the bank to the gentle
sound of the river . . .
a willow leaf
becomes a book mark
after the chapter
meeting my ex from the bus
for the film show
my worlds collide
and I’m glad
full house
how easily
my hand
slips into yours . . .
popcorn
before the big bang
surely life had already begun . . .
I seem to
have had many lives
within this body
some say we each hold
a genetic memory
within the essence
of our beings . . . the struggles
& triumphs of ancestors
fragrance of the rose
this sweet yellow morning
and something more . . .
nights of passion
long ago
the house of wisdom
its seven strong pillars
let in the light . . .
today I am a disciple
of reflections in dewdrops
the sphere in that sci-fi
contained the energy of
another world . . .
pocket of autumn sun
the kitten wades through fallen leaves
in this
expanding universe
reality
seems to stretch
beyond known borders
as a child
I knew how big the world was
I just didn’t know
where it went
how much it would cost
priceless
this view across the lake
to the mountain
ripples of light
in a salmon sunset
no words
for this one red
winter rose
just a colour
a colour & the cold
ache of old bones
is it winter setting in
or arthritis
the mad dog chews
on everything
I have nothing to say
about the world situation
no microphone in hand
dense fog
encloses morning
midday
mist turns to rain
I start
the tax return
write off the day
bare branches
shaking in the wind
and inside the bark
what life revived
what preparations made?
Haiga by Ramona Linke
OCEAN BREEZE
Owen Bullock
André Surridge
crashed wall
of the wave
picks up again
ocean breeze
the gull lifts
from its shadow
the wind . . .
echoes of
other days
her eyes
the sky
blue beyond belief
dusk
the long afternoon
changes colour
first stars
the tide brings
driftwood & dreams
what do they know
the seagulls
all flying west
out at sea
lights from crab boats
nipple the dark
sandflies
feeding on him
he buries his feet
path home
between dunes
the crunch of shells
VESSELS OF LIGHT
Autumn N. Hall
Claire Everett
a mountain breeze
the sound of ocean surf through
Ponderosa Pine
I must learn to bend and sway
awash in these sky waters
again, the climb
through coconut-scented gorse...
in the middle
of my mind's nowhere
the lake's sun-beaten gold
this rusted blade
washed up once more on shore
like so much flotsam
if I grasp its battered hilt,
might I yet be a King?
not the arrowhead
that grazed the heel of dawn
but the cushion stone
where I took pains to shape
and polish the dream
vessels of light
the morning star contained
in each drop of dew
water for this, my whetstone
Ardennes' yellow coticule
deep in the inkwell
a tear the sun let fall
the hawk on the crag
and the stag's rutting call
across the ridge of time
a doe answers
the language of musk
speaks in fawns
her mate will lose his antlers
to grow them back once more
my thoughts interlaced
with fingers of mist...
the stone-mason
carves an effigy
of his beloved Queen
all around is salt
the waters of Her womb
stone-eroding seas
and still She weeps for man
and still man sleeps...
first light
raising the cairns
the song of a wren
spills from the lintel...
a kiss to awaken him
first breath
sun's blush on the apricot
warm, this call to flesh
fingers dovetailed round prayer beads
hands cupped round soft breasts
his fingers in stars
he slips the torque from her hair...
from the swallow's throat
to the robin's breast
and the foxglove's grail of dew
CHILDHOOD CINEMA
Patricia Prime
Owen Bullock
childhood cinema
where I spent my pocket money
watching Roy Rogers
riding towards the sunset
on his golden palomino, Trigger
my sister took me
to Saturday morning shows:
tune in
to next week’s exciting adventures . . .
