The essence of my being
Is superficial at best
Barely registering on the Richter scale
Of mindfulness.
When I do delve a bit deeper
I am surprised at the artifice,
And disappointed at my shallowness~
While, at the same time recognizing that one can………….
drown in a puddle.
blank page before me
a layer of blank white outside
blank brain sputters and hesitates
to spit out meaningful words,
grasping at clichés
reaching for metaphors ~
white flag flutters
no more reaching and grasping.
Grey Sky as far as the eye can see (Photo credit: Etrusia UK)
Cascades of grey clouds
Formed mountains in the dawn sky
Looming, ominous
Appealing early-autumn. (Photo credit: Bishwo Ghimire)
The season’s veil lifts
Summer melds into autumn
Mystery unfolds.
endless possiblities (Photo credit: PinkMoose)
Possiblities
Endless possibilities
Possibilities
Sometime when I write a haiku I cannot break some words down into syllables. I think possibilities is five syllables—what do you think? Okay, some of you are going to tell me to check it out in the dictionary. So I will.
Be back in a moment……………
Okay, so it is five syllables. And it is also defined as “the potential for successful future development”. That is what I was going for.
Its cousins (or synonyms if you will) are: options, likelihood, opportunities, prospects, risks, odds, chances, and probabilities. But probability is not at all what I was going for—if something is probable it might happen or might not; possibilities seem more open and likely to happen.
What do you think? Do you like the word possibility or probability?
Dawn (Photo credit: Sheba_Also)
Dawn. Sun bursts faintly ~
Builds to a bright crescendo
Lighting reality.
(Photo credit: Wikipedia)
This is the first of my dedication posts. I will choose one lucky recipient a week to receive one of my fractured haiku.
Dedicated to Ms. Loony:
This delicate and highly philosophical haiku is dedicated to my friend Cindy of photosfromtheloonybin. Needless to say she loves chocolate cake. And is a great photographer. Check her out on Fridays–she has a mystery photo post she submits every week that is designed to stump us. I think I have guessed correctly twice–and that is only because I looked at the other comments.
Cake
The very essence
Of my being calls out for
More chocolate cake.
William Blake’s “The Tyger,” published in his Songs of Innocence and of Experience is a work of Romanticism (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
“Just because you haven’t seen something—doesn’t mean it’s not there.” ~ Narrator from movie “Epic”
One would think I would not go near the genre of poetry after last month’s demand of one a day, but this “poem” is one I wrote a few years ago and it reflects the fact that I want to live a more fanciful and magical life.
I am a believer, I have faith, and I have hope, but none of these things come easily—hence the poem. I think by now you recognize me as a prose poet rather than one who follows rules, or writes pretty verse (though I would like to make that rise).
Here is the preamble I wrote to the poem “Too Normal”. Note to readers: you will not recognize this type of poetry. It is from the school of fractured thoughts, lack of discipline, metreless cadence, and incandescent whimsy:
Too Normal
My feet
are planted solidly on the ground
mired in the mud of
my own disbelief
My brain
will not accept
what it cannot explain ~
and it cannot explain a lot
I say I am open to the
spirits, the muses
the fairies
and the hobgoblins
But I am only of this physical world
Aware of what I can see,
feel, smell, hear
or taste.
Blind to anything I cannot see
Oblivious to everything but the obvious
I still have hope
that something will sway me
Move me
Make me believe
beyond a shadow of a doubt.
I want to believe
there is something
More.
I do.
Bliss is being sure of what you believe—I have not achieved this totally yet—have you?
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