Poems of tanka form but not tanka.

 

So lonely am I

My soul like a floating weed

Severed at the roots

Drifting upon cold waters

No pillow for further dreams.

 

–

 

The truth of longing

Has nothing of nice logic.

A matter of hearts

So uneven, exciting!

But most painful, nonetheless.

 

–

 

The moon floats on wisps

Of clouds extending outward

Tendrils of white fire

Blanketing the universe

Gauzy ghosts of nothingness.

–

 

When nature is known
Reason for awe can be found
In familiar sights.
Intimacy at the core—
Astounding revelation!

 

–

 

Human frailties

wounds that bleed such heated blood

leave a dry vessel.

Without the moisture of love

the clay reverts to the ground.

–

I can no longer
tell my dreams from fantasy.
Which world shall I wake?
Will it be within your arms,
bewildered by last night’s lust?

–

The act of writing
is a powerful gesture.
Women who write poems
weave tapestries of wisdom
and form up lives that endure.

–

This is the problem!
Never give your precious life
into a man’s hand.
Plant your roots in deep water.
Don’t let sweet whispers seduce.
–

In the beginning
I offered my heart to you.
You held it lightly.
Unseen, it fell in the dirt,
made bitter by its journey.
–

 

In my heart’s black depth

I kept our secret smothered

although today I suffered

the usual pangs

needing to hear it aloud.

–

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2017

 

 

 

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2016