I Don’t Mourn Winter, Haibun Quadrille, NaPoWriMo, Day 24

I don’t mourn winter’s passing. Time’s river flows, carrying me. The air will again turn silver-cold. Then I’ll gather a blanket about me like a hug and wait for spring.

 

spring sun grows, gathers

bright rays trilling on robin’s wings

dawn flames green branches

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s been a busy day, with work to finish, and a doctor’s appointment for my mom. And so many posts to catch up on! So this is not exactly an elegy, the prompt for today’s NaPoWriMo. I may come back to write a proper elegy at some point. This not-elegy is a haibun quadrille for dVerse, where Lillian asked us to write a quadrille, a poem of exactly 44 words, using the word gather.

Robin Searches Here: Tanka

Robin searches here

beneath the snow-covered grass

new life is sprouting

in renewed light seeding hope

replenishing Earth again

 

 

This is a tanka for Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday.  Colleen asked us to write a poem using synonyms for “renew” and “fresh.” I was walking by this window that looks out at our back yard, just as the snowstorm on Wednesday was starting to pick up. This robin by the oak tree caught my eye, and I quickly took a photo through the window.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Echoes from the Before Time: Haibun

 

I wait in the garden watching the bees flit among the roses. Their somnolent buzzing is soothing, the music of the universe echoed. Once this sun-glimmered garden, this gold-gilded life, seemed alluring. But now I realize it’s an artificial oasis. Outside the Perimeter, life is harsh and chaotic. Children and dogs scuffle over scraps. I think back over the past few years and to what brought me here. I thought it a refuge. I was attracted to his power, mistaking it for strength of character. But there is no strength, only cunning; he will do their bidding, do whatever he needs to do to survive. I am the plucked flower tossed as tribute. He has given me to Them, a bribe for his safety. I hear them now, hear their fists pounding on the door. The bees have stopped buzzing; the sun hides behind a cloud, but I hear a robin sing.

 

Before time and wars

the sun sang and the moon hummed

songs still echoing

 

in buzz, chirp, and ocean waves

hear music of the cosmos

 

By Sir Edward Burne-Jones (died 1898) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

 

This is a Haibun for Colleen’s Weekly Poetry Challenge. The prompt words were power and allure.

 

 

 

Songs of Spring: A Quadrille

Here is more spring-like quadrille for dVerse.

 

With delight, the robin sings

amidst his vernal wandering,

each treble note

seems to float

over newly surfaced yellow-green,

and we are keen

to feel the warmth, to taste the air,

to go about without a care

to listen to the songs of spring

Robin_on_bird_bath

By J. M. Pearson (Own work) [CC BY-SA 4.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons

 

 

 

 

 

 

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.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Robin Sang With The Night: Pantoum

This is for  Jane Dougherty’s Poetry Challenge 21, Pantoum

Embed from Getty Images

 

The robin sang with the light

“Get up, come play,” said he

Brush away the dreamworld night

Up here, he said, you will be free

 

“Get up, come play,” said he

But the moss-dressed limbs were high

Up here, he said you will be free

No, I cannot fly.

 

But the moss-dressed limbs were high

Still, they called my name

No, I cannot fly,

Yet wanting to all the same.

 

Still they called my name,

Like the sirens of the sea,

Yet wanting to all the same

Sail away high on the ancient tree.

 

Like the sirens of the sea,

The leaf-breeze trilled in delight

Sail away high on the ancient tree

The robin sang with the light.