TAKING CHANCES # DAILY HAIKU CHALLENGE

I just wanted to proudly boast quite an achievement of a dear friend of well over ten years, Dorna from Madasahatter….she stuck at this, come fear, hell and high water, and several muffins later… Well done, friend. Kudos and affection. Please go say hi and ‘like’.

madasahatter572

Studious attempt –
Enthusiastic bumpkin
Nabs Kodak moment

Day 365/365 – Morgan’s #DailyHaikuChallenge. Join in and link back to her blog.

What a Wonderous Treat to be posting my final Daily Haiku. I would like to take a moment and say, ‘Thank You,’ to All my followers and passer-bys who have been following through with me on this year-long Poetry Journey. And I look forward to new and other Writing Projects as well here at Madasahatter572 😉

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White Light

Picture: Paul Militaru. Thankyou.

Angels’ humble prints
leave us mindful of our lives
and its harder plains

 

Mysterioso ~ Quadrille

Don’t mend
the strangest dreams;
the straddled, muddy gateways
to our wilder streams
without bridges
at their seams.
They brim with
future scapes,
tepid in colour,
but rampant in verve.
They’re marching o’er still acres,
heart to heart,
trickling like viscose life
never could.

A quadrille is a 44 word poem.

The Fall

A beautiful poem by Elaine at watermelonseeds.

watermelonseeds

don’t mourn
the changing season
we leave our parent
not to perish
but to flourish
feed and nourish
deciduous circling
all death to life
returning
…
Elaine Patricia Morris (c) Oct. 2017

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Frivolity, My heart

Wouldst thou call
on love’s embrace
and its clumsy cuffs
of flimsy lace
to wrap warmly
and surround thee

when spectral lights
adorn the sky,
and snow ghosts,
haughty, loom at night
only to come and haunt thee,

and if thou were touched by such
as she and her lustrous trumpery,
wouldst thou still forswear
under this black maire,
our undying love, but yet vow
to leave me?

Wouldst thy call on it?

Where Egos Dare

As the blackest consequences fall,
dimly, the lights do cower.
Wrap a sling on what is happening,
a soothing for those deeds most dour.

Cities ruminate and eagles spread,
bare chested crests have fallen,
gliding still on uneasy shifts
in tumultuous winds and their calling.

Growling, angry, red faced fire (‘fire like you’ve never seen’,
there’s never been such a fire; a good fire!)
seats the ferment of a land’s
crackling glories and scattered chances
all swept by a wretched, wounded hand.

In today’s time of glorified turmoil,
we see full horror at first glance;
faced with egomania, now a common aura,
and with this disease, we have no chance.

Autumn’s Shriek

Summer is hushed now
Autumn’s lowly howl murmurs
Bring on the chatter?