Trip forgotten?

Romantic spot
oddly enough
not far away -
add the wine
listen to music -
divine dream.

Everyday mayhap
leads to nowhere
gone is the allure
yet
enticing me to
not forget my trip.

Mythaway

Myth making is as common
as the dreams that we dream -
escape or understanding
our every day lives.
Today we let the directors
and the authors create them,
then priests told us what to believe
the story makers entertained us.
Yet Schliemann found Troy
while reading the Iliad,
some places have been dug up
because of the Bible,
rumor has it that the vikings
knew of a faraway land,
so was Columbus really a Norseman?
Myth makers all - dream away:
I do - - sometimes.

Escape?

My son went out into a world of war
my oldest - yet I knew that streets smart
was his name - he survived two war zones
and he barely communicated.

My daughter had no problem getting
to an Internet cafe - we are close
so she knew that soothing of my mind
was crucial for me and she attuned.

My youngest son is a true escape artist
he left on a plane and landed? Took a bus??
No email - no phone calls - we wondered
did he arrive at his destination?

Since I am on the same continent as he
it just now dawned on me to call the place
asking only of somebody, did he arrive?
The eaglet has sure enough landed.

Gentleman haiku

Tomatoes tendered
by a genteel gard'ner -
peeking at his patch.

Common denominator

I walked today with two ladies
bumbling along a beautiful country road
somewhere - anywhere

We saw thistles and clear blue skies
rallying at random chattering
somewhere - anywhere

We are what the French would say
women of a certain age
somewhere - anywhere

We described our different roads
of a life - out of a mother's womb
somewhere - anywhere

Thrown together in a blink in time
yet motherhood and grandmother hood
somewhere - anywhere

Each with our own background
so different and yet a sisterly bond
somewhere - anywhere

From the Pyrenees to Albion
via the Netherlands and North
somewhere - anywhere

Three ladies on a country road
from birth to grave bound one day
somewhere - anywhere

House revisited

Knock Knock - who's there?
A lady standing
outside the glass door
to-day asking,
Do you speak French?
Oui Oui, is my reply.
I lived in your house 25 years ago!
How could I not invite her in?
I get goosebumps,
she told me.
It was my husband who did the stairs.
Each room - she saw - she said
It looks the same.
Time was away and somewhere else
for this lady, she was smiling.
I have to tell my daughter.
The arch in our living room
they found behind the walls.
They think it was a convent once.
The arch in the kitchen should also be there.
The cupboard on the landing
I left it, she said.
Here my daughter learned to walk.
I asked for her address,
she willingly gave it to me.
I will send her pictures one day
because she did me a favor.
Her obvious joy told me
she had been happy here -
just like me - in my nunnery!

Et in Arcadia Ego

Over the hills and in Tempe
or the dales of Arcady
kens Keats to the Urn.
He cannot have his muse
but she is forever there
a cursory dream... of fulfilment.
Et in Arcadia Ego

Poussin's two vistas and his tomb
weld the same anagram?
The elusive essence exists
only in human minds
controlling our frail fantasies
of wishing to spin tall tales.
Et in Arcadia Ego.

Visiting Rennes-le-Chateau
on a stark summer day
with rain and clouds around
it did not yield any myths
except a lightening of a candle
in the little Marian church
Et in Arcadia Ego.

This morning I went where
my Visigoth friend walks
often when he is at home.
I saw the hills and dales
the mountains shrouded
in the clouds - a chimera
Et in Arcadia Ego.

The peregrination purely
therapeutic for the soul
fathomed the wishful ideas
of human longing and belonging
trotting along the country road
near earthly mounds and salty seas.
Et in Arcadia Ego.

Myth Haiku

Father Saunieres
rainy stark Rennes le Chateau
mysterious myths.

A little red toy car

Around the world
a tiny red toy car
travelled miles
to reach a grandson
by way of friends.

A tree was felled
wood was formed
a toy car painted
it trekked and toured
thousands of miles.

A little red vehicle
whirled its way
to the fantasy
of a growing mind -
a dream of a drive.

A horse woman

A horse woman hovering erectly
a pride seldom blatantly observed
she knew where she was going
dressaging her horse fiercely,
gently, and firm over the jumps -
she wanted control of the male
A horse woman with potent poise.

Brain haiku

A country ramble
brambles and wild vines abound
healthy breeze to brain.

En moi

Autour il y a d'orages
en moi - du calme.

Village life

Vølva Vigga whooped
she had found fulfillment
in a wee wild village.

It was not ideal
there was wickedness for wit
Eager goodness was evident

Flowers bloomed potently
some wild, some tame
some ancient, some just born.

Politeness ruled mostly
Curiousness was an affliction
but just because - because.

Undercurrents are there
they exist everywhere
accept the self-administered anvil.

Vigga the Vølva in Visigoth's lands
lingers her lithe limbs
to her summer in the sun.

A stupendous study
of humanity under heedful scrutiny
watched by the weird Vølva.

An evening walk produces a Spaniard
who mixes his native Andalousian
with the foreign French tongue.

A Parisian persistent pearl
with a withering wit of Pepys
a Gallic grande old dame.

The stable ladies of gossip
sit and gawk at life passing
but they have seen so much.

Mellowing with their musings
a visiting Visigoth Vølva mutters
her hello: they respond graciously.

Another is germane Germanic
if he speaks it is only in Gallic
he resembles a faraway friend.

The village is getting ready
for the fourteenth of festivities
so the square shifts to prytaneum.

The Vølva wonders vicariously
if she should partake in the fete,
is it only for its illusory inhabitants?

So she will ask her natural neighbours
whether they shall try their palates
on the eve of the oppidan enjoyment.

A healthy hanging beautiful basket
of red and white flowers tended for
had disappeared from its place.

The Vølva was immensely saddened
because stealing a blossom seems
a purposeless act and yet

perhaps this flower brought happiness
to a granny, a mother, a friend
even though it was physically plundered.

Troubles as we enter the freedom week
the fourteenth of July - bloody - one time
reddening again another acute age.

Loss swallowed- plant replaced
by kindness of kindred spirits
a neighbourly knightly deed.

What more could one wish for - kindness
gentleness with colour of humanism
thrown in for good measure.

Village life found the Visigoth Vølva
equalized to the tender time of studying
delving in the daunting dorm.

In and out of each others lives
on good days and on bad days
following the flow of fleeting time.

The mayor's speech brought forth
a great grasp of histrionic hail
in toto it will be quietly told

The day of the Bastille was important
because the subjects of the king
became the citizens of the land.

A lesson relearned in a little village
wound up the essential meaning of it all.
We can all learn from "the village".

Learning haiku?

Raw reminiscence -
drops of umpteenth amassed flops
sound symbiosis.

Friendship

Alas, friend
you talk of your own stuff
you say you listen
but truely you don't.
Still I like you.

Alas friend,
You were born communicating
I was born - in silence.
In some relationships I am you,
but will you ever be me?

Alert, my friend
we should accept
that we are strangely equal
you seem to be lonely
I am oddly content.