burnt offerings

Haiku - comfort

2007-07-23T19:18:00.000-07:00

hard ground becomes

muddy transformation

as rain seeps

slow drip relief

soothes weary limbs

midsummer rain

gently swayed

in the birdhouse

wind gust lullaby

23rd July 2007

Haiku - shadows and light

2007-07-03T11:49:00.000-07:00

nowhere to run
dark shadow overhead
little field mouse

cicadas serenade
moths on naked bulbs
drawn to light

dappling leaves
filter midday sun
under the elm

3rd July 2007

Haiku - on a windy day

2007-06-22T16:25:00.000-07:00

whispering sisters

share secrets in the breeze

poplars sway

22 June 2007

The Fall

2007-06-05T01:58:00.000-07:00

The dramatic heights of loveliness,
Caressed the soft waves of her hair;
A potent intoxication
Suspended reality in the air.

An hypnotic high; so mellow,
Burnished through enamored eyes.
Mournful tones though, now resound,
In guttural wrenching cries.

The ebb and flow of a peculiar fate;
A world turned on its axis once more.
Those fruits, once thought so delicious,
Are spoiled - rotten to the core.

She had dared to pierce that taut red skin,
Seeking juicy delights beneath,
But neither zing nor sweetness whetted her lips;
An odious pungency caught her teeth.

That wily fervour, from her past
Could not be arrested forever.
Seized by a love; never mutually roused,
Not then, not now – not ever.

© Strauss
22/5/2006

One Deep Breath - Nurture

2007-05-15T10:01:00.000-07:00

taut red orbs

warm in my hands

ripe tomatoes

Tanka

I watch her skating
Solo for the first time
Tears of pride mix
With tears of vague regret
That well from a future place

Strauss
15th May 2007

This weeks theme, at One Deep Breath, was Nurture.

Unfurl

2007-05-10T07:31:00.000-07:00

Creeping vine
T'ward sunlight curl
Entwining branch
In tangled whorl
While newborn ferns
Reach and unfurl
Midst shafting forest light

© Strauss
9th May 2007

One Breath Haiku and Tanka - Sleep

2007-05-07T08:31:00.000-07:00

Well, the first one wasn't tooooooooo bad for a first attempt, so I thought I would chance a second attempt. This week's One Deep Breath prompt is - Sleep.

Haiku
restless in caves.
green slivers pierce snow.
bears stir.

© Strauss
7th May 2007

I thought I would have a go at the Tanka too. I have never tried one of these. I am happy to be learning these new styles.

Tanka
Smiles of relief
Mother collapses in chair
Dishes in sink
Steam swirls from a coffee mug
Children finally asleep.

© Strauss
7th May 2007

Haiku - One Deep Breath - The Sea

2007-05-02T11:35:00.000-07:00

This is my first attempt of a Haiku. I have learnt a bit about them from The One Deep Breath site. This weeks prompt is "The Sea". I thought I would have a go, so bear with me :)

Bright sun, beach clamour.
Grey skies, lone vacant beach. Breathe.
Listen to wave songs.

Strauss
3 May 2007

The Bluff

2007-04-18T12:43:00.000-07:00

The Bluff stands tall ;
Rising like an ancient warrior
From fertile coastal plains.
Proud and sturdy
Against the tumultuous sea.

The stoic Bluff;
Bearer of unrelenting lashings
And vicious attacks
From angry waters churning below
Striking hard against unyielding granite footings.

The south wind thrusts
Its merciless breath
Tousling squat grasses
And wild geraniums
That tremble with the scraping gale.

Summit yearnings
Require fortitude
But jubilation awaits the brave
And unsurpassed seascapes
transfix initially reluctant ramblers.

Encounter Bay curves gently, east
A sandy beach hugs the coastline,
Like lemon frosting on a delectable cake;
The white teeth of broken waves
bite hungrily into the shoreline.

With disciplined eyes
One can trace the edge of the world
Until far-flung sea mists
Blur the horizon
Blending land, sea and sky, into one.

There is nothing south of The Bluff
But a million miles of sea
and eventually ice.
The Bluff is enduring.
The Bluff stands tall.

© Strauss
14th April 2007

Vapour maiden

2007-04-11T23:19:00.000-07:00

To the tilting sway of ocean lullabies,
He stood aloft his creaking vessel.
Immersed in maritime harmonies,
And the rhythm of cresting waves,
He was hushed, like a babe in tender arms.

