Tanka

where are you, old friend?
are you still the twinkling eye?
the echo of words?
I sound out the hieroglyphs
that carve your name into stone

by autumn light
the flicker of child fingers
shadow dancing beads . . .
a mayfly upon the stream
your words ripple through silence

entering the mist
I become so at one
with mere being
that, with the forming of shapes
and words, it slips away

the dew drop
hanging still from the leaf . . .
it would not be
had not my own eyes
been tinted by dawn

mountain silence,
I will get to hear
the shifts of light . . .
I am well versed in the paths
of your valley mists

along this path
a bellbird chimes descant
to my footsteps —
she listens to the way
I sing inside my head

this morning
the open window
of her eyes . . .
I emerge from darkness
with gold-flecked wings

cattails - May 2014

step by step
our paths merge together
as water and wine . . .
in these unplanned moments
we sip eternity

cattails Premier Edition - January 2014
Editor's Choice - Tanka

Editor's comments:

Being a hopeless romantic and given that tanka originated as court poetry, this one by Hansha Teki of New Zealand, is one of my Editor's Choices. The rhythm being approximately s, l, s, l, l, right off qualifies it as a tanka rather than just a free verse or mainstream short poem. The content is poetic yet not overly done, nor does it lack either in substance or depth. Lines 1 and 2 set up the situation, line 3 gives us a pause plus a twist instead of simply being a run-on sentence. Lines 4 and 5 bring us back to the beginning which gives us closure. Literally “we sip eternity” of unplanned moments with its author.

— cattails Principal editor an'ya, USA

wisps of valley mist
yield to the sun and are lost
to sky, to emptiness—
tell me again mayfly
just what has been the point?

all too cheap
the froth of words
not bled for . . .
let the crescent moon
be chiselled in the heart

see how time
reshapes my silhouette
cast by moonlight . . .
far away a half moon
rises out of my past

spreadeagled
against the southern cross
my arms strain for yours
while I chant through the hours
my liturgy of silence

across the valley
drift ancestral voices;
with each rise and fall
of her still sleeping breast
moonlight enters my breath

how predictable!
the poet's exclamation
goes on and on . . .
another tanka flounders
under too many syllables

swelling clouds
brood detachedly
over death –
the life that escapes
from my every pore

first rays . . .
sunlight awakens
the valley
how can the hills contain
all that lies beyond?