Haiku Sketches
by Marie Bortolotto
the first rose blooms
pink
silence:
the garden lends itself
to secret whisperings
wake-up
a birdsong opens my heart
to Everything
lofty thoughts -
a blue mountain towers
overhead
Marie Bortolotto |
The Return
© Marie Bortolotto 2024
It is rumoured that the Crone of Lughnasa returned from
a perilous voyage into the bowels of the netherworld with
a mere handful of unsprouted seeds,
which she promptly cultivated into a voluminous oration
of sounds -- but only those with ears listened.
The rest preferred watching seductive, less sonorous sirens
on their fallow screens of light.
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Vessels of Remembrance
© Marie Bortolotto 2024
Hungry ghosts:
unsettled dust
from the past,
they who consume
life
and suckle rivers
dry --
the wise potter
learns
to exhume
vessels of remembrance
from the remains
of yesterday's clay.
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Poetic Sketch
© Marie Bortolotto 2024
morning
walking
walking
urban traffic
walking
walking
urban construction
walking
walking
urban Babel
walking
walking
urban clouds
of Dust
walking
walking
I take shelter
under a canopy
of Songbirds
in
Spring
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Poetic Sketches
© Marie Bortolotto 2024
an
old
woman's
cane
taps out
a rhythmic lament
on
the
sidewalk
of impermanence
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Marie Bortolotto |
Possibilities
© Marie Bortolotto 2024
Your gift rests
with the Page of Cups,
a lowly
tarot
messenger.
What will you make of it?
Such a long journey
home
drifting
in
streams
of
marauding
crocodiles,
you wash-up,
suddenly,
on
a
sandbank
of
honey.
Sit
and
feast.
Don''t rush!
Write
sonnets
to
invisible
lovers.
Allow
time
to swallow you
whole
into
a new
landscape
of possibilities.
from Daughters of Emptiness: Poems of Chinese Buddhist Nuns
Living in Seclusion, Sitting in Silence
Living in seclusion, one can simply do as one
pleases,
With a single text, one can forget oneself for
a while.
The daylight hours—how much time is there
really?
Why then do I not exert myself?
Although the ancients are long gone,
their wisdom must still be grasped.
From the empty eaves, water keeps on
dripping,
From the censer, ashes fall marking the time.
This mood always brings me great pleasure,
As with both hands, I clasp my book tightly.
What a pity it is that ordinary people of the world
know not this intimacy with the words of
the wise!