On Sphinx Rock

On Sphinx Rock 

sunlight catches 

two jutting crags.

Against the dark mass 

of head-shaped scrub

they gleam like fangs.

Small Black Cat

small black cat

gazes up at me
ears alert

Trying out techniques from 'IN THE WAY OF BASHO' ebook by Chevrefeuille at Carpe Diem. This one is 'shasei' (sketch): 'to depict the thing just as it is'.

Asserting Ownership

The small cat settles 

beside me on the bed,

relaxes and closes her eyes. 

It could be accidental 

when she stretches out

touching both her hind feet 

to my leg. It could be ... 

but when I shift a little,

she stretches once more, 

eyes tightly closed,

and pushes her feet firmly 

back against my leg.

Linking to the current Tuesday Platform at 'imaginary garden with real toads'

Visitors from the garden, please note that I have not changed my blog layout and title. This is a different blog from the one you are used to.

Lovely Weather for Ducks

Nothing but rain outside.

It will be like this for days

the house surrounded by darkness

(the windows look like night)

and afterwards

hordes of new mosquitos.

I cancel lunch with friends,

think I might dust the bedroom

(it looks so beautiful clean)

and find the DVD my son recently sent:

Othello, in 1990,
Ian McKellen playing Iago. 

This Time

This time

she did not run away and hide

when I tried to dab calendula cream

on the allergy spot behind her ear.

This time

she hunched on the couch beside me

and submitted,

albeit with a disgruntled face.

This time

after I was done

she got down off the couch,

licked her paw, and deliberately washed it all off.

Autumn Begins with Days of Rain

On the first dry evening

I open the door to the yard

and see in spite of the dark

the vine, as if suddenly, 

fresh green, thick with leaf.

Opening the front door

next morning, still rainless,

I confront mist: startlingly white,

wiping out hills and mountains

above the other side of the street.

TV Shows About High School KIds

Joyfully discovering Veronica Mars,

and remembering beloved Buffy, I wonder –

is it that I’m permanently adolescent,

or am I trying to recast myself, even now,
as the brave teenager I never was?

Written for Writing Ourselves Alive, week 2: Honesty