Friday, December 21, 2012

Southern Gothic By Donald Justice

 Anhui Sheng or Anhui Province

Something of how the homing bee at dusk
seems to inquire, perplexed, how there can be
No flowers here, not even withered stalks of flowers,
Conjures a garden where no garden is
and trellises too frail almost to bear
the memory of a rose, much less a rose.
Great oaks, more monumentally great oaks now
than ever when the living rose are new,
Cast shade that is the more completely shade
upon a house of broken eaves.
No samask any more prevents the moon,
But it unravels, peeling from a wall,
Red roses within roses within roses.

Northwestern University Shepard Residential College, Stillwater Newspress, for image credit...

Tuesday, December 4, 2012

Waving Good-Bye By Gerald Stern

I wanted to know what it was like before we
had voice and before we had fingers and before we
had minds to move us through our actions
and tears to help us over our feelings,
so I drove my daughter through the snow to meet her friend
and filled her car with suitcases and hugged her
as an animal would, pressing my foread against her
walking in circles, moaning, touching her cheek,
and turned my head after them as an animal would,
watching helplessly as they drove over the ruts,
her smiling face and her small hand just visible
over the giant pillows and coat hangers,
as they made their turn into the empty highway.

Thursday, November 29, 2012

The Fairy Tale of The Return of Her at Peony Garden

A handsoem scholar,
dreams of a fairy alike girl,
met at peony garden.
Hunger for each other,
The girl becomes sick and died,
the lad comes for clue.
Connected by her painting,
He dates her ghost spirits at mid night,
a sad story revealed.
Fairy flowers are moved,
they reward the girl reviving candles,
she comes alive with him waiting.
love is fragile,
fairy tales are fictional, but it's satisfying
to human nature and hope.

Sunday, November 25, 2012

Chief Leschi of the Nisqually By Duane Niatum

He awoke this morning from a strange dream-
Thunderbirds wept for him in the blizzard.
Holding him in their circle, Nisqually women
Turn to the river, dance to its song.
He burned in the forest like a red cedar,
His arms directing blue flames toward
the white men claiming the camas valley
4 their pigs and fowl
Musing over wolf tracks vanishing in snow,
The memory of his spouse and children
keeps him mute. Glimering in the dawn fires,
His faith grows roots, tricks the soldiers
like a fawn, resting black as the river...

Wednesday, November 14, 2012

This Is Just Perfect

are you
who is torn
in the folk tale
so sad to be born
that I can chew the words
now and then, the sour one
on the tongue and the sweet vines
clutched to the wall as life's treat? In
the far distance world unknown
we are reminded the on time
and the ancient wisdom
Fax not baptism
But hope alone
Prayers for
the mild

Saturday, November 10, 2012


The twilight showing, a pendant
of colorful puffy balls, flashing;
the float of pollen and pom pom winking
overlapping, and folding the sight,
A skyful bonfire.

Thursday, November 1, 2012


Hyde Park Thursday Poets Rally Week 76: October 31-November 7, 2012

 we need balance
on daily basis.
the way we have noodle soups
and rice alternately for dinner.
twelve inches salt
to one foot fact.
our common senses
and the will to stay connected or hopeful
the balance of reading
and writing.
and the mixed times
of reunion and separation!

Friday, October 26, 2012

Who Am I? By Nancy R. Norton

A humming bird,
A butterfly,
A distant star-
They beautify!
A drop of dew;
Reflects the sky,
The leafy stream,
Delights the eye!
A shadow is a magic thing;
It will ripple, dance, or swing.
Mine is near you-if you fancy-
Blow a kiss-and call me-Nancy.

Sunday, October 21, 2012

Nightingale (Haiku Tribe To Lady Nightingale and Bird)

It's quiet at day time,
Sings softly when people rest,
A lullaby fest.
Turn active nightly,
Showing beauty as a bird,
Sweet voice says, Yip-pee!
ODE to nightingale,
What joy to chirp as a bird,
With Goodness in head.

Image Credit:

Saturday, October 13, 2012

Sounds or Sheng ' Ying

when I was young,
I was sensitive about sounds,
My grandmother told me stories all along,
on rhyming songs, riddles, wars, and landlords.
One homely sound is the rooster's crows,
and mornings include radio news from locale county,
Grandmother mainly manages chores,
plus cooking, weaving, gardening, and house cleaning.
She would call me for dinner
when I was doing my homework, or reading books,
She would educate me to eat less, maybe 80% full to stay fit
while we walk to riverside to collect fallen tree sticks!
Grandmother remained super slim and tall until her 80s,
She knew my first child and my coming to the U. S.
at the year of her death, she had so deep impacts
on me, I am forever grateful for her love and beauty.

Saturday, October 6, 2012

ETC. By Bette Jane Cruit


Hyde Park Thursday Poets Rally Week 74 (October 4 -October 10)


 A time to discover wonder experience;
perhaps not the full measure,
but a part thereof,
This is a beginning,
And memories are forever!

Monday, October 1, 2012

Poetry and Haiku 4 The Weekly/Daily/Biweekly Prompts

Words are free to take,
Turn words into laughter now,
Be a happy cow.

Haiku Heights: September Heights - Day30 - P#189 - Free 

Feeling absent-heart,
and dazed by enticing thoughts of clouds,
She opens the door to explore,
Instantly, rages scurries away,
curiosity and wonders start to burn like incense,
Breathing easier, she squints through
ambivalent ripples of October sunshine,
Hair flaps its ambivalence,
Resentments difute, not forgotten,
She continues toward this holy garden,
Fresh air is tenderness,
Kindness is hopefulness,
open chance permits savoring wishful thinking,
Fears drop at timid morning dew,
Prayers bear free water,
Mental bruise empties out,
The relief is overwhelmingly surprising
and creatively Innocent!

Thursday Flash Fiction Week 28: Innocence and Dreams

Three Word Wednesday.3WW CCXCI

Image Credit:,  Judy Underwood, Chasing Rainbow