[x]

In summer we all burnThe summer is coming,
I hear the beach roaring from here,
can see shirts hung over shoulders,
sunglasses, arms round waists,
can feel the earth's purrs,
breaking hibernation,
pollens tossed up at us in fanfare.

Ants are walking over me
because we're sharing a tree together.
Back to back, we're trying to
make our winter's pallour a warmer shade.
Is it some sort of personal sign
when you let your shoe-tongues fill with tan bark,
when it's driven you mad your whole life?
Or when you eat ice-cream in public (the sticky
fingers a mere afterthought)?

These trees though, they're not changing.
I can't help thinking they

Rock Meautumn blunders in, clumsy
stiff fingers frosted still
by early winds, rocking trees
back and forth

red leaves splatter the ground
paint drops, hanging from drooping
branches, rotten fruit still litters the sidewalks

i head south for the fall with the ducks.

the train creaks like aching joints
there's a crow on
my windowsill, ruffling his feathers
the trees flash by
red -yellow-red

my ticket's got a hole in the middle
from being folded over and over
the crow says "summer ain't that great, Peach Girl."
i watch the sky and ignore his clicking black beak
"the autumn's gonna follow
right behind ya
'n turn the whole world re

HousewarmingShe opens windows
in their wintery home, hopes
to let the cold out

when it doesn't work
she scratches matches to life
and burns the house down.

The HologramsBefore Casper we were a quantum band,
an act that only happened when unobserved.
Our drummer maintained we'd split
the world, then took a full-time position
in PR. Auditioning his replacement
round our Crouch End front room,
with his white vest, buffed All-Stars
and holographic principle patter,
Casper shone. 'These,' he said,
nodding at his drumheads,
'are my event horizons;
it's where the beat really happens.'
To prove it, he worked up an almighty storm,
while we puffed on our cigarettes.
Short of a singer, Casper made a call.
Yume Shirakawa, he explained,
would beam in her performance. Jay,
sliding milk down his

i said, "it's alright, i stillTo know completely in yourself
that you have love inside of
you like a clamorous reservoir-

and to know the pressure of
inner space reluctant to
explode like light from
1941-

to know the only neck
your fingers will ever
articulate with is
that of a
bottle;

I will reside inside of your
boyishness like an ever
darkening sea ready to
coagulate like the
blood that stirs
within my guilt.

Our Meaning and PurposeI

All of death is death. Life,
too, is like death.
The way it erupts over you
laughing and spinning.

II

I was confused
so I asked God: What should I do?

Move your body and have emotions. The birds were dancing.

Could you be more specific?

But now God was busy arguing with Moses.

III

All of life is life. Death,
too, is like life.
The way it erupts over you
laughing and spinning.

IV

Tomorrow is the sound
of a question falling
on a bed of questions.

Today I hold out
your name, God,
in the public square.

Yesterday reason, the slayer
of song, wended its way
into our will.

V

All of light is linking. Dreams,
too, would se

As yet, untitledI swept out the corners of my mind today
In short shallow strokes
Not knowing if the dust disturbed my life
Or if my life disturbed the dust.

stefanshe stood on your dock
in black pearls,
and nothing more -

wet feet
and the asian dream.

you loved her
but

when the snow fell
on the dock,
the following winter

you couldn't
remember why.

fatefatalism stalks me.
its chalky finger-bones
scrabble at my windows,
greedy to pry panes
and rend gaps—
mouth agape
to vent its algid breath.

conjured,
like a voodoo zombie
of the bayou,
by pious disciples
to the temple of matter.

they strain to evade
the burden of their choices,
worrying at the knots of destiny
and scattering dust
to fill in our footprints.

in a sly reversal of legerdemain,
they entice hands from rudders,
with their relentless mantra:
"free will is illusion!"

but illusion is smoke,
and stars still burn in my chest.
not nebulae, but hard points and brilliant.
I pass through them,
burning the fog

Masquerade Villanelle IILife is a masquerade.
You're only safe when in disguise.
Remove your mask and be betrayed.

There's every reason to be afraid—
A stranger's frozen face, flashing eyes,
Life is a perilous masquerade.

A look sharp as a tempered blade.
Honeyed words—do not listen to their lies.
If you remove your mask you'll be betrayed.

Dance, smile, and nod; a silent shade,
Hide deep your heart and beware of spies.
Life is a dance, a whirling masquerade.

Difficulty comes with your temper frayed—
Take courage, and let no one hear your cries.
Dare you remove your mask, risk being betrayed?

Discover who you are, before you fade.
But

Ms. Foxrummaging through the night;
I find her buried in a handsome coat.
the darkness softens her
trash-strewn make up
to lay bags under her eyes.

