Sketchbook  Karina Klesko, US

 

Tanka atop a wooden fence the cardinal's brilliant color even in winter rain we talk and laugh about old times     rhythms of my heart, the rain on hollow gourds throughout a winter field crows, here and there, no reason     a crow in the garden cries out to the others in early winter what will become of the stinging nettle?     shivering in the cold to finish a cigarette just before mass he combs his gray hair with stiffened fingers     i study your photo and wonder, what's beyond the darkest night— Is there solace in the scent of a rose?

Sijo Sorrowful Absolution Morning Mist on a Venice Waterway Centuries of morning's dew mingle with days of bleeding blue, Pestled gourds of mortal palettes connect the muddied shore-skies, Our gondola is sorely swift, galed by a gentile's song.

 

Within the throat of a virgin    the whisper of dragonfly wings. From her hand a white flower    bringing forth a sweeter bud. . So be the days of the heart    as it waits for the Seraphim

 

Haiku blue morning glories in the crannies of old bricks— grandpa's eyes     grasshoppers a brighter green among the ivy     two pink seashells at the end of the day same darkness     in love with it's voice the dog barks all day into the wind

 

The Heart At His Feet Leafing through the pages of a fashion magazine I see YOU here & there full lips, passionate eyes the man of my dreams I find a pair of scissors and cut out all the best features Excitedly I glue YOU into the void of my journey between last night's loneliness and a new morning's craving my breasts rising and falling in creation the last piece in place now I sit back and stare ...... your tanned chest with each curve perfected yet ... you are NOT quite right . . . my tears fall one by one onto the collage of colors e s c a p i n g beyond their limitations in a fit of disappointment I grab the scissors and stab at the heart lying at your feet a surge of renewal races through your veins as I look lovingly at my Dali Man sunlight through stained glass windows— the little lamb, still white

 

Ekphrastic Lanterne  Canna In Red* Mime the thought that's keeping this heart alive love bring with you a Canna— flames gold and red Sun light in me forever so I know not night *Georgia O' Keefe   (1887 —1986), Artist     Isle of the Dead* Saints nor ranks of angels hover above sheol strange stone forms near the shore— pyres bleed the sky gray *Arnold Bocklin's (1827-1901)   Isle of Death series

Link to Renku, Crysilis in the Burl

 

 

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