Haiku: Onion girl

Warm winter’s evening

Beach walk. No moon

Self: contained

Haiku: My father's reluctant sigh

My father, learning
To take care of living things
His reluctant sigh

Tercet: Laughter part 2

This is the laugh of a heart
That’s been broken and broken and broken
But never fell apart

Haiku: All fours

Walk around on all fours
You are not mine anymore
Nor am I yours

Tercet: Laughter part 1

This is the laugh
From a time before we invented evil.

Bless your pagan heart.

Haiku: (a) Death

Confrontation of the Never

The gift of wisdom released

A friend left bereft by Death

Chocolate mist

Morning mist beach walk;
Over the ocean it comes:
Milk chocolate scent

Haiku: haiku girl

I once sent a girl 
One haiku every two weeks

I’ll never know if it worked

Haiku: Demystifying The Beast

To avoid your life

You like to fix broken things.

I made that easy.

White stones for white witches

He sends me digital images
        of ancient things
where once he may have
burned me on a pyre

or I him

We traverse lifetimes
To meet once again
Christian priest
      and Wild wolf woman

Haiku: Bones

I borrow from nature raw and naked

The wind exposes its bones to me

And I, mine, to it

Haiku: Discovery

The welcoming warmth

her own bones and inner presence

Now she knows her worth

To Poetry

What kind of strange beast are you really,
Poetry?
Part song, part lyric,
Some creature serving as vehicle between worlds

So that
The purported disease of language
Can be elevated, celebrated and used appropriately
To get into the problem properly,
Adequately yet mysteriously describe
The most abstract, yes, sometimes
The most marginalised or despised
Thoughts and impressions of 
Being alive for this ride.

You honour us with your presence.
We honour you with pens, paper, and time.

With Love,
Your Scribes.

Ps: write back soon!

Haiku: Forgiveness

The most exquisite

Sense of humour can be found

Granting one's self life

Haiku: I miss you

Mostly everything:
Just perfection all the time
And still, I miss you.

Haiku: Permission to be

Permission to be.
Who teaches this, gives it out?
Ask your questions, Child.

Haiku: Waking for the first time

Here, in a flesh body
I awake for the first time.
Careful, now. Gently…

Haiku: Existence is nakedness

Alone and quiet,
Existence is nakedness,
Pure and innocent.

GOD

A quick succession of sips

Answered by a volley of volts

- Sounds thrown, lines sewn.

This three letter word

I swirl softly,

Ever so patiently

In my mouth..

My luscious tongue 

Rolling, lapping,

Hardly daring to taste.

All I can do is breathe

And surrender,

Try hold it together,

Whenever You come near. 

CAMERCA

I.

Good wine

Smooth, deep, mature,

Wise.

It knows who it is, 

And is prepared to be eaten and swallowed,

Eager believer,

Necessary sacrifice for ignition of poetry, art,

Song and dance inside,

Ancient fire in the belly

Of the artist,

Eager receiver.

Blessed, good wine.

II.

The invitation

Nay! The admonition

To drink

Because I tried my utmost

Not to think of or linger too long

On the possibility of a strange, wild,

Otherworldly way of being truly alone,

To sleep and hear freely 

The nature of this longing,

To overcome the dread of being somehow

Wrong.

I take another swig,

And hearken:

I am getting better

At feeling into what may come next, for

What do I really want for me?

Only You know, hold this for me

Tenderly,

Preciously,

Graciously,

You, Divine, please.

III.

Is it abuse

Or sudden, instant blast of learning?

I can not comprehend.

The Giant Wheel of Time

- that great linear distortion -

Is all I can grasp

And even that is a stretch.

So, what of it, then?

Is to live to make constant effort?

Yes, Methinx.

Well, I’ve assistance, at least,

In holding aloft these glorious themes

In daydreams of you,

husky-voiced, blossoming,

Skinny minx.

Do I truly wish to understand

That which may lie in darkness

And what is the destination,

Does forgiveness sleep there?

Is that what I crave?

IV.

Incapacitated,

Loss of field for vision,

Acid in the heart, head and hymen,

Sick of grief piled up,

Sick of guilt and sadness 

Leading me by the hand:

Where’s my joy?

Where were you in the 1980s?

We’re doing well:

Look how far we’ve come.

This is an attempt at distraction.

Everything is a distraction.

Maddening.

Thank Gods for circles

Turning mad-making into

Running to seeking,

Longing for connection, 

Oneness.

Your agreeing or disagreeing with me is immaterial 

For I’ll either love you or hate you, 

Depending on my mood.

Poor you.

V.

Anyway, what kind of poet would I be

If I didn’t read other people’s poetry?

Observe: the circular thoughts 

Rolling out of the silence of 

These empty pockets,

Trying to crawl back up into the Mother.

Hey! Where were you in the 1980s?

And how is it that lust and pain

Can feel almost the same?

Once one has forgiven one’s self 

For all the sins of the world

And starts moving again, 

It’s quite an apprehensive thing.