Super Blue Moon

The last rain stopped

and the steel sky lifted

a bit.

Six crows fly in battleship formation

across what might be the sun,

visible orb through cumulus gray

a bit.

Then dusk descended and the crows went

where crows go and bats took flight

from their hidey holes

and the moon- what they call blue-

rose over the hill where cattle sleep

and my father's house once stood.

For a bit.

Blue Moon on the rise

shames the breadth of artless men.

Bathes the earth in blue.

Written for our BLUE MOON, which won't happen again until 2037. Who knows what state the earth will be in by then so shine on tonight and check out the poets of dVerse as they praise the moon which dims the light pollution of humankind. The haiku finale is requisite in the haibun poetry form. Also, from dVerse is their Open Link Night for all to join in.

Haiku - going micro

 Inspired by the prompt at Poets and Storytellers to go micro . . .

The night bird rustles
midst the snow-burdened branches
of his hidden home.

 

Smog colored sunrise

of busy men—rich cerise

for their artless ways.

 

On the snow fog morn

white lights dance around the nest

of winter’s cardinal.

A traditional Japanese form, haiku is a three-line poem written in a 5/7/5 syllable count, usually with a focus on nature. Thanks, Rosemary, for including the other forms of micro poetry in the prompt. Less is often more!

 

Feeding On The Dead

 The fires took four houses down last night,

They’re miles away, we’re safe, you set me right
The darkling sky looks like a storm to me.
But still I watch the sky above our game.
You made a triple word score with a Z
and remind me where we are; it’ll never rain.

People have to have some place to stay—

desert rats without the sense to flee

and water is cheap pumped in from far away

to here where fires feed on the dead and leap the pass.

No looming thunderstorm those kites of black.

You remind me where we are; it’ll never rain.

The fires took four more houses down last night. 

 

 

The one-eyed bird sings

plaintive song from blackened stumps

on the clear-cut plain.

Today it's Haibun Monday at dVerse with a seasonal topic of fear. And over at Earthweal, a challenge approaching Samhein, clebrating that Day of the Dead. Let's!

Monday Haiku

Feed me, mother said,

mouth open like a baby bird,

bread crumbs on the bed.

 

Spent shells fall to ground,

Redtail hawk drops from the sky,

Child runs and hides. 

Smeared blood, tearful face

The little bird wouldn’t die

Only a sparrow.

Linked to the poetry at the Imaginary Garden at http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/

Writing is not for fools

I came within a hair of winning Andrea Cremer's paranormal haiku contest for one of her "signed" NIGHTSHADE arcs. This, hot off the Cremer Express:

THE NOMINEES ARE:

Best Drama:

Yvonne

A night bird twittered
at the window, tapped the sill.
A chirp then a claw.


The competition was stiff as a pair of jeans hung out to dry so I'm considering the finalist category the winner's circle. She promises more of these giveaways so check her blog out. She's one of my oldest blogging friends and is about to be famous worldwide!

Another contest I want to mention this morning is Lady Glamis's short story contest. It runs until June 1st so plenty of time to hone that short and the prizes are very much worth your effort.

Tomorrow is Good Friday with a Flash 55 to conjure up. I have stories and poems out on submission and a nifty rejection in my inbox from Ploughshares. I've recovered from my blog transformation, and I just backed up my novel by emailing it to myself which I thought a pretty good idea since I keep my flashdrive in the vicinity of my laptop and hardcopy is somewhat combustible. And the query letter? Umm, yeah, it's here staring me in the face like a albatross.
Albatross n, 2 a: something that causes persistent deep concern or anxiety.

Passing the Torch

It is time for me to acknowledge a few fellow bloggers who have been generous to me with their time and support. First, a special thank you to Carolina Valdez Miller at Carols Prints for being my 30th follower. She is hosting a contest with Simon Larter at Constant Revision to celebrate their each passing the 100-follower threshold. The rules are at Simon’s and the prizes are at Carolina’s. The prizes are very fine indeed. Don't miss this one.

Next, I would like to pass my Honest Scrap Award to my final three recipients. (See post below)
Jean Oram, who blogs here
K.T. Richardson at My Writing Masquerade
and Nisa at Wordplay Swordplay .

I won't repeat the guidelines except to say please don't feel bound by them. I think some of these "rules" may have been lost in translation, but all three of you define scrappy for me.

Next, I am passing on my Superior Scribbler Award (see sidebar) from Tricia O’Brien at Talespinning. To have received this from someone of your writing ability, Tricia, is truly humbling. I think one is supposed to pass it on to five fellow writers in the online community. But at this time I would like to gift it to:
Amber Tidd Murphy who blogs here
Catwoods at Words From The Woods
and Rebecca Bush at Just A Thought ,
three writers of unbelievable writing stamina. I wonder when any of you sleep.

Finally, I’ve come to my Humane Award.(Again, see sidebar.) Andrea Cremer at A Blurred History gave me this one. It was the first blog award I received and because of that and because of what it stands for, in some ways it means the most. I never properly thanked you, Andrea, and now you’re off to New York to meet your agents and editors, (sigh) so I hope you see this. I didn’t know what I was doing six months ago. I didn’t even know how to post a link, but I’ve sat on this long enough, and let it go I must. I can’t think of five more worthy blogging buddies to give the Humane Award to than:

C.M. Jackson at States-of-Mine
Rebecca at Just a Thought
Tongue Trip at Scentlessness
Mary Anne Gruen at Starlight Blog
and, finally, Jemi Fraser at Just Jemi
All of you are up front and amazing with your concern for others, doing your part to make this a better world.

Finally, a huge thank you to everyone who follows my blog or drops in for an occasional visit. I appreciate all of you and am constantly humbled by your generosity. The writing is for myself but also, more importantly, for you.

"All art has this characteristic—it unites people."
-Leo Tolstoy

And, finally, because Haiti has been on my mind, I'd like to share this haiku based on a true account and written to honor all those involved in the rescue effort.

THE PLANES CAN'T GET IN, BUT STILL . . .

Rescued from rubble
the girl danced
in joyful flip flops.

Only the warbler loves the jack pine

They send our white pine
down the river replant scrub
and call it even

A Higher Plane

The disciple left
his stained Koran
inside the strip club.