He waited for her at the bow;
Patient like a returning soldier's lover.
His eyes scoured the heavens
and panned the entirety of a lavender horizon,
until she revealed her form.

Light reflections
and atmospheric mood
determine her appearance;
But today,
Under endless skies, she wore white.

A mass of rumpled petticoats
spill from under her skirts.
They billow with the memory of sweet promises;
revealing themselves as silver threads
embroidered into the hem.

A crown of sunbeams strain through soft tresses;
cirrus wisps trailing behind her.
But with eyes cast down,
She appeared despondent,
For a vapour maiden's life is fleeting.

He gazed upon his illusive vision
until her windswept fate over came her;
smearing her luminous features,
and swallowing her subtle radiance
And gentle form.

Her vanishing breaks the spell cast over him.
Their brief interlude is like a window to her world;
A world where the sea meets the sky at the horizon
And should he choose to follow her,
A vapour maiden who will lead him safely home.

Last Years Leaves

2007-03-27T15:27:00.000-07:00

Like bronze organza scraps
Upon a seamstresses floor;
Discarded pieces
Swept into a disused corner;
Creativity's after-thought
-They have no purpose now.

Old leaves,
Barely visible,
Trapped along the fence line
Scuttled along by the wind,
The drift of melting snow,
And time.

In another life,
they gleamed.
Strong fresh vibrant;
Leathery and green.
A fibre now dulled;
Their chlorophyll hues, drained.

Threadbare and fragile,
They lay in clusters;
Mere ghosts of their former selves.
The emerald life blood has retreated
Evaporated...been absorbed;
While new life sprouts above.

© Strauss
27th March 2007

Migration

2007-03-21T13:58:00.001-07:00

The giant silver bird yawns.
I, and hundreds of others,
Transported in its gullet;
A belly full of dreams.

Expectant eyes wide
To new surroundings.
All six senses sensing,
The foreign.

I have been here but a day,
Drifting like Eve on the first morn
And yet,
It could have been six months.

Falls cool, grey reproach;
Yellow foliage
Crunching under foot,
Have Disappeared.

Replaced instead,
By endless breezy blue;
A canopy of frilly, cherry blush;
And petal strewn pathways.

The birds that flew north for winter
Now present themselves right here.
The journey having transformed them though.
Is this where they all go?

All in a single afternoon.

© Strauss
21/3/2007

Antipodean

2007-03-15T17:40:00.001-07:00

Antipodean

-“I get a sense you are anti-Podeon. Am I correct, Sir?”
-“Awww…I wouldn’t know anything about that, Mate.
Didn’t know the bloke.
He died long before my time.
I got nothin’ against the French, but.
Although I didn’t much like his hat....now that ya mention it.”

© Strauss
14 March 2007

Very, very silly indeed.
This week’s completely and totally optional idea for Poetry Thursday was noted as “defined”. Contributors were asked to scour their dictionaries in search for interesting words. We were not to look at the meaning, but define the word based on our own impressions. I nearly didn’t do this one. I tried earlier in the week, but it didn’t really work for me. Then I remembered, that I was asked the above question, soon after arriving in Canada. Was I Antipodean? The inquirer was met with a blank glaze-eyed stare, as I answered in a rather ambling monotonous voice; "I am Australian". He replied that he “thought so”, and then he left.

In response, I scurried off home in search of a dictionary, for I had never heard the word, antipodean, in my life.

**Just so you know, Antipode refers to any two places or regions that are on diametrically opposite sides of the earth. Anitpodeans are the inhabitants.

The Red Walk

2007-03-06T01:14:00.000-08:00

Spike-heeled stilettos
roam the streets in wait.
Red Light District,
in the dark corners of the night.

Shiny leather boots
march defiantly as one.
The world's Red Armies
Unite the Communist front.

Winter pale toes
stomp the season's first fruit.
A silky red wine
born from luscious juice.

Bare Indigenous feet
dance The Brolga with precision.
Dry red dirt
swirling with the movement.

Dorothy's famed shoes
click at the heels.
Ruby Red slippers
Just want to go home.

Swollen ankles - mine,
throb from standing.
Red woollen socks
With a hole in the toe.

© Strauss
6th March 2007

The Unsuppressable

2007-02-20T00:24:00.000-08:00

We try to hold it together;
a finely orchestrated deception.

Believing no one will ever learn our secret
or our pain.

