GUSTS, Number 40, Fall/Winter 2024

willows bend

to stroke the river

as it passes . . .

I caress your face

for the final time

a box of earth

on your bedside table . . .

frail hands tend

this garden that grows

for no one but you

canola fields

lit by a pink brume

of aurora . . .

harvesting can wait

for another night

GUSTS, Number 39, Spring/Summer 2024

tundra winds

are playful today . . .

a grey ball

of reindeer lichen

bounces over my feet

blue carpets

of speedwell soften

the ditches . . .

we pull over and take

a moment to breathe

 

GUSTS, Number 37, Spring/Summer 2023

flash floods

through sculpted canyons

hikers bathe

their feet in the ochre

of ephemeral rivers

dark clouds

lurking over this field

of sunflowers . . .

there is more light here

than we will ever need

 

GUSTS, Number 36, Fall/Winter 2022

round pebbles

singing at the whim

of wavelets . . .

this melody unchanged

for a thousand years

restless

as a migratory bird

I yearn

for favourable winds

to carry me home

a circle

of radiance cradling

the sun . . .

on this winter's morning

we are held again by light

 

GUSTS, Number 35, Spring/Summer 2022 - Favourite Tanka

My thanks to Joanna Ashwell for choosing the following tanka as a favourite from GUSTS 35:

leaving home

for the first time

my carpetbag

filled to bursting

with butterflies

GUSTS, Number 35, Spring/Summer 2022

a swan

with bumblefoot disease

taking flight . . .

wellsprings of hope

rise inside my breast

leaving home

for the first time

my carpetbag

filled to bursting

with butterflies

someone slept inside

this hollow log last night

blankets of moss

to keep the cold at bay,

a bird's nest for their pillow

 

GUSTS, Number 34, Fall/Winter 2021

a whirlwind

of forsythia petals . . .

your impatience

with all the little things

that stop me in my tracks

you press

your ear against

a birch's heart

come, listen to the sap

bubbling inside me

a kaleidoscope

of clearwings spinning

above the meadow

on this summer day,

I remember you

GUSTS, Number 33, Spring/Summer 2021

Honoured to have a lovely review of my collection, winner of the 2019 Sable Books International Women's Haiku Contest, in this issue. It may be accessed under The Language of Loss: Haiku & Tanka Conversations tab. My gratitude to Joanne Morcom!

my eyesight

not what it once was

but, oh

the way a rainbow blurs

into iridescence

stepping into

this snow-starred night

I take

a breath of something

that might be optimism

prairie drought . . .

the belt-buckle sun

offers no mercy,

every blade of grass

sharp as your tongue

 

GUSTS, Number 32, Fall/Winter 2020

every tide

etches its own screed

upon the sand

here and there, traces

of someone else's ashes

a string

of shabby prayer flags

in the ditch

snowflakes mending edges

where hope used to be

saucers of ice

spin their way downriver . . .

we are honed

until nothing remains except

the roundness of memory

GUSTS, Number 31, Spring/Summer 2020

the rungs
of a spider's ladder
frosted silver
I climb out of myself
into wonderment


my sisters make
angels in pollen dust . . .
spring arrives
in a haze of sneezing
and hilarity


rime ice
on every crimson leaf
this morning
a radiance of cardinals
prepares to take flight

GUSTS, Number 30, Fall/Winter 2019

bobolinks
skim the hayfields . . .
father never
expected to hear
their songs again


twisted limbs
of driftwood define
the tides . . .
I look more like you
with each passing year


you carry me
across drifts of stars,
our breath
shape-shifting
into northern lights

GUSTS, Number 29, Spring/Summer 2019

Honoured to have a lovely review of Three-Part Harmony: Tanka Verses included in this issue. It may be accessed via its tab on this blog. My gratitude to Maxianne Berger!


the gleam
of copper birches
in sunlight . . .
she wears her wounds
with gravitas


rainbows
spin from the crest
of a wave . . .
I wish we'd had more
time to say goodbye


the borrowed
identities of frogs
and butterflies . . .
sometimes she cannot
recognize my face

GUSTS, Number 28, Fall/Winter 2018

autumn winds
invade our trees
day by day
cathedral shadows
surrender to the sun


winter sunset . . .
the ice beneath
our skates
becomes a river
of molten gold


waves lap
gently upon the shores
of my sorrow . . .
she birthed me into water,
as I now deliver her

Gusts, Number 27, Spring/Summer 2018

fallen petals
spill from my basket
each one
a bruised and scented
poem for your pillow


sea spray
scattering the light . . .
you taught me
not to waste today's joy
on tomorrow's grief

Gusts, Number 26, Fall/Winter 2017

whisperings
among long-eared bats
remind me
of all the secrets
that used to be mine


wormholes
in the acorn necklaces
we made . . .
even on dark days,
small points of light


minnows flash
through silver shoals
at dusk . . .
you teach me how
to be a mermaid

Gusts, Number 25, Spring/Summer 2017

wind-sculpted
evergreens bending
but unbroken
we survive even when
our roots are washed away


the peace
that accompanies
forgiveness
after this long drought
an ecstasy of rain


every hill
buttered with celandines
her memories
return with the swallows
but fade at season's end

Gusts, Number 24, Fall/Winter 2016

snow-bent
the rushes that held nests
of marsh wrens
I close my weary eyes
and turn into a song


curls of clouds
become passerines
each autumn
the low-angled light
invites me to follow


stonescapes
along the arroyo
rain-spattered
my every bone thirsty
for one last taste of you

Gusts, Number 23, Spring/Summer 2016

a corona
around the wolf moon's eye
looking deeply
into every shadow
I touch the pulse of night


the soughing
of willows in night wind
how gentle
the songs of daughters
tending to their mother


though nothing
more than hieroglyphs
these names inked
upon ancient stones
I carry them with me

Gusts, Number 22, Fall/Winter 2015

walking through
the garden labyrinth
in reverie
I think of all roads taken
that led from there to here

Gusts, Number 21, Spring/Summer 2015

on the cusp
of my sixtieth year
I cast off
my spent carapace
in the moon-damp night


mule deer
resting in a thicket
by the slough
all over this world
the sound of guns


spring peepers
beside the swollen rill
how plaintive
the sound of longing
this anniversary night