I did a black and white challenge on Facebook and really enjoyed it, so I’m posting them here. The instructions were ‘Seven days. Seven bnw photos of your life. No humans, no explanations.
Oops, there’s one missing, I can’t find it. Ho humm.
Anyone else done this? I enjoyed it so much that I will probably continue!
Been over to my new blog lately? I have been doing a bit since I last posted here. Here is my latest post. It is following from a Facebook ‘live’ video where I showed viewers around my studio finishing with the story of this silhouette. Those are little rib bones btw. I’d love to know what you think; leave me a comment!
Emerging from brooding sea
she has grown feet and is dancing.
What are feet for if not dancing?
She is like a child who cannot just walk
but must skip or run.
Such lightness of being,
it is not yet time for sorrows.
It is not yet time for cares.
She has not been betrayed
nor yet betrayed herself
and so she twirls
twirls faster and faster
faster and faster
until she flies.
A Silkie is a mermaid-like creature who, according to Norse myths, can take off her seal costume to walk/dance on land. Best if she doesn’t stay on land too long though, because she will dry out, physically, emotionally and spiritually. I have written about them before and you can read that poem here.
grasses shushing the voices of ancestors
spinifex dot painting country
intricate memory of blood splatter lichen
* * * * *
how can one walk the earth of Australia and not think
of the people who have gone before
the crags sing of them
the water wells salty with tears
the earth is red as the blood that was shed upon it
* * * * *
- Country: In Aboriginal English, a person’s land, sea, sky, rivers, sites, seasons, plants and animals; place of heritage, belonging and spirituality; is called ‘Country’. (Source: Glossary of Indigenous Australian Terms, Australian Museum, Link.
‘spinifex dot painting country’ was first published in Journeys, an anthology published by Haiku Bindii, a local Adelaide Japanese poetry group. I don’t think they have any more copies but I have a few. If you are interested contact me here, and I can get one into the mail for you.
Kookaburras on and on about something. Us?
Blue wrens — small, dainty, fragile.
Where did they go when that firestorm raged?
all the little critters
burrow back down
shrivelled vines but still
bitter red tomatoes
kitchen garden in a garlic head — winter
the old wood stove
space is completely filled
with magpies’ song
These were inspired by Chiyo-ni. Here are some of her haiku
the frog observes
lies within the listener—
a cuckoo’s call
again the women
come to the fields
with unkempt hair
morning glory –
the truth is
the flower hates people
of hidden things
How good are they! She was a Japanese poet of the Edo period and is widely regarded as one of the greatest female haiku poets.
to quote Kuheli’s at Carpe Diem Haiku Kai: ‘She showed a childhood gift for poetry and had already gained fame for her haiku while she was still a teenager. Her early haiku were influenced by Basho and his students, though … she developed her own unique style. … Her verses were mostly dealing with nature. In later period of her life, around 1755 Chiyo-ni became a Buddhist nun.’
and from: CHIYO-NI: WOMAN HAIKU MASTER
ed. and trans, with notes by Patricia Donegan & Yoshie Isibashi
Tuttle Publishing, 1998:
‘Basho’s style of haiku was formulated by others over the years. His well known fundamentals usually include: sabi (detached loneliness), wabi (poverty of spirit), hosomi (slenderness, sparseness), shiori (tenderness), sokkyo (spontaneity), makoto (sincerity), fuga (elegance), karumi (simplicity), kyakkan byosha (objectivity), and shiZen to hitotsu ni naru (oneness with nature).’
‘Yet, the most important thing about Chiyo-ni’s haiku, which epitomizes her being true to Basho’s style, is how she actually lived the Way of Haikai, or fuga no michi (the way of refinement in one’s own life and art). With the emphasis on poetry as a way of life, poetry could be a source of awakening.’
‘Chiyo-ni was a master at making connections, by being open and carefully observing the ordinary things around her, especially in nature. Her observation was simple and clear, yet at the same time unique, with its feminine imagery that was delicate and sensual. The most important thing to her was honoring the sacredness of everyday life.’
So much to soak up. I’m inspired.
In the end my father died of pain when my siblings and I were turning him to change his sheets. I was holding his wrists and I felt his pulse stop. The breath went out of him and his gaunt face released its tension and pain. He was suddenly at peace, suddenly relaxed and beautiful, his face like the face of a holy figure. Not a single one of us were saying, “Rage, rage against the dying of the light” as Dylan Thomas urged his father. Our father had fought and he had lost.
into the room
with the late yellow light
voices of children