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‘Windstill’ ~~~In Honor of National Poetry Month

Windstill © by Trisha Sugarek

Subtle silence
Windstill
trees await the next
message on the air

Windstill
not a whisper of birdsong
not a leaf-rustle intrudes
as it falls
fluttering to the ground

The wind has departed
beyond the next hill
leaving in its wake
Windstill

Will it return? The breeze
dancing amongst the leaves
to the tune of the forest

Shall the still wind haunt
amongst the trees?
or come roaring back, shrieking?
Windstill
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There isn’t anything lovelier than receiving reviews from my fellow poets as I celebrate Nat’l Poetry Month.  My free verse, “Dear John” was featured on the home page of Poetrysoup.com and received these: 

‘Trisha,this poem spoke to my heart. Very raw with emotions and beautifully written, Keep that fire burning,it will light up the pathway for your John.’ Chinwe Igbozurike

and

Trisha, I really enjoyed stepping behind your eyes for a brief eclipse with your heart! Wondrous writing!’  red barchettadrive
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MY BLOG features INTERVIEWS with  best-selling AUTHORS!   February: Rick Lenz, March: Patrick Canning, April: Poet, Joe Albanese and May: Boo Walker 
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Haiku ~ In Honor of National Poetry Month

Haiku and Renku Poetry © by Trisha Sugarek

Haiku

to write haiku is
to distill to perfection
with only three lines

 

Memories of the South 

spanish moss shimmers
slave ghosts of days long gone by
hanging from the trees

stain on Old Glory
dark time of subjugation
when man enslaved man

memories forever
then bodies, now gray moss hangs
tears, blood-darken roots

Samurai Song

delicate blossom
rests in the still gnarled hand
bruised petals weep tears

weary eyes open
tiny cuts, the body bleeds
peace still years away

sun rise breaks the hill
heralds another battle
draw your sword and charge

Life after Death

Dark, cold days of grief
think you can no longer breathe
great loss, emptiness

Summer woods
a single leaf floats
deer creep along well worn paths
fish leap with delight

rings spread on the pond
katydids shout their presence
goslings paddle near

breezes stir the trees
the forest floor perfumes rise
a lone bird exults
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MY BLOG features INTERVIEWS with  best-selling AUTHORS!   February: Rick Lenz, March: Patrick Canning, April: Poet, Joe Albanese and May: Boo Walker 
To receive my posts sign up for my   On the home page, enter your email address.  Thanks! 

 

 

In Honor of National Poetry Month

I’m a humble poet, a rambling rhymester, a free verse fanatic, a Haiku sycophant. I love other poets and their scribbles and I worship at the alter of Charles Bukowski. For the month of April I celebrate National Poetry month with some of my own scribbles. 

 

The Long Trail © by Trisha Sugarek

The Circle Heart brand on the wet rump rippled
the horse shivered with exhaustion
the sun lost its battle with night and
dropped behind the far desolate peak

Chaparejos, worn thin and soft fit his legs
As if they had grown there
dusty spurs jangled as he trotted down the main
street of the sleepy town
a saddle that had seen a thousand miles creaked
and complained as he stepped down
the crown of his hat stained with sweat
from the hard ride

Reins dangled in the dirt
the horse hung his head, relieved
to not be moving

A drink or two to wash the Santa Fe Trail dust
from the cowboy’s throat
he stepped up onto the boardwalk,
turned and gazed at the town
and the mountains beyond
the color of old blood as the sun lost its glory

He pulled a cigarillo out,
one smooth movement wiped a match on his pants,
the tiny flame ignited
he puffed and blew smoke into the night air
watched the town close up for the day

Across the street a cur scurried around a corner
a merchant keyed his shop closed and
lit the gas lantern beside his door

The work had been good at the Circle Heart ranch,the grub even better
But the trail was his siren, always calling him, luring him over the next hill, 
down the next wash,
up the next canyon
sleeping next to a small camp fire,
staring at a billion stars
wondering if someone, something out there
was staring back

He wanted to settle but he hadn’t found
the right place
the right woman
the right time

Flicking the smoke into the street, he turned
and sauntered into the saloon,
honky-tonk piano played
the doors behind him whispered back and forth

The patrons saw another dusty, tired cowpoke, looking
for a few hours of pleasure
some music, some whiskey, and if he could afford it
the soft arms of a woman

The cowboy saw weak town folk,
forever saddled to their days
the bit in their mouths dictating their lives
wary of any stranger, their gaze shied away

Set ‘em up and keep ‘em comin’, the cowboy barked

Show me your coin, the barkeep growled

His days were numbered,
the boys from the Circle Heart ranch
would find him and the horse
They would take their horse and probably string
him up to the nearest tree

There isn’t anything lovelier than receiving reviews from my fellow poets as I celebrate Nat’l Poetry Month.  My free verse, “Dear John” was featured on the home page of Poetrysoup.com and recieved these: 

‘Trisha, this poem spoke to my heart. Very raw with emotions and beautifully written, Keep that fire burning,it will light up the pathway for your John.’ Chinwe Igbozurike

and

Trisha, I really enjoyed stepping behind your eyes for a brief eclipse with your heart! Wondrous writing!’  red barchettadrive
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
MY BLOG features INTERVIEWS with  best-selling AUTHORS!   December:  Jayne Ann Krentz (Amanda Quick)  January: Molly Gloss.  February: Rick Lenz, March: Patrick Canning and April: Poet, Joe Albanese
To receive my posts sign up for my   On the home page, enter your email address.  Thanks! 

