Assume the Joy

Assume the world’s full of joy,

not hate,

stare at birds,

wonder at our fate

and if we’ll mind what happens after–

“the late”

they’ll call us,

if not the great–

but we’ll be gone,

beings that are not immortal

(unless time folds–perhaps a portal?)

and so, we shouldn’t hesitate

just assume the joy

of stars and earth

of moons that hum with charming mirth

then laugh, my dear–

no, stop, wait

—listen

there–the robin on the garden gate

512px-American_robin

I needed a poetry break this afternoon!

This is for Secret Keeper’s Challenge.

The prompt words were: Assume/Mind/Late/Being/Stare

 

 

The Game

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Albertus Pictor (1440-1507, “Death Playing Chess”

By Håkan Svensson (Xauxa) (Own work) [GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html), CC-BY-SA-3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/) or CC BY 2.5 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.5)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons

 

Life and death, becomes a game

(it’s played for keeps)

study the board,

black and white

(in a world of color)

in a world of uncertainty

predictable,

life and death,

black and white,

the stark focus of opposites,

sad, happy, quiet, loud.

Kings captured, castles fall,

we’re all pawns,

in the game

a draw

only delays the inevitable

checkmate

 

This poem is for Secret Keeper’s Writing Challenge. The prompt words were: Game/Study/Sad/Loud/Become

For some reason, the image of the knight and Death playing chess in Ingmar Bergman’s movie, The Seventh Seal popped into my mind. Who know where these things come from?

 

 

 

Autumn Tanka

field_book_of_wild_birds_and_their_music_6260628154

By Mathews, F. Schuyler, Field Book of Wild Birds and Their Music. . .,” 1922 [CC BY 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0) or Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

 

1.

Red-caped cardinal

calls, tolls, each passing hour,

leaves and lives transformed.

Spring-green ages to red-gold,

golden curls turn to silver.

 

2.

gentle breeze blows,

brushes a leaf tenderly,

a story revealed

in its frangible surface

life, beauty ephemeral

 

img_4593

 

Chiming the Hour

max_liebermann_canning_factory

Max Liebermann, “The Preserve Makers,” 1879 [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

 

At break of dawn, the robin sings,

without fail he chimes the hour

awakening spring in joyous song.

 

The workers rise from slumber’s dreams

as fires start and kettles steam.

At break of dawn, the robin sings.

 

Firmly in place, they keep sharp pace,

with foreman near, they mustn’t tarry.

Without fail, he chimes the hour.

 

They live and love and dream and hope–

and listen for the robin’s trills,

awakening spring in joyous song.

 

This is a cascade poem in response to Secret Keeper’s Weekly Writing Challenge.

 

This week’s words are: Place/Sharp/Chime/Firm/Pace.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

NaPoWriMo: Gone with Spring

The daffodils are gone now with the spring,

yet the robin cheers me with his song.

Though new buds form and birds take wing,

the daffodils are gone now with the spring.

Who knows of time, what will it bring?

Our lives soon end, we’re not here long.

The daffodils are gone now with the spring,

yet the robin cheers me with his song.

 

NaPoWriMo, Day 8. Today’s prompt: flowers. I wrote a triolet.