Posts Tagged ‘poetry’

“I feel the rain”….

November 13, 2017

0403Whe-R01-009

(Wintered Geese, watercolor, 2009,  Jane Kohut-Bartels)

OPEN LINK NIGHT over at dversepoets.com.  Come read some marvelous poetry. Tonight is hosted by my dear friend, Kanzen Sakura, (AKA Toni Spenser).  AND! It’s her Birthday!!!!!

 

I feel the rain waiting to be born.

I hear the banshee wind

Race around eaves,

Scaring the haunts in the attic,

Making hambone frenzy with

hollow, powdery limbs.

 

Trees now tilting whirligigs

Ancient pin, water oaks

Dancing St. Germaine’s dance–

Frenzy below amongst quilted colors

Ruffling the feathers of nature

Tossing the spectrum wide.

 

I smell the mossy rain finally born,

Hear the clatter on a tin roof

Wind howling down rainspouts

Smell again the musty fog

Born of a sullen, moaning stream

And head for bed under the eaves,

Shared with a Banshee zephyr

And a ham-bone frenzy

serenading ’til dawn.

 

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2017

 

 

 

“Samhain, A Celtic Winter Song”

October 31, 2017

 

Kohut-Bartels-LS-3

(Watercolor, “Dawn Ducks”, Jane Kohut-Bartels, 2004)

Posted for Open Link Night over at Dversepoets.com.  Come and read some great, non themed poetry!

Dark mysterious season,

when the light doesn’t

quite reach the ground,

the trees shadow puppets

moving against the gray of day.

 

I think over the past year

praying there has been a

kindling in my soul,

the heart opened, warmed

and the juiciness of life is

more than the loins–

a stream of forgiveness

slow flowing through the tough fibers

not stopper’d with an underlying

bitterness

but softened with compassion.

 

This season of constrictions,

unusual emptiness,

brittle like dried twigs

desiccated by hoar frost

just to be endured.

 

I wrap myself in wool and

watch the migrations–

first tender song birds which harken

back to summer,

then Sandhill cranes,

legs thin black banners

streaming behind white bodies,

lost against a gunmetal sky.

 

They lift off to a middling cosmos,

while I, earth-bound,

can only flap the wings of my shawl,

poor plumage for such a flight,

and wonder about my own destination.

 

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2017

“Chicken Hawk Talk”

October 19, 2017
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Young RedTail Hawk, Jane Kohut-Bartels, watercolor

 Bodhirose ( Gayle) is hosing Open Link Night over at d’versepoets.com, where you can post one poem of your desires.  No prompt.

Lady Nyo

Chicken Hawk!

Leave my chickens alone!

I have worked hard for them,

A handmaiden of fowl.

Collecting beautiful eggs

The gift of the species

Naturally dyed

Pink, brown, blue-green and white.

 

These colorful gems

Presented at Easter,

A symbol of the Lamb of God,

And the Spring of Life.

 

Leave my chickens alone, hawk.

I won’t even share.

 

I remember two short years ago,

When I saw you wheeling over the kudzu

Riding the thermals,

Not graced with the brick-colored tail of a proper Red Tail hawk–

 

And I gasped at your splendor, a winged god

From the cosmos, glittering white ash against a cobalt sky,

And you landed one day in my birdbath,

Trying to look like a stone sculpture,

And just the flicker of your 8x eyes

Looked over the songbirds for lunch.

 

 

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2016

“Autumn Dusk”

October 17, 2017
Kohut-Bartels-LS-19

Sunset in a Violent Sky, copyrighted, 2007, janekohut-bartels, watercolor

Kim is hosting dversepoets tonight and the theme is Autumn.  Check out the wonderful poetry that will be on the site.  dversepoets.com.

 

AUTUMN DUSK

 

Stuttering winds blow across
Clouds tinted by the failing sun.
Brittle air softens,
Now a faded blue–
Shade of an old man’s watery eyes.

A late flock of Sandhill cranes lift off,
Pale bodies blending in the
Twilight with legs
Flowing dark streamers,
Their celestial cries fall to
Earth–
A harsh, chiding rain.

