Be a Gatherer of Memories – Wordle/Common Meter – January 12, 2015

The Lawn

do not condemn the wanderer
who travels with ennui
think rather of the gatherer
of memories so free

smell the brine along the shore-line
singular living breath
render your life something divine
before you smell of death

channel wayward thoughts to the sea
even to inky waters
capitulate and you will see
ancient seamen’s altars

but generate unto this end
a sense of harmony
never be rigid my dear friend
and be good company

© G.s.k. ‘15

condemn, list, capitulate, inky, ennui, channel, render, smell, single, generate, end, sense

Sunday Whirl

Sunday Whirl banner

Mindlovesmisery’s Menagerie – BJ’s Shadorma & Beyond

Mångata* – Free Verse with Wordle – January 4, 2015

 

89d3f-nightfullmoonarakawariver

find shelter under the loving moon
bright as she shines down tonight
upon the water is her bright path
walk bravely into this new year

resolve to turn your sin to peace
create a revolution of love
review each day with a smile
and win yourself a brand new life

walk with me on Mångata
be a miracle in this dark age
forget the anger and the pain
under the moon’s gentle light

find shelter in the loving moon
upon the water is her bright path

© G.s.k. ‘15

Sunday Whirl banner

Shelter, belief, dedicated, new, sin, turn, revolution, resolve, design, review, win, shine (Sunday Whirl)

*Swedish for Moon Road – the glimmering, road-like reflection that the moon creates on water (Mindlovesmisery’s Menagerie)

The Unwelcome Guest – December 28, 2014

193

The Unwelcome Guest

on this holy occasion …
an off-key chime
left a scar on the feast
… with a sigh
the stray guest,
anger,
announced his arrival
alone and silent
pale …
laughing no more,
we ingest our last pie
it’s plain to see
the party is over.

© G.s.k. ‘14

Sunday Whirl

Sunday Whirl banner

Soliloquy no Renga with Richard Wright – December 22, 2014

 

Old cemetary

The scarecrow’s old hat
Was flung by the winter wind
Into a graveyard.

© Richard Wright

a thousand empty eyes
contemplate winter wind’s joke

a high tower clock
strikes the hour with chimes
grave candles burn

illuminating pathways
for who’s gone before us

two thinkers panic
they always argue and talk
about scarecrow rights

graveyard wall snags a boy’s jeans
as he performs a good deed

another blue flag
floats on a high wall
torn piece of cloth

 winter wind
stole the scarecrows hat
near the grave yard
a child returns his hat
while thinkers sit and talk

© G.s.k. ‘14

eyes, always, snag, sweat, panic, talk, high, choice, help, thousand, burn, perform

 

Sunday Whirl 192

Carpe Diem Haiku Kai 

Our Modern Tale – Wordle – December 15, 2014

191

I’ll endeavor to spread
some subversive ideas
going where
not even angels will tread
among the tangle
of our lunatic world
lost in spacecraft movies
and a fantasy planet

we think we have leaders
and that’s funny in fact
almost everybody
believes they are just that
they thump on their bibles
and harangue from their stumps
forever seeking
their personal triumph

so why do we people
still listen to them
when loser or winner
say all the same thing
I don’t know the answer
I guess it’s a game
or publicity spinning
in inertia
as our life falls apart

still this is our tale
and we love our illusion
we’re free to choose
in open elections
who’ll be our shepherds
among the wild wolves
we kowtow and hale
these “intelligent” people
thinking that they’re
better than we.

© G.s.k. ‘14

 

linked to Sunday Whirl 191

Lord Death – Wordleing Free Verse -December 8, 2014

 

He reigns just and true
no deviations no feigned morality,
he severs every chain and
quenches all our enflamed hearts
when he finally calls our name.

Obliged, we sustain his bidding,
though the strain may derange our thoughts –
no cave is deep enough
to escape his mighty call,
no cape can keep us hidden,
no haze will confound his sight
and none with whom to exchange places –
when he finally calls our name.

Soundlessly, he traipses this dimension
severing the fragile filet coils of silver –
we know when he walks near
and humbly we bow and meekly follow
when Lord Death, our ultimate Earthly master –
finally calls our name.

