BackPocket Poems: small verse – more or less.

small verse – more or less.

Beneath the Page — June 14, 2019

Beneath the Page

“Beneath the page is another story. Beneath the page is everything that has ever happened, most of which you would rather not hear about.
The page is not a pool but a skin, a skin is there to hold in and it can feel you touching it. Did you really think it would just lie there and do nothing?”
‘The Page’
Margaret Atwood

Carpe Diem #1683 Troiku Month (12) White Valley Clouds — June 18, 2019

Carpe Diem #1683 Troiku Month (12) White Valley Clouds

inspired by this verse

after the rain
breathing deeply
white valley clouds

© Jane Reichhold 

after the rain
walking barefoot
tickled wet toes

breathing deeply
sweet clover mists –
drifting on a dreamy sea

white valley clouds
these little dragon puffs
spinning sugar candy in my mouth

©Backpocket Poems – Wildchild47

Carpe Diem #1682 Troiku month (11) The Wind Of Fuji —

Carpe Diem #1682 Troiku month (11) The Wind Of Fuji

inspired by this verse

the wind of Fuji
I’ve brought on my fan
a gift from Edo

© Basho

the wind of Fuji
this ancient language
mystical exhalation

I’ve brought on my fan
a songbird’s joy
as soft as cherry blossom petals

a gift from Edo
like a clear running stream
carrying it within my skin

©Backpocket Poems – Wildchild47

featured image: Asakusa Honganji temple in the Eastern capital by
Katsushika Hokusai – part of the series “Thirty-six views of Mount Fuji” 

Dear Monday #2 — June 17, 2019

Dear Monday #2

Dear Monday,

You’ve shaken off your sodden cloak       and I raise my sleepy head to marvel at the dandelions, rising from their beds, now in seed; these perfect pods, how did they survive the battering rains, the deluge of not quite 40 days. Closing their petals, in prayer, fingers laced, oh these delicate filament traces, waiting on ___ the wind.
Their surreal glow, so rounded and full, firm for their alien eyes in this sandy, scraped land of interminably green — Light-up Lollipops! Sugar spun candy floss. I’d like to brush my teeth with them.

So what quest have we, dear Monday? Of what promise to do you speak, as we walk towards the longest day of the year, this week? How can I figure-eight around this conundrum, the absurdity of lengthening and then within a breath, shortening. Losing a minute of daylight per day! This seems unconscionable to set the table, as we are able, only to declare we must dine, by candlelight, when Summer has just begun. But time, like the nasty pest, ticks itself on. Oh, Monday, where is the court of appeal? I have a bone to pick.

And what would you make of it, if I said: A Day is only a minute long.
Imagine —
Precisely what would you say, if you only had 60 seconds, — hurry, no delays! The sum of it all — in this brief breath – these strange drawn-out, lazy days, if life wasn’t 24 hours, not 86400 seconds,       but simply 1 minute.
Now, don’t tell me to hold on, — there isn’t time, and this promises to be a fine day, once I’ve wrung out my socks, and flossed, and donned a smock of bug spray, as deterrent for their happy appetites – I’m clearly delicious, but Monday, how I wish I might just consider, something other than loss.



Time’s a thief, – so is pain, sorrow and grief, and I’d much rather not play this hand; I’m not an ostrich with my head in the sand, – it’s too sticky wet anyhow, but I can’t help but feel dissuaded to trek to Summer’s temple, for within the next breath, it’s all going to hell, on the tortoise’s back –

today I am
balled sock fluff,
waiting to be picked off, tossed into the wind
– it’s a Zen thing,      dear Monday
leave a message,            maybe.

