Too many voices. Too few of them my own. The drumbeat noise of Twitter and its ever-inciting FOMA. The incessant cymbols of Google-Classroom work, with its screens of tiled avatars and silent answers. The base-boom of volunteering demands.
Somehow the path of poetry ended under windblown sand. I stumbled into the sandstorm, fingers clenching the flying grains. The words withered. The lines drooped low. The April ambition of a fourth 90-in-30, even a 30/30, fell like a tempest-tossed house-of-cards.
The winds cease. The clamoring voices die down to a persistent whisper. I still face the screen fatigued and leave it exhausted. The volunteer demands accumulate still. But the soft whisper of poetry emerges from the cacaphony.
Here I am, again.
conflicting birdsongs
suddenly past bloom
the dogwood
UPDATED: for Colleen Chesebro’s #TANKA TUESDAY #POETRY CHALLENGE NO. 224, #POET’SCHOICE
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How precious that your poem stilled the noise around you, Frank. Such power just a few words could bring.
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Thank you, Marsha! 🙂
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You are welcome, Frank. 🙂
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Glad to see you back. (K)
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Thanks, K! 😀
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You’ve been missed! I’m so happy you are back. Hopefully, that dull roar of school will simmer down now. This haibun touches me. Fingers crossed that you can enjoy some of that springtime beauty, now. ❤
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Glad that you are just busy and are finding poetry again.
You are missed at your prompt place.
Be well and stay healthy!
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