The trees in the valley
Are massed in darkness
As waning light leaches
Color from nature,
Creeps from field to hillock
And all below prepares for the
Rising of the Corn Moon.

Even frogs in the pond
Listen between croaks
For the intention of the night.

 

Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2017

 

“Rain”…..

October 16, 2017

tuareg2[1]At Dversepoets.com

tonight is Haibun night, and the prompt is ‘water’.  My attempt might be ‘anti-water’.  LOL!

Lady Nyo

 

 

Rain

I feel the rain waiting to be born.
A spectral haunting
Charming eyes and nose,
Rebirth in the torrent –
The waters of Heaven
Waiting to be born.

Bushes rattle leaves
Wait with eternal patience
The herald-winds start to howl,
A Saharan Miracle!
And the back of drought is broken
With this rain waiting to be born.

 

In the Saharan
Flowers iridescent
Five drops of water

 

This was written last week listening to Berber music. It ended, this torrent of musicality, with 5 measured beats.  This was the ‘rain waiting to be born.”  In the desert, the rains are awaited patiently and in some years are 5 years apart.  So, though not exactly following a haibun standard, I am hoping this pleases.

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted 2017

 

 

 

“Autumn Dusk”

October 14, 2017

0403Whe-R01-009

Marsh Geese, watercolor, Jane Kohut-Bartels, 2007

 

Stuttering winds blow across

Clouds tinted by the failing sun.

Brittle air softens,

Now a faded blue–

Shade of an old man’s watery eyes.

 

A late flock of Sandhill cranes lift off,

Pale bodies blending in the

Twilight with legs

Flowing dark streamers,

Their celestial cries fall to

Earth–

A harsh, chiding rain.

 

The trees in the valley

Are massed in darkness

As waning light leaches

Color from nature,

Creeps from field to hillock

And all below prepare for the

Rising of the Corn Moon.

 

Even frogs in the pond

Listen between croaks

For the intention of the night.

 

 

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2017

 

“Tanka of Seductions”

October 10, 2017

Flowers 2 (Late Summer flowers from Alum Beltline Market)

The moon floats on wisps

Of clouds extending outward.

Tendrils of white fire

Blanketing the universe

Gauzy ghosts of nothingness.

Come into my arms.

Bury under the warm quilt.

Your scent makes me drunk

Like the wine we gulped last night.

Too much lust and drink to think.

—–

Give me a moment!

To catch my breath and settle.

Give me some peace.

Stop kissing my hands, stop it!

What if someone is watching?

—-

Presence of Autumn

Burst of color radiates

From Earth-bound anchors

Sun grabs prismatic beauty

And tosses the spectrum wide!

Bolts of lightening flash!

The sky brightens like the day

too soon it darkens.

My eyes opened or closed see

the futility of love.

Had I not known life

I would have thought it all dreams.

Who is to tell truth?

It comes at too sharp a price.

Better to bear flattery.

Cranes wheeled in the sky

Their chiding cries fell to hard earth

Warm mid winter day

A pale half moon calls the birds

To stroke her face with soft wings.

 

Glimpse of a white wrist

Feel the pulse of blood beneath-

This is seduction!

But catch a wry, cunning smile

One learns all is artifice.

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2008-2016

“Orpheus and Eurydice”, for Open Link Night at dversepoets.com

September 21, 2017

 

Watts_George_Frederic_Orpheus_And_Eurydice[1]

 

Hear my rendering of an oft-told tale

(mixed with a leavening of Bullfinch)

Composed in view of Orpheus’

Lyre in the Cosmos.

 

Orpheus, son of Apollo and Calliope

(I forget Eurydice’s heritage)

Was to be blessed by Hymen.

 

He brought no happy omens.

His torch smoked, drew tears.

Flowers wilted,

Gods and Goddesses coughed and sputtered.

 

Orpheus, master of the lyre,

Whose notes melted tiger’s hearts

Made trees uproot and creep near,

Rocks to soften-

Loved his Eurydice.

 

But Fate conspired with happiness.

Eurydice, chased by Aristaeus

Was raped.

She died a broken, bloody death

On the end of Aristaeus’…. sword.

 

Fast did Orpheus descend to those Stygian depths!

His tones pleaded for the return of his Eurydice.

