Théoule Sur Mer
To learn from the sun
To shine, it’s just begun,
Let’s not forget fun
Antoine Burgos
My Earth Day’s haïku
Tag Archives: sun
s.a.d.ness
Sunless skies, endless
grey clouded over grey crusted
snow, creating havoc for crocus shoots
struggling to make their stand.
Winter, a slow
death by its thousand windy cuts
and imperceptable emotional fade, now
so few words shared between them.
All purple and
orange in full bloom swathed across
front yard lawns stirring expectations, and
memories of their languid summer days.
Teal sky
days that start warm ending warmer,
their uninterrupted steady sun and their
sleeveless shirts and moist sweaty skin.
Sun, her kiss
once assured his unsteady heart. So many
purple and orange reasons to be hopeful but
March, always the cruel reminder.
written March 2013
revised FOR April 2013 :- /
Because
Brian Carter : in breaths
Hello everyone, here’s my huitain :
Because this life is not enough,
I’ll try to wake up from the cold,
Even if it is sometimes rough,
Even if I have to grow old.
I know that I need to be bold
To go South , and under the sun,
To set myself free from the mold,
To rise above – it’s just begun !
Antoine
Time for a New Challenge
I just discovered the huitain. It is a Spanish form that has eight lines, and each line has eight syllables. The rhyme scheme is ababbcbc.
To wit:
It snowed eight inches, snowed some more,
until our land was turned to white.
We couldn’t open up our door
because of winter’s active night.
Now sun shines on this lovely sight
and melts the snow to rivulets.
Has winter taken its last bite?
What do you think? Let’s make our bets!
OK, OK, so it’s not the best poem in the world, but at least it gives you an idea of how a huitain should go.
Let’s submit some more. I’d love to see what you can come up with.
The shade of Time
Théoule Sur Mer
Snow melted down on Théoule,
But the sea seems cool – no swell -.
After another defeated night,
I regret the sweetest feast.
Was damaged by the shade of Time ;
You all, inanimate objects,
What has become of my soul ?
On that bad galley, I row !
And I need the sea breeze,
Otherwise, I foam and boil with rage
Like a sailor lost in town,
Prisoner of a servile life.
Give me now the sun warmin’
My skin, and like a dragonfly,
I will fly near the water sources
And wish I never bow again !
February, the 24th
Returning
So, no I haven’t been here for awhile, other than to contribute some 14-word poems for the Valentine project. I will attempt to have more of a presence, and write regularly. After all, isn’t that the point of 20 Lines? I’ve reinstated my Facebook account and have been updating it, and have also been concentrating on weight loss. That keeps me busy shopping and cooking well, eating healthfully and tracking what I eat, and making sure I get in my daily exercise. Whew. That’s all time-taking.
But…my first love is writing, so I will return with a poem:
Connecting once again on Facebook, loss
of weight…important, yes, but not the boss.
I come to write, and writing fills me up,
brims, spills and overflows my little cup.
Words come to me in silences of night
or when the sun melts snow, the sun so bright
that I can barely look outside. Could spring
be far behind? Words wonder, question, sing.
Cinquain Challenge
Pine trees
reach arms to sky,
hoping for sun cover.
Today, gray clouds threaten with snow.
No. No.
Poems
lift, play music,
polishing the dusty
haze upon a saddened mood. I
thank them.
Little
stones along the
shore speak stories to me,
share an ancient tradition. I
listen.
Of real things
Eyes fluttered open for a second no more than
then slowly closed, for I did not want the real world
just yet
golden sun penetrated the glass like a velvet glove
reaching out for my face
it drifted under my eye lids whispering
get up..get up
today is a new day
bed covers abandoned
to rise from my berth to which I was anchored
stumbling towards the sun rubbing brow
was I sleep walking
pushing the latch wide open
my eyes unaccustomed to the light
surely tricks were being played
before me a majestic eagle
wings unfurled it turned, blinked, beckoned me
I climbed upon his back gathering my arms softly
around his feathered neck his wings sweeping the ether
today is a new day
we soared high into the morning sky my eagle and I
effortless flight
glossy flaxen sun throwing light on
mountain peaks, craggy rocks
green valleys below
I nestled close, we travelled together
ascending above clouds
that seemed to dance in the wind
like musical notes upon a sheet
we rose into the heavens
we plunged and glided on currents of air
the world undisturbed unsheltered beneath us
my eyes closed I felt his heart beat with my hands
was I sleep walking
my eagle returned, he had shown me his world
with tired wings outstretched I alighted
my eyes spoke my thank you not with words
through the window I climbed
my body warmed by the sun
my cheeks aglow from the breeze
he flew away my eagle
I awoke hugging my feather pillow
was I sleep walking?
Sun, encapsulated.
It’s minus 20 degrees Celsius in Calgary with a windchill approaching minus 30. I’m thinking back on a warm summer day spent in the Silver Springs Botanical Gardens….
Photographed by Sheryl @ Flowery Prose
December?
A Silly December Poem
It’s 60 today and the sun’s shining bright.
I guess that the seasons just can’t get it right.
A couple of flakes fell on Thanksgiving Day,
but autumn is lingering. Skies are not gray.
I wonder why Earth has its story mixed up.
The weather’s been weird, like cake in a cup.
So what of December? Where’s snow and the cold?
It might come like a lamb, not blatant or bold.
Missing The Summer Sun Already.
We don’t get enough of this here in the UK…
Sunshine
SUNSHINE
Enjoyed the Sun did you? We are soon to have another 2 or 3 days of soaking rains. I shall once again be flooded.
other voices
Sometimes I
admire the
moon for it
cannot match
the sun’s glory
so it finds
it’s own patch
of sky to
brighten.
Sometimes I
admire the
nightingale
for it is drowned
out in the shrilly
shouts of other
fowls so it
finds its own
silence to
liven.
Sometimes I
strive for the
sun yet I
can’t reach it,
so I aim for
the twinkling
stars instead.
Somewhere
over the rainbow
the colour black
is weeping,
but then she
realizes the
mysterious beauty
of the night.
The Little Girl Is Now Woken Up
A sweet rippling sound echoing through the confined walls of the room, a girl wakes up due to the resulting disturbance from the sleep she was subjected to, the sleep- an escape from her pain, an escape to the realm of the dreams but now she is forcefully brought back to the realities of life. She is being forcefully woken up by the disturbance as a result of the rippling sound, though sweet, but a lot more agonising for the girl- whose name is unknown- no one knows who she is. She was just found in the corner of a street, her hair ruffled, her dried tears glistening under the bright sun. She is the girl no one knows anything about and thereby seen as a threat, she was confined to further tortures of life even when her earlier tortures are not known- she is facing the ordeal of getting confined, becoming a prisoner where she is given ample food and water but no freedom. This is her staying place where she lives but dies every moment; the air being lacking in the joys and pleasures she would have otherwise wanted. The little girl is now woken up by the disturbance- she is now again prone to the tortures, subjected to the pain- she now considers the way of her life. The little girl is woken up, the echo- the disturbance of the rippling sound, is now gone- disappeared in the air. The little girl is now woken up.
Sunset Smokescreen
Oregon has been plagued by wildfires this late Summer. The smoke extends from Central Oregon into the Willamette Valley. When the sun sets the clouds seem tinged with a red haze.
