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TANKA LIGHT


Poesie, Sandra Morgan ©2001


September 2001

PEGGY LYLES:
 

the drummer stands
with bachi raised
calligraphy
of an eagle's wingspread
against blue autumn sky
 

a waterspout
spins toward the horizon
sand scours
the words we wrote
with augur shells
 

gentle waves
he learns the word
for "bubble"
with the palms-up
shrug . . . of "gone"
 

MARIA STEYN:
 

Daisies
open along the path
yellow by yellow –
the color of this new day
loosened in my hands
 

At the fountain
bright water droplets shift
with the breeze . . .
my child leaps from the path
to catch a glittering sun
 

winter night
an unknown bird singing
in a tree
music of forgotten joys
from branch to star to branch

DEBRA WOOLARD BENDER:
 

Where frost flowered,
now fields of wild phlox
on this long road;
how far I've come only to find
one need replaces another.
 

I wonder when
the sky deepened
into night?
On layers of sadness,
a sprinkling of stars.
 

Monsieur Van Gogh,
though blue and yellow swirled
wind through stars,
did you ever realize
that colours were your soul?

CAROL PURINGTON:
 

He returns at dusk,
wild strawberries cupped pink
in his hard palm
I eat their sweetness one by one
and we talk about the day
 

Leafbuds swell
on leaf-bare trees
The hills grow round
with the softness of green
and my body curves to hold new life
 

The little ones
forget that we left behind an ocean
silver-still with moonlight
I also must forget,
must remember in a different way

DENNIS DUTTON:
 

After years away,
the woman I love
is returning in the Fall,
but fate draws me south
like a lone sandhill crane.
 

A single pine,
just below the summit
on a small ledge –
old and gnarled as it is,
it sure puts up a good fight.
 

Not even
under mortar fire
do they flinch;
the Buddhas of Bamiyan
take refuge in the dust.

ai li:
 

the death of an angel
of a calcutta slum
overshadowed by
a car crash
in europe
- [in memoriam 
Mother Theresa & Diana, Princess of Wales]
 

the girl
in an angora sweater
riding
the ferris wheel
alone
 

twilight makes
a child
of me again
i hear
my mother call

DAVID KIRKLAND:
 

Tree frogs start to sing,
and now cicadas join in –
familiar night sounds.
That creak then of the trellis
is my daughter sneaking out!
 

Suggest surrender
to sweet possibility
and eyes go askance.
So we long and hope for joy,
yet, invited, fear to dance.
 

Angels and goblins
gather outside my door –
it is Halloween.
Tomorrow I'll go to work;
some masks are not put away.

THELMA MARIANO:
 

the same boats
tethered at the marina
day after day
surely I haven't come this far
to watch the world roll by
 

only a strong wind
could free tonight's moon
buried in cloud
now it stretches and glows –
my life's purpose
 

the moon's sickle
slices the night sky
time to reap
what I have carefully grown
in my harvest of years

ANGELA LEUCK:
 

invited to dinner
you bring me apricots
out of season
the warmth of your embrace
in the winter chill
 

planting season
has come and gone
still these seeds
in a jar on my desk
next to your picture
 

you painted over
the lush green walls
of your room
the day after you go
everything touched with frost

LENARD D. MOORE:
 

rain ended
red clusters of blossoms hang
from the crepe myrtle
I wait for your arrival
as if an overdue letter
 

 in slow rain
 the swooping of starlings
 over the driveway
 the thump of your heart
 as we hug
 

 After buffet,
 we buy groceries
 this July night.
 Gentle squeeze of your hand
 down the aisle

LINDA JEANNETTE WARD:
 

mourning cloak butterfly
disturbed by my passing
floats above its spot of sun
. . . all Father left me
mindfulness of little things
 

green tree frog
perched upon my palm
. . . the man I love
delicately offering
mosquitoes
 

A darkness
i never knew existed—
this last stand of trees
becoming smoke
behind a sea of houses

CLAUDIA GRAF:
 

the farther away the mountain
the paler it seems
does my mountain
to you
also seem pale?

DONNA FERRELL:
 

The white peony,
On its curved petals
A light blush;
Remembering a spring-time—
Remembering the blossoms...
 

A summer night,
On these parched lips,
Falling dew—
If the dampness could revive
This deep and blemished love.
 

The old well—
Its stagnant water covered,
Reserved;
Its coolness used to revive
Flowers wilting in the drought.

ANGELIKA KOLOMPAR BYGOTT:
 

Silver moonlight
she lifts her hair
and scissors flash
thoughts of him
severing memories
 

The third wash
and the scent of you
faded from the pillow
i sleep alone
resigned

KIRSTY KARKOW:
 

my daughter visits—
across the family room
silences stretches
comfortably— yet I wish
for light-hearted laughter
 

blue turmoil hurls
my boat from wave to wave
all day long
shearwaters glide with ease
among the crests and troughs
 

red cabernet
casting candlelight
reflections
of past toasts to loved ones gone
and those who will outlive us

JOANNA WESTON:
 

shallow river
where swallows dart
we walk through vetch
and bilberries
to church
 

cat sprawls
at the foot of the stairs
ready for attention
    actor bows
    at the curtain call

ELIZABETH ST JACQUES:
 

strong deft strokes
of sharpened scythes  
fell september grass
    breathless and numbed
    by the pain

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