Summa Summarum

on the plane ride home
the scent of his cologne
still in my hair

                                        

                              before his morning walk
                              news of his cousin’s
                              death

not yet twilight
her new necklace
breaks

                                    on the way to the mailbox

                                    the feral cat

                                     by the fence

before sunset
the click of her
knitting needles

“on the plane ride home” previously published in WAH

“before his morning walk”, “not yet twilight:, and “on the way to the mailbox” previously published in Haiku Harvest

“before sunset" previously published in Clouds Peak

image taken and copyrighted by Rick Proh

at the pumpkin patch
we look for the best of
the bunch
my gloveless hands seeking
the warmth of your pockets

previously published in Tanka Cafe
photo taken and copyrighted by Bella

Floor Art

I need to buy a rug
from the salesman my decorator recommends
so, dutifully armed with wallpaper samples,
fabric swatches, a cushion from my leather sofa,
I enter the shop

he does not understand
he shows me boring beiges, ordinary blues

his father, clearly irritated, asks
what is wrong with you?
look how she is dressed, the things she has brought
she loves colour!

he knows, he understands!

he points me to vivid maroons,
swirling jade greens
dramatic blacks and golds
I touch the rugs as though they are living things
in love with art for my floor

I argue the size with son and decorator
at my house, they see I am right
the father knew all along

why argue with her? he asks
she's an artist, she knows

we make the exchange, the son says
I have to know, if possible, would you go out with me?

I look up and catch his father’s eye
not with you, I say,
but maybe with your father

The older man laughs and winks
he knows, he understands
that my foyer floor won’t be happy
unless it’s covered in red

first published in Thunder Sandwich

image taken and copyrighted by Corinna

Enchantment

Immersed in sweetest poetry,

Swathed in a rhythm so sublime,

Enraptured in its dearest verse,

I bathed myself in rhyme.

Caught up in the melody,

Compelled to hum along,

Wrapped up in the heady tune

Of your poet's song.

Romanced by the sway of sonnets,

The couplet's purest rise or two,

Swept up in metered mesmerism,

I lost myself in you.

first published in Poetic Voices

photo taken and copyrighted by Ellen Koppendraaier

On Having A Beautiful Mother

 

for my little mother, whose inner beauty surpassed even that of her outer

At the end of the day
she would unwind her long hair
from its tight bun
and I would brush its silky darkness
through my fingers

Never one to draw attention to herself
her idea of a beauty regime
was soap and water
practical, loose fitting clothes
no time for nonsense

still, heads turned, to her dismay
once, when she was a young girl,
she was dragged into the bathroom at church by the old ladies,
her face scrubbed for any tell-tale signs of make-up
she wore none
she was naturally beautiful
but after the scourging
she wore a red mark for days

Child of their old age
my mother still turned heads when she walked
neighbours would call out to her,
“You look so young, we can’t tell which one is the mother,
and which ones are  the daughters”
but it was easy –
she was the one with the tiniest waist and the prettiest hair

my father would point to her
and whisper,
see how beautiful she is,
she doesn’t know it, doesn’t care

but she knew, she cared
and wanted so desperately to turn it all away

photo taken and copyrighted by nenieve

in the jar
on the windowsill –
captured sunlight

first published in Full Moon, 2003

image taken and copyrighted by Jingle

What Happened When

 

You said, “What would happen if
For once you stopped being such a
Workaholic, and a perfectionist, and
Took some time off to relax for a change?”
I put down my paintbrush, opened up some
Linseed oil, and said, “Okay, I
Am yours for the day.” Before you fainted,
You got my jacket,
Ushered me out the door,
And into the sunshine.
I was introduced to an artist I had not heard of ,
Got my almost black hair highlighted with red,
Dared you to shave my initials into yours;
Sang “Life is a Flower” at the top of my lungs in the park,
Learned the words to a new song,
Danced to BNL and AoB,
Had ice cream for lunch,
Thai for dinner,
But declined on the tattoo….

previously published in The Makata, AGT, and other places

image taken and copyrighted by Jingle

on the autumn grass
conjugating French verbs...
a friend
traces aimer, to love,
on the palm of my hand

previously published in Ribbons, 2005

photo taken and copyrighted by KLAUDIA

“pretty little one”

he used to call me in Italian

which made me wonder

whatever was wrong

with my own name?

                                            inconsolable

                                            the night my sister died

                                            now

                                            as winter approaches

                                            I find myself simply numb

away from home

in this strange

country

even the bread

tastes different

“pretty little one” published in The Makata, and Autumn Leaves

“inconsolable” published in Loch Raven Review

“away from home” published in Haiku Harvest

image taken and copyrighted by Em