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Rustling Sound
They both stand there staring silently,
like cobras being charmed by a flute,
separated by the elaborate black gate
wicked and terrifically Gothic and
aiming spikes or spears to Heaven
with figures carved into the metal.
A heavy rustling sound from beneath
dull orange layered leaves disturbs
the long moment of lovely discovery.
Mr. Hermit is beckoned by the noise.
He says, "Come back no sooner than
noon, when Our Sun is its brightest.
Meanwhile I have much toiling to do."
His veins surge with hope to know
what this Glowing Girl might mean.
She hesitates and then walks away.
One of the aspects I most
One of the aspects I most admire about this poetry is how each one seems to be part of the series, and yet able to stand alone. You do this with apparent effortlessness. I have failed at this, often, in the few Tanka sequences I have written; as Tanka, in a sequence, are supposed to be able to stand alone if broken out of the sequence, and I cannot always accomplish this. So I certainly acknowledge, admire, and even envy, your ability to do this, and to achieve it in such a subtle style. I believe you are building a collection of highly artistic and highly accomplished poetry---and the internal connections, mostly of style, within the poems, is proof that you simply do not scribble down any old thing and call it poetry. Like the great stylists of the 20th century, and like Patriciajj here on postpoems, your poetry is prepared, polished, and profound in its effect.
Starward
You’ll dig this
You’ll dig this daddy.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Uraeus
You paint such a vivid
You paint such a vivid picture in my mind, like walking through a dream, one that left me wanting to know more. Excellent writing.
Long days and pleasant nights
Diamond