10 + 1 Featured Deviants!

It's a pre-Valentine's for 10 + 1 deviants on my friends watch. Drawn from a hat *coffs* in no particular order, the following people are being featured here to thank them for being friends, for being wonderful in so many ways, and to show them that I'm glad for the fact of them and their talents. Over the years, a number of people have featured me and so it's about time I return the gesture to those I know (I wish I could feature you all!). Without further ado, please visit the following folks and give them your support if you don't already:


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Monsoon“But let there be no scales to weigh your unknown treasure”
-Kahlil Gibran
I paint her not in words
but in rain…
Zen on the roof
of a haiku world
Nothing chivalrous,
sex just happens
relentless demand in Saturn’s grip
Venus…
Harmony and chaos
have virtually vanished,
stripping us to the four winds
and martian fancy.
Sleep deprived
We are vagabonds,
dim and fanciful
in a celestial crowd.
Who knows if this war has a creative effect?
God? The devil?
Unimportant
A question for the pit
of Pandora’s Box
We share a single eye.
Perhaps it is appropriate.
The will of the gods
and a drunkard’s song.
Immortalized forever in a single stone. July 2008 Haiku WrimoJuly 1st
gentle dusk-
a moth just short
of lamplight
July 2
in a place
only my lover would know...
mosquito bite
July 3rd
fertility shrine
the woodpile covered
in ants
July 4th
taoist moon-
her rising giggle
after sex
July 5th
thunder clap-
the hurried jingle
of goat bells
July 6th
canned peach-
an inbox love note
unread
July 7th
endless heat-
a gnat cloud splits
in two
July 8th
      summer
        dark
          in
         the
       space
     between
       renga
         us
July 9th
moon phase-
a week's goatee
in the sink
July 10th
stillness an eternity of cicada song
July 11th
stardust-
spiderlings burst
into twilight
July 12th
fighting pose-
ancient saguaro
at dawn
July 13th
inn
MidnightI remember my first geisha sighting…
Falling from the night, her robes were
splashed with ochre, and periwinkles.
Pink chrysanthemums
in jet black hair.
A fleeting, imperfect,
accidental beauty.
I am giddy.
We start with a gentle hello
then comes the dance
low slung in her hips
moving her arms in a studied grace
It is hard not to pay attention
to the small stuff
the secret gardens
rain is in the air
We’re not a literal people,
but I lose myself.
We write in
ritualistic cadence
and she becomes
the dark, naked grapevines
of early spring.
Every morning
I open my eyes.
It is a Zen notion
A reflection
Here is a place where the dragon can rest.






Where No One Will SeeWhere No One Will See
Bringing water
up in stained palms
cupped just above the rocks
where it almost fell
the water, nothing more
nearly lost to weeds there
but to my mouth instead
made open to taste more
than heat off stones
the stones, nothing more
I nearly forget to drink –
my shirt torn and me left
kneeling like a stone breaker
as if I only had a moment. IncantationIncantation
In the second half of day,
while the sun is watching rice stems
climb into afternoon heat, eager
for their taste of the rain-hungry wind,
and the Longclaw’s yellow throat
is only just beginning to pause,
unable to find its song for the Ugali
thickening beside plates of evening stew,
the mud-slime will pull its hardest
at the blur of her feet – even as she sees
she has no room to sprint
upland, desperate
eyes wet as the new edge of bone,
her mother not following behind
but fighting to barricade the door
against men who’ve come
without their hearts
to hunt her daughter, to gouge
and saw at her snow skin,
wanting her most terribly
below the knees – her albino legs
a prize to be torn and taken for luck
across the border into Kenya
where she will be shaped into charms
cast for wealth and good promise.
In the second half of day
I will hate the sun
more than anything –
the sun that does not burn a path
behind a running girl, the sun
that does nothing more
Making Silencemaking silence
but if it’s different here – in these lines –
not wrong exactly, but the sky less graveled by clouds
or one man standing beside the tree instead of three
gathering to work the jaws of their hands
in muscular conversation – if the windows
watch from between phrases, not as short of breath
from squeezing in all they can of the street
skipping along under cars and the season’s
first rain – if I change
the odd detail or two, trimming
the more of that to add the less of this,
allowing your eyes’ rummaging to find
a hoped for touch of sun in the never-sad air –
if I change it to be less of what you recognize
from your own day –
let it be thought a kindness more
than some conceit and still, every bit, hold it
even as the memory it has to change
to keep the same.


