Haiku #12917

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haiku #12917

light as feather
intimate as a lover
the sweetness of life

(c) Rebecca Sanchez 2017

Written with Imaginary Garden Of Real Toads and shared with Poets United.

We were to take this poem and condense it into something short and sweet. I offer the shortest form possible, senryu.

Sweetness, always

“Why such harsh machinery?
Why, to write down the stuff and people of everyday,
must poems be dressed up in gold,
or in old and fearful stone?

I want verses of felt or feather which scarcely weigh,
mild verses
with the intimacy of beds
where people have loved and dreamed.
I want poems stained
by hands and everydayness.

Verses of pastry which melt
into milk and sugar in the mouth,
air and water to drink,
the bites and kisses of love.
I long for eatable sonnets,
poems of honey and flour.

Vanity keeps prodding us
to lift ourselves skyward
or to make deep and useless
tunnels underground.
So we forget the joyous
love-needs of our bodies.
We forget about pastries.
We are not feeding the world.

In Madras a long time since,
I saw a sugary pyramid,
a tower of confectionery –
one level after another,
and in the construction, rubies,
and other blushing delights,
medieval and yellow.

Someone dirtied his hands
to cook up so much sweetness.

Brother poets from here
and there, from earth and sky,
from Medellin, from Veracruz,
Abyssinia, Antofagasta,
do you know the recipe for honeycombs?

Let’s forget about all that stone.

Let your poetry fill up
the equinoctial pastry shop
our mouths long to devour –
all the children’s mouths
and the poor adults’ also.
Don’t go on without seeing,
relishing, understanding
all these hearts of sugar.

Don’t be afraid of sweetness.

With or without us,
sweetness will go on living
and is infinitely alive,
forever being revived,
for it’s in a man’s mouth,
whether he’s eating or singing,
that sweetness has its place.”

by Pablo Neruda

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Silver

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Silver

Silver beneath cold waters
on a cloudy day.

Boats gather
to fish and barter
silver passes
beak to claw
hook to boat
hand to hand.

Silver beneath cold waters
on a cloudy day.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2017

Written with dVerse~Poets Pub.

The Old House

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The Old House

The old house was old
older than it could remember
the souls who built it
long gone
children’s toys scattered about
everything there as they had left it.

Now the roof was half caved in
the smell of mildew and defeat
permeated the grounds
as the rain soaked wood
expanded painfully.

The old house dearly missed them
groaning and creaking-
it was almost over
the house thought.

Just then…
footsteps on the porch
as a fawn and its mother came inside
birds made nests in exposed rafters
as small animals followed
finding shelter.

The old house had found a new purpose
and happily settled for it

© Rebecca Sanchez 2017

Change doesn’t always happen when we expect it or is how we expect it to be but don’t be afraid because change brings new things into our lives.

Written with Poets United.

Haiku #12217

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haiku #12217

a flood of rain storms
quenched California’s thirst
the drought is over

© Rebecca Sanchez 2017

This winter we’ve been getting inches of rain and the snow fall is insane. For the first time in years, the experts are saying our drought is over at least in northern CA.

Photography by me, that is a rainbow I could see from my comfy chair in my living room. Surely proof the drought is over!

Written with Haiku Horizons.

Safe Within

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Safe Within

I see no evil.

I keep my eyes cast down
invisible blinders moderating
every new madness broadcast,
“Watch this, you must see this, don’t miss this!”
Better not to look at all.

I speak no evil.

I have nothing more to say
staying quiet is best
one word always leads to more,
“I want, I need, I think.”
Better not to talk at all.

I hear no evil.

Mental earplugs firmly in place
blind, mute and now deaf
the only way is staying safe within.
“Why don’t you wake up and join the human race?”
I can’t hear you!

© Rebecca Sanchez 2017

Sometimes inner voices are pushed away with the best of intentions.

Written with Imaginary Garden Of Real Toads and Poets United.

Tanaga #11617

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Tanaga #11617

Slow and steady wins the race
when you keep a steady pace
watch your step and keep your head
you will finish first instead.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2017

The Tanaga is a type of Filipino poem, consisting of four lines with seven syllables each with the same rhyme at the end of each line — that is to say a 7-7-7-7 Syllabic verse, with an AABB rhyme scheme.

Like the Japanese haiku, Tanagas traditionally do not have any titles. They are poetic forms that should speak for themselves. Most are handed down by oral history, and contain proverbial forms, moral lessons, and snippets of a code of ethics.

Try one for yourself!

Written for Monday WRites and Poets United.

Danger Jargon Junction

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Danger Jargon Junction

The gandy dancer inspected
the empty track ahead
seeing emeralds all the way
signaling the okay.

The crew expecting eight and sand
a normal run for hospital train
stuck with sisters for overhaul
left receiving the high ball.

Hobos climb the running boards
ride the deadhead line for free
going through dark territory
drunken lads reliving glories.

The bull and cinder dick
instead of on the watch
were busy going to beans
arguing in the canteen.

Treachery on the bridge ahead
caused to dynamite the train
plunging to their death’s they go
a cold and watery death below.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2017

Most of this is jargon I found in the Glossary of North American Railways and decided it would make a colorful poem. Research and time made this poem possible. I do like to play with vintage words and jargon.

Written with dVerse~Poets Pub.