Gather – #Cinquain #Haibun #TankaTuesday


I chop down the leaves, and the nicotine haze makes me dizzy. Others in the field do as I, but these older folks have bigger bodies, more mass to spread out the poison. The field is full of people here to help Mr. Clay, who is ill. As I pile the leaves of burley onto the stake, I recall his amputated toes on the gangrenous foot. I mull over the smell of his room, sweet like the sugar in his blood.

I chop, I pile, I sweat, I sing. Whether God takes Mr. Clay home or leaves him here on this soil, I’ll help take his rescued crop to the trade house.

Friends, family.
Machete burley leaves,
Render service for suffering.


This was written for Colleen Chesebro’s Tanka Tuesday #146, Fall and Give. This may also be the most North Carolina thing I’ve ever written.

This was based off a true story.



The Morning Song – #Haiku

bird blue animals birds

Birds sing morning song;
Throats warble delightful tunes.
Unsuspecting worms.


This was written for Colleen Chesebro’s Tanka Tuesday #142, poet’s choice of words!

Photo by Pixabay on

Letters to Esperanza – #Shadorma


Waves conspire
To bring me your words,
But I can’t
Hear your voice.
I dream of your foreign lands,
Crave your paradise.


This was written for Colleen Chesebro’s Tanka Tuesday #141, a picture prompt! I chose to do a Shadorma poem because I imagined the speaker as a Spanish woman during the age of exploration who finds bottles from a sailor far away. Esperanza is a Spanish name meaning “hope.”

Image by S. Hermann & F. Richter from Pixabay

Bleeding Heart


The fragile flowers draped across the stem
Tenderly waft in breeze of quiet day,
Yet they hang not so splendid as the hem
Which puts your pleasant features on display.
I can imagine a delicacy
To trump even the tenderness of blooms,
But I can’t eclipse this hesitancy,
This form which my ferocious fear assumes.
I endure by shamefully unclothing you,
In my mind and bleeding heart, from afar,
Yet my damned morals attempt a coup.
I worry you will find me a bizzare
And pathetic degenerate; I blame
You not, for my stares are sin just the same.


Alexander Eliot gave a fantastic photo for his prompt this week, and I just couldn’t resist!

I was so impressed by this picture that my mind couldn’t come up with prose – that’s literally never happened before. The way the poem took a turn about someone’s unrequited attempts at love initially was supposed to be about someone who loved a person who was dead, but I ended up going into a bit creepier territory.

Anyway, hope you enjoy! 🙂

An H.R.R. Gorman in its Natural Habitat – #Nonet

selective focus photography of hour glass

Rays of sunshine tickle me to wake.
I stumble around for coffee,
Then bumble in to work.
The air heats up outside
While I sit and type,
‘Til my stomach
Rumbles and
Too quickly.
But I go home
Before my butt hurts
From sitting in the chair.
I relax and watch movies
Then lament the day is waste
By the time sleep welcomes me at dusk.


Welcome to this week’s response to Colleen Chesebro’s Tanka Tuesday #140, Light and Dark! I chose to use the nonet with its hourglass shape to symbolize the passage of time and talk about how I waste so much of it!

Though I lied because I don’t drink coffee or really watch movies (I watch TV, lol).

Photo by samer daboul on

The Days of Old

grayscale photo of explosion on the beach

“Tell me about the days of old,”
Asked the little girl.
“Tell me how the giants collapsed,
And towns in fire whirled.” 

The bard hummed and strummed his citurn,
And his strings did tune.
“This is not a song for the weak,
But it’s before noon.

“I hope tonight you’ll soundly sleep;
Blame yourself if not.”
The young girl sat with bated breath,
Hoping to be distraught.

“Back before the nuclear fires,
Buildings did shimmer
And reached to lofty sky with spires
‘Til skies grew dimmer.

“The sun disappeared behind airplanes
Carrying the bombs.
Then cancerous growths emerged
On those who survived…”


This was written for Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing Prompt #118, Song. I feel like this was left incomplete, but perhaps we’ll investigate that some other day?

Photo by Pixabay on

The Spider’s Party – #Cinquain


Hungry trapper
Prepares for visitors
To… “enjoy” macabre banqueting
And shows.
Visitors avoid her abode,
Fearing glistening fangs,
Vicious poison,


This was written for Colleen Chesebro’s Tanka Tuesday #139, in which we get to choose our words! I took the above photo on my morning dog walk. It was a misty, foggy morning, and the spider’s web in my neighbors’ tree had a lot of dew on it. I’m not a terribly good photographer, so I couldn’t get the web to show up better!



atmosphere blue cloud cloudiness

To meet again in bliss
With the people you love,
You must forgive the foes
You hate.

Lose the antipathy
Against your enemies,
And I will reward you
With peace.


This was written for Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing Prompt #117, Antipathy. I usually have a very hard time forgiving people for even little things, so I wrote this poem as a way to think about it.

As a side note, I probably won’t be as active this weekend. I’ll be ok, but I’m feeling pretty depressed and think I need to slow down on social media for just a little bit. Hopefully I’ll be back up to speed soon. — H

Earthsong – #Haiku

green rice field

Earthsong: cricket’s croon,
Owl’s hoot, Peep frog’s serenade.
Pure summer rapture.


This was written for Colleen Chesebro’s Tanka Tuesday #138Nature and Clear (synonyms in bold). This haiku was inspired by a summer night, standing near the pond.


Photo by Johannes Plenio on


Ballroom Dancers

active dance dancer dancing

Each step increases their skill,
Creates muscle memory,
Gets them one step closer to
Winning the qualifier.
“What if we lose?” asks Emmy.
“Then we go on,” says Oscar.
“We will just practice harder.”
“We’ll hit all the beats, my dear.”
The amateurs danced their best,
But the pros defeated them.


This was written for Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing Prompt #116, Amateur. I sometimes wonder what it takes to jump from amateur to professional; often, I think it requires focus, dedication, and time.  If I treat writing as a hobby (like I currently do), will I ever be able to feel like a pro?

Photo by Pixabay on