Auctioneer's Song
Who'll buy this bedding?
Holy Toledo!
It's nice, it's clean, it's folded!



A New Year Haiku Collectionnew year -
smashing bottles
at the recycling bin
little thief
she rolls the egg
with dainty paws
paper wrapped
fish and chips
- falling snow
grey skies
the best of the day
in bed
frying bacon
the meter reader's
insistant knock
on the bench
a mismatched pair
of wellies
frosted grass
the cheerful song of
the icecream van



Moon Birds.Woodcocks returning from the moon,
In black flocks you speckle the sky,
Hast'ning down to dapple the snow
Because you miss the whiteness so
Of the moon, your loving maiden.
Please, teach us her ancient wisdom,
The seeds you've gleaned all summer long;
Initiate us in the ways
Of the goddess of bygone days,
Of the moon, your loving maiden. Spring kills winter.Spring fell in love with winter's quiet,
with his long, white robes of wisdom,
with the hoar-frost of experience in his hair.
Spring took winter's cold hand
with her warmth and her youth,
with her smiling, her laughter, her wonder.
Winter felt his heart beat fast
beneath his icy chest;
felt the frozen memories begin to melt.
Winter's passions rose again:
rivers of vanquished snow;
he took spring in his arms and loved her.
Spring took winter's love in her warm hand:
everything she touched grew green;
blossoms fell like sleet.
Spring turned her head and saw summer's smile,
let go of winter's hand,
walking away from him forever.







Winter Againdescends, the final
traveler in autumn’s close
a leaf touches snow Last Words of a Drowning Soulwho is this person
who casts a weary glance
outside the window?
who is this man who shuns
the light of more than suns,
their destructive forces with spots
bursting from the surface; a tumult.
with fire; arms outstretched,
how could he refuse
their deadly embrace?
take away the shadows from the
corners of the room.
the demons lurk there.
the voices whispering in the
dead of night, without cadence,
a cacophony of murmurs with
accusations hidden in their words.
punish the guilty; punish the wicked.
they encroach upon me when i cower.
they consume me when i fail to
brace myself for the embrace of night.
i beheld the moon just like a voyeur.
i beheld the world as though i
belonged to it; as though there was a
caress and an embrace within
strangers passing by.
but darkened eyes and a silent tongue
are all i have to offer them.
they walk away and gaze upon
my countenance no more.
who is this person?
i scarcely recognize his haunted gaze.
i hardly know what manner of possession
forces the one






And stay tuned for my next journal update -- the winter HaikuWriMo 2009 is fast approaching!

January 1: bekkia has compiled comments by various writers, and was so very kind to include me in this august group, for a dA news article newly posted entitled "What Do You Wish You'd Known?" Check the favourite news section here on my page and go see what we all had to say. I loved reading everyone, and was delightfully enlightened as anyone would be.

October 18: I profess my love for this brand new avatar made for and given to me by our extremely talented haijin/graphics artist, John Shioli. Thank you so much, John, it captures the energy that we mutually have for astronomy (having studied it, too). It's stunning, a perfect match with my lit-banner; both making use of deep space Hubble photos, and your classic knowledge and skill! ...Our RetroZombie... my tick mate...
...how fortunate the lit community is to have him (wearing more than one hat as he does)--this kind, caring, and generous man who is dedicated in his craft, and devoted to raising his two children of special needs. And still had time to participate in my senryu workshop!

September 21st-October 5th was when I was honored to host a workshop for the first time - the topic, "senryu", an aggressive concept of Japanese poetry based off of the gentler style of haiku. I thank everyone who participated and who also helped spread the word before, during, and afterwards. The turnout was enthusiastic, and we all learned from the results!

August was filled with much to write about, including the very first "poem" I ever wrote for Laurence Stacey's "found" poetry workshop! Not only was I proud of what I submitted, it showed both host & participants a miriad of fine examples how this unusual & fun style of poetry could be approached!

July 28: Hey, I've got a tick, I'm ticked... a senior! I thank the powers-that-be! I'm in good company too, with the following seniors chosen the same time: RetroZombie, MSJames, WineWriter, feetpeet, synconi, & fllnthblnk! Does this mean I start collecting my retirement?

July 16th: It was out of the blue and a wonderful surprise- three of my pieces featured: Shibari Haiku Renga | April Tanka Collection | Middle of the Night -- I'm very honored!

</b>is a proud member of & and...
SAMBURU dA TRIBE RULES!





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