Friday, May 22, 2020

bear creek haiku: Angelee Deodhar, Anthony Ward, Kelley Jean White (her kitties Hank, Mo, and Sassy), Douglas J. Lanzo, John McDonald, Sarah Mahina Calvello, S. L. Peeran, Jo Balistreri, and, Jessica Rigney...

Embracing memories and presence of Angelee Deodharcreator of haiga from and for her innumerable world-wide friends and loved ones...

Noble assistant editor Kitty Kali, mewing, "Mister Editor, since that's your poem, 
it should now say fifty years a wanderer!"

Hmmm, well... the sooner we move on, the sooner we'll all have our special treats... 

poet Anthony Ward, Durham, England...

           I’m in the blue
           Not drowning
           But soaring

poet and dear friend Kelley Jean White,
her rescued kitties Hank, Mo, and Sassy:

"the kittens are galloping around in the background this evening...  
            they've turned into little purr balls!"  

                 poet Douglas J. Lanzo,
                 Chevy Chase, Maryland...

              Pink water lilies
              Buffeted by garden winds
              Flowered sails aloft

                    Red-crowned cranes duet
                    Paired partners welcoming spring
                                                     Invited to dance

           ...again, the ever-present friendship of Angelee Deodhar...


           poet John McDonald, Edinburg, Scotland, and, in Scots
                                            (the language of Robert Burns)...

           on the strand      throuch ma gairden   oot frae the haar 
           daw-pentit          heiven's watter intae the haar              
           chuckies            ...throuch me           hern snuves

            on the shore       through my garden    out from the mist            
            dawn-painted      heaven's river          ...and into the mist        
            pebbles              ...through me           heron glides

           poet Sarah Mahina Calvello, San Francisco, California...

      What might have been        Funny what you remember
      Years flow like water        Chrysanthemums in water as perfume
      Unkept garden                Trees sway gently

     poet S. L. Peeran,
                 Bengaluru, India...

     Fragrance in my heart
     A petal falls, a bird calls
     Dew drops melt away

         New found peace

     The famed astro-prediction 
     Of WW-3 turned out
     To be Covid virus-19
     For universal lock down.

     For deep introspection 
     To clean the environment 
     To unite the world
     For regeneration 

     For re-evaluation 
     To charter a new course
     To open new chapters 
     In the destiny of each Nation.

 poet Jo Balistreri,
            Waukesha, Wisconsin...


    trellises of trumpet vines
    bamboo clacking in the wind
    the thin blue cast
    of a skimmed milk sky
                                                 Praise this day that beckons
 scoops me into its net
                                                  this spacious silence
                                                  this joy that is morning

                      poet Jessica Rigney, Boulder, Colorado...

                    It begins at the spine and lips, you see --
                                                              A galaxy.

             ...for Angelee Deodhar, and to all, the safest, best of days...

see you in a moment...

               and, you can mail your poetry to:

                bear creek haiku
                PO Box 596
                Longmont, CO
                (SASE's are appreciated)

From other than the USA, email to and/or 

Last!  If you choose to send poetry via email from within the US,
                                    that's ok, too (again, include postal address)

Tuesday, May 19, 2020

poet Kelley Jean White loving and cherishing Hank, Mo, and Sassy... and! Teresinka Pereira, Steve Ausherman, normal, Nancy L. Dahl, t. kilgore splake, and, our own Jo Balistreri!

from dear friend Kelley Jean White...  "My daughter found this family on Sunday living under the porch of an abandoned house on her block. Not so lonely at my house now. . ."

    At the moment they are Hank (gray kitten, boldest, biggest, and thus first 'caught', but he might actually be Hannah as we're not sure of their sexes). I named him after Hank Williams as 'I'm so lonesome I could cry' was playing on the radio when I brought him home and we weren't sure we'd be able to capture the others. Then along came Mo (unisex name!) named after King Moe, a distinguished tuxedo cat adopted by a friend from a feral colony in West Virginia. And the littlest, with tabby markings was finally caught the next day and named Sassy by my granddaughter. (I suppose that name can go either way too.)

       poet Teresinka Pereira, Ottawa Hills, Ohio...

