Burn

Flint/strike consonants
kindle my tongue
till flames lick the vowels
and my lips burn
with your name.

At Real Toads, Dr. Hisashi Nakamura is sharing his thoughts on the writing of tanka.

Lady Of The Longest Light

My Lady of the Longest Light,
you've stretched out the noon
to the edge of that awful acre
between the night and moon

where darkness creeps the silence
like a dream slips into sleep
and takes the flesh of sunset
firm between its teeth.

My Lady of the Longest Light,
you fret the unthreshed row.
You worry the wheat, worry the chaff;
but, you can let it go

and leave these labors to the living
harvest of your years.
Rest easy; for you, lady,
night shall hold no fear.

A harvest moon ballad for Real Toads and dVerse.

Wrath Of A Minor God

River, run a little deeper.
River, run a little faster.
River, take the teeth I give you
and chew the bank to bones.

River, eat the sand that's offered.
River, sip the sorrow proffered.
Then River, by my will and water,
let the faithless sink like stones.

For some reason, I've always found the entire concept of minor gods hilarious.  How can a god be minor?  Anyway, the Celts had a plethora of local gods (god of this lake, god of that tree, etc.).  This is written from the point of view of a minor river god with a major attitude.  And, it's for Kerry's challenge at Real Toads.

Six Of Seven

Six of seven sunshines
blind me.
Six of seven midnights
find me
moonless;
tuneless;
but crooning to you anyway

for if the sixth of seven notes
should carry
on wary winds
round the very curve of the earth

it would make it worth

the noise I make.

For Open Link Monday at Real Toads

Mud Mouth

art by Kathryn Dyche Dechairo

I prayed to the moon.

I prayed to the trees.

I prayed till the skin
sloughed right off my knees,

and my tongue hung like parchment -

bleached of its blood -

a wick for the river,

a wick for the mud.

For Grace's challenge at Real Toads