I was once her (for one Shot Wednesday)

who sits on the couch in the music room
lost in autumn hair, violins on a CD player
wafting smiles not hers, smiles of a piquant woman
her lover lost on the river walk that evening
briar roses crumbled on their steps shredded
foliage cushioned.

She sits on vacant clouds, eyes
hinting wakefulness on pools
the sun once mirrored
then drowned. The geese left no sign
that evening of the walk not even a note
to hold up to a sun sinking on the barge:
logs swayed on the water, old men rasped
scraping brawns the tide whittled,

bumping to the rhythm. She hears
her lover hum the tune,
a river whistling in the runes, flowing
infinitely like words in
a vow: in this and that state
no breath in between
but death. Not geese but iron flies
buzzing into her heart shattered

the pool that afternoon, shards of water
blinding her her lover saying good-bye, to fly
on blades that whirl not wings that beat
on air, to return an angel, breast beribboned
to preen to count those fallen
from his fingers.
She peers through her cloud this afternoon:
a river ebbing at her feet, touching

her wiggling toes, she giggles over
silly notes as violins rise, twirling
allegro on the river bank where she once sat
mourning over geese that afternoon
her lover returned a name
in a note unsigned, the lover

who once was mine.

Posted for One Shot Wednesday at One Stop Poetry, the gathering place of poets and artists yet unmatched in calibre and talent. I’m a follower here. Do check us out!

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deep in a pool (tanka though still not sure)

deep in a pool
a school of tadpoles wriggling
inveigles my thoughts
of a summer evening
to fall in love with a frog

It’s strange how thoughts take on an unintended form or lines simply write themselves out as if they simply ooze out of fingertips like this tanka-ish reflection. The image emerged from a ginko walk at the Chinese Buddhist Temple in Richmond we of the Vancouver Haiku Group had a month ago. The ‘pool’ is the bonsai pool but not tadpoles, instead a school of gold fish darted through moss covered stones. So why the frog? I had thought of Basho and the frog then out of nowhere or perhaps the stillness water always brings on in me as in that morning while gazing at the depth on the pool invited the frog to my lines…how strange and unexpected thought processes can be sometimes.

Suppositions (One Shot Wednesday)

I gape at turtles dip legs
in a pool the sun
just now deserted.

Tipping on rock
I sway on a shell of suppositions
whether

or not water not light
whets the eyes, whether or not to sip
not to see fills cavities of

empty cages, gaping hearts
that sullen suns disabled
when deserting lovers

dredged the pool
of its clarity and water ebbed
on man-made rocks

where I now teeter, nudging
turtles on rock-edge, my legs dipped
but short on water, my toes

a ginger-spread
stalking my origins
elsewhere.

I mind the rain drowning
in pools or falling on ginger roots–
soon juiced for life—

but I don’t mind it falling
on crackling fire where
raindrops sizzle, the sound of

dying doused,
which props me up still balancing
on turtle back

eternal suppositions
that stilled the pool where I
have gelled.

Posted for One Shot Wednesday at One Stop Poetry blog. Join me and other poets who write verses for love, read those of others, leave a word of encouragement and/or insight with the same love and respect. Post your piece on your blog and sign up in the Mr. Linky list.

take 3 (edit)

Oh, nooo! I lost the red dragonflies in “picking autumn leaves comment”–not in the bingo prize (pomegranate)!

Here is what maybe I meant:

on an evening trail
of red dragonflies swarming
in a pool, stars