The storm that brought snow to much of the US brought a touch of cold to us here in Central Florida. Growing up in the north I was always certain that I had been born in the wrong place and moved south shortly after college. Except for a brief stint back in the midwest, I have been firmly planted where the snow shovel never roams and Christmas Dinner is served on the back porch.
Last week for Haikai Challenge #9, Frank J. Tassone had us writing about November Rain. I wrote my snarky “Ain’t Gonna Happen” and then whined to Frank about how we are in the dry season here in Florida and was bold enough to tell him we were going to ‘have a talk’ if he persisted with these northern slanted prompts. (Good thing Frank knows I’m both crazy and harmless; why else would he put up with that?!) This week, he gave what I considered a bit of a hint about the prompt when he mentioned the super moon, so I crafted this in anticipation. Then, wouldn’t you know it — out of the goodness of his heart — Frank posted an unconventional challenge in response to my sass; Arid. Yep; a dry season prompt. And there I was with this amazing super moon Haiku and no place to post it!! (Not to mention a big plate of crow for dinner.) At the bequest of Frank & qbit, two very indulgent friends, I post this. For the record, this is not my official offering for #10 – Arid; I actually wrote a Haibun called Thirsting (my non-standard Kigo word). That post appears right before this one. Okay, Frank, go ahead and rush headlong into those cold and snow prompts – I’ll behave 😉
Cocoa Beach on a whim, we take sushi and chairs, questing the full cold moon’s rise over the ocean. The beach is a violent place with wind that yanks my hair from its spring clip and waves that out-shout the terns and ring-billed gulls. A little boy just to our left flaps and screams in the language of the birds, they scatter and return for more of the communion. Plovers and sanderlings —wind-up toys racing over the footprint moguls — this is dinner and a show. Three floating islands leave Port of Canaveral and pass that warm, cold moon that has appeared in a blink of recognition, larger than the setting sun at our backs. I chase the terns into your waiting camera; we drive thirty-seven miles back, emptying sand from our shoes, treasuring the message we found in a bottle.
Every year on the 14th of February, Dad would buy a large heart-shaped box of assorted chocolate candy for Mom. He would also buy a smaller version each for my brother and me. I remember how Mom would use her thumb to find the vanilla crèmes and rule out the chewy caramels, rendering her box unappealing to everyone else. Clever woman!
Like April, poets undertake the challenge of November to be writing daily. For the most part, I do write daily throughout the year, but intentionality is an energizing delight. There are multiple places for a poet to find inspiration and a few extra ones during this coming month and I intend to press a thumb into the various sources to find the dark chocolate mocha (my personal favorite) of inspiration and then write and post here at Jilly’s. Here is a list of some of the places I will be sampling. I hope you will all find your favorites and celebrate the deliciousness of poetry in November!
Jilly’s November Challenge of Casting Bricks to Attract Jade (Posting on Friday, 11/3) A perma-link will be on my sidebar, as usual. Everyone is welcome!
Jane Dougherty meets W.B. Yeats with daily quotes from her favorite poet.
Number the Octobers that have risen and set
since last I fingered the vertebrae of the galaxy
as it ribbed across the midnight blue,
(my favorite in the box of 64 with a sharpener)
How many yellow-orange halogen glows
super-center the corroded sky, denying
my telescope little more than
Love’s pearl white disc
burnt sienna Bradbury imaginings of
rings and Europa?
What is our fear worth? Bittersweet unheard colors Earth’s forest green cry
Posted for Frank J. Tassone’s Haikai Challenge #4 referencing or using the word Darkness. My thanks to Frank for indulging my resistance to restraint and encouraging me to play with the limits on Japanese poetic forms.
The seasonal words of Japanese poetry vary by the region in which the poet lives. Autumn in Florida means not color change nor falling leaves; it is our Hurricane Season (storm) and that long-awaited end of the heat. It is that season which turns to tourists and outdoor festivals; it is that season when my Passion Vine can still shine, in spite of her pruning. The Dodoitsu is intended to be about work or love, and while it ought to have a comical twist, I chose to ignore that rule, just as the vine ignores the fact that many consider her a weed. 😉