2 Poet Mondo

if our earth explodes
will its fragments disappear
forever lost in darkness

Not sure if I've got this right in respect of the sentiments expressed, but anyone is welcome to add the 2nd stanza for this Mondo in the comments? Details regarding Mondo:

Mondo comes from the Zen practice of rapid question-answer between Master and student. Often the answer would be in nonverbal form such as pointing to a natural object. The poetic tradition of the Mondo is similar in nature, it can be a single line containing statement-response such as "summer sun sets, I am done". Such lines are often found in the Renga. But it can also be a 2 stanza poem written by two authors, one asking and one answering. The answer of course should reflect the spirit of the Zen student taking understanding from nature.

The Mondo is:
1. written by 2 separate poets, one asking, one answering.
2. 2 stanzas of 3 lines each, 19 syllables or less, often 5-7-7, sometime 5-7- 5 is used for each stanza. The first stanza is the question, the 2nd is the response.
3. written in the spirit of Zen, responsive through meditation and observation of natural surroundings.

Cabalistic - Acrostic Dectina

Carve
a sign
before we
all leave this place
lest we be forgot
in the time still to come.
Secrete our rituals in great rock
that all may know we once were here.
Invincible warlocks, hear me now -
Carve a sign before we all leave this place.

(All rights reserved) 

The Acrostic Dectina is a poetry form invented by Philip of Poet Freak.

Truth that shames

I see it now

a cross

silhouetted on a hill

I wonder

if I had been there

would my love

have spoken out

tried to defend

rebuked the crowds

would I

have cowered

invisible in shadows

as they crucified

the one whose example

taught me how to love

how to speak out

how to defend

how to rebuke

weight of Truth

drags on my chin

bows my head

till all I see

is blood in the dust

© Marion Friedenthal

Till death do us...

awakening
consciousness filters
through woozy senses—
succumbs to a shroud of
terror that engulfs, consumes,
any semblance of sanity;
as rough wood remains

unmarked by shredding nails
panic scrapes across torrid
vocal chords, unable to even
ripple sound as suffocating
death lurks in rhythmic doef —
doef — doef — of soil slowly
obliterating makeshift coffin

(All rights reserved.)

Stolen

six young girls…
breakfast cereal smiles
malleable playdough
trusting in a woman
where did you go?

ring a ring a rosies

a pocket full of posies

six young girls…
lured by a woman
many years ago
drugged and raped
where did you go?

atishoo, atishoo,
all fall down

six young girls…
snatched by a woman
many years ago
did her lover kill you?
we’ll never know.

(All rights reserved.)

This poem is dedicated to the following girls who were abducted in South Africa during the late 1980s.  They have never been found.

Tracy-Lee Scott-Crossley, Fiona Harvey, Joan Horn, Rosa Piel, Odette Boucher, Yolanda Wessels

This has been substantially reworked thanks to the input of my poetry friends (from Facial Expression Poetry Circle) - Luke Rapture Elk, Maggie Garavaglia, Julie Watkins and Beth Winter who helped me improve on my original poem... Thanks guys.  I think it is so much better now.

Dawn

beyond white
tinged with grey and pink
rain-washed blue
peeks through

fresh breeze dawn
punctuated by
sporadic bird calls

unwelcome sound
of city traffic
flips my mind

back
back
to a time

of innocence
when chirruping hosts
nested in
bluegums
wattles
acacias

fleeting silence
between darