2020-04-24 07:10:07 +00:00
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<title>Zk | Haiku</title>
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2023-05-11 05:35:08 +00:00
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2024-05-05 04:25:08 +00:00
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2020-04-24 07:10:07 +00:00
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<h1>Zk | Haiku</h1>
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</header>
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<article class="content">
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2020-04-24 08:30:08 +00:00
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<p><span class="tag">writing</span> <span class="tag">poetry</span></p>
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<p><q class="comment">In <em>Eigengrau</em></q></p>
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2020-06-24 07:15:07 +00:00
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<div class="verse">Arctic fox’s den
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2020-04-24 07:10:07 +00:00
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adorned with flowers and snow
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2020-04-24 07:25:07 +00:00
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garden in winter</div>
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<hr />
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2020-04-24 07:30:40 +00:00
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<p><q class="comment">In <em>Eigengrau</em></q></p>
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2020-04-24 07:25:07 +00:00
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<div class="verse">A measure of grain
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2020-04-24 07:10:07 +00:00
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and a measure of water —
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2020-06-24 07:15:07 +00:00
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spring’s own time and heat
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2020-04-24 07:10:07 +00:00
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Air carries the scent
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of myriads of lives spent
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2020-06-24 07:15:07 +00:00
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on summer’s warm breath
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2020-04-24 07:10:07 +00:00
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Crumb and density,
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warmth buried beneath crisp crust —
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2020-06-24 07:15:07 +00:00
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autumn’s crackling leaves.
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2020-04-24 07:10:07 +00:00
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Loves and loaves and loaves
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baked for comfort in the cold —
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winter calls for stores.</div>
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<hr />
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2020-04-24 07:30:40 +00:00
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<p><q class="comment">In <em>Eigengrau</em></q></p>
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2020-04-24 07:10:07 +00:00
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<div class="verse">Leaves fall, grass withers,
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and I step back to witness
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2020-06-24 07:15:07 +00:00
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winter’s frozen form.
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2020-04-24 07:10:07 +00:00
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2020-06-24 07:15:07 +00:00
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Half an hour’s silence,
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2020-04-24 07:10:07 +00:00
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body relaxing slowly,
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letting springtime in.
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A season to stretch,
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then one to learn everything —
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2020-06-24 07:15:07 +00:00
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summer’s exploring.
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2020-04-24 07:10:07 +00:00
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What will autumn bring?
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Maturity? Strength? Wisdom?
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Dry heat and cool nights?</div>
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<hr />
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2020-04-24 07:30:40 +00:00
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<p><q class="comment">In <em>Eigengrau</em></q></p>
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2020-04-24 07:10:07 +00:00
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<div class="verse">Seven flies circle,
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Trimmers chatter down the block:
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The hum of summer.
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I listen, silent, waiting,
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Breathing in sun and out shade.
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Fig leaves like fingers
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paw feebly through still hot air
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and come up with naught.
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Too early for fruit to droop,
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we must wait past midsummer.
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And I walk until
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all I can hear is the wind
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among the fir trees.
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Summer breezes bear away
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all the choices of years past.
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Drink deep of death-thoughts
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as the day dies with a yawn —
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the year starts to fade.</div>
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2020-11-15 09:43:09 +00:00
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<hr />
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<p>2020-11-06</p>
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<div class="verse">To hear you speaking
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Is to lose oneself in song:
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Your words are drumbeats.
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The rain on the grass provides
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A soft accompaniment.
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Restless nights arise
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And I must pace to meet them:
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I can’t help but move.
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Fingers tracing perfect arcs,
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I walk backwards into dreams.
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I bow before you.
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Your luster leaves me breathless,
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Yet I risk a glance.
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Who gave you leave to thrill me?
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Who gave the birds flight and song?</div>
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<hr />
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<p>Pale she — 2020-11-15</p>
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2020-11-17 23:35:12 +00:00
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<div class="verse">Her eye turns inward,
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vision dims and movement stills
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as winter claims her.
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2020-11-15 09:43:09 +00:00
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Thoughts like leaves fall slow,
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hesitate, drift, rustle, sigh.
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Frost-rimed remnants rot.
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Some paler she asks: <br />
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do you see the sky through me?
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2020-11-17 23:35:12 +00:00
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Do I frame its mien?
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2020-11-15 09:43:09 +00:00
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That pale she lacks words.
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She does not speak, cannot speak
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without the wind’s hum.
