Tag Archives: haikū

··ร· wish ~ a duet ·ร··

what would you have me
do  for you if  any wish
i  could grant to you

One touch,  your gentle
hand rested for a moment
on my heart,  with love

one touch,   from the hand
of a loving heart   …the touch
of  your beloved

A smile and a kiss
just to brush your fingertips
as they touch my heart

shivers down my spine
from the light touch of  your lips
on my  fingertips…

Fingertips follow
your wandering shivers   …down…
explore soft wonders

a gentle moan escapes
my lips…  my hand on your heart
feels it beat faster

My lips kiss your moan
taste it tenderly  …kissing
before it flies off

my lips meeting yours…
one kiss just the beginning
of  passion’s release

Looking deep within
eye speaks unto eye   …calling
come with me tonight

soul speaks unto soul…
coming together with  joy…
no longer alone

Lightly touching me
your hand strokes my heart again
granting ecstasy

two souls…   two hearts…   joined
in ecstasy    …in desire…
each   for the other

Passion smouldering
constantly glowing…   waiting
your words fan the spark

your words the spark    …fires
of  my desire ignited…
passion burns brighter

Heart enflamed – burn bright
body burns with your love’s touch
hold me in your arms…

already holding
you in my heart   …now holding
you close in my arms

Our lips are touching
wordless speech from our bodies
talk to each other

touch…   taste…   sight…   sound…   scent…
all of  our senses heightened
by  flames of  desire

Senses beyond five
allow me visions of  you
…I can see your Soul

the shells   …the bodies…
matter not ~ ’tis the souls whose
journeys continue

To Infinity
exploring our passions
we fly   …together

an amazing duet played by two people on one cello at the same time

Iva Casian Lakos and Eric Tinkerhess
play a traditional Macedonian love song  “Jovano, Jovanke”
adapted from an arrangement by Giovanni Sollima and Monika Leskovar

originally posted  18 February 2011

artwork ~   “Triomphe De L’Amour”   Salvador Dali
{ fair use }

“wish ~ a duet”  was my  first attempt at  a renga  {a collaborative linked poem comprised of  haikū/a duet with alternate haikū verses by two poets}  written by Ainsley Allmark  {  @DolphinDancer }  and myself.  Ainsley’s stunning photography,  poetry and prose can be found on a number of  blogs in addition to  “DOLPHIN MUSE”  ~  please click on any of  the  “Dolphin”  listings in the blogrolls at the bottom of  this page to see more of  his work.  we hope you enjoyed reading this duet as much as we enjoyed writing it.  { we wrote modern haikū ~ in the past our verses would have been considered senryū.  }

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Filed under blog anniversary, Creative Every Day, haikū, love, lust, NaBloPoMo, poetry, poetry duets, Post-A-Day, redux, senryū

✯ ☽☾ ✯ night descends {first poem ever posted} 5 year blog birthday

as the night descends

i  wrap darkness around me

and drift off  to sleep

✯ ☽☾ ✯

this is the  first poem posted to this blog on

12  February  2010

celebrating  my heart’s love songs  beginnings five years ago

i  am still amazed when people stop by

THANK  YOU!   to everyone who visits

this song is background to a slide show of   Vincent  van  Gogh’s  art

“Vincent (Starry Starry Night)”   Don McLean

artwork ~   “The Starry Night”   Vincent van Gogh
{ public domain }


Filed under blog anniversary, Creative Every Day, haikū, micropoetry, NaBloPoMo, poetry, Post-A-Day, Post-A-Week, redux, senryū

∙ Ꮠ ∙ Ᏹ∙ imaginary friend ∙Ᏹ ∙ Ꮠ ∙

My mother kept my secret well.  No one but she and I ever knew about Mari.  My father was oblivious until I was six and,  sobbing hysterically,  I swore that I hadn’t taken his hunting knife and cut an X in my forehead ~ Mari  had done it accidentally.  He yelled at my mother all the way to the emergency room for not telling him years before about my  imaginary   friend.  My mother quieted him by saying most children had them,  and the best way to deal with the situation was to ignore it.  My father never mentioned Mari again.  She was furious and wouldn’t stop whining the next day “Why did your father keep saying I’m imaginary?  I’m real,  Anne!  I’m real!”  I  finally consoled her by saying that,  from now on,  I would let her sleep with me instead of  on the trundle bed.  {With the one condition that she would never cut my bangs again.}  By the time I was 11,  I got the irony of  my mother being a child psychologist when I saw her best-selling book  “The Magic of Reality”  in the front window of  our  my favorite bookstore.  Now I wonder if  I was ever anything more to her than a case study.

As I got older,  I began to want to have time to be alone.  Mari’s response to my request was always  “We’ll be together ’til the end.”  She’d shrug if  I would ask when  “the end”  might be.  I escaped into my own world by painting.  My mother said I was  “gifted”  and,  when I was 15,  she sent  us   me off  to the Académie in Paris,  one of the best schools of art,  painting and sculpture.  Mother arranged for us  me to stay in a large attic room.  Perfect for a studio as well as bedroom,  it had a multi-paned window covering the northern wall and extending up into the roof.  It was in an expensive women-only hostelry which my mother equated with supervised.  La Matrone was not only drunk on her arse most of  the time,  she was the one who supplied me with wine at every meal and an extra bottle every evening.  The wine did more for my painting than the school ever did.  I became known for haunting portraits of  a girl who seemed ready to jump off the canvas and into the room.  To men she was a Lolita;  to women,  a child who needed their protection.  No matter what her pose,  the background was always dried-blood red ~ the exact shade of  the wine I drank.

