found.poetry.nj | diffident darshan

Diffident Darshan

forms of conversion
living in the knot garden
an epicenter

rooms filled with wonder
when she spoke and named fire
wooden blocks tumbled

eggs lost in the lake
word wounds and water flowers
another autumn

early breakfast-time
snatches of invisible
poetique critiques

seek a new songbook
arising melodic chords
clef deconstruction

synthetic closeness
open correspondence books
eternal cities

crossing the night marsh
lizard light from middle earth
big turtle blessing

mothers’ reflections
shadow play with night haiku
upstaged reviews

this collective world
last call for deliverance
spending ghost money

in temples and fields
only afterimage as
small May Day mercies

bitter memories
many haunted years later
those classic sonnets

uneaten carrots
temptation feeds us nothing
and water atones

even the red dress
argues against perfection
as she hits her mark

she leaves glory land
and moves into wilderness
with her white candle

panic attacks then
mimics whatever men want
watching the bears dance

mercy justifies —
ripples, saps another life
as death releases

unleashed anger
smashes through doors and windows
takes us all hostage

retrieving the skull
from the forest of wild hands
voices shutter wind

unravel the rope
risk drinking from the old well
just not as deeply

suns set on gunfire
not so much fun as before
thus, inklings of hope

nappy edges seam
broken pieces of the moon
looking for wholeness

only for the eyes
of one long-forgotten friend
polite poetics

her green piano
journeys onto continents
tracking the serpent

both sides of the wall
burn candles in memory
feed dogs in the dark

drunk on a glacier
threading our rusted needles
talking to flies

then the bard owl hoots
above voices underneath
yellow harvest moons

women walk about
emboldened by tambourines
shaking red bracelets

the hermit’s journal
full of visions, tales, love songs
with no boundaries

morning passages
append the earth’s transition
adjust timetables

islands drenched in light
sing mean ol’ badger blues
as we cross the street

yet here at the door
quiet feelings stand alone
while souls are sleeping

out by the longhouse
faces of fear reinvent
wildflower walkers

satori returns
its own song to the rooftops
words vault over walls

. . . . .

poet: susan.powers.bourne
process: augmented cento haiku

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