THE GIFT YOU GAVE ME WAS AS DARK AS A PIECE OF COAL/ dVerse

THE GIFT YOU GAVE ME WAS AS DARK AS A PIECE OF COAL

you shared your perspective     not that it was asked for           after       

                                                                           all i had no idea

i was in need of it              could use it                   funny how that is

you said it yourself            many people…          many many people

think their perspective the only one    the right one        and surely     
                                                                             you do too

it isn’t always true             you meant well             for my own good

still you didn’t ask me       do you have a reason   why it works for 
                                                                              for you

why do you choose            to do it that way          still it seems

the gift you gave                 is a dark one                but there is 
                                                                         beauty in the dark

much to be learned           in the shadows      you have given me that  
                                                                             opportunity

a gift indeed         tied with black crepe       i would not have known       

had no way to know      you broadened my view     it was your gift 

you opened my eyes     and thrust it into my heart          as if to kill

May 30, 2017

It is amazing to realize that no two perspectives are exactly alike. We each see a unique world and experience a unique lifetime. Remaining open to the stories of others allows us to tap into many, many lifetimes.  –Branaird Carey

"Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness.  It took me years to understand that this too, was a gift."  Mary Oliver
                    

dVerse/ Haibun Monday

I cannot remember the date, the year, or season.  Was it so long ago? I know it was more than three years ago.  Together, two peas in a pod, as we have always been.  Something happened, the platter was broken.  The story untold. 

We stopped at a thrift store, and the broken platter was on a table outside.  Priced too high.  But still I liked it, blue and white, like the New Mexico sky.  It was badly repaired, hardened thick glue oozing out of the cracks, dried into place. I picked up the platter, even broken a real jewel.  I asked, and sure enough, the people were appalled by the price on the tag, said it was wrong and quoted a price I could afford.  The treasure was mine, little did I know it would foretell the future, our relationship would be broken just like the platter, badly repaired.  And like Humpty Dumpty couldn’t be put back together again.  The crack would always visible, no amount of gold would make it whole again.

New Mexico blue sky/white clouds

Broken into two

No amount of gold would do

Note:  Like my platter, my Haiku was not perfect. 

THE SAME SAD SONG --SUNDAY'S WHIRLIGIG

Sunday's Whirligig

THE SAME SAD SONG

snow obscures the image     the picture isn’t clear               for all the huffing and puffing

in the cornfield maze                       the way forward                                            obscured

go in circles                            incapable                                           of finding the way

                       

even the road less traveled       no longer visible                     at the edge of the field we stand          

           

we find traces                        of those who have gone before                   follow the path

innocents all                          pursuing life’s path                          knap sack full

a marriage of convenience       the pilgrim and the journey                     long or short

the songbird                          in his yellow dress                             feathers a deep green

 confined to his cage              sings the same sad song                              all day long

May 27, 2017

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The Sunday Whirl/ Wordle #301

               I HAVE STOPPED PRETENDING I AM A FARMER

i breathe in the morning                       in all of its’ quietude             the barking dogs/quiet

perhaps they are still sleeping               no cars can be heard                below in the valley

it is memorial day                     is everyone quietly remembering          his own special memory

no church bells peel…yet                     still early                          at last the season has changed

first of summer                        no longer cold                             still, it snowed twice last week    

time to get out and about          hike the trails                           skipping stones

blue water reflecting                 blue new mexico sky                grass is growing in my garden

since i have stopped pretending            i am a farmer               i have decided i like grass

and weeds                                they grow strong                       and take what they need

without assistance                     my kitty likes them                   he thinks it is his own jungle

he crouches in the grass            crack                                        he snaps out

catnip grows in the garden        in the overlapping weeds          what fun he has

he is hunting                            and in his mind’s eye                he is in africa

the big game hunter      he seems to make up his story as he goes along        crack

he pops up                               runs to the wall                        scales it in one leap

runs up the post                       and back down again               for all the world

he looks like he is having fun   risking life and limb                 for the game

water seeps from the faucet/the plants i planted last year       are crimped and squeezed

the grass and weeds take charge            others have to ask permission/all is a little unruly

May 28, 2017