the colour of our lives

poetry • celebration • faith • nature • humanity • imperfections • glory

domestic Tanka

bicycle fixed
a spell of gardening
the path is swept —
distracting himself
while wife and daughter sleep

fetching the paper
in the baby-blue dawn
she spies a bright star
that special one’s mine, she says
bright Venus, racing the sun

of a cool morning
we buy fresh vegetables, fruit
and stop for coffee
“babyccino not too hot,
lady, it burns my tongue”

always her shoes first
then preferably her socks
bare feet are best.

senryū for variety 

 

running us ragged
a pixie with a dynamo
and fuel to burn —
different blessings come
with stories and quiet hugs

his scientist’s eyes
brighten with a challenge
of the mind —
within, a poet’s heart
cringes and slowly withers
 
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