But the body knows.

And soon enough
weeds force and intrude between the presenting cracks;
A pestilence of pain
nurtured by a well manured inner self.

We begin to resemble an untended garden;
choked with wild plants and tangle bush,
a mood of rotten fruit;
prickly,
hardened and woody
like forgotten parsnips.

Even the birds avoid our slowly wilting selves,
preferring more joyful sanctuaries to linger.
.....And we no longer care
or notice.

So while we try to hold it all together,
to keep the secret of our discontent,
the body knows.
And screams it to the universe.

In the end,
though no words may depart our lips....
Everybody knows.

© Strauss
20th February 2007

Solar Flares

2007-02-16T23:24:00.000-08:00

Solar plexus swells and radiates.
A throbbing, scorching sun, burns the centre of my being.
Intense.
I am left, feeling blistered and tender.
Oh! The pain.....
Had I known before,
I would have protected my heart under a hat;
Wrapped my soul in dark glasses
And drunk a cocktail of Mississippi Moonshine and SPF15 Plus.
One can never be too sun smart.

© Strauss
16th February 2007

The Tulle Cloaked Bride - a Prose Poem

2007-02-12T19:10:00.001-08:00

A ghostly apparition of I, drifting within the now familiar fog. Her gauzy veil silhouettes a softened landscape, leaving a world of vague shapes, lingering like enigmatic shadows.
Conifers spire toward the heavens, like renaissance towers shrouded in the lost world above.
Tiny birds bolt from nearby cedars; feathered darts shooting through her tranquil haze.
I breathe the dawn enchantress, knowing her to disappear with the heat of the day. I know not when she might return, to slink across my lawn with dewy steps, lick my eaves and caress the naked branches with a thousand gentle tears.
Tomorrow, the rains are set to lavish these whisper-soothed lands, like an insistent groom ravishing his tulle cloaked bride. The fog, she will succumb.

© Strauss
12th February 2007

Frozen Lake

2007-02-05T10:14:00.000-08:00

You say I am a frozen lake, like its a bad thing.
Perhaps I am…..
On the surface I am strong and sturdy
While there remains an undercurrent
An unseen force, ebbing and flowing.
Change taking place slowly, away from prying eyes
Life stirs hidden,
below an impenetrable icy crust.
Privately.

But….
My veneer would be so thick that I could not feel
Numbed to the sensations of an outer universe
Paralysed to respond
Unmoved
Aloof
Motionless
Dead.

If you think I am like a frozen lake.
Then help me thaw.
Be there when the cracks appear.
And my hardened shell liquefies
Encourage the light to dance and play upon my glistening surface
Tell others to peer into the depths of my soul
They might even see themselves in my reflection
I do realise I might appear unstable.
It matters not.
I am alive.

© Strauss
5th February 2007

Savour the Process

2007-02-04T20:14:00.000-08:00

Crude graphite scratches a harmony onto paper;
A tattoo of thought and ideas
A scarring of images; internal rage and pain
A lingering kiss filled with joy, humour and love
Or perhaps, an etched still of lingering observation.

Fibres entwine here.
Graphite smudging a perfect surface.
A trio of essences collide;
Mineral, mind, material.
Creation.

Words are formed within the sacred bounds of my notebook.
Their decisive combination develops into meaning.
Spidery scrawls lumber across the manuscript.
Dark retractions blemish the page,
They symbolise process, not mistake.

Tear not a page.
Do not scrunch nor discard it.
Savour the process.
The pendulum stops swinging at centre,
When energy no longer swirls...

Only then is the process complete.

© Strauss
4th February 2007

Bird

2007-01-21T16:18:00.000-08:00

An eternal, rejuvenating flower.
Waiting.
Tight as a bud.
She blooms.
Wings outstretched;
feathered petals,
fanned and reaching.
Taken.
A dance with natures breath,
gliding, darting, diving;
carried by the wind,
like the spore of a thistle.
She lands.
Enwrapped.
Tight as a bud,
once again.

© Strauss
19th January 2007

Bundled

2007-01-21T16:03:00.001-08:00

The wind blasts my heavily quilted ears-
It wants in.
A rumbling slipstream,
lashing, determined, unrelenting,
failing to penetrate my being.
I can hear it.
I can see it.
It torments and whips
the grasses at my feet.
But I can not feel it -
I just
can not
feel it.

