they dragged me
to view the body
my sister
no longer larger
than her shortened life
that dream
I long to have again
the one
where I grew lamina
and my breath was fire
I find
white begonias
at my door
in pogonip fog
the vague shape of you
Showing posts with label Undertow Tanka Review. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Undertow Tanka Review. Show all posts
Friday, December 23, 2016
Thursday, June 02, 2016
Undertow Tanka Review, Issue 8, May 2016
on the verge
of here and hereafter
surely we
are not the only ones
with revenant hearts
scraps of lace
behind old windows
footfalls echo
we are bound by webs
of good intentions
of here and hereafter
surely we
are not the only ones
with revenant hearts
scraps of lace
behind old windows
footfalls echo
we are bound by webs
of good intentions
Thursday, September 03, 2015
Undertow Tanka Review, Issue 7, September 2015
the x-rays
of my flattened breasts
pressed roses
these black petals etched
with traceries of white
the sweater
mother knit for me
a rainbow
fading at the edges
her evanescent life
when we were girls
there was an unspoken rule
avoid loitering males
why was I ashamed when
he exposed himself to me
dead houseflies
litter my windowsill
blind-sided
not even compound eyes
see the way out of here
gulls nesting
on the cottage roof
fallen feathers
sprouting from my boots
today, my feet have wings
Honourable Mention
Undertow Tanka Review First Tanka Contest, 2015
of my flattened breasts
pressed roses
these black petals etched
with traceries of white
the sweater
mother knit for me
a rainbow
fading at the edges
her evanescent life
when we were girls
there was an unspoken rule
avoid loitering males
why was I ashamed when
he exposed himself to me
dead houseflies
litter my windowsill
blind-sided
not even compound eyes
see the way out of here
gulls nesting
on the cottage roof
fallen feathers
sprouting from my boots
today, my feet have wings
Honourable Mention
Undertow Tanka Review First Tanka Contest, 2015
Saturday, July 25, 2015
Undertow Tanka Review, Issue 6, July 2015
they teased me
when I was a girl
my voice
deeper than any boy's
my chest full of thunder
a spoonful
of nuclear medicine
bittersweet
too late to save my brothers
not too late to heal the world
Featured Tanka:
the breath
of a chimney hangs
in the frosty air
so many questions
you left unanswered
that phone call
all those years ago
I still see
a serpent writhing
between her fingers
an old friend
unable to say the words
hands me a note
tissue-thin and faded
he thinks he might be gay
Tuesday, July 21, 2015
Undertow Tanka Review, Issue 4, 2015
Featured Tanka Art
Editor's Comments:
"Mercurial" is a word loaded with meanings: changeable, erratic, impulsive, etc., I love it. The second line caught me by surprise, "in this turning season", I had to look closely at the artwork and notice the leafless tree, the winter season of our lives. The following lines the poet skillfully brings into focus, "my body / a weather vane tilting / in a new direction", which connect with the opening line. It is a marvellous juxtaposition and metaphor.
—Sergio A. Ortiz
Monday, July 20, 2015
Undertow Tanka Review, Issue 2, September 2014
the lady next door
a Holocaust survivor
tortured yet again
by TV news coverage
of her grandchild's suicide
she kneels
in the spangled grass
listening deeply
to the opening hymn
of a monarch chrysalis
he is fading
his teenaged daughter
keeping vigil
paints his toenails
while he sleeps
moonbeam quills
through our windows
transcribing
the grammar of shadows
into the poetry of light
we walked
through the waterfall
in moonlight
behind veils of grace
the nakedness of mountains
the slow spin
of one maple seed
d r i f t i n g
in a downward spiral
another runaway child
a dreamcatcher
hangs above our bed
in that thin place
we are lingering between
hanging on and letting go
(note: "thin place" refers to the sacred space between heaven and earth)
a Holocaust survivor
tortured yet again
by TV news coverage
of her grandchild's suicide
she kneels
in the spangled grass
listening deeply
to the opening hymn
of a monarch chrysalis
he is fading
his teenaged daughter
keeping vigil
paints his toenails
while he sleeps
moonbeam quills
through our windows
transcribing
the grammar of shadows
into the poetry of light
we walked
through the waterfall
in moonlight
behind veils of grace
the nakedness of mountains
the slow spin
of one maple seed
d r i f t i n g
in a downward spiral
another runaway child
a dreamcatcher
hangs above our bed
in that thin place
we are lingering between
hanging on and letting go
(note: "thin place" refers to the sacred space between heaven and earth)
Undertow Tanka Review, Issue 1, August 2014
f i s s u r e s
and (whose) fault lines
cracking open
we try to mend the damage
of our quaking lives
African sun
honed on a rasp of sky
leaking ichor
our hands are stained
with the blood of child-soldiers
she held
her daughter's lips
to a mirror
no baby's breath
bloomed in the garden
jellyfish
on the beach
at low tide
you still make me
weak in the knees
our years roll by
like runaway trains
gathering speed
the closer we come
to the end of the line
children
of war zones
silenced
with no legs to walk
along the path to peace
sun rays
palpate mossy loam
on the forest floor
a nursery log suckles fungi
oh, to wean myself
from you
this alchemy
of ripened clementines
and woodsmoke
the fragrance of my past
both curse and benediction
silences
or tirades cursed
every meal
we lost weight eating
degradation for dessert
the widow sinks
into depression's palette
her life's pigment
once the richest saffron
now Vincent's shade of blue
and (whose) fault lines
cracking open
we try to mend the damage
of our quaking lives
African sun
honed on a rasp of sky
leaking ichor
our hands are stained
with the blood of child-soldiers
she held
her daughter's lips
to a mirror
no baby's breath
bloomed in the garden
jellyfish
on the beach
at low tide
you still make me
weak in the knees
our years roll by
like runaway trains
gathering speed
the closer we come
to the end of the line
children
of war zones
silenced
with no legs to walk
along the path to peace
sun rays
palpate mossy loam
on the forest floor
a nursery log suckles fungi
oh, to wean myself
from you
this alchemy
of ripened clementines
and woodsmoke
the fragrance of my past
both curse and benediction
silences
or tirades cursed
every meal
we lost weight eating
degradation for dessert
the widow sinks
into depression's palette
her life's pigment
once the richest saffron
now Vincent's shade of blue
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