Tag Archives: winter

Winter Violets

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Winter Violets – acrylic and pen n watercolor paper – 18′ X 24″ – Lex Loenard

 

I didn’t know they are called winter violets
I know them as johnny jump ups, violas
They don’t bloom here in winter’s bite
They wait for spring to introduce themselves
They tuck in wherever they please
I cannot design their path
A surprise, a nod to independence, survival

                                                         winter violet
                                                         she carries
                                                         a tiny fire
                                                                   – Ami Tanaka

My grandmother grew them in her lawn
Candytuft their partner
Honeyed liquor for bees
Judicious steps for bare feet
A summer’s expedition 

                                                       violets here and there
                                                       in the ruins
                                                       of my burnt house
                                                                      – Chiyo-ni

It is snowing, again
Another kept quarantine
Amid no-contact solitude
Amid numbers piling up
Like snow
Like leaden slats of blighted ruins
Waiting for Phoenix to rise again
Or little purple yellow faces
Peeking out from beneath
A kept quarantine

                                                       no limit to kindness
                                                       winter violets
                                                                       – Mitsu Suzuki

There is a kindness of canvas
An artist’s peace
If just a glance, a moment to dwell
An offering
Rising through depths of piled forfeiture
There is a spark of hope
Purple yellow faces
A cycle not denied

 

Author’s Note –

I was graciously invited to attend an on-line reading of haiku by some amazing poets from the Pacific Northwest and around the world. They read one haiku – their own or another’s – and spoke of the meaning. It was in celebration of International Haiku Poetry Day. The theme was taken from The Poetry Society of America who invited poets to write about “poems they return to in difficult times – to find solace, perspective, or even moment of delight.” Thank you Cj Prince and Victor Ortiz for this brilliant opportunity to learn and grow.

In the short hour, three of the haiku included winter violets. The images stayed with me and deepened as each new winter violet popped its head up to speak.

I took it to the canvas first and played with a different process than I usually do. It is very difficult to photograph this image. It just doesn’t do it justice. You may get a better idea of what it looks like if you do close-ups of the above image.

Then I moved to write with the inspiration of the poets – Mitsu Suzuki,  Chiyo-ni, and Ami Tanaka. Much gratitude.

Spring

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Spring

 

Winter negotiates spring,
its last watered drops, ice tears
nourish that which will be,
release of what no longer serves.

After snow, graupel,
downpour of rain, I see your
green blush arms reach
to azure sky. I await, I inscribe your
nod to a new found spring.

 

Awww. It’s spring, at least in part. NaPoWriMo/GloPoWriMo begins tomorrow.

I welcome this as much as longer days and quick melting snow and birdsong.

Won’t you join me?

 

Crow Snow

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Constellation Corvus
appears now in our night sky,

a hemisphere of northern points,
not southern,

on tail of serpent bearer, healer.
This morning you greeted us,

twenty or more of you
in field spread across tufts of winter grass on

snow melted into iced crusted mounds,
there must be food there.

This mid-winter’s day welcoming grace of flakes of snow
you’ve never greeted us with such abandon,

our feet close enough for dog nose to wish
an even nearer sniff.

Today in union with your clan
you walk earth with us,

call a welcome under clouded sky.
Maybe tonight as moon grows full

your points of light will draw us there, too,
together – Corvus, dog, and me.

Fog

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He sniffs the damp fence post, a reveal of who came before.
Deciding all is well, he leaves his mark
and we continue on.
Fog sneaks in behind us, a foreshadowing of storm.
We will not venture out into early morning falling flakes,
only because I fear ice that lays waiting to surprise,
A turn of seasons offers its own perspective,
leaving its mark for me to decipher.

 

Boom

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She woke to snow. Trees bending low to ground. Naive leaves encrusted with rain frozen into flurry’s handiwork. This would not do. There would be no journey, journey dreamed in hibernation. Her spring pilgrimage of buds unfolding, crow paired, and callow sprouts pushing up through roused earth halted, hooded in drift’s deep sleep. Winter sought one more tarriance. She endured knowing the fledgling interval’s warm breath would sigh again. Soon…

Snow drips from tree limb.
Azure unfolds from behind
grey veil, green booms.

 

 

Author’s Note:

I love the haibun form introduced during NaPoWriMo this year.

The above was sketched out during our “All School Write” this past week when everyone put done what they were doing and wrote for a period. Kindergarteners to the office staff put pencils to paper, pens to journal, fingers to keys and wrote about something that happened to them.

Root

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Day Two

 

 

root

Gently it unfolds.
Just before dawn
a sweet call
announces your
return, your nest
in preparation.

Reassured, I mark
his parade. Four small
wheels turning under
aluminum scaffold
bent and formed to catch
his unsteady slant.

Another winter passed and
he remains fundamental
to spring’s element.

From tip of bud
it is not extrinsic
ingredients we fashion
into seasons, but
from root below,
those we do not see.

It is finesse of ancients
who came before to teach
us how to assemble.
Their wisdom of time.
Their refinement
into patience. Their
passion to endure.

This our recipe of
transfiguration.

 

Author’s Note:

Day Two prompt from NaPoWriMo/GloPoWriMo:

“And last but not least, here is our prompt (as always, optional). Today, I’d like you to write a poem inspired by, or in the form of, a recipe! It can be a recipe for something real, like your grandmother’s lemon chiffon cake, or for something imaginary, like a love potion or a spell.”

Moving Day

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Day One

 

Movers heft a couch
one way, then the nextday2.jpg
to make it fit,
a place to sit
when one
is done.

Rain sustains
and softens dry
earth left
too often
under winter’s sun
as drops bless
each one while
they move
from truck to door,
and back again
once more.

On moving day
new beginnings
meet, again and again,
little neat
soldiers shown
marching off to
unknown precincts.

A new drawer to
fill with old, and still
the movers make
their way under
bold gray billows, to
and fro.

We start afresh,
a month, a home,
thresholds to cross at
each ingress.

Eyes wide
open, at least we
imagine, and
through we go
to sow new
seeds with
unblemished
inhaled breath
in accordance
with every
immutable
death.

Author’s Note:

From NaPoWriMo:

“Today’s interview is with Kay Ryan, whose spare, tightly-rhymed work makes each poem a small, witty, philosophical puzzle. You can find more background on Ryan’s life and work here, and read one of her poems here.

And finally, our (optional) prompt. In honor of today’s interviewee, I’d like to challenge you to write a Kay-Ryan-esque poem: short, tight lines, rhymes interwoven throughout, maybe an animal or two, and, if you can manage to stuff it in, a sharp little philosophical conclusion.”

 

Arise, a haibun

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bunny

 

She hid under lush leaves of summer hoping to be lost to the gatherer’s touch. Deep inside she watched as gentle fingers lifted pieces to be housed in safety over winter’s time. And snow came. Cold endured by only the strongest. Rain to quench when dry days lingered too long. Finally, she let herself be noticed as sun grew long and earth made way for new growth. Her journey complete, a jubilant wink greeted her summer friend.

rain feeds earth
spirit grows within
life ascends

 

 

 

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Author’s Note:

Today is a preview, an Early-Bird Prompt for NaPoWriMo, National Poetry Writing Month.

This is a haibun.

What a wonderful start!

No Explanation Needed

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Day 12: Peace Poetry Postcard Month

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There is a song, an answer to be found in the wind.

Sharp winter wind
brushes across my face,
its softness a contrast
to its ice.

Dry leaves clinging,
clacking as I pass
under their bony canopy.

Bremen sniffs the air,
an urgent whine to move on
under the gray day firmament.

In the peace of my silent voice,
I listen.

No explanation needed.