My midnight garden

My midnight garden
has a lavender shimmer
jasmine-flower stars –
and candles that glimmer –

see fluttering bats
and moths agleam
as the scent of roses
inspires sweet dreams –

the moon swings low
and the moon swings high
in a silver swing
made from lullabies

Victoria is back! Guest hosting at dVerse,where it’s quadrille night. Tonight we’re quadrilling about gardens.

Look out of the window

August is a dull month in this garden,
just marking time – the fade
between the flowers and the fruit

but that one corner’s still alight –
West Cork – the fuchsia and montbretia,
the red and orange, sudden shocks of fire

bright in the soft, sea-light,
rain coming in from the south-west
and the grass drabbed by summer

Peter Frankis is our host at dVerse tonight. This is the view from my window, and a poem to go with it. 

Early morning – minute poem for dVerse

Days when I walk in the garden,
Early morning,
When the dew clings
To all green things,

Before the sun climbs up too high,
Burning the sky,
When each leaf glows,
Each flower grows,

Then I am open to the world,
My soul unfurled,
And I glow too,
And I grow new.

 

Frank is minding the bar at dVerse tonight. He’s asked us to write a minute poem – 60 syllables, arranged 844 x 3, with an aabb rhyme scheme. Frank is a bit of a king of forms, so he’s setting the bar high. 

 

Ryokuu – Summer rain haibun

It rains all day, on and off, gentle pattering against the window, not loud enough to drown our conversation, but strong enough to make us pause and look outwards, at the garden dissolving like a painting under water, colours blending and merging. At first the thirsty ground drinks it up, then eventually sickens of it, turns away, lets the water run down the path and out to the lane. Each rose holds a million tiny mirrors, the cranesbill holds its face up to be washed clean. Each blade of grass is jeweled with crystals, each leaf is gem studded. I hold a fortune in my hand, then let it fall. We stand in silence, all words lost, showered away.

Each drop a secret
Summer rain whispers into
The flower’s cool heart

A Haibun – it’s Monday atDVerse and we are asked to write a haibun on the subject of rain. We’ve had quite a lot of that this last week or so – I consider myself an expert! – in rain, if not haibuns!

Haibun for Dverse – quotidian moments.

This is not a ritual, though my body moves with the fluidity of repetition, and my hands know the weight of water they carry, and the angle of tilt, and the moment to stop. This is not a ritual, though I stay silent as I step out into the sounds and scents of the morning, cup cradled like a chalice between my hands. There is dew on the grass, and a bird sings close by, and I crush a leaf between my fingers to catch the fresh smell of it. This is not a ritual, though it is a pause, a slow intake of breath, a blossom caught in the moment between bud and flower. It is a round stone in the stream of the day.

Green leaf in the cup
Opening leaf in the sun
The clean scent of mint.

A haibun for D’verse, where Toni wanted a piece on our daily actions…

NaPoWriMo 11 – a little twist…

Morning

The light on the garden
Is grey, but the trees
Are hazed with green –
Promising leaves – and
The daffodils are
Still dancing.

There are 2 bullfinches,
Ink-scratched in the
Crab apple, and the
Ransoms are white
In the green, and the
Bluebells are
Blue, blue, blue.

The rooks fling themselves
At the sky,
And the camellia’s
Crazily pink.

There is nothing to fear.