© Strauss
21st January 2007

Polar Bear

2007-01-21T09:10:00.000-08:00

If my life were a blizzard
I'd be the polar bear within it.

I will survive.
It is the polar bear’s nature to survive such conditions.

But to others - I am lost
Even to myself

Enveloped,
blending into the pale of the monochromatic landscape.

In a sense, I am safe;
lost to all who dare venture into the storm

But neither can I be found

© Strauss
20th Jan. 2007

Dust Clouds

2007-01-07T19:58:00.008-08:00

Dust clouds smother and choke the air
Lingering, frustrating, tormenting.
Neither blooming nor swirling
They hover like thick plagues of locusts going nowhere.

A wagon progression lays in wait
Patient but increasingly despairing
They know their harvest is spoiling in the dry heat
But the dangers of the winding road ahead, require clarity

Cultivated treasures once gleamed
with all the promises of earths abundance
Now, the grey brown shadows of decay threaten
while tiny insects swarm and infest.

The wagon riders are weary, dejected, defeated
They know the harsh winter will soon be upon them
And they will be without – their mere survival is now paramount.
- But the dust clouds will not settle.

© Strauss
3rd September 2006

Bent Nails

2007-01-07T19:58:00.007-08:00

We destroyed the back shed today
Decayed wood remains left after the fray
With jagged old nails poking out
“Bang the nails bent”, my husband did shout.

“Bang the nails bent”, I instructed my Son.
“With the nails jutting out they could hurt someone”.
And when those nails refused to lie down
We wrenched the nails out and hurled ‘em to the ground.

Abiding old nails bent over the wood
Ceased to appear as true nails should
Twisted; tormented in the sun
Now they are bent they won’t hurt anyone

We stacked wood into orderly piles
Rows and rows extending for miles
We hoped the bundles be stolen away
So to the curb they were placed at the end of the day.

The wood stacks tethered in twine
Ancient nails, in the moonlight still shine
By the roadside discarded for free
Tamed and bent nails can’t hurt you or me.

© Strauss
25/04/06

Bruised

2007-01-07T19:58:00.006-08:00

The sunlight strains through a dust stained window
Speckled in last spring’s dried raindrops
Bruised shadows fan the entirety of a compromised chamber
Not radiant, not luminous, not exactly dull, but – gentle and subdued
They flicker as the sunlight plays with the stirring foliage outside
Like shadow puppets behind a calico screen
I could cleanse the tainted glass;
Lift the burden from its smattered lens
The light would then flood blindingly, naturally, dazzlingly
But I have become accustomed to the bruised shadows,
And they trouble you not
- Those gentle bruised shadows that dance for me.

© Strauss
10th June 2006

Witness

2007-01-07T19:58:00.005-08:00

Through smattered salt sprayed window panes
a curtain cautiously flutters
A distant murmur entwines a tender breeze
-stormy undertones blend nautical mutter

Threatening cumulus bloom with haste
Ferocity builds with tempest’s intent
A distant mist drenches heavy horizons
Expressing God and Angels lament

From a plateau of bordering coastal crust
having endured eons of nature’s lashings
Bearing witness to this distant mistral
Though absent from its transmuting passions

Marine bound rain replenishing
The weary soul of the salty sea
Gently sweeping as do wings of a wasp
Or sprouting forth like bloody mutiny

I dwell the crown of this shy plateau,
Where below, earth and water collide
I observe the tempest billowing westward
-An untamed odyssey; it loathes to subside.

© Strauss
22/4/06

In The Bud of a Rose

2007-01-07T19:58:00.004-08:00

There is a gulf between us – you and I
A sea, so many leagues deep.
While slumbering restfully in your bed,
It is I who struggles to sleep.

I fret the day and am nocturnally troubled
About the state and future of things.
I wonder if I could possibly live
With the threat this activity brings.

We hardly compare – you and I.
I hide and you expose.
You wear your heart there on your sleeve,
I conceal mine in the bud of a rose.

You shout to the roof tops to proclaim your love
-I express devotion with mime.
I leave no impression when I walk
But your presence is felt for all time.

If you and I were inanimate things
You’d be a poem and I’d be a mist.
I would vanish, in the warmth of the day,
-You’d linger in mind like a kiss.

I remain nameless to most kind folk and foe,
But you know me as “friend”,
And my mind is grieved by this journey you take
And just how this story could end.