POEM TO CELEBRATE LIFE                                           
Our life is only a season
which sprouts by chance in the sunshine.
To play living, loving, being happy,
to enjoy the landscape colors
and the music of the day,
the dreams of falling words
in our destiny, is our right.

We can live sweetly
if we know the rules of the game
fast and mysteriously,
and go on without worrying
without proving whether every word is true or false,
because what counts is what we hear and see.

Happiness comes only once in a lifetime,
and when it happens we don't notice it,
even if we kiss the one we love,
or if we shake the hands of our best partner
before the darkness of the night
takes away everything that was beautiful,
loved, present, and that seemed eternal.

Enjoy the flower of the day
and the sun, the music. kisses and words
like they are just for a day,
fresh and spontaneous as a flying bird.

  poet Steve Ausherman, Albuquerque, New Mexico...

    Wind in the trees.
          Raindrops pop                  Bent knuckles
    on the roof of the tent.               swollen by time
          I am comforted.               weave haiku questions
                                               into her shortening days.

                           poet normal, Saugerties, New York...

                                                    last of the morning star shining
the sun, bright shepherd of the sky            valley mist on the meadow
herds its white & black sheep                  mantis, like a bended elder
below, sparrows chirp                           makes his way thru tall grasses
the ants prepare their morning routine       an old stage in a bamboo forest

          poet Nancy L. Dahl, Ypsilanti, Michigan...

              20/20 Vision in 2020  

                     ....this is what we need.
                  We need prayer for healing,
                     healing for the world,
                   for families and friends,
                   our states and countries.
                  Our prayers need to include
                   all the people in the world,
                           all the people.
                We are here ---rich or poor we be.
                         Is there any word
                that speaks to us in one language!
                       I believe there is ...
                       the word kindness.
                     We all know the word.
           It speaks for itself --- without a sound,
                  helping hands --- from all.
                 Set your vision high in 2020.
        We just need to do our best in everything.
                 And like the songs says ---
            .... "the world well be a better place."

     poet t. kilgore splake, Calumet, Michigan...

reading poem to himself
silent unheard sounds        others lost in dreams
gentle music of soul          you just went ahead
                                 started writing poetry

                 holding felt-tip pen
                 staring at blank page
                 world belongs to me

                 poet Jo Balistreri, Waukesha, Wisconsin...

her fingers touch
mom's bracelet on her wrist...            rapt in rain
new girl at school                         how good it feels
                                              without sandals
                        revolutionary etude
                        left hand takes over

                    chilly morning weeping forsythia
                    (There is literally a bush called weeping forsythia)

               haiga (pictures with poetry) by ayaz daryl nielsen

see you in a moment...

               and, you can mail your poetry to:

                bear creek haiku
                PO Box 596
                Longmont, CO
                (SASE's are appreciated)

From other than the USA, email to and/or 

Last!  If you choose to send poetry via email from within the US,
                                    that's ok, too (again, include postal address)

Sunday, May 17, 2020

Poetry! Dennis Rhodes, Hafiz, Mike Weaver, Rumi, James B. Peters, Martha Christina, Judith Partin-Nielsen, Steve Ausherman, Olav H. Hauge, Carl Mayfield, t. kilgore splake, and, Jo Balistreri!

Kitty Kali, assistant editor, mewing (!roaring!) "PoetryMister Editor!!     We all, especially kitties and even the neighbor's new puppy, need our poetry! And we're going to create this, a mewtiful new poetry post, right now! With extra special treats 

  poet Dennis Rhodes
      Naples Florida...

