Archive for May, 2014

Fleeting glimpse
of days and moments
now fading –
soon no more
than sepia coloured photos
of happier days.

Winter holiday at the grandparents, probably 1987

Winter holiday at the grandparents, probably 1987

overwhelming loss,
mixed with love,
tinged with joy,
set free by time’s flight –
memories of life.

My severely drugged up muse (new medication driving her/me nuts) really struggles of late… But as the topic of Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie‘s Shadorma Photo Prompt #10 is memories and I seem to be drowning in those lately, I thought I’d give it a try. As always, a Shadorma is a non-rhyming poem with a syllabic count of 3/5/3/3/7/5. The photograph shows me and the family Boxer Emil playing in the snowy forest across the street from my grandparents’ place circa 1987.


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Sunrise over the Caribbean 2011, Photo by CC Champagne

Sunrise over the Caribbean 2011, Photo by CC Champagne

When the screen goes blank
they all appear –
images of moments
far and near.
Happy memories
and sad sighs too.
All the photos taken
of my friends who
may no longer be there
or may be far away.
Pictures I have taken
on sunny days and grey.
Low sun over snow-scapes,
brilliant sunrise too –
reflections in the still lakes,
and lovers, although few.
Photos I took yesterday
and some from long ago,
when my screen is sleeping
that is what’s on show.

Today’s daily prompt Poetry Prompt 30 – Screensaver over at Pooky’s Poems actually managed to get my creativity to rear its head long enough for me to put these lines together… 

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Photo by CC Champagne

Photo by CC Champagne

Where do
the words
when they’re
not here?

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Rescue Me by Colleen Moss, image via Google Images (click for link)

Echoes of love lost,
mirrored in feathered fancy.
My soul is laid bare.
Sing your love song to me, bird
that my heart may ache again.

In response to Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie and Heeding Haiku With HA: To derive inspiration from Poetry #2, where we are asked to create a haiku or a tanka after reading Sarojini Naidu – Love Songs From The North.

Tell me no more of thy love, papeeha,

Wouldst thou recall to my heart, papeeha,

Dreams of delight that are gone,

When swift to my side came the feet of my lover

With stars of the dusk and the dawn?

I see the soft wings of the clouds on the river,

And jewelled with raindrops the mango-leaves quiver,

And tender boughs flower on the plain…..

But what is their beauty to me, papeeha,

Beauty of blossom and shower, papeeha,

That brings not my lover again? 

Tell me no more of thy love, papeeha,

Wouldst thou revive in my heart, papeeha

Grief for the joy that is gone?

I hear the bright peacock in glimmering woodlands

Cry to its mate in the dawn;

I hear the black koel’s slow, tremulous wooing,

And sweet in the gardens the calling and cooing

Of passionate bulbul and dove….

But what is their music to me, papeeha

Songs of their laughter and love, papeeha,

To me, forsaken of love?


Technically, I don’t think I managed to turn this into a tanka (apart from the syllabic count), but honestly… I liked it this way.


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Image from Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie, by the_surreal_arts@deviantarts

It is time to move on
but my head’s in the clouds
and the owl beats my heart with his hoo-s.

The doorway is open
I suppose I must go through,
drop down to earth from my clouds.

I’ll climb the ladder
not fly on my own this time,
in tandem with the old wise owl.

No, it’s time to move on,
screw my head back on again
and take a seat at the table of life.

For Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie‘s Photo Challenge #10 – Waking Hour.

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Photo by CC Champagne

Photo by CC Champagne

Balancing on the sharp thin edge
between ebb and flow
high and low.
draping itself around me
like a cold, wet mist of sanity
and luring me away from my ledge.

I’d forgotten how it feels
how grey the world gets
how insignificant things
like poetry seem.

Struggling to find
even the simplest of words
stringing them together,
making sense,
not linguistically,
but emotionally.

The world is drained of emotions,
apart from the ones,
the terrifying ones,
in my heart –
fear, self-loathing,

I’m supposed to live here?
Without the highs?
Without the lows?
Without the ebb?
Without the flow?

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Photo by CC Champagne

Photo by CC Champagne

I don’t think

I can


a single



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