Written
for JD Mader’s writing blog – check in at 2minutesgo and start writing.
on
out,
slide
inside in.
lightly
aloft,
bumble
soft dance.
light,
revoke
night’s pin-point.
On.
Off.
Light’s
suggestive spark.
A
paw.
A
toe. Impromptu.
rose,
pearl
ears
of snow.
blue
scales,
shaken
jagged pieces.
selves,
empty
cusks,
dishevelled shells.
snakes,
eels,
eats
hexagon hearts.
Endurance
An axe could strike right through it.
Shackles off, here lies exploration’s tomb,
speckles from a purpled moon,
nimble stars set the black seas alight.
a scarlet flare to light this endless verve.
Fireworks in the midst of miles of nothing,
only blue ice in kindest verisimilitude.
Where all the seekers have come to see,
there is now only silence struck.
linger the memories of the escaped crew,
cases etched with their unique histories,
rusted hinges keeping their secrets kept.
We learn nothing from their outside shields,
sanded down in the wide Weddell Sea.
a symbol of the Heroic Age crushed, and we
final-check our gear, deep dive into the wall,
a Narnia beneath the waves. Emptiness engulfs.
We swim as fish through the ribs of the body,
their pristine timbers yawning under pressure.
imagine the intrepid men who manned the ship
drifting past as shadowed dreams, where now
suckered anemones, sea lilies and starfish cling
to their stately home, a-shimmer in technicolour,
hearing the beating heart of a better world.
Prompt from NaPoWriMo.net: a hay(na)ku consists of a three-line
stanza, where the first line has one word, the second line has two words and
the third line has three words.
12 hay(na)ku
the
line,
read in
between.
chaotic
reload,
unkempt
arctic smile.
connecting
in,
pure beat
sublime.
so
figured,
redrawing
twisted circles.
clover emeralds,
unbonded,
lucked out.
fulfilling
birth,
wavering
eternal wanderings.
A call.
Empathic
mnemic overload.
High
stakes.
Play
your hope.
Crossed.
Exchanged.
Gathered
in recall.
Shifters.
Shadows
creep in
switchback.
wind catching,
spirals
circling free.
Touch.
Part.
Wonder the
moment.
Wander lust
She cannot find in looking,
dusts down these scarlet echoes unlived,
so out of steam, bereft and sold,
in a cage of ages etched in gold.
Plucked from a single straw,
the broomstick flinches close,
beats against the witching post.
Open the windows wide,
let the present wander in,
flood the walls in faery fire,
seek the things that will never tire.
We ring the leaves & bells tonight,
dare to dance barefoot wild,
this enigmatic moon beguiled.
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, July 7, 2024
