Notes #Daily HaikuChallenge

cembalist

Water’s streamed fingers
Trickles moonlight’s sonata
Woodland cembalist

Day 175/365 – Morgan’s #DailyHaikuChallenge. Join in and link back to her blog

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Sunset Senses

sunset senses.jpg

I smile at sunset’s throng of small songbirds
singing out while nuzzling their nested fauna,
dreamily chirping ‘til sleep stills them.
Resting in treetops higher than dusk,
but still lower than the scattering raindrops,
they are held firmly by devoted arms that reach
forever into the night, soaring upward
to heaven to sleep there ’til dawn.

I see long, last looks from the sky
before unused clouds crawl along alone
into dark slumber where dreams wait to explode.
Glancing at the flowers’ closed petals
in graceful sleep, the moon casts a shadow
on their last blushes as the day grows weary;
their scent lingers freely and comes closer
to me through the tranquil grace of nightfall,
and we walk hand in hand through the garden
at this quiet time.

I hear the tinkling of ivory
from the stream playing right underneath
my window as it wends its weary way into the
night, moving freely in its dream state;
asleep already but forever moving
closer to a new dawn in another
world somewhere out there and beyond
our scope – to bask always in moonlight’s
infinite pond.

I love the setting of the sun as she lays
out her golden robes; all too soon she will
adorn them once more, but for now she rests
and allows the beauty of a silver face to watch
over us in the darkness. Once inside the night,
the moon caresses the tips of nightfall wherever
it touches and we all slip silently into sleep.
If we’re lucky we soar high and meet
the heavens in our dreams and wake to live
them a thousandfold once daylight’s
waking moment’s blossom.

River Song ~ Quadrille

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Wistful waters croon
their tranquil notes,
stirring streams
to run the course
of our age’s peaks and troughs –
ululating reservoirs pool
naturally when catastrophes
become walled dams;
unabated, the simple reed’s voice
needs no coax from restless winds
to play us healing songs.

Orchids

Poetry_Gathering_at_the_Orchid_Pavilion_(Hobara_Museum_of_History_and_Culture)

I was inspired by The Orchid Pavilion gathering of 353 CE which was a cultural and poetic event during the Six dynasties era, in China. The gentlemen (42 literati) had engaged in a drinking contest: rice-wine cups were floated down a small winding creek as the men sat along its banks; whenever a cup stopped, the man closest to the cup was required to empty it and write a poem. This was known as “floating goblets” (流觴, liúshāng). In the end, twenty-six of the participants composed thirty-seven poems.

Wife, as my life fades with the closing
sun, weeds now overtake linen paths driven
into the wilderness,

I have no strength to fight them,
and soon you must walk this way alone
though my heart is warm still –

but later, I will watch for you
and know the crinkled nose on your dirty face
as your dainty fingers dig delicately

because you are such a gentle flower,
I know you would not want to hurt them.
I am sorry how high the weeds will grow

since there is no one to take my place or to walk
you across the orchid bridge, but it has such
a fine elbow, a kind arm hanging over the stream –

when you walk do not look for the rice cups
and scoundrel ghosts drinking Huangjiu –
they who always beat me – but there is no disgrace,

I wrote a poem – and since the current was
lazy, I wrote another and another and another –
especially for you.