Haiku #6 – Autumn

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Black knights joust with winds
Wings tilt against grungy sky—
Errant paper kites.

Kat Mortensen©2009

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Theme Thursday: Wind

virginballoon

Click picture for source.

 

Winded

 

I nearly went down

with that sucker-punch

you landed

just before you left

me, blinking and bereft

and blown away.

“We’re never going

to see each other

again,” you said.

Did you really think

I’d lose my head

and cry out loud

in pain?

 

I tossed and was lost

on the gusts

of anguish

for a while,

yon and thither

in the breeze,

found replacements,

yes—with ease,

but the ghost of you

was on the faces

of denial.

 

‘Til at last

I exorcised

my memories,

all too prized–

took the tangibles

and left them

at your door,

with the letter

that you wrote,

trying to stir up

that you smote–

rolled and stuffed

into a bottleneck

of yore.

 

I turned my back

and took the stairs

from your heart,

your life…your lairs

when a wind blew up

to carry me aloft.

Then my feet

left low, the ground—

in my mind

our time unwound

and your piece of me

I captured

on a waft.

 

Kathleen Mortensen©2009


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What to my wondering eyes?

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View from my front window at 7:30 a.m. April 6

snowyday 003

View from upstairs bathroom on side of house

snowyday 001

View from back door onto porch.

I wrote this poem last year at exactly this time (it was April 4th).  I just KNEW we were done with it yet!

 

Snow Job

Spring has played another joke

No flowers burst, no buds have broke

‘Gainst gusts and grippes our fires still smoke–

For Winter, us, will not unyoke.

 

Spring is just a jackanapes

Our bills get high as heat escapes

Through leaks and gaps behind the drapes–

We long for sun and scented ‘scapes.

 

Spring has bashed us with its bane

The blast blows past my bathroom pane

‘Til now we’ve managed to stay sane–

Our only hope’s the weather vane.

 

To boot, Spring’s pulled another prank

The forecasters have drawn a blank

While shov’ling yet one more snowbank–

Al Gore’s Truth’s what we can thank.

 

Spring gives us the old flim-flam

The twentieth was only sham

As lion jimmys window’s jamb–

We bide inside for promised Lamb.

 

Kathleen Mortensen ©2008

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Coping Mechanisms

Photo borrowed from Flickr

Storms

Chroma-clouds
cluster;
hovering,
harbouring
the weight of seas–
calm comes
before the blackness
and barrage.

God’s tears,released,
then the torrents,
the hailing stones,
pellets plink-plunk
on tarmac
and car-roof.

Whipped-up winds–
freight trains,
off-track
up-ending, up-rooting–
playing chess
with wooden pieces.

Bolts, vertical–
over-zealous Zeus?
Or Thor, thrashing
our humble hyggehus?

I’m avoiding
all things wet,
or metal,
just in case.

Here I cower
on lower stair,
so to sprint
to the safety
of panic room below;
my Grundig clutched,
mutters
and sputters out
a meteorological
message of hope…

‘til I crank again.

Standing by
the washing machine,
here I wait
for either light
or night.

Kathleen Mortensen©2008