Friday, June 28, 2019

D'Verse Poets Open Link Night #246 + Carpe Diem Weekend Meditation #91 Renga With (hineri) Sonora Desert



1. 
among dune grass
silver bleached logs
and a perfect day

among dune grass
if you blink, you will miss it
mouse peers from its home

silver bleached logs
blasted by sand, wind, and rain
beauty in harshness

and a perfect day
if perfection does exist
found in solitude

Image by Pexels from Pixabay

2. 
overcoming rocks
a stream of cacti
slowly spreading

overcoming rocks
taking root in barren soil
resilient plants

a stream of cacti
clandestine water vessels
ride the desert wave

slowly spreading
seeds take root across the dunes
carried on the wind


3. 
desert ways
branching all over
cholla cactus

desert ways
arid, harsh, unforgiving
to some, blessed home

branching up to the sky
reaching up to greet the sun
rooted deep in earth

cholla cactus
spines sparkling like gems in sun
don't try to pick me


Image by Mike Goad from Pixabay

4. 
alone and asking
to be touched
teddy bear cholla

alone and asking
thirsty for the rain to fall
the sun still beats down

to be touched
is a desire that ceases
when touch is cruel

teddy bear cholla
with spines that appear silky
not truly cuddly


Image by katja from Pixabay

5. 
writing
desert poems
pencil cholla

writing
salvation or damnation
release, obsession

desert poems
love the look of the desert
but can't stand the heat

pencil cholla
plucking a spine for a nib
words scrawled with my blood


Image by StockSnap from Pixabay

6. 
desert sunset
cholla cactus sticks
to the light

desert sunset
with night comes blessed coolness
nighttime desert song

cholla cactus sticks
daring passerby to touch
its tempting needles

to the light
shining from the moon above
nighttime creatures sing

~Jane & Cie~




Notes:
The "sleighs" of the Troiku in this Troiku Hineri were written by Jane Reichhold (1937 - 2016). The spiky Horses of the Apocalypse were wrangled by me.
I've been doing Troiku all month. These were supposed to be Renga. Yes, I know, I am bad at following instructions and I suck at my job. In other news, water is wet.

11 comments:

  1. a beautiful tour of the landscape

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  2. Fabulous series! (even if you didn't follow directions) ;)

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  3. I love this form. New to me. Thanks!

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  4. there are endless worlds thriving in the most isolated and deserted places .... arid, dry and seemingly barren are just tricks of the mind - wonderful exploration into the mysteries here

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    1. I lived in New Mexico between the ages of four and ten. There are such wonderful creatures in that seemingly barren landscape. Unfortunately, the heat also prompts the growth of very large insects!

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  5. Oh I do remember the teddybear cholla... (or jumping cholla as they called it)... my first contact was indirect when a girl we met in the desert suddenly screamed from getting one burrowing in her ankle... I had just bought myself some pliers and she was helped to get rid of them...

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    1. They are vicious. A lot of cactus varieties have barbed spines. I got one in my finger. Not a good time!

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  6. I love that you have a mouse in the first series – I’ve been rescuing mice and shrews from my cats between marking exams. Now the marking deadline has come and gone I’m back to writing, reading and commenting again – I’ve missed it. I really like the phrase ‘beauty in harshness’.

    One of the many things I enjoy about reading other poets’ work, is being taken to different parts of the world, to places I will never visit, which is what your desert series have done:, taken me to an arid, unforgiving landscape of hot sand and wind, rocks and cacti, with their ‘clandestine water vessels’ and seeds carried on the wind. I particularly love:
    ‘pencil cholla
    plucking a spine for a nib
    words scrawled with my blood’.

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  7. The desert may seem a blank abstraction, relatively monochormatic, if not monlithically monistic sheet of homogeneity to a a person living in the greenlands. But you have exposed the life and the vibrant colors, and most interestingly, the paradoxes in every cycle. the gem that longs to be touched but stabs you when you do, the longing for salvation in what feels like damnation, the second guessing we page ourselves enmeswhed as we are in the intrisic wiring of vigilance. The constant push of pull of home, arid , harsh, unforgiving... how many of our homes are like that, but still we ong to belong, we find there a place of blessing, a chance to carve out a life. The heat that dissipates, but still the temptations to touch and connect, cloaked in the darkness we yearn for softness, but still get the barbs, but when we are still we end with hearing the singing. this is fabulous, each seeing of the world puts our words out there, if not scrawled in, at least laced with our blood.

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