Calling it Dawn

shame breeds virulent
in the unctuous air, heavy,
a metallic bitterness at the back of the mouth,
as if something is giving way,
as if something is being pulled apart,
as if the vapid smiles of bystanders
have come unstuck
and filled the sky, covering the stars,
as if light is being reeled in
by a heavy sigh,
as if we lie bare with an uncertain moon
making distant love,
and talking afterwards,
changing the names of things,
twisting ends and beginning,
turning happy inside out to cry,
sweaty hands of the night
leaving wet prints on words
that remain in the corners,
stubbornly trapped between fingers, under nails,
later, scrubbing the shame
off the sky,
pointing to the last of the light
caught in the treetops,
laughing, calling it dawn.

Means to an End

Dawn hung on the horizon like a picture frame, slightly askew, uneven orange flecks in its slate-ringed eyes, dew-pearled hair tousled by the warm breath of the levitating sun, grimy shadows filling the empty right angles of its lost perfection.

A dawn, teetering on a waning silver hook, pushed aside by a half- dressed dream scurrying after the imploding dark that still held in its coal-hewn hands, an alternative epilogue with a happy ending.

soft tendrils of hope
bird song clings to the breeze
as the morning sways

Linked to Dverse Poets where Forest Tinker has co-hosted an introductory Haibun prompt and has kindly linked two of my previous haibun.


They reasoned all night,
a melded catharsis
that surged
from a singularity
down rounded angles
where weeping bodies meet.
At dawn, she left.

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April:#38- 26/30


At dawn,
a summer shower
hit the snooze button
on the Koel’s song.
I can hear
its dull drumbeat,
on dry guava leaves.
Tick Tock.
Tick Tock.

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A very interesting challenge at mindlovemiserysmenagerie on the well known painting by Edvard Munch – Scream- acknowledged, even by the artist, as an expression of his battle with mental illness.

However, it is said, there is a fine line between insanity and sheer genius.

A fine paper fence
splits reason and illusion,
the mind paints both sides;
brush strokes may, born of reason,
cast shadows of delusion.

flip your mind around
screams become soulful prayers
sunset turns to dawn

Heart Afire

The ugly sky was shedding charred skin,
fiery welts were glowing through its punctured flesh,
the night that had concealed the hideous torment was dying,
all that was safe was burning in a pyre of soul-stripping light.

But then a glowing peak rose like the tip of a flame,
searing the air in puffs of aurum dust,
dragging the eye with it to the realm of the unchained spirit,
while fear watched, afraid to breathe, afraid to blink, afraid to care.

Nature in its birthing ritual was releasing another syncretic dawn,
mirroring the heart, an amalgam of black hope and golden despair,
a child of the eternal infinite, ephemeral as the rising sun,
damned like the lover in hades and blessed like a four-winged flower.

25/3/15: Posted on DversePoets


With bloody fangs,
the entrails of the night
in her talons,
a triumphant look
in her iridescent eye,
dawn descends,
riding a screaming moon.

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