But the moon, it still shines there up above
Like a torch light on a stray page.
And although there is a gulf between us
We might see the same moon, at some stage.

© Strauss
18/4/06

Butterfly Catching

2007-01-07T19:58:00.003-08:00

Butterfly catching
Tender heart snatching
Secrets reveal
Truths in the dark.

Butterfly catching
Tender heart snatching
Its hard to dampen fire
Once the wind ignites the spark.

The ground; it rumbles
Then the whole world crumbles
The dominos,
They fall all about.

As the ground rumbles
And the whole world crumbles
Each heart beat
-A raging scream and a shout.

In the eye there is calm
Before the next cause for alarm
A whisper, then a whoosh
And then a BOOM.

In the eye there is calm
Before the next cause for alarm
When things are thrown about
- destroyed in the room.

But try as you might
It just doesn’t look right
When you try
To restore every part

And try as you might
It just doesn’t feel right
Cos’ you changed
As did that place in your heart.

© Strauss
15/4/06

Admiring from Afar

2007-01-07T19:58:00.002-08:00

Wallowing in the murkiness
Head above water- heart sinks under.
Foul pond in the dale
- exposed summit across the tundra

Jetty direct above me
The cold shadows I do swim
There is light all around you
But for me, its cold and dim.

Atop the shining summit
Crystal waters just beyond
I, left struggling in the murkiness
Of the dank and dreadful pond.

You reveal secrets of the summit
Its sweet ascent and blissful view
I wonder if I could make the journey
-admiring from afar, like you do?

© Strauss
15/4/06

Little Black Box

2007-01-07T19:58:00.001-08:00

There’s a little black box that sits in the shadows
It harbours hearts in there.
One is swollen past bursting point,
The other, is in for repair.

The little black box bears a gold design
Of filigree hearts and flowers,
And a gold faced clock mounted onto the lid
That silently counts down the hours.

There is a little black box that sits in the shadows
- This box you gave to me.
You told me to care for its precious contents,
Then you slipped me a golden key.

I opened the little black box one day,
And saw the paired hearts resting there
While the swollen one beat without failure or strain,
The other lay limp with a tear.

So I gathered some flowers – placed them next to the hearts,
And locked the lid tight with the key.
I wound the gold clock on top of the lid,
knowing time would set them both free.

© Strauss
17/04/06

The Clique

2007-01-06T19:58:00.000-08:00

The Clique

The icy winds howl fierce and cold
People say “Hi”, but no more is told.
The cold outside keeps the people in-
I extend my hand, I nod, I grin,
But the cold outside keeps the people in.

The leaves are gone, there’s no shelter here.
It’s hard to make friends at this time of year.
The ground is hard, the puddles are ice-
My heart is warm, I reach out twice,
But the ground is hard and the puddles are ice.

Longing to connect spirits, touch a soul,
Loneliness can take its toll.
This town has history, the doors are shut-
I knock the door, bear gifts, but….
This town has history, the doors are shut.

To get inside where the sunshine reaches,
Takes time and patience and friendly features.
I have no choice, but to wait and see-
I hope they accept my humanity.
I have no choice, but to wait and see.

© Strauss
11th March 2006

Summer

2007-01-05T19:58:00.000-08:00

Summer is plentiful.
The fertile grounds of the concluding spring have realised their potential.
Voluptuous fruit adorn a variety of lush vegetation;
Floral blooms expand and shed their budded cloaks,
Fanning soft petals, exude intoxicating perfumes.
Bees swarm, vibrating a hum of contentment;
Purposefully driven, delighted, excited.

But the gifts of summer can be harsh for some
And threatening and dangerous for others.
A shrouded flower, destroyed during the picking of a neighbouring beauty;
An apple, luscious, sparkling, hard, broaching ripe
Pecked by over-zealous birds.
Pocked and marked,
It is left, unchosen until it falls and rots in the grassy folds alone

Tomatoes, plump and juicy;
Skin blistered by the heat of the day.
Potted plants, withered, drooping flowers;
Shrivelled, exhausted leaves.
An oppressive heat;
Summer’s plenty exposed too long,
Deteriorated and denied essential nourishment and care.

Can the harmed reinvent themselves
Or must they face their particular fate?
-Dissolve into the earth from whence they came
Or fight to reclaim their glory despite having had their day in the sun.
I hope the latter is so.
There is too much potential to waste on such a short life
And such a fateful and cruel passing over.

© Strauss
10th June 2006