I never thanked her
so much comes to mind
like dust down blades of sunlight
memory shows a morning
of all the family together
sitting round the breakfast table
we ate alone, in shifts –
when I was fourteen
I turned vegetarian
mother said, you can
do your own cooking from now on
their paths diverge
as the children leave home
one by one
our love held by slender threads:
email, texts and phone calls
I knew
Gran had died
before I picked up the receiver
she cried out for me mother said
and I for her, at the funeral
memories roll on
like the silent films of yesterday
the tape
stopping and starting
until the spool finally ends
I still dream
of acting in films
some say
it’s a substitute
for your own life
TWICE OVER
Rodney Williams
Jo McInerney
bush-orchids
glisten in spring rain –
eucalypt air
breathless hush
of summer twilight …
his tread on the gravel
river meadow ~
across round bales of hay
a flood-line of silt
they breast-stroke
beyond the pontoon
deep water
limpid reflection …
a black swan preens its mate
twice over
second tremor …
this time
they simply hold hands
logger’s notches
scale a mountain grey gum ~
lace monitor
last windfall
split in half …
autumn equinox
plums in syrup
bubble on the stove …
weeding gran’s grave
a whisper
through the grass …
moonrise
crows caw
down the south range
a chill wind
spindrift …
seagulls buffeted
above the break
already dark …
the fragrance of wood-smoke
from a neighbour’s fire
prunus petals
float over the wall …
spring thaw
their boots
on the veranda
daffodils
first home …
deciding where to put
the bird-feeder
UNDER SWISS PINE BRANCHES
Claudia Brefeld
Helga Stania
third mowing
wafts of mist loosing
from the Matterhorn
only late the day warms
the hut at the slope
mountain chapel …
a torrent blocks
the arduous path
in the swiss pine forest
finding nutlets
of last year
fear of heights – rocks
reflecting raven caws
crouching between milk cans
downhill
the light vanishes
UNTER ARVENZWEIGEN
Claudia Brefeld
Helga Stania
Dritte Mahd
Vom Matterhorn lösen sich
Nebelfahnen
erst spät wärmt der Tag
die Hütte am Hang
zur Bergkapelle …
ein Sturzbach versperrt
den Steilpfad
im Arvenwald
Nüsschen
des Vorjahres finden
Höhenangst - Felsen werfen
Rabenschreie zurück
zwischen Milchkesseln
kauernd talwärts
verliert sich das Licht
VIEW FROM A DISTANCE:
AH MATSUSHIMA
Giselle Maya
Jane Reichhold
from his ancient lair
the god of earthquakes has stirred –
a powerful move
daily I check the progress at:
http://earthquake.usgs.gov/
pitiless and uncaring
of land and people he took
Matsushima into his embrace
“Waiting for Godot” but
preparing for a tsunami
as far as the moon
miniscule radioactive particles
penetrate the air
listening to the CIA cousin
nature suddenly seems benign
horror stories
children in lines to be tested
by the Geiger counter
as though all were well
swifts link sky and earth
Sunday church
on a sunny porch
the ants and me
Namazu a giant catfish
has shaken the archipelago
sleeping in a book
old stories come awake
with a jolt
no heavenly protection
what can we do to help
a hand extended
following it the person
with a kind heart
soothing wounds of kokoro
May moonlight on white iris
shining
on mourning clothes
tears
the cuckoo sends its song
over wind-swayed oaks
clouds
on the higher hills
cherry blossoms
sending healing thoughts
to Japan each day at noon
centifolia roses
and scent of freshly turned earth
a moment of silence
down on my knees
even the wind drops
a windbell from Kyoto
without wind this day
I watch my thoughts
on the windmill
of the monkey mind
calendar turned to June
a Northern saw-whet owl
looks at me
in his paper eyes
our common ancestors
without feeling a thing
we rush through space
round and round
as the center of the earth
trees grow tall and taller
Kashima the protector
keeps the earthshaker
pinned down
the carpenter comes today
replaces shingles on the roof
silent moon
the earth also has stopped
tembling
ripples on the waves
covering so much loss
rising sun
all that a new day
promises
ripe snow peas
nothing else needed
thanks giving
the radiation numbers
go down
long June rains
thunder and lightning
flooding
the fallen cherry petals
swirl away
may all songs of Yamato
restore the land’s harmony
started May 15, 2011 – ended: June 5, 2011
GARDENING COAT
Owen Bullock
Patricia Prime
this man
in his best jacket
I’d like to see
his face unshaven
and his gardening coat
to please me
he brings a plastic bag
of persimmons
overripe and full of juice
that I pulp into a fruity haze
the fog
has settled into the bay
a day reading
variations on questions
possible improbable
after my walk
in stormy weather
I place my boots
side by side, as in
Van Gogh’s painting
who knows
we may cross the field
tomorrow
to the place where
we’ll grow old together
in the beginning
there was a BSA motorbike -
a pillion for me,
just the two of us travelling
the length of the British Isles
we met after tai chi
and before meditation
silence
enveloped our talk
our smiles
light drifts
from the rising moon
to the bare table
where pages rise in a brief breeze
opening like palms in prayer
Haiga by Razvan Pintea
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