Haiku Poetry

 

 

 

 

 

New Poetry

Haiku   (haiku)

to write haiku is
to distill to perfection
with only three lines

 

after life (haiku)

believe in after
if there is none beyond this
does not signify

 

The School   (Renku)

halls run with blood, red
brains and flesh smear locker doors 
hearts beat the last drop

children creep and hide
a dark shadow haunts the school
bursts of bullets kill

soft crying stifled
will the nightmare never end? no, play dead,
be still

finally, silence
except the whispered pleas heard
 to god, to anyone, please please

haiku, poetry, pen and ink art, poems, Japanese haiku,

 

 

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MY BLOG features INTERVIEWS with  best-selling AUTHORS!    March: Mystery (and Western) writer, Larry D. Sweazy.  April: International adventurer, writer, Tal Gur.                                                                                   
                                        
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Wind Horse…A Little Haiku for your Monday morning

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CLICK ON IMAGE
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DON’T MISS UPCOMING BLOGS featuring INTERVIEWS with  best-selling AUTHORS!       Julia London in October and Matt Jorgenson later this winter. Coming in December!  My review of a new release by Dean Koontz, Ashley Bell.

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{Charcoal rendering and poetry by T.Sugarek}

 

 

Time to Take a Breath…Time For a Little Poetry

crazy ladyWhat a week!  Wrangling with a small so-called, publisher and their poorly written contract, (which I turned down). Writers! Beware of scam artists that call themselves publishers!  A week of being in the clutches of an editor (just kidding…it’s a wonderful experience, writers, you should try it) and trying to survive record-breaking summer temps in Savannah.

I said to a friend, just today, (when she said she was taking a few days off but would continue to work from her mobile.)  ‘BALANCE’,  turn your phone off. more »

PoetrySoup.com features this author’s poetry

moss covered trees Dear Trisha,

Congratulations, this is just a quick notice to let you know that your poem Memories of the South is one of the poems being featured on the PoetrySoup home page this week. Poems are rotated each day in groups of 14-16 to give each poem an equal opportunity to be displayed.

Thanks again and congratulations.  Sincerely, PoetrySoup

Memories of the South

Memories of the Old South

Brush and ink by Trisha Sugarek

spanish moss shimmers
slave ghosts of days long gone by
hanging from the trees

stain on Old Glory
dark time of subjugation
when man enslaved man

memories forever
then bodies, now gray moss hangs
tears, blood darken roots

For more Haiku-style (Renku) poetry check out my book, The World of Haiku

PoetrySoup.com features this Writer’s work!

Dear Trisha,

Congratulations, this is just a quick notice to let you know that your poem Fall Opens the Door is one of thepoetry, Haiku, family, love, betrayal, death, grief, recovery poems being featured on the PoetrySoup.com home page this week. Poems are rotated each day in groups of 14-16 to give each poem an equal opportunity to be displayed.

Thanks again and congratulations.

PoetrySoup

Fall Opens the Door ©  (Renku)

morning sun dapples
trees in a polka-dot dress
shines soft green and light

chilly hint of autumn
smells of summer, loam, and pause
visions of winter

sap returns from leaves
to store deep in the tree heart
yellow, red, orange, burnt

Note: Renku is a style of Haikuhaiku, poetry, pen and ink art, poems, Japanese haiku,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Skip to the Head of the Line

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Scripts about bullying and other teen issues.  Great for the

Ten Minutes to Curtain, Vol. I, II, & III

Ten Minutes to Curtain, Vol. I, II, & III

classroom!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fiction.  The new mystery series, ‘The World of Murder’ with Detectives O’Roarke and Garcia.artofmurder_cover (2)

 

 

WOW.BanW._wow (3)Don’t miss “Women Outside the Walls” 

 

 

 

 

and”Wild Violetsfiction, women, flappers, prohibition, San Francisco, roaring twenties

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Haiku Poetry from around the World and here at Home!

monkey.3

As promised, send me your poetry (Haiku) and I will post it.  The surprising and delightful thing is I received poetry from all ages and from as far away as India and Argentina.  It’s only fitting that we begin with one from the master.

 

Untitled    (Bashô, Japan)

the first cold shower;
even the monkey seems to want
a little coat of straw.

To enjoy life  (María del Carmen Chiappero, Argentina)

The lovely sun shines,trees.sun7
the wind blows by the window,
an old sweet song sounds.

With a melody,
Many melancholy words
leave a deep meaning.

We´re “dust in the wind”.
We´re all part of this giant big world,
but we´re very small.

Moments don’t come back
life goes on now, step by step
Then let´s enjoy life.
more »