lifting the veil

 

 

a tanka sonnet

 

 

no gravestone…

yes, little snowdrops, I too

must bow my head

 

ash on my fingers…

in this moth I am haunted

by my future self

 

a dark moon

on a dark pond . . .

you come to sit

at the foot of my bed–

so long since you spoke my name

 

fires of oak…

I write my name

in the dust

 

~

 the tanka, ‘a dark moon’  previously published in American Tanka, issue 18 an unencumbered sky

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13 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Paul Smith
    Oct 31, 2011 @ 11:53:04

    Yabba dabba doo! High spirits today, forgive me!!!

    Beautiful, deep, heartfelt as ever. ‘a dark moon’ a beautiful tribute!

    Reply

  2. Brian
    Oct 31, 2011 @ 16:36:47

    A perfect Samhain reflection, Claire. “[no] gravestone..ash on my fingers…future self…”. Radically honest and true.

    A part of me rejoices in our coming in and going out, in these brief seconds of the eternal coming in and going out. What do gravestones matter when all those people attached to the ancient names they bear are long forgotten? Yes, the dead exist and come to sit at the end our beds this night so long as we keep them alive by our living.

    All this beautifully, unflinchingly, expressed by Cerridwen’s wise woman (only a poet could be!), peering into her cauldron…

    Brian

    Reply

  3. Brian
    Oct 31, 2011 @ 16:39:13

    (And you do know Paul is mad, right?)

    Reply

    • Claire
      Oct 31, 2011 @ 16:49:04

      Brian,
      thanks so much for your sensitive reading of my work (as always) and yes! The way you relate to this world, the seen and the unseen, resonates deeply within me…and yes…Paul is mad 🙂

      Reply

  4. Paul Smith
    Oct 31, 2011 @ 21:12:43

    Oh yes I am!!!

    Seriously, reading the two of you, poems and comments, is a gift that I gratefully recieve.

    not a word
    spoken between us
    and yet
    the universe
    blooms…

    (for Claire & Brian… Valued companions)

    Reply

    • Claire
      Nov 01, 2011 @ 09:32:30

      tracing a curve
      into iris depths of blue
      morning twilight
      only you and the robin
      know my heart

      for Paul and Brian, friends in poetry, a world without end…

      Reply

  5. Kay Tracy
    Nov 01, 2011 @ 00:06:30

    Very nice. I like the touch of moth wing dust: “ash on my fingers…”

    That soft gray, with a hint of glimmer…

    Best,
    Kay

    Reply

  6. Kay Tracy
    Nov 01, 2011 @ 17:33:35

    I am truly touched. 🙂

    Reply

  7. Brian
    Nov 02, 2011 @ 03:04:14

    by linnet
    and lichen
    badger and brook
    are we known
    to inhabit this forest

    For Claire & Paul, my whispered kin

    Reply

  8. Paul Smith
    Nov 02, 2011 @ 20:54:44

    Brian and Claire, what beautiful poets you are. I’m honoured to stand beside you.

    Reply

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