          All of my life                         The shortest distance
          the night has spoken to me          I can think of is between
          in poetic whispers.                    my heart and your soul.

poet Hafiz...  The above reminds me of some lines I found that rolled off a mountain and I put in a sweet ditty called:

                               THE HAPPY VIRUS

                        I caught the happy virus again last night
                        when I was out signing beneath the stars.
                        It is remarkably contagious, so kiss me!
                 Because, as I said, I want to protect you.
                                  For you are my sweetheart, my pigeon,
                 my tomato, my dumpling . . . and all kinds of things.

                    poet Mike Weaver, Montello, Wisconsin...

        dawn -                   morning rain -         dawn -
           a ministry               the animation           the temptation
        of earth and song      of a mortal song       of existence

                                    poet Rumi...

          Friend, our closeness is this:            
          any where you put your foot, feel me
          in the firmness under you.

                                        listen to the presence inside poems,
                                        Let them take you where they will.

                                        Follow these private hints,
                                        and never leave the premises.

       poet James B. Peters,                poet Martha Christina,
       Cottontown, Tennessee...               Bristol, Rhode Island...

     MAY                                 IN A FOG 

      Redbuds are in bloom                 Today it's literal
      Outside the living room               and figurative.
      Spring thunderstorms loom.   
      Garden flowers                         Still, daffodil 
      Leafing maple bowers                  trumpets shine
      And the longer hours.                  in the grey
      The warming days
      Bright sunshine rays,                   that surrounds us.
      Listening to what 
      The mockingbird says.                   
      The grass is green                     HANGING FROM                 
      The lawn mover keen,                 THE SUET CAGE
      Got to get gasoline.
      Not lazy as ever                        The squirrel's a small
      Loss of endeavor,                       contortionist; curves
      Only spring fever.                       it's body, becomes
                                                    a small sloth.

        poet Judith Partin-Nielsen,        poet Steve Ausherman,
          Longmont, Colorado...                Albuquerque, New Mexico...

       Calligraphy Sky                   August thunder
                                               steers afternoon light           
        long, slow jet stream                 into my aching heart.
       crosses over the moon                    I am too young 
            calligraphy sky                    for this world.

  Ghost Dance                               
                                        Bobcat prints
  tall, leafless aspen                        Stenciled upon a sandy draw.
  cast evening shadows                   I walk.  Mystery surrounds.
  across the frozen lake
  sudden gust of wind                Angled light.
  and ghosts are dancing                 A frosty window.
      over the water                    The chill of last night's dreams.

poet Olav H. Hauge...

It's that dream we carry with us
That something wonderful will happen,
That it has to happen,
That time will open,
That the heart will open,
That doors will open,
That the mountains will open,
That wells will leap up,
That the dream will open,
That one morning we'll slip in
To a harbor that we've never known.

poet Carl Mayfield
    Rio Rancho, New Mexico...

       unchurched, still I turn
          when the meadowlark
            begins to sign

                        deciding to go around
                            the stink bug
                                  dismisses me

            moving day:
                flies away

                               snowy fog
                                   walking home
                               through home

   again, Hafiz...


It is the nature of the world to share 
its burden with you.
I don't want you to leave and go back into any world that can frighten.  
What can I do?  I bet we can figure something out,
it is my nature to remove it from your back.

poet t. kilgore splake, Calumet, Michigan...

    wilderness silence                                         poetry is
    like empty church     light evening snowflakes    don't argue why
    deep holy feeling     heaven's shining beauty      feel  think  write
                              stardust falling to earth

poet Jo Balistreri, Waukesha, Wisconsin...

   kids painting                                          rapt in the rain
   at our kitchen table    chopin's                      how good it feels      
   sun circling             revolutionary etude        without sandals
                              the left hand takes over

               ...this post includes the haiga of ayaz daryl nielsen...

see you in a moment...

               and, you can mail your poetry to:

                bear creek haiku
                PO Box 596
                Longmont, CO
                (SASE's are appreciated)

From other than the USA, email to and/or 

Last!  If you choose to send poetry via email from within the US,
                                    that's ok, too (again, include postal address)