obsessed
with sky I wander
this road winds
up the mountain
my weed green hut
Friday, October 17, 2014
Wednesday, October 15, 2014
Moonbathing Tanka Journal Spring 2014
Moonbathing summer 2014
Edited by Pamela Babusci
green elixir
mother’s “nerve medicine”
in a bottle
on the top kitchen shelf,
was it really my fault?
Tuesday, October 14, 2014
Sunday, October 12, 2014
From "Journeys:Getting Lost," my poetry collection - Finishing Line Press
I asked the boy beneath the pines.
He said: the Master’s gone alone
herb picking somewhere on the mount,
cloud-hidden, whereabouts unknown.
Jia Dao (Chia Tao)(c.779-843)....Chinese Buddhist/Taoist poet from the Tang Dynasty....born near Beijing....a master of Ping Tan....the ordinary & the plain....
“Leave the door open for the unknown, the door into the dark. That’s where the most important things come from, where you yourself came from, and where you will go.”
Thursday, October 9, 2014
Some of my poems from Bright Stars 5 - Edited by M.Kei
rose moon rise
huge honey balloon
we chase it
like we’re still some kids
howling down the street
on my street
pot smoke rises up
to full moon
dog and I shiver
startled by dark wings
once I was
(will be) a bag lady
busking poems
on the street for coffee
one haiku for a cup
always knew
someday I’d lose it
(losing it)
bags of amygdala
in a shopping cart
sedoka
no one ever
knew what to do with her
sneaking out
memorizing moonlight
rag doll in the dumpster
beneath the dead roses
Chevy Chase ladies
grace the green lawn party
like fireflies at dusk
toasting their excellent lives
one mint julep at a time
Wednesday, October 8, 2014
My Tanka from Undertow Magazine October 2014
Tanka Published in Undertow Online Magazine October 2014
was it absinthe
that green glass bottle
on the top shelf
did it swing my mother
in the belly of the sea?
clairvoyant friend says
look for her in lunatic
asylums but I think
demon suicide took her
family bible stained by blood
we'll take
the dog and the Malbec
we'll find
the highest hill for moonrise
enthralled in ancient magic
pink pearl
rising translucent
enormous
butterfly moon
drunk on milkweed
didn't know
I was a hedgewitch
secluded
behind a creaking gate
whispering butterflies
ripe scent
of full dumpsters
the night
before garbage day
super moon light
summer ending
I'm still butterfly crazy
kaleidoscope
all the colors of the sun
in my whirligig eyes
high summer
poems about butterflies
fluttering
across computer screens
we feel them touch our fingers
poems about butterflies
fluttering
across computer screens
we feel them touch our fingers
is this
the summer when
the world
incinerates itself
of just the beginning?
Merlin
stars shimmering on
his purple robe
I loved the runic picture
in that antique book
Hedgerow Poems published in the first issue of Hedgerow Online Mag October 2014
Hedgerow Poems
in my dreams
I find Merlin wandering
among the hedgerows
should have been born
inside a druid oak
once I was
a tree silvered
by the moon
you might find her
sleeping inside the yew hedge
that wild woman with
her rosary of berries
she’s the keeper in the green
Thanks to Caroline Skanne for publishing these.
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In the poems, Carole Johnston shows a flair for tying emotions to arresting images and invites readers to become a fellow traveler.
time traveler
on the road with Basho
watching stars spin
fireflies disappearing
I fill my brush with ink
The thematic motifs explored in Journeys: Getting Lost remind me of the opening passage of Basho’s The Narrow Road to the Deep North, which is considered one of the most famous travelogues ever:
The moon and sun are eternal travelers. Even the years wander on. A lifetime adrift in a boat, or in old age leading a tired horse into the years, every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home. From the earliest times there have always been some who perished along the road. Still I have always been drawn by wind-blown clouds into dreams of a lifetime of wandering…