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Still she asks, all breath,
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am I invisible yet?
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2020-11-17 23:35:12 +00:00
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Does snow tend steel skies?
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2020-11-15 09:43:09 +00:00
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2020-11-17 23:35:12 +00:00
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And when her breath fails,
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dark branches write on the clouds:
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2020-11-15 09:43:09 +00:00
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Summer is a dream.
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Paler still, she cracks.
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Dreams, also, of ax and fire,
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false springs to thaw hands.
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Silent now, demands:
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there must be an end, there must be.
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2020-11-17 23:35:12 +00:00
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Spring, silence, or fire.
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2020-11-15 09:43:09 +00:00
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No one answers her.
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She stands stark against flat skies,
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2020-11-17 23:35:12 +00:00
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ice claims bark, claims wood.
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2020-11-15 09:43:09 +00:00
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2020-11-17 23:35:12 +00:00
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Darkness comes heavy.
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2020-11-15 09:43:09 +00:00
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Sleep for now, sleep forever,
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midwinter cares not.
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2020-11-17 23:35:12 +00:00
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Neither, now, does she.
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How could pale wood think of whens?
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2020-11-15 09:43:09 +00:00
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Of thaws and green things?
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2020-11-17 23:35:12 +00:00
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The sun tells her lies:
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2020-11-15 09:43:09 +00:00
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Melting snow will feed your roots,
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Seasons imply change.
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2020-11-17 23:35:12 +00:00
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She does not listen.
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2020-11-15 09:43:09 +00:00
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Pale she does not believe him:
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Brother sun’s too quick.
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2020-11-17 23:35:12 +00:00
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Brother sun tolls days,
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2020-11-15 09:43:09 +00:00
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and pale she has no more need
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for hours with seasons.
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Brother sun’s movements
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are breaths to her: days blink slow
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2020-11-15 09:43:09 +00:00
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when spring is a dream.
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2020-11-17 23:35:12 +00:00
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Sister moon speaks now:
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2020-11-15 09:43:09 +00:00
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follow me, set time by me —
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my months are guideposts.
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2020-11-17 23:35:12 +00:00
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Pale she sleeps, sleeps still.
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Waking her may have listened.
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2020-11-15 09:43:09 +00:00
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Endless winter calms.
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2020-11-17 23:35:12 +00:00
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She invites cold in.
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2020-11-15 09:43:09 +00:00
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Water, crystallized, freezes;
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2020-11-17 23:35:12 +00:00
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cells lyse, die in droves.
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2020-11-15 09:43:09 +00:00
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If spring never comes,
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pale she supposes, that’s fine.
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2020-11-17 23:35:12 +00:00
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Winter is for dreams.
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2020-11-15 09:43:09 +00:00
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She’ll dream, or she won’t.
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2020-11-17 23:35:12 +00:00
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She’ll carry on or she won’t.
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Cold has claimed heartwood.
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2020-11-15 09:43:09 +00:00
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No one perceives her.
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2020-11-17 23:35:12 +00:00
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She becomes terrain’s wild hair,
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a forgiven sin.
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2020-11-15 09:43:09 +00:00
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Would she wake for saws?
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For axes with keen-edged blades?
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Would she even care?
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And still the sun sets.
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And still the moon waxes, wanes.
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And still seasons change.
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Should pale she not wake,
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2020-11-17 23:35:12 +00:00
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venerate her mute demise.
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2020-11-15 09:43:09 +00:00
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Cut her down, cord her.
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A new life in fire,
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2020-11-17 23:35:12 +00:00
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for pale she gives heat in death.
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Let this be her spring.</div>
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2022-02-06 00:45:15 +00:00
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<hr />
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<p>2022-02-05</p>
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<div class="verse">Blackbird calls, calls twice
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And I am anchored in earth.
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Thirsty roots in Spring.
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My hands reach skyward,
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Housing the dreams of blackbirds.
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Restless Summer nights.
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The blackbird’s dry call
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Echoes the rattle of dry leaves.
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2022-02-07 02:05:15 +00:00
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Autumn tells me lies.
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Blackbird against snow
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proves waking </div>
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2020-04-24 07:10:07 +00:00
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<footer>
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2024-05-05 04:25:08 +00:00
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<p>Page generated on 2024-05-04</p>
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2020-04-24 07:10:07 +00:00
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2020-06-24 07:15:07 +00:00
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