Mother Bea sits in her wooden rocking chair on the rickety varandah. She is placed there every morning. She does not walk. She must be over 80 years old. Even her kids were old. When you are little, everybody is old! I watch her as she watches the daily interactions of the children in the yard. She would make one word prouncements on the goings-on.
Cry baby. Smart. Determined. Thick skull. I often wondered how she arrived at these critiques from such a distance. And more often, just who she was talking about!
at times it’s futile
figuring out which spirit
whisper the loudest
in their attempts to guide me –
probably pointless, thick skull!
For Colleen’s Weekly Tanka Tuesday
Where the prompt is synonyms for :
Ghost & Hollow
The morning wears the humidity like a cloak. Through still air, the cries of the hawk from the tree canopy. He seizes the opportunity to buzz the red tailed squirrels, bringing to a halt their morning romp. The morning gaggle of geese wander through like they own the place. All a part of the morning routine around here.
early morning walk
flutter ripple through trees – soon,
autumn wind talking
For Frank Tassone’s Poetry Challenge where the ptompt is Autumn Wind
Hiroshima. It was such a horrendous time. One would think that lessons learned, would prevent the world from such embroilment ever again. Yet, here we all are. With more than one lunatic at the helm. How did we get here?
sitting on the curb
a stunned little boy – quaking,
Today is Hiroshima Memorial Day and over @ dVerse, Frank is hosting Haibun Monday
We are at the back end of the summer. Vacation eases to a close. It feels as though it has mostly been a stormy summer. The garden loves it though, It’s gone wild. Today it’s time for a day at the beach. To be wrapped in ocean breeze and be reminded how small a part I play in this space. Waves scramble ashore, erasing footprints. Tiny gulls rush in for newly arrived treats, and the sun makes the smoothe sand shine.
sound of waves
treking through my dreams –
A humble room, the bed is pushed up against the green wall. The iron head board bobs with every childish wiggle.
The half dresser half wardrobe was the shiniest thing in the room. The most facinating for us as kids was my mom’s pedal operated Singer sewing machine. That was at the front of the room, near the window. The daylight was better there.
At dusk, the kerosene lamp sits on the dinner table offering light through its glass shade. On it the white inscription, “HOME SWEET HOME”. As we sat in bed, waiting for my dad we can barely contain our excitement. It was time for bedtime stories with pictures cast in shadows against the wall.
tall tales of nature –
duck quacks, wiggles his tail
tadpole on his back