Secret Soul #Naani

Picture source:  Paul Militaru.  Thanks, Paul.

Beauteous stranger
draped in night’s soft silver –
petals cling like shades of past
as if scared of life’s bright light

A Naani consists of 4 lines, the total lines consists of 20 to 25 syllables

Midnight Sun #DailyHailkuChallenge

Picture from my garden: Primroses.

Each day at sunset
Day leaves glorious lamplight
Sunshine at twilight

Day 165/365 – Morgan’s #DailyHaikuChallenge. Join in and link back to her blog

Ghosts #DailyHaikuChallenge

Seasonal snow ghosts
Tolling of tiny Snowdrops
Winter’s fading chimes

Day 123/365 – Morgan’s #DailyHaikuChallenge. Join in and link back to her blog

Mute Swan #Cinquain

Picture: Thank you, Paul Militaru.

Mute swan’s
throbbing wing beats
give voice to swirling air;
contemplation of home blurs sun’s
harsh glare.

Love’s Illusion

Picture thanks to Paul Militaru

Lovehearts and butterflies,
connected by brittle bones,
harmonise a scale of chords
separated once by melancholy
and disenchantment
of past players –
such echoes still permeate
the dried staff of veins that course
with  forgotten music  only
daylight hears – its
fixed stare resists sleep
behind sepia expectations
of blossoming love, and will fight
one last blink,
relentless against the weight of twilight,
so that lovehearts and butterflies
do not just become yesterday’s leaves
lingering on autumn’s hand,
reluctant to let go
whilst there is still a chance for
love to come.

Weeping

Picture: Thank you, Paul Militaru.

Oh, my weeping willow
don’t spread your tears apart,
keep count of all the strings
to your heart.

So precious – your long and tender
reaches as curiosity flourishes closer
to the impressionist vacuum, which flaunts
your ersatz beauty above its murky depths
to make you sorrowful and ponder
its reasoning while your replication
is contemplative trail.

Sleep, my weeping willow,
sobbing south to face the marsh skies;
be weary now – you’ve earned it,
when you cry.

 

 

Strange Arms

Picture source:  Strange…tree.  Thanks Paul Militaru.

wrap me in strange arms
not sinew’s calm unity of muscle to bone
but like before when molten flesh
was writhing, malleable, lasting –
not like now with intangible flame
shot from an archer’s crossbow –
with quick precision

writhe with me in twisting turns,
not rolling ambiguity’s speech of tongues,
but like before when deception unraveled
to suffocate me with a slithering hiss –
do not place your wreath
in the space where the cobra stabs
with quick precision

Static

Photo: Alex Markovich. Camera: SONY SLT-A55V. July 30, 2016.

Source: Abstract Mood #8

ubiquitous mute
static is nature’s tension
no vertical hold