Sketchbook Karina Klesko, US

 

Villanelle Wild Rose She:   I can hear howling in the wind outside.          Who are these wanderers in green and red? He:    For the girls, a flower basket beau-tied.          Long trailing stems generous in their stride          A flask of ghostly moonlight amply bled. She:   I can hear howling in the wind outside.           Down the winding path a snake’s budding bride—           Sharp thorns to guard this beauty’s scented bed. He:     For the girls, a flower basket bow-tied. She:   The rosy countenance aging provides           Going backward, going forward in dread.           I can hear howling in the wind outside. She:   Swagged across hedgerows, your silken skins slide—           Dark veins of twisted roots a song-bird's thread. He:     For the girls, a flower basket bough-tied. She:   On the hem of sunset you’ll see me ride           Away from you—sadly, I forge ahead. He:     I can hear howling in the wind outside           For the girls, a flower basket un-tied.

 

Villanelle No Words All that's left, a broken pine bough. Our love was bled one snowy day. Oh, how long have you been gone, now? My bleeding heart found peace somehow. Among these mangled bones, I pray. All that's left, a broken pine bough. No words to speak, nor thoughts allow. This mourning veil, so thick to weigh. Oh, how long have you been gone, now? Violets laid on your bier, prau. Clouds above, dull blue and gray. All that's left, a broken pine bough. This day I'll shed this long dark cowl. That binds...leave me one last foray. Oh, how long have you been gone, now? Each in swollen beds of down. In nature's love of those lost lay. All that's left, a broken pine bough. Oh, how long have you been gone, now?

 

Four Tanka Isn't it strange that you are in my thoughts and I worry so . . . Will you be there tomorrow emptiness? cows strive alongside man, dung warming in the streets this fecund nectar everywhere at once drawing us in   Autumn Leaves a melody in silver chimes, playful dancing elephants hardly resting— we rake and rake the autumn leaves  Thunder and Lightening each night you come to my door and tease me with your power so strong are the feelings as you leave me standing there— counting the distance between

 

Haiku squirrels spiral up into the corkwoods gray clouds prairie ghost town not much for the living redbud tree moonlight 'round the hickory tree a flutter of snowflakes

 

Acrostic Battle Of The Bass Fiddle Slowly the deep tones of evening Envelop me in a lover's embrace Nocturnal preludes in binary form Soft are the pulses of windswept waves Undiluted measures in rhythmic strokes Abandoned perspectives in morning's eye Lost in the staccato, a pine warbler's cry

 

Fibonacci Grammacy Park Plain brown barrel, yellow leaves damp from morning dew clings to weathered stays, letting go . . . a new world alive in the grass—acorns everywhere!

 

Shanzi Landisfarne Gospels painting patterns illuminated picture manuscripts of knots and links animal shapes weave in and out of biblical seams "Lauds" the hat lady on Sunday morning touched by winter sun a novena sung whiskied water and broken bread purchased over time On the Curbside This winter wreath in snow-colored wind a ring discarded moonlit needles the night hanging 'round a circle— one light for the world Polished By The Years tall trees three dimensional diamond latticed white and gray bark on a wood deck ladder-back chairs— sun-tipped winter days Circles in the Elders an empty bird's nest filled with colored leaves— this perfect branch the sun's garland of winter days wrapped in a cocoon Reflections a band of light across southern pines cast playful shadows near their roots the pond's surface ripples of sound— a falcon circles greening branches all at once the sun bursts out of darkness an infant's cry desiring heart— the spider weaves an old lullaby

 

Free Vers Out On the Town* For Sale sign on a Pick-up Truck next to a broken down trailer STICKS AND STONES AND STICKS. . .  AND WE ALL FALL DOWN Sunday morning sermon in the middle of the field a few pews scattered THE SAME ONES EMPTY STICKS AND STONES AND STICKS. . . AND WE ALL FALL DOWN Dr. Lord "open for emergencies only" beyond the beams of headlights all the buildings evacuate the 'flea market' STICKS AND STONES AND STICKS AND STONES. . .  AND WE ALL FALL DOWN People speak in Spanish on all the radio stations tell me what I want to hear so I can understand it STICKS AND STONES AND STICKS. . . AND WE ALL FALL DOWN My son points to the sign that says no passing as we pass it his perplexed and confused thoughts STICKS AND STONES AND STICKS . . . AND WE ALL FALL DOWN At home the horizontal trees turn-key operations the cat in the hat comes back a spot of sky stuck on the wall STICKS AND STONES AND STICKS. . .  AND WE ALL FALL DOWN *Hurricane Rita -September, 2005 Louisiana, USA Karina Klesko

 

Jackie Paper Comes No More ....  Outside of Wal-Mart Superstore, Lawn and Garden Center, I sit comfortable on the rattan furniture with big leafy greens and blooms of white, a smoky coffee table and a side chair with ottoman— the February sun warms these new cotton fields. Purchases in the cart beside me, I rummage for a book to read as I wait for my brother, a hostage in "Automotive". Magnolia perfumes the imagination, bells ring from a hundred churches. My focus moves to a couple looking at roses in plastic pouches, hemp garrotes burgeoning stems. "Four dollars for each one," the man said and then he asked her if she had a wis-steeeer-E-a. She said no... they discussed which one was 'sweeter'—rose or wis-steeeer-E-a a bit longer then went on their way. The sun travels to the down side of day— I move to the chair with an ottoman facing it, the pavement gray, skies light blue, expensive white vehicles, in the parking lot—the main color in the south, irregardless of race, any differences muted into a palette of undertones. Finally, time to leave, I pass rows of ornate bird baths, adorned with sculpted cherubs & Mary— waiting to be filled with that 'nasty water'* of New O'leans "tea made bitter green" from rotting lilies and corpses— a mockingbird sits on top of the cart return. children bake cookie cutter cookies— a puff of the magic dragon *"Nasty Water"  James Nolan Karina Klesko

 

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