Showing posts with label tanshi. Show all posts
Showing posts with label tanshi. Show all posts

Friday, August 30, 2024

#DebbieMStrangeBookmarkGratitudeProject, 2023-2024

To mark my tenth year of publishing (2013-2023), I made over 200 bookmarks and sent them to editors around the world who have been supportive of my work. I used a variety of techniques for this labour of love, such as collage, painting, mono-printing, or photography from my abstract series, "The Poetry of Light" (all the images from this exhibition can be accessed under the exhibition tab of this blog).

I am forever grateful for all the encouragement I have received over the years. Though I've been writing songs, stories, and poetry since childhood, I didn't start taking it "seriously" until my first haiku acceptance from the esteemed poet, an'ya, which changed the course of my writing life.

I have dedicated five hours a day to writing and making art over the course of this last decade. This daily meditative practice has helped mitigate the debilitating effects of chronic illness, allowing me focus on joy rather than pain!

Thousands of my poems and artworks have now been published in hundreds of journals internationally and translated into many languages, and several books of my work have been released. This journey has enriched my life beyond measure, and has exceeded my wildest dreams!

I couldn't have done any of this without the staunch support of my husband, family, friends, and the global community of short-form poets who welcomed me into the fold. There are not enough words to convey my gratitude and love. I am indeed blessed!


(note: please click on the image to enlarge it for better clarity)
 

Monday, February 19, 2024

The Bamboo Hut, Number 1, February 2024

Delighted to have the following artworks selected for this issue. My thanks to the editor, Steve Wilkinson!




 

Saturday, September 30, 2023

The Bamboo Hut, Number 2, September 2023

Happy to have the following artworks featuring topical one line poems included in this issue:







 

Fevers of the Mind Poetry, Art & Music, Issue 7: Bare Bones Writing II, 2023

Happy to have the following ekphrastic poem, written in response to a photo prompt by Ankh Spice, selected for this print anthology:


scald


this is the way
it comes for you
in the end
a valkyrie sun astride
the mountain's obsidian back
mercury swans and planets
laying claim to the words
of your bioluminescent suffering

Wednesday, September 06, 2023

Failed Haiku - A Journal of English Senryu, Vol. 8, Issue 93, September 2023

My thanks to editor Hemapriya Chellappan for selecting the following haiga:


(note: this poem was longlisted for the 2023 Trailblazer Contest)



Sunday, October 16, 2022

The Bamboo Hut, Number 2, October 2022

My thanks to the editor, Steve Wilkinson, for including the following two of my "weirdling" artworks for this issue:




 

Monday, September 12, 2022

Friday, July 02, 2021

The Bamboo Hut, Number 2, 2021

small(holding)


crab-apple wine
the dance floor dad built
in the orchard

the scent of hay
wafts over our pasture . . .
we breathe deeply

wheat gum
our laugh lines etched
with dust

a slice of moon
dangles from the auger . . .
rusty combine

barren fields
the scattered bones
of our farm

the jangle
of a tin roof leaving home . . .
desolate prairie 









Monday, April 16, 2018

The Bamboo Hut, Spring/Summer 2018

Summering


sidewalk cafes
bloom on city corners
we plant
our winter bones
in any patch of sun

jazz concerts
in the sculpture garden
smooth strains
of tenor saxophone
waft across the river

the tangy scents
of propane and bug spray
permeating
these summer evenings
faint drifts of laughter

salsa dancing
under the canopy
bodies bend
to Latin rhythms
on this sultry night

we celebrate
our cultural diversity
all summer
street vendors tempt us
to eat and drink the world

Saturday, June 03, 2017

The Bamboo Hut, Spring 2017

arts and crafts
glitter sparkles throughout
the galaxies


the songs
of an eldritch choir
lure me
to the precipice
but I do not look down


Night Terrors

we don't go
downtown anymore
it's not safe
for women and girls
of any age, every colour

shots fired
another child dies
for a debt
her chalk outline
macabre street art


Tuesday, October 18, 2016

VerseWrights, 2016



The Bamboo Hut, Autumn 2016

believing
you were my bellwether
I followed
every footstep sinking
deeper into the mire


where are you
my fair-weather friend
have you left
for sunnier climes
grown weary of my rain


at the first
slow swell of violins
these tears
that seep into my mouth
and quench my thirst


inheriting
her jewellery chest
I wonder
about the secrets
she had yet to tell


calluses
on my fingertips
musical scars
that bleed every time
I strum our duet


at the base
of this volcano
cinnabar
our pilgrim cheeks blaze
with revelation


don't sell me
anti-ageing creams
the lines
upon this canvas
my life's masterstrokes


over time
every mountain
sinks back
into the ocean
as must we all





Thursday, June 02, 2016

The Bamboo Hut, Spring 2016

even when
you came home early
blood-spattered
with glass in your hair
I never saw this coming


though my feet
have never trod upon
that fair isle
they know it better
than these dirty streets


the times
that are the hardest
give way
to those that soften
this, I tell myself


when, at last
we turn to dust and bone
my hair
an eternal waterfall
will still flow over you


rose thorns
and twists of barbed wire
you trace
my body's deep scars
until I believe

Saturday, September 19, 2015

The Bamboo Hut, Autumn 2015

a washboard road
woven between fallow fields
leads me backward
to a past so much smaller
than I had remembered


Irish dancers
their lightning steps flash
emerald-bright
phosphorescent waves
thunder at my feet


wrecking balls
expose long-held secrets
underneath
these crumbling facades
we are masterpieces


painting
my body with woad
I succumb
to the strange allure
of melancholia


scavenging
in the "nuisance ground"
black bears
catching the scent of me
catching the sight of them


note:  "nuisance ground" is a term used for a rubbish dump near a small town


On the Strand


our beach wedding
ribbons of dreams fluttering
from the old boat's mast

the singing sands
on a wind-strummed beach
you murmur my name

wet beach towels
we dance a fandango
in the hot breeze