©Backpocket Poems – Wildchild47

Carpe Diem Weekend Meditation #89 Extreme Haibun … rain — June 16, 2019
Carpe Diem #1681 Troiku Month (10) moonlit night — June 15, 2019

Carpe Diem #1681 Troiku Month (10) moonlit night

Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.
Matthew 6:34

inspired by this verse

the wild geese take flight
low along the railroad tracks
in the moonlit night

© Masaoka Shiki

the wild geese take flight
silver black threads
sooty smudged in the sky

low along the railroad tracks
a killdeer runs
pebbles glisten from the rain

– in the moonlit night
a man tramps his way
whistlin’ a prayer for the morrow’s day

©Backpocket Poems – Wildchild47

featured image: Under a railway bridge across the Weavers’ Way. © Evelyn Simak CC BY-SA 2.0

Sufficient unto the day are the evils thereof. Graffiti under bridge – carrying Church Road across the Weavers Way long distance footpath. The phrase originates from Matthew 6:34 – “Be not therefore anxious for the morrow: for the morrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.”

The Weavers’ Way is 61-mile (98 km) long distance footpath in Norfolk, England. The name refers to the cloth industry which was once of high importance in the area, prior the industrial revolution. 

Killdeer: A precocious little bird who runs into new experiences with its eyes wide open. One who gets along with those who are different and takes advantage of the opportunities these encounters provide. When you approach an adult the killdeer it may suddenly develop a broken wing. It struggles in front of you, as if it can barely walk, let alone fly. One or both wings drag pitifully on the ground. Somehow, while struggling to keep its balance, the killdeer manages to stay one step ahead of you. As you pursue it, the killdeer leads you farther and farther away from its downy killdeer babies crouching on the ground or half hidden under a tiny bush. When the killdeer feels that the young are safe from you, its broken wing heals suddenly, and the bird flies away, calling a loud “KILL-DEE” that sounds like a jeer.

walking after midnight —
Carpe Diem #1680 Troiku Month (9) Pink Flowers Bloom —

Carpe Diem #1680 Troiku Month (9) Pink Flowers Bloom

inspired by this verse

pink flowers bloom
between green dewy leaves
a double peony


pink flowers
as far as man can see –
purple sea

between green dewy leaves
hides a little green frog
for the blue heron

a double peony
in full bloom in my garden –
a dawning sun

© Chèvrefeuille


a fair maiden’s blush
pink honeysuckle laughs
under a strawberry moon



a fair maiden’s blush
is this slow strip tease
as ants tickle dance her skin

pink honeysuckle laughs
as naked-bottom bees drink
champagne fireflies light the night

under a strawberry moon
an invitation to fête
oh! this sweet hummingbird’s kiss

©Backpocket Poems – Wildchild47

Carpe Diem #1679 Troiku Month (8) spiderweb — June 14, 2019
Carpe Diem #1678 Troiku Month (7) Unlocked Fence — June 11, 2019

Carpe Diem #1678 Troiku Month (7) Unlocked Fence

Haiku suite inspiration:

unlocked fence
walking towards the countryside
finally free

brown leaves
rustle through the corridor
David’s Star rises

closing the garden
no one to disturb my thoughts –
Virginia Creeper

© Chèvrefeuille

this wound

this unlocked fence
promises the kiss of ground to sky
delivering a dove’s breath

walking towards the countryside
an olive tree’s branch leans –
memories drop as scarlet blossoms

finally free
breathing the scent of lily-of-the-valley
a cluster of hyacinths marks a grave


where brown leaves nest
on the edge of a woodland
a nighthawk blends in

rustling through this corridor
as green shoots push towards heaven
field mice dream beneath the earth

when David’s Star rises
the eastern front has fallen
no more heroes left behind –

closing the garden gate
the scent of freshly turned earth greets
a ghosted figure kneeling

no one to disturb my thoughts –
I stand vigil in the dying light
waiting for this spell’s release

Virginia Creeper’s hold
twining up to open Love’s eyes
immortal as heaven’s embrace, this loss

©Backpocket Poems – Wildchild47

Grahame Wood —

Grahame Wood

His biography read:
He had four profound loves in life.
Hannah Shirley.
The Collected works of Edgar Allen Poe.
He painted his most unique masterpiece in 1910.
Title: Canadian Gothic.
Artist: Grahame Wood.
Simple Prairie Farmer.
Born: 1888
Died: 1922
Crushed by a tractor.

(46 words) 280 characters for Twittering Tales #140

©Backpocket Poems – Wildchild47

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