We who with songs beguile your pilgrimage / And swear that Beauty lives though lilies die, / We Poets of the proud old lineage / Who sing to find your hearts, we know not why ... (James Elroy Flecker)

15.3.21

Never Say Never

 Never Say Never


A cat’s advertised, needing a home. I’m surprised by sudden longing. I said ‘No more’ after my last darling died. I realise – two years of processing the grief; now I’ve become lonely.


L phones just then. ‘Quick!’ I say, ‘Talk me out of this.’


Instead, she says, ‘M knows of a beautiful cat needing a new home. Otherwise she’ll be put down.’ 

(The cat in the ad was safely in foster-care.) I phone M. Then I phone the cat owner, and arrange a ‘let’s see’ visit. 


We click! We have things in common including our ideas about cat care. The family must move; there’ll be no room for Poppi. She needs her own zone: she hates and attacks their other three cats. Or she needs to be someone’s only cat. They’d rather put her to sleep than let anyone have her who wouldn’t look after her properly.


Poppi is 9, Burmese, sable coloured (dark brown that looks black to me). She is very deaf, very affectionate, and she’s a completely indoor cat. Owner explains, Burmese are too fearless for their own good so must be kept in. That suits me. I don’t want her out killing birds, or being killed by a snake.


I visit three times over two weeks so she gets to know me. At the first visit, I say, 'I'm in!' The owner does too. Poppi indicates she likes me. I let her come to me, as you do with cats. She becomes progressively more affectionate.


‘Bring her to me on the 13th,’ I say. ‘I’ll have four days free then to be with her.’ They bring all her toys and paraphernalia, some of her favourite foods, various instructions, her papers, their own palpable grief … scoop her up in one last hug, then leave quickly.


She has a good explore, then politely tells me it's her dinner time by going to her water dish and looking up at me expectantly. After dinner she settles in the bed atop her giant scratching post, parked by the window.  She welcomes my strokings and scritchings. 


Next morning she lies on the floor, stretches, turns over, asks for a tummy rub. I oblige ecstatically – such a sign of trust!

 





369 words written for Poets and Storytellers United's Weekly Scribblings #61: Starting a New Relationship. 



10.3.21

A Troubled Relationship

 A Troubled Relationship


You’ve been out of my life now

for years already, but your voice

keeps telling me things in my head,

not from the bad times but the good –


when you were my pal as well as

my youngest. I like to think

those times were true (they felt 

and still feel true) but I know


not to reach out, not to attempt

in any way to go back, because

that boy is gone, and that young man,

long gone, and you don’t hear him now.




Written for Weekly Scribblings #60 at Poets and Storytellers United.


(Yes, I do mean the last line as as written.)

3.3.21

The Mind At Play

The Mind At Play




On a haiku site I discover enso. One poet uses them alongside her verses. Intrigued, I google.


I come away with the idea that an enso is both a figure in Japanese calligraphy and a way of Zen meditation.

One draws a circle freehand, open or closed, a continuous line (sometimes two). I understand it encompasses everything. Also it's the void.


This practice is not a striving for the perfect circle. (Nor is it done thoughtlessly.) Each is valid in itself. It’s an exploration of inner space.


Excited – all Western impatience, no in-depth research – I dive right in, thrilled with the idea of meditation by doing. 


Though I don’t dare think I’m an artist, I sometimes draw, just for me.


I grab sketch-book, brushes, water-colours (not ink) and draw an enso a day: each one a different colour. After I’ve been through all colours, I resolve, I’ll repeat in different media. 


Poet Lawrence Ferlinghetti, founder of City Lights bookshop – hugely important in the history of literature – dies aged 101. I write a three-line tribute.


I want to post this on Instagram. Instagram is a visual medium. I try to make micropoems I post there look as good as I can, but this time I take things further. I print the text, cut it out, and paste it in the centre of my latest enso. 


I photograph the result, run the photo through filters on my iPhone, then edit it for vibrance, clarity, saturation…. 





‘Beautiful tribute,’ someone comments, ‘– art and words.’


My friend – a real, marvellous artist – has a birthday. A mystical four-line poem comes to me. I realise it’s a portrait of her. I put that inside an enso too. (I try handwriting this one at first, but my writing doesn’t please my eye.)


I take a photo, manipulate it as before, print it, label it a portrait of her, and laminate it.





When I give it to her, her eyes widen, she gasps and holds it to her heart a moment.


I toy with the idea of a different shape that I might use around a poem. I think I will, perhaps very soon. Also, I won’t stop drawing my meditative daily enso. 




369 words written in response to Weekly Scribblings #59 at Poets and Storytellers United, and specifically inspired by a line from the musical Hamilton: 'I'm looking for a mind at work'. I don't know much about that musical, but my mind has been working on something new lately, as described above. Then I recollected that art is not work but play. 

Note:
My artist friend is also an amazing gardener.


Images: 
1. 
Ensō (c. 2000) by Kanjuro Shibata XX. Available for use via Creative Commons CC BY-SA 3.0

2 and 3 © Rosemary Nissen-Wade 2021.


1.3.21

Also a Path – Short poems in February (2021)

Also a Path
Micropoems in February (2021)















my ocean

the great blue Pacific

is also a path


#haiku


12/2/21



piercing –

that moment of pain

for dead loves

this Valentine’s Day 

then I recall the joy


#tanka


14/2/21



during COVID

Moon Calendar quietly

gets two years old


#senryu


16/2/21



sneezing

I get out the bedsox —

high summer!

#senryu


17/2/21



You may live to 200

while appearing 30,

said the angel.


But I thought I’d become

more and more lonely 

for old friends; I declined.

#American sentences x2 arranged as verse.


21/2/21



When the kids

were swift and mischievous

I Dalek-spoke

‘Exterminate! Exterminate!’

They merely rolled their eyes.


#kyoka


21/2/21





28.2.21

Haiku on Friday Feb. '21


Haiku on Friday, Feb. '21
(including – or maybe mostly – senryu)


15 years a group

Haiku on Friday becomes

my private practice


5/2/21



on my holiday

reading writing walks TV

as on other days

 

12/2/21



summer rains –

weeds flourish uncleared

because snakes


19/2/21



steady rain

one brief bird call

through the dark


26/2/21



What's Haiku on Friday? See here.

Shared with Poets and Storytellers United at their Writers' Pantry #62. (Apologies to those who saw them already on Instagram.)

27.2.21

NaHaiWriMo 2021, Days 22-28

(Responding to February prompts at the NaHaiWriMo facebook group) 


Day 22: Yesterday


my yesterday 

became all my tomorrows –

I still believe



Day 23: Twist and Shout


… like we did last summer … 

oh no, that was a different song

many summers gone



Day 24: Across the Universe


Mars photos –

the surface dirt

looks normal



Day 25: Ticket to Ride


just one day there

rode cable cars in San Fran –

missed City Lights



Day 26: While My Guitar Gently Weeps  


the handsome one

quiet idealist –

I loved you best



Day 27: Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds


sky-high –

the planets whirl 



Day 28: Love Is All You Need


Help! I want to 

hold your hand yeah yeah yeah

love me do