I have always thought to chase
a beauty like that; blow my
hunting-horn like kisses
as I saddle up.
I would wear her around my arm and
discuss the big-game
and the beasts at bay
with boys that brandish
scorecards into the hundreds.

but,
she hid from the canines
lapping her neck with a head
buried in all fours.
I skinned her like a poacher
bearing my ivory smile
for her to unfurl
flushed and screaming
like a new born baby.
caught in my hooves the wrong way.

DementiaThe old man sits with stooped back.
The room is cold, just like his hands.
Thoughts have wandered like small children.
He wonders if he will see home again.

Thoughts have wandered home again,
with stooped backs and cold hands.
The room sits with the old man.
Like small children, he wonders if he will see cold.

Back stooped with thoughts, he wanders.
Like a child the small room sits, wondering.
Home again is cold.
The old man will see with his hands.

Thoughts have wandered with stooped backs.
The cold hands sit with the old man.
He wonders if he will see like small children.
The room is home again.

The Phillipians to St. PaulWhen light flooded your eyelids
& permanently blinded you
that was Jesus'

love, covering your skin
like the palm of a hand.

It was then you found you were as zealous
in persecuting trash

& the gods we make of our stomachs
as ever you were
in persecuting Christians

with the brand. How they
recoiled from you when you
began effusing to them

in fires & gibberish tongues! For the light
that filled you was eruptive

& though
you speak of your own life

as if it could be a drink offering,
you are a fire work

& we are attending the fuse.

Where there is will...

Where there is will, there is pain

Timo is 22. He used to do gymnastics in the Finnish national team. He wouldn't let something little come in the way. It's not that he is a perfectionist, he just wanted everything. Or at least a Masters of Science and to be a top athlete.

Then Timo got an ear infection, not exactly a major illness, but that's when things started to go wrong. After a few weeks of tinnitus and antibiotics he got well again. Almost. He was more tired than usual and started struggling with brainfog.

Six months later the doctor of the Olympic committee diagnosed Timo with mycoplasma, a bacterial infection which is usually only

l'hiver.(you can't tell the birds and the snow apart in the sky:
the grand church of dizzying space - )

and the trees are yellowed in cowardice, raking the sky
to the ground and around and around.

listen to your organs: the almost grand piano of the
churches i'd never attend.

and never mistake the courage of the sky for the cowardice
of the ground. never frown, never frown.

listen to your palms: the salty swing of the old snow
burning up on silk and splendor.

and visit the dying snow birds in their graves of the
ground, and they drown and drown.

(you can't tell the birds and the snow apart in the sky:
a grand church of dizzying space w

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One Last Star

by ~saiun, Jun 18, 2011, 11:36:14 AM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Haiku & Eastern

no moon to be found
in the predawn twilight,
but one last star —
somewhere in the distance
a robin's lilting call

One Last Starby ~saiun

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Haiku & Eastern

©2011-2013 ~saiun

Poem 19 from my 2010 November Haikuthon, recently published in the 2011 issue of A Sharp Piece Of Awesome thanks to ~KizukuDawn.

Daily Deviation

Given 2011-12-27

A great capture of a moment within a tanka, enjoy One Last Star by *saiun. ( Featured by $wreckling )

~silver-ships-fly Apr 4, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

Hello!

As part of a Found Poetry: Titles as Art piece, for this lovely group, #TheTitlePage,
I have used the title of this beautiful deviation in a poem here: [link]

Thank you so much!

& a very lovely haiku you've written. <3

Reply

~ScarletDevil1503 Dec 27, 2011 Hobbyist Writer

Congrats on the DD!

Happy Holidays ~

-Scarlet

Reply

`petrova Dec 27, 2011 Hobbyist

Wonderful

Reply

~silvernium Dec 27, 2011 Hobbyist Writer

Congratulations on your DD. I am not a morning person AT ALL, yet this makes me feel like I want to get up early tomorrow!

Reply

*Lit-Twitter Dec 27, 2011

Chirp, congrats on the DD, it's been twittered.

Reply

~mooshu17 Jul 20, 2011 Hobbyist Writer

I love and hate being up at that time of day/night

Lovely image.

Reply

*somnomollior Jun 20, 2011 Writer

I am glad that I can truly appreciate this having been delighted myself by the beautiful song of an American robin the other day. Truly he/she was an avian star.
Congratulations!

Reply

~PrettyCrazy Jun 19, 2011 Hobbyist Writer

I just love robins. I saw a tiny one while running in the park yesterday and a haiku grew in my head - but alas, I lost it.

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