Roses removed

roses removed,

rock garden replaced

with asphalt . . .

who are these people

living in our old house?

—Ribbons, Spring/Summer 2017

Here I am again. I didn't drop off the face of the earth!

P.S. This tanka is about the house we used to live in, in England, when I was 10–15. Walked down the street it's on when we visited last year.

Long kidskin gloves

long kidskin gloves

she wore in the ʼ60s—

on my bare arm

is this just a freckle

or another age spot?

—Moonbathing, issue 15, fall 2016

She seemed to me to be quite the fashion plate back in the day.

Long kidskin gloves

long kidskin gloves

she wore in the 60s—

on my bare arm

is this just a freckle

or another age spot?

—Moonbathing, fall 2016

These old dishes

these old dishes 
crazed with spidery veins— 
the "good china" 
saved for special occasions 
few and far between 

—A Hundred Gourds, 5:2, March 2016

The still life

the still life

I painted at sixteen

...  all this time

hanging in my parents’ house,

soaking up their hues

—Atlas Poetica, 22, summer 2015

Now it's hanging in my house. (Don't tell anyone, but my teacher helped me a little with the fine-tuning.)

Finally, a year after moving our father out of his large old house, going through it with a fine-toothed comb, then spiffing it up and listing it, it looks like we are close to a sale, crossing fingers.

The future

the future

soon becomes the past—

who knows

how many years

Big Brother's been watching

—Ribbons, Tanka Café ("novels" theme), spring/summer 2015, vol. 11, no. 2

The novel I'm referencing is of course Orwell's 1984.

Strolling through

strolling through
the holiday market
each year
the array of delights
delighting us less

—A Hundred Gourds, December 2013

With this tanka, I'm stretching out the holidays a bit! (AHG asks that you wait at least 40 days after they've published your work before you share it again with the world.) I can find it hard to let go of Christmas anyway; my tree and other stuff often are up well into January. 

Year-end leaves

year-end leaves

rotten potatoes

misspoken words—

assorted things I fling

deep into the woods

—kernels ("featured poet"), Summer 2013

H A P P Y  N E W  Y E A R !

A dreamcatcher

a dreamcatcher
tucked inside this drawer
for years
all those nightmares
I could have released

—Moonbathing, issue 7, Fall/Winter 2012-2013

I need to find a place for it—that and many other items we still haven't hung up since relocating here.

From the top

from the top
of the Space Needle
he phones me
the connection
still clear, after years

—Magnapoets, premiere issue, Jan. 2008

I've been to the top of the CN Tower in Toronto but not to Seattle's Space Needle. I was surprised to see this tanka show up in (the late) William J. Higginson's blog, included in his review of a new journal. ("A few poems, more or less at random ... These two, a haiku and a tanka, respectively, are by writers new to me, but among many names very recognizable in the English-language haiku and tanka communities ...")

Every week

every week
you must leave . . .
and every week
I am with you
at takeoff and landing

—Ribbons (Tanka Cafe, "The Abstract"), Spring 2006

This one flowed out of me (or into me?) pretty much intact. It's unusual for a tanka, I know, but I was pleased (and surprised) to see the nice little write-up it received in the Ribbons Tanka Cafe several years ago.

First few days

first few days
into this New Year,
tinsel removed—
I hang up bath linens
the color of spring

—moonset, Spring 2006; While the Light Holds (Magnapoets Anthology Series 2)

I remember what bath towels I'm referring to (they're yellow), and I know when I wrote this tanka (almost exactly seven years ago). Have I really not bought us any new ones since then? That is, except for some cheap decorative ones I hung up in the bathroom of the house we were desperately trying to sell. :o 

Thinned by drought

thinned by drought, fire,
and finally autumn—
through these woods
I see a freight train
carrying off the year

—Atlas Poetica, Autumn 2012

***************

Shortened days

shortened days—
scooping out seeds
from butternut squash,
allowing the orange ripeness
to permeate

—Ribbons Tanka Cafe ("leafless autumn" theme), Winter 2006
In retrospect, I suppose I didn't need to say "orange." But it was sooo orange. ;)

photo copyright of Robert Curtis

Those in the USA:  H A P P Y   T H A N K S G I V I N G !

Left alone

He will miss 
      the seasonal change,
      subtle as it will be:
      the first two waves of chill. 

He will leave
      when humid air still knocks
      against skin like angry beads
      and the jasmine draws in
      its final bees for the year— 

And will be gone
      while the oleander begin
      their hibernating droop
      and the hibiscus expose
      frameworks of thinning bones. 

He will not know
      the needle’s drill into
      tame, unsuspecting flesh,
      or the restive landscape
      of waiting for results— 

But will return
      in time to witness
      the expected conflagration:
      scarlet berries on the yaupon. 

—Loch Raven Review, Vol. 1, No. 1, 2005

The berries on our city yaupon tree (pictured) would turn bright red during November. Here in this rustic place where we now live, the clump of native yaupon by our driveway already is loaded with red berries.

Months later; nonstop footage

Time to pull these poems out again while it's still the peak of the season here on the Gulf coast. Not counting the recent rage of Isaac, the 2012 season has been on the quiet side. Seven years ago, deadly Katrina missed us in the Houston area. But three years later, Ike pretty much came right for us; interesting times.

months later
he still clutches
the bowling ball—
all he could salvage
after Katrina

Hurricane Katrina, late Aug. 2005
—Wisteria, July 2006; Haiku News, Oct. 2009; Take Five, Vol 2

nonstop footage
of surge-battered homes

.....near our back door

.....a small displaced turtle
.....retreats into its shell

Hurricane Ike, Sept. 13, 2008

—Moonset, Spring-Summer 2009; Haiku News, Oct. 2009; Take Five, Vol 2

Am happy I came across my photos of the actual little turtle I describe here—and hope it found its way.

Too many months

too many months

with a for sale sign
in our yard,
this old house reluctant
to let us move on

—Ribbons, Fall 2010; Take Five, Vol. 3

This actually went on for much longer—nice house too. The situation was surreal—the recession, well, plus . . . long story. It seems I'm good at buying high and selling low. The eventual buyer, on August 26, 2011, got a real bargain, including some brand-new beautiful wood floors and new AC units. Insane: had closing just one week after the offer and had to be out of there within a few days after that. The temps were above 100 degrees F as we were madly throwing things into vehicles. It wasn't surprising that I soon ended up with a huge case of flu—and hubby with a series of migraines—and at the same time came the massive wildfires near our new home to the north (see an upcoming post).

By the way, can you see the red-and-white for sale sign? More photos by ImageANAlogy: http://www.flickr.com/photos/imageanalogy/

This room of theirs

this room of theirs
a mishmash of themes
and colors,
photos of us kids
anchoring the decades

—A Hundred Gourds, June 2012

That day when we must begin going through decades of stuff and moving our parents to a different place may not be so far away.

photo copyright of Robert Curtis