(c) G.s.k. ’14

190

filet, cave, strain, sustain, deranged, feign, traipse, haze, chains, enflame, exchange, cape

This post is linked to Mindlovesmisery’s Menagerie and Sunday Whirl

Sunday Whirl banner

 

Sunday Whirl – The Last Harvest Moon (Choka) – December 1, 2014

The Last Harvest Moon – Choka

as the breeze picks up,
canes rattle in harmony –
red leaves scattered
fall in the river and drown.
the monk bent with age,
walks along the road thinking
his secular thoughts
the splendor of youth now gone,
he gathers courage
to face another winter.
his arthritis plain,
his skin yellow and brittle …
then, a finch warbles
a cat rubs against his legs
he smiles down sweetly.

the last harvest moon
outlines the withered bent stalks
he walks and gazes
gathering the cold omens
whispered in the winter wind.

(c) G.s.k. ’14

I’ve just read the Carpe Diem Haiku Kai prompt for the first prompt of December entitled “accepting the finite” and have decided to link this choka, which speaks of the acceptance of the coming of “winter” and death.

189

harvest, secular, splendor, breeze, able, scattered, plain, skin, bent, gaze, gathering, rattle

Sunday Whirl banner

Please click the banner to go and see other contributions to The Sunday Whirl!

A Gourmet’s Soul – Free Verse – November 17, 2014

StillLifeWithOystersLemonAndBeer

Jose Fernando, Still Life With Oysters, Lemon and Belgian Beer

 

A subtle mix is a gourmet’s soul
His palate is his most erogenous zone –
To taste fresh fish an orgiastic event
That yields great sighs and lingering smiles –
With hints of toasty bits of bread and wine
You’ll have good sex with him anytime –
So don’t despair my darling girl –
Buy him fresh oysters and abalones …

(C) G.s.k. ’14

 

Sunday Whirl words: lingering, fresh, tends, palate, hints, sex, yields, toasty, soul, mix, subtle

Red Wolf Poems

Sunday Whirl- Abbadon’s Tune – November 9, 2014

In the mud lay the crocus blooms
Rose without thorns flowers in the night
The owl, that noblest of gloomy birds,
Sits at the crossroads of suicide …

With somber fervor sing his song
Shine on shine on somber gloom
Thread the needles with silken twine
Leave not your graves ’til eventide.

With a battle yet to fight and lose
Pick up your swords for king and land
Don’t look back and don’t think twice
Follow the leader where’er he goes.

Never ask the meaning why, and
Never ask but do and die, here’s
A coin for each of your dead eyes
Dance to the tune of Abaddon.

In the mud lay the crocus blooms
Rose without thorns flowers in the night
The owl, that noblest of gloomy birds,
Sits at the crossroads of suicide …

 

(c) G.s.k. ’14

 

186

 

 

Sunday Whirl

The Great War – Free Verse – October 26, 2014

From Portraits of War – Click the photo to go to the blog.

strange mankind’s frivolous dreams
dressed in gnarled blue scenery
but the poppies growing in the field
found their roots in dead men’s blood
or so the stories and songs go,
of the apocalyptic great war

thirteen days the battle raged
audible were the wails of pain
many have written their literary tales
exalting the heroes of the day
blotted “inklings” and bad verse
of the apocalyptic great war

and yet … now I look on this field
no sign of battle here remains
speedy the passage of time
that covers all men’s follies handily
in blue scenery and frivolous dreams
remain heroic epilogues and celebrations
of the apocalyptic great war

(c) G.s.k. ’14

§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§

The poem refers to an imaginary battle that could have taken place during the Great War, also known as the First World War.   This year is the 100th year since the beginning of that war … it was called “great”, until WWII,  because it was so terrible that everyone thought that mankind would never dare to fight another war.

I’ve used “inklings” the way I did because to the best of my knowledge there is no plural of inkling … but there was a Literary group called The Inklings at Oxford (of which among others Tolkien was a member) … so I used “inklings” as a metaphor for messy writing as in ink smudges.

184

Sunday Whirl banner