Haiku #48

Breathing mountain air
among rows of moss-covered stones
a smiling Rakan

IMG_0693_sm

Advertisements

Kamikochi

Breathing in the fresh mountain air,
I absorb the landscape before me.
Standing tall beneath the wispy clouds,
the mountain embraces the river.
Sandy brown, granite gray,
with streams of white pebbles
flowing down the slopes.

Flowing to
a richer part of the mountain
covered with yellow-green grass,
surrounded by auburn trees,
next to the white pebble beach
by the blue-green water.
The sun shines throughout.

Standing on Kappa Bridge,
I look dull in comparison,
for I am only one color,
the color of my skin.
However, when standing next
to my brothers and sisters
from all over the world,
we are also part of nature’s beauty,
varying colors standing together,
living in harmony.

IMG_0192_sm

Walking in the Kyoto Countryside

It’s been a while since I posted a poem as I have been very busy with life.  Now that things are settling down, I was able to write a poem based on some of the photos I took on my vacation to Japan.  I hope you enjoy it.

Walking in the Kyoto Countryside
by Jenny Katherine Luu

Wet soles walk
on a winding path
surrounded by weeds.
Footsteps washed away
by the pouring rain

Wind sings
with the rain.
Rain dances
on the umbrella,
on our faces,
on our bodies,
on the ground.

Rain falls
like jewels,
as we hop
to avoid puddles
reflecting
our soles.

Weeds, they waver
in the wind.
Raindrops cling to weed,
sparkling in the sun,
like lovers
afraid to let go,
like teardrops
about to fall
from the lid
of the eye.

In the distance, I see
a marshland, showered
with rain,
and a wooden bridge
with many legs
like a centipede,
extending farther
than the eye could see.

Washed with rain,
the bridge glistens
in the sun,
as if the surface
were covered with sweat
from bearing the weight
of all who crossed.

She wears a cotton hat.
She rides her bike
across the bridge.
I watch
as she passes me.

Here in the country,
there is no sound
but wind and rain,
no concept of time,
just you and me.

I watch the Earth.
I watch the grass.
I watch the rain.
I witness life.

kyoto-country

Writing Prompt

A few weeks ago, I attended Poets at Play and the proctor provided a writing prompt.  I didn’t follow the prompt that day, but decided to try it out while I was relaxing at the beach the following day.  I’ve listed both the prompt and my poem below 🙂

The Prompt:
Make a list of the following things and include them in your poem

  • 3-4 colors
  • 3-4 sounds
  • 3-4 flavors
  • 3-4 parts of the body
  • 1 factual statement
  • 1 command
  • 1 thing you lost
  • 1 particular question
  • 1 abstract question
  • several locations
  • several objects
  • 1-2 living creatures
  • 2-3 kinesthetic adjectives

My Poem

I arrived at Seacliff Beach
in my metallic baby blue minivan,
dressed in a neon pink shirt,
a flapping lavender skirt,
and modern happy black sunglasses.
I can’t stop… dancing to the music.

Birds chirping in the sky,
dolphins swimming in the ocean.
The scent of smoked sausage
drifts in my nostrils
and I can’t stop
popping flaming hot
cheetos into my mouth.

My big toe caresses the sand.
I am writing a poem at the beach,
sitting in my camping chair,
tapping my knee cap
as visions of the past
drifts into mind.

“What time is the turkey done?”
my grandparents asked
over the loud hum
of the refrigerator
as I stood on the balcony
eating mint chocolate chip
ice cream,
watching the dog’s leash
get caught on the tree trunk.

A fly buzzed by
my ear lobe just then,
just like the time
at Levi’s Stadium.
I was so distracted,
I hit my funny bone
and dropped my nachos.

Nothing was as bad
as discovering bed bugs
in our room
on the cruise ship
and hearing the fast
clickety-clack
of high-heeled shoes
on the dock
every hour, every night,
more annoying
than the loud rev
of a Harley engine starting.

Is my sanity worth more
than human compassion?

A tangent of images,
a tangent of thoughts
based on a list of words.
Maybe it’s time…
to leave the beach.

seacliff.jpg

  • Please note that majority of events and locations (other than me writing at the beach) are entirely fictional.

The Long Walk

I’m taking a quick break from the Memory Poems of my characters to post one of my own this week.  This was written during Poets at Play.

The Long Walk

She remembered hopping off the bus
some sixteen years ago
carrying her baby blue Jansport backpack
filled to the rim with binders and books,
something she bore on her shoulders
5 days a week, even in the rain.

It was raining then, water drops
came crashing down.  The wind
pushed her left and right.
It was as if Mother Storm
slapped her in the face with spit.

She opened her portable umbrella,
The useless flimsy thing
was no match for the wind,
being pulled inside out
this way and that way,
a broken fragile puppet of the wind.

She struggled to maintain control,
so it wouldn’t fly away,
while crossing the street
looking like a helpless mess,
as onlookers watched
from the safety of their cars.

Raindrops streamed down her face.
Rain pelted her clothes
from slanted angles.
Little drops of water
on her jeans 
were like dark blue dots
that grew into patches
that eventually covered the leg.

Her once dried socks
were wet and squishy.
Her once bright mood
became cloudy like the storm.
She made it home, soaking wet.

It was one of the longest

10 minute walks she’s ever taken
alone
with her friend, El Nino
during high school
in the early millennium.

Flash forward – 2016/2017,
the storm is coming,
school is closed.
Children deprived
of experiencing
these memories.

a-girlwalkinginrain
image from angelgran’s photobucket