John Daleiden, US
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Sijo
The Healing
Drink hot tea with
me tonight—
we'll watch the moon light dark shadows.
Tell me your secrets and fears—
I'll listen with forgetfulness.
The sad songs of old transgressions
disappear when our lips touch.
On Your Wedding
Day
For Sara and
Matthew on 08-08-08
I weep tears of joy
this night as you wed son.
Such bright gems—silent
beauty—together,
repeating your vows.
The lily and bronze hibiscus—grand,
radiant, and regal.
The love path is fraught with curves, disappointment, and great
pleasure.
Marriage races like mountain streams—hot,
cold, in torrents and eddies.
Take her hand and walk unified through dark days into the light.
Listen to the world in pain and speak to each other of love.
Drink lustily at the well of human flesh—know
each other.
Once each night clasp your precious hands in loving trust—quiet
joy.
Cinquain
Elysium Fields
I seek
your warm caress—
in the summer meadow
dance among the bright wild flowers
tonight.
The Laying of
Hands
Gently,
she rocks the child,
singing soft lullabies—
blessed child, let Galilee heal
your wounds.
Annie Sullivan
Teaches
The touch
of her kind hand—
her fingers shaping words,
tracing the cool splash of water
to life.
Penelope at the
Loom
Deftly,
she weaves the shroud
for Laertes' father—
her promises to suitors, false—
deceit.
Each night
she unravels
the delicate weaving—
her pledge of faithfulness secured
by lies.
Beguiled
with her estate,
these lusty rogues slaughtered;
adroitly, the likeminded pair
triumph.
For Friends in
Need
A rose
pinned in her hair—
her disarming smile hides
the hot tears she cried all night long...
oh, woe!
Comfort
is a friend's joy!
let me hold you close, dear...
my own arms, a protective shawl...
a shield.
Some day
I too will need
a kind, comforting hand—
cankers even grow in the Queen's
gardens.
Let me
dry your damp face—
we'll walk a mile or two
swapping tales of their infamous
mis-deeds.
Join hands
against unjust
and unkind acts of love—
through our finger tips flows kindness,
a circle.
Tanka
is it possible
tomorrow, our son will wed?
am I dreaming?
yesterday we discussed
if we should have children
with joy I leap
out of the frying pan
into your life
consume me with raging flames
until our ashes are one
emptiness reigns,
only my footsteps echo--
this mausoleum,
the niche where your ashes lie
contains my empty urn
butterfly—
you have resisted my touch,
rejected me,
nevertheless—admit it
you were more than excited!
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