Then came the night it all seemed to fall apart.  Mari had been trying to reassure me that the painting was going well,  but I would have none of  it.  Screaming  “You don’t understand!”  I threw the half-full bottle of  wine into the corner of  the room,  then threw myself  down onto the mattress,  burying my face in the pillows.  I could hear her pick the bottle up off  the floor;  set it on the table.  She turned off  the lights and lay down next to me.  As she wrapped her arms around me tenderly,  she whispered  “Don’t worry,  Anne.  It will all come together in the morning.”  And with that,  we drifted off  to sleep.

The sky was a lovely clear blue when I awoke.  The studio was filled with a wonderful light.  I looked at the painting across the room and knew exactly what needed to be done.  Just a few strokes of  the brush completed it and I signed the bottom corner…..       Marianne

∙ Ꮠ ∙ Ᏹ ∙ Ꮠ ∙

too many years apart

souls merged again ~ coming home

no longer broken

∙ Ꮠ ∙ Ᏹ ∙ Ꮠ ∙

∙ Ᏹ ∙

“Me And My Imaginary Friend”   Colin Hay

originally posted 24 October 2011

this story was written in a true collaboration between Ainsley Allmark and myself.  you may have seen our previously posted  poetry duet  or partnerships in rounds 11 through 16 at SPARK.  i began the story then we exchanged emails with our ideas until we arrived at the above final version.  even some sentences were written in part by each of  us,  though full credit is due Ainsley for the haiku and the concept of  how to merge  the two characters at the end.  i have never worked with another writer this way before and it was a genuine pleasure.  { thank you for all you contributed,  Ainsley. }  you can find his stunning  poetry and photographs at any of  the Dolphin links in the blogrolls at the bottom of  the page.  three of  his most popular blogs are  Dolphin Ainsley,  Dolphin Muse  and  Dolphin Visions.

Haibun  (Japanese: 俳文 haikai writings) is a literary composition that combines prose and haikū.  The range of haibun is broad and includes,  but is not limited to,  the following forms of prose:  autobiography,  biography,  diary,  essay,  history,  prose poem,  short story and travel literature…..

A haibun may record a scene, or a special moment, in a highly descriptive and objective manner or may occupy a wholly fictional or dream-like space. The accompanying haikū may have a direct or subtle relationship with the prose and encompass or hint at the gist of what is recorded in the prose sections…..

Contemporary practice of haibun composition in English is evolving rapidly.  Generally,  a haibun consists of one or more paragraphs of prose written in a concise,  imagistic  haikai  style,  and one or more haiku…..Read More

i  also recommend reading the We Write Poems prompt post HERE as it contains excellent links about haibun.

image credit   goes to   Dave/swineandroses at deviantArt

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Filed under blog anniversary, Creative Every Day, fantasy, science fiction and horror, haibun, haikū, NaBloPoMo, narrative poetry, poetry, Post-A-Day, Post-A-Week, redux

∙•δ ˚ζ˚ δ•∙ passion




 it’s still a surprise…

the passion you elicit

overpowers me

∙•δ ˚ζ˚ δ•∙

•δ ˚ζ˚ δ•



Maurice Ravel Bolero  Valery Gergiev, London Symphony Orchestra



originally posted  24 February 2010



artwork ~   “Intimacy Couple in Interior”   Felix Vallotton
{ public domain }



this is my submission to ~


Open Link Night — January   at   dVerse ~ Poets Pub

thank you,  Claudia!






Filed under Creative Every Day, dVerse ~ Poets Pub, haikū, micropoetry, NaBloPoMo, poetry, Post-A-Day, redux, senryū

✴ ℭ ✴ the wind doesn’t care ✴ ℭ ✴


the wind doesn’t care

  but still…    it whispers your name

as if  missing you

✴ ℭ


this song is poetry both in the lyrics and the way Hendrix sings it

“The Wind Cries Mary”   Jimi Hendrix  (Original video film)

originally posted  15 February 2010

artwork  ~  “Well by the Winding Road in the Park of Chateau Noir”   Paul Cézanne
{ public domain }

“The Wind Cries Mary”   Jimi Hendrix

lyrics ~

After all the jacks are in their boxes,
And the clouds have all gone to bed,
You can hear Happiness staggering on down the street,
Footprints dressed in red.

And the Wind whispers Mary.

A broom is drearily sweeping
Up the broken pieces of yesterday’s life.

Somewhere a Queen is weeping,
Somewhere a King has no wife.

And the Wind it cries Mary.

The traffic lights they turn blue tomorrow
And shine their emptiness down upon my bed.
The tiny island sags downstream
‘Cause the life it lived is…  is dead.

And the Wind screams Mary.

Will the Wind ever remember
The names it has blown in the past,
And with this crutch, its old age and its wisdom
It whispers, “No, this will be the last.”

And the Wind cries Mary.

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Filed under Creative Every Day, haikū, micropoetry, NaBloPoMo, poetry, Post-A-Day, redux, senryū