Tag: Art
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Spy on the Curb – Haiku
SPY ON THE CURB Snow…soon,” says the sky.Ice blade stabs my coat — a spy —curb-walking crow flies. LE
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Crumbs
Crumbs In the silence of alonenessWatching me perform – dance and bowAnd feign a smile – thatHides the hole where purpose dwelt. In hidden depths I writheWith vestiges of love-passion memories, That solidify, shrink, and crack –Shattering me to crumbs onThe kitchen floor – in dream-death silenceComing to grips with love – rejected. –LE
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The Black Knight
The Black Knight It was a crisp, early fall, late evening; and the very airseemed alive, crackling with energy, shimmering in thestreet-lights’ dim glow, where the colors of trees, bushes,and parked cars were rich and deep on the desertedstreet, with golden highlights on everything… I waswitnessing Shiva’s Dance. Then it rumbled in the distance, like…
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Turkey Day Haiku
Turkey day is herewith family, friends, and cheer —dogs, licking their chops. Pets are under foot,Cats and dogs under tables —Scraps won’t hit the floor.–LE
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More Fall Haiku
Wet wind takes my hat;damp wool covers my goose-bumps —trees howl with laughter! Dead-leaf lined gutters,walking the cold concrete road —trees sigh, “hhhuuurrryy hhhommmmmme.” –LE
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The Spanish Dancer by Rainer Maria Rilke
The Spanish Dancerby Rainer Maria Rilke As on all its sides a kitchen-match darts whiteflickering tongues before it bursts into flame:with the audience around her, quickened, hot,her dance begins to flicker in the dark room. And all at once it is completely fire. One upward glance and she ignites her hairand, whirling faster and faster,…
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Haiku and Lakeshore
These are older, but perhaps still relevant… Some Autumn Haiku, more to come… Jacob’s ladder climbs the sky,cloud-filtered sunshine –startled geese take flight. Goose with no head…oh!it’s under her wing –goosey slight of hand. –LE
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La Guitarra
The Guitar by Federico Garcia Lorca The weeping of the guitarbegins.The goblets of dawnare smashed.The weeping of the guitarbegins.Uselessto silence it.Impossibleto silence it.It weeps monotonouslyas water weepsas the wind weepsover snowfields.Impossibleto silence it.It weeps for distantthings.Hot southern sandsyearning for white camellias.Weeps arrow without targetevening without morningand the first dead birdon the branch.Oh guitar!Heart mortally woundedby…
CynOp 