Category Archives: Projects

aros, Blog, featured, Haiku

Haiku from Lake Ammersee

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Ammersee—

where the heavens look

in the mirror

.

reflecting the skies

lake Ammersee forgets

itself

.

Ammersee–

looking in the mirror

the clouds long for home

.

sundown—

the clouds lose their

perspective

.

sunset—

golden light anoints

the world

.

I wrote this haiku responding to two prompts: the NaHaiWriMo extension prompt, “ mirror,” set by Susan Delphine Delaney; and the call for submissions by Walter Bjorkman. Susan is setting the prompts for July for the wonderful  facebook community of haiku poets, NaHaiWriMo. Walter is hosting the blog carnival Language/Place, on the theme of “Poetry of Place.” Submissions of links to Walter on this theme are open till the 20th of July.

The photograph of the lake Ammersee was taken one evening this summer.

 

Blog, featured, Festival of the Trees, Haiku

Haiku/Tanka! #14 June 2011

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Magnolia
Magnolia Exmouth

holding the flag high

they march taller than

trees–

the heady aroma

of summer magnolias

 

 

 

Today I read a post about appreciating and writing tanka in Red Dragonfly’s blog. It should have carried a health warning, something like, Read it at your peril: you will be tempted  to write tanka for the rest of your day(s); or, Read and risk tanka obsession! Something like that to warn its readers of adverse effects. My own first reaction was to write my daily haiku – which I write participating in the Facebook community’s NaHaiWriMo project extension – as my first ever tanka! The day’s prompt had been ‘flags.’ I got carried away, you see. Tongue in cheek, I posted it in the NaHaiWriMo facebook site for the good folks there to see! I only hope Melissa doesn’t see my first attempt!

If you like living dangerously though, do read the post about tanka. It is a tanka beginners’ dream: informative and with a number of good links. So, tanka? I’ll try to do that!

 

aros, Blog, Other Writers

Small Stone Blogsplash

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Kaspa & Fiona have taken over my blog for today, because they need our help.

They are both on a mission to help the world connect with the world through writing. They are also getting married on Saturday the 18th of June.

For their fantasy wedding present, they are asking people across the world to write them a ‘small stone’ and post it on their blogs or on Facebook or Twitter.

A small stone is a short piece of observational writing – simply pay attention to something properly and then write it down. Find out more about small stones here.

Whether or not you have a blog,  write them a small stone on their wedding day whilst they are saying their vows and eating cake, post it on your blog, and send it to them.

You can find out more about their project at their website, Wedding Small Stones, and you can also read their blog at A River of Stones.

They also have a July challenge coming soon, when they’ll be challenging you to notice one thing every day during July and write it down.

They thank you for listening, and hope they’ll be returning from their honeymoon to an inbox crammed with small stones, including yours.

So do it! Please…

Blog, Festival of the Trees

My trees

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peach tree
Peach Tree

Suzi Smith, of Spirit Whispers, hosting this month’s Festival of the Trees, asks  us to think of trees which make us tick, inspire us, which get the metaphors flowing. Well, there is no question, for me there are three trees: the lemon, the fig and the olive. (earlier posts here and here). I wrote a novel with the lemon tree in the title as well as in the centre of the main character’s home; a poem about olive trees, which won second prize in the inaugural edition of Big Pond Rumours Poetry Competition, 2007, and, well, the fig tree features in the novel too.

But there are others, of course, there are others. I have a peach tree in my garden, resting against the wall of the house; two pear and three apple trees; a plum tree, various conifers, and a yew, in addition to my three lieblings! If you knew the size of my garden, you would understand that fitting so many trees in such a small space is no mean feat – but I simply enjoy having trees in my garden: sitting under them, watching them grow, flower, and prepare for winter, harvesting their fruit…

So we established I love trees. But is there one in particular? Thinking about it for the last week, wondering which one is really the most and absolute favorite of mine,  I finally came to a decision. I made a choice. My favorite is, breath deeply, yes, it is the Tree of Life. The tree of all trees, the tree that contains all of my trees and all trees and beings and life, in a nutshell. Or is it the other way round? Is it the case that each tree contains in itself the Tree of Life, and all that it represents? I’ll let you decide.

 

Yggdrasil

 

Today, Arbor Day in some parts of the world, I’d like to share a few pictures of my trees and a few of my tree-inspired haiku and micro-poems:

trap door
the scent of lemon blossom
carried by the wind

tree of life
an olive branch was never
enough

in the garden
a bush warbler serenades
plum tree blooms

against the fence
a forgotten willow broom
buds

Domesday Tweet

The last fruit from the Tree of Life
picked, weighed and DNAed,
graced Kew Garden’s Eden Landscape.

[In escarp March 26, 2010]

 

More tree pictures in my Scrapbook here

 

 

 

 

52/250, Blog, Short stories

Stone story

Although Kareem is eight, he looks more like twelve. This is neither due to his hairstyle, nor to the long trousers and T-shirt he is wearing; rather the serious expression on his face, and the way he looks at you, straight in the eye. He sells stones.

He picked them himself carefully: not too big, for they will not travel far; not too small, for they will impress no one. He arranged them on his wooden tray and priced them accordingly: regular, one piastra; medium, two.

By the time the protesters wake up, he is standing in the furthest corner of the square, holding his tray for them to buy his stones. He pockets the notes and coins, and by the end of the first day of business he has enough money to buy his mother flatbread and tahina; and to pay off the loan to Aziz for the trip on the felucca he didn’t want his mother to know about.

On the second day though, the protest turns violent and few buy his stones; many grab them and run. Kareem ties his money in his handkerchief, puts it in his trouser pocket and starts for home.

Hours later, when he comes to, long after the van that knocked him unconscious sped away, he feels for his bundle. It is no longer there. His strength gone, he falls back to the ground and closes his eyes. He now looks the boy of eight he is.

This story first appeared on the writers’ challenge site 52|250 A Year of Flash