 

Sisyphus sat on his rock to listen,

Ixion’s wheel stood still

And the Furies eyes now wet with tears.

 

Ah! The Underworld turned upside down.

 

Eurydice came,

Garbed in her winding shroud,

fresh with young death.

 

Here’s the deal. Walk out of Hell

And don’t look back.

 

Orpheus! You almost made it!

Eurydice, twice dead, disappears.

 

Sometimes,

In both love and death-

 It only takes one glance.

 

 

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2016

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Some Haibuns”

September 19, 2017

 

images (3)  Sumo puppies in training…

I love Sumo wrestling.  Or at least I think I do.  Perhaps it is the only sport where I don’t feel like I have to hold in my stomach sitting there. Watching those mountains of flesh-men grapple with each other makes my heart beat hard.  There is such history around this sport, and such a deep tradition.  The fact that they gorge themselves with a purpose makes my heart sing.  How wonderful that you can eat and eat without any concern for weight or fashion!

And, did you know that those belts they wear can cost a million yen?  Or so I have read.  I have also read that Sumo Wrestlers are some of the most humble and gentle of men.  Here, have another bowl of rice.

 

Mountains of flesh pound

A ring of sandy earth

Cunning and strength vie.

 

 Shadows

 

The newborn radishes are shadowed by cherry tomatoes. The almost-red globes drop down to visit. They compare hues.  The garden is bathed in the light of a horizontal crescent moon, grinning like an idiot, suspended over trees that cast shadows on hillocks and deepening the valleys with their creeping darkness.

It is very early Spring. Dusk and day still balance in a pale sky, though the moon has risen.  Oh, the mystery of the night where shadows churn with imagination!

I sit on a concrete wall, watching distant clouds dance on the wind. The oaks are feathery with their foliage, the pecans still winter-nude. Day is closing.  Doves are almost silent, sleepy sounding.  Bats speed by, scimitars of the night. I close my eyes and drink in the approaching dark. Only those shadows attend me, and possibly a few lurking monsters.

 

Night’s benediction:

Bull frogs bellow in the pond

Shadows blanket day.

kappa[1]

(This is a general warning against Kappa.  And also a good example of something to fear.)

Fear

 

Global Warming has brought significant changes to the South, and Atlanta is now nicknamed “Tornado Alley”.  In the almost fifty years I have lived here, I have seen disturbing changes. My first acquaintance with a ‘tornado’ was when I heard what I thought was a tornado and I was in the bathtub.  My now-ex-husband headed for the basement leaving me in the water.  It turned out to be a train. There was a track back in the woods we didn’t know of.

One flattened our local park and was called ‘severe wind shear’.  From the looks of it, it seemed like a tornado. Trees, hundred year old oaks flattened to the ground, an indeterminate path through the park, a warzone of defeated greenery.

I fear the heavy winds and rainstorms. I am powerless before them.  The only way to save oneself is to head for the basement and cower with whatever lives down there.  And of course this adds to the fear.

 

Winds begins to rise

Fear out runs common sense

The worms are safer

 

 

–One Tanka….

I wander the fields

Snow covers the barren soil

Sharp wind plays pan pipes

A murder of crows huddle

Black laughing fruit hang from limbs 

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2017

 

 

J

 

‘The River’, from “A Seasoning of Lust”

September 15, 2017

 

revised-cover-2776

THE RIVER

 

The sun streamed in the window,

Like a jarring benediction

From a loud-mouthed priest.

It fell upon us

As we spooned asleep,

Your back turned to me,

My nose on your skin

Breathing in the miracle of you.

 

Last night, our first in spent passion,

That particular coin flowed like a river

Between us.

You brought hot, wet towels

To clean up the waters left by the flood.

 

Bending over me,

Parting my thighs with your hands,

I wanted you to leave the damp alone,

And slide

Into the faintly pulsing dark chasm,

My hollow twisting at the end of you.

 

But instead,

I curled up like a fiddle-head fern,

And embraced your dark head with my hands,

Pulling your mouth to my own,

 

And we flowed down that river again.

 

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2016  (“The River” is published in “A Seasoning of Lust”, Amazon.com 2016)


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