OF OPAL HUE

In a body worn
and broken
by the gods
into Dark forsaken
breathes a soul
of opal hue
in chains gold and silver
waiting for something
of narue kind and holy
to deliver

Japanese Poetry workshop: 4 haiku, 2 senryu, 1 tanka

By Ron Blue Demon77

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Haiku 1

Ominous clouds loom
signs of the approaching rain
for the thirsty plants

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Haiku 2

Green skies turbulent
ebon tendril reaches ground
Nature's fury's face

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Haiku 3

PROMETHEUS

Once I was electricity
fire electric blue
raging through
space and time.
a beginning wth no end.

Once I was a younger man
lost in myself.
I thought I would live
forever
but then I began to die..

I spied you by the shadows
in the shadows of my mind,
you made my dreams seem dizzy, come what may;

When I left you in the shadows,
I left you off for good,
seems it's you controls what happens on this day.

You lured among the gables
lurked by the cottages,
everything went fuzzy for a while;

something went electric
in the chilly, by the hearth;
I really must insist on but, a smile.

Deep into the evening
invisibility occurred,
not to mention dizzy dreams, and come what may;

Words. A. Maze…

Words are amazing they can bring
a sentence together, turn a drab rainy
day into the brightest of weather.

Make a horse jump, a rushing river
roar, they’re the beginning of a novel,
easily giving order to a musical score.

Taking your mind to dance on clouds
of richest rains, calming all anxiety
relinquishing the most hurtful pains.

Revealing to us the true depth of colour,
when all we see is grey, explaining the
unexplainable as our hero’s turn to clay.

In minutes it arrived
singing in low voices and
swinging from street lights.

It danced under branches
and wallowed in the breeze.
It hid under carpet and
scrabbled out of leaves.

It slipped over and laughed like
a hundred wobbling cranes.
Then pulled me closer while
whispering your soft name.

It was a freedom etched in
sadness with a solemn
blackened face.

DESERT WINDS

You came to me
on a desert wind
hiding treachery
behind perfumed smiles
and opiate lies.
The evil that you bring
is the death
of a serpent's sting
and all that flowers in me
dies

wore the colors of illusion
wove through the eye of a hurricane
you rode

iridescent green and blues
tapestries gathered
all by you

and the frost grew
and grew
the lake breath blew
against the star eye
of the evening traffic light
beneath the window
were you put out your
candles
praying for the signs

eventuality would arrive
and right thing up

Between stations, snow.
Bryson said one percent of the dancing static
is left-over from the big bang.
That's useful information,
maybe aliens or gods are trying to make
contact
but we're too busy watching
the other three hundred stations,
filling our heads with escapism
while life is lost on the living ninety-nine
per cent and the one percent takes it all.

However, even stars die and leave black
holes where nothing escapes, not even
light.

Dawning

Your shadow draws shorter devouring itself
as sweet morning light wanes into noon,
that time of day when all seeming
loses it's resplendent illusions
and the fairy magic of twilight
is swept under the vast carpet of day.
Echoes of your fading smiles
and midnight eyes burning into memory
are lost in the horizon of introspection.