Arranging the plum,,

Arranging the plum,,

Heeding Haiku With Chèvrefeuille January 20th 2016 “revise” that haiku

umi ikete tsuki to mo wabin tomoshikage

arranging the plum-flowers,
I would enjoy them in the light of the lamp,
as if in the moonlight

© Taigi (1709-1771 ?)


left over daisies
gathered from the market place
I light a candle for sun


arranging dried flowers
shadows cast by moonlight dance
swaying like summer fields


one cold plum
not much to share
this winter evening

Do Not Stop

Do Not Stop

Heeding Haiku with Chevrefeuille  challenged us to write a haiku based on this quote from Confucius

“it does not matter how slowly you go as long as you do not stop”


I dream
meandering slowly
through the garden


LunaHatchJuly06 (2) copy


Luna moth sails by
I grieve – gossamer wings torn
slow path to  flight



Heeding Haiku With HA: Jack Kerouac   –Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie

Write a poem inspired by beat poet Jack Kerouac who played an influential role in the promotion of haiku in the West.

yellow eyed raven
perches on the rail
jumping at suet


broken rake handle
finds new life
as a tomato stake


early walk in woods
startling a doe
along the path


in pain, sitting
with ice pack
leaking down my back

Elfje – Chimney Rock

Elfje – Chimney Rock

MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie  – B&P’s Shadorma & Beyond

This is an elfje:

Line 1:              One word
Color or feature – the atmosphere of the poem;

Line 2:              Two words
Something or someone with the color/feature in line one;

Line 3:              Three words
More information about the person/ object in line two;

Line 4:              Four words
The poet in relation to the object in line two – a conclusion, of sorts;

Line 5:              One word
The “bomb” or “essence” of the poem

**You may write in either 1-2-3-4-1 syllables 
or 1-2-3-4-1 words. 

I wrote two – the first using syllables and the second using words for the count


shrouded in fog


Devil’s Head
natural rock formation
treading on loose stones



Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie – Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie

Bytelle.  This poetic form was invented by Judd Labarda ofPoeformology.

The bytelle is based on the binary system in computing and programming.  In binary code, each symbol (letter, number, punctuation, character, etc.) is assigned a string of 8 bits that come in pairs of binary digits of either 1’s or 0’s.  The 8 bits (0’s and 1’s) become one byte.

For example – the letter “a” becomes “01100001” in binary code.

How to Write a Bytelle

  1. Choose a word. Preferably, a short word!  I chose “free”.
  2. Visitthis site. Type your word into the site and press “encode”.
    “Free” becomes “01100110011100100110010101100101”.
  3. Divide that string of numbers into sets of 8. “Free”, then,
    becomes “01100110 01110010 01100101 01100101.”  That is
    your poem’s structural pattern.   You now have the framework
    for a poem with 8-line stanzas.
  4. Look at the 0’s and 1’s. All lines labeled “1” are rhymed;
    all lines labeled “0” are unrhymed.
  5. That is a lot of rhyme! If you want, feel free to make your
    poem 1-2 stanzas long.  Go longer if you’re up to the challenge!


01101000 01101111 01110000 01100101

Hope fills the winter days
with hints of joy and mirth.
To long cold days it gives birth
to powerful dreams.
To waiting it adds worth
and gives credence to thought
Hope sustains us with sweet fruit
during the frozen periods



Photo Challenge #64, Pathway


Dry leaves crunch softly underfoot in the crisp autumn air. I walk pulling my damp woolen sweater closely about me. Though the path is so familiar, I stumble in the dawn twilight, fresh tears clinging to my face. I walk the path that we walked so many times before, my hand in yours as you pointed out the morels in spring for me to gather in the apron you lent me. We walked this path gathering woods sorrel leaves, as well as the roots. Here you showed me where to find the wild blueberry, and the difference between the poisonous  and non poisonous plants as you gathered herbs. Early each summers day I would run this path to your house, so I could work along side you in the garden, or sometimes sit and sip lemonade in the shade of your porch and listen to your rocking chair creek back and forth.

When I inquired about your death, I was told you had no family, no one to claim your ashes, and so they sat in a back room, next to your old pickling jar; the one you used to save pennies in for a rainy day. Still a few small coins with in. My college had been your rainy day,  I confess it had been a few years since I last visited. I was off in the world making better choices than my parents had, just like you always wanted me to, just as you always told me I could. And now you were gone. Had I expected you to live forever? No, just expected to always call your cottage home, a place where I was loved despite of who I was or where I’d come from.

You had spent the last ten years in the old folks home,the one for the poor and destitute. Funny, I had never thought of you as poor. You were rich in love and overflowing with kindness. My one love, my adopted grandmother. I stopped by your place on the way into town, but the garden had long since been over grown, nothing to distinguish it from the unkempt yard. And the cottage, what was left of it might fall to a passing storm. Without you it was just another empty place.

I hurry along the path carrying your ashes, heading toward the clearing, the path becoming clearer as the fog slowly lifts and the sun creeps over the ridge. Coming into the meadow just as the sky begins to turn pink. I greet the morning sun and offer up a prayer for you. Then I set you free to dance once more upon these meadows, to mingle with the wild flowers in the spring free to kiss the summer sky and soar with the white sulfa and the checkerspot.  Free to see the leaves in autumn and rest with a blanket of snow in winter. I set you free, as you set me free so many years before, by opening possibilities through love and acceptance.I wipe away my tears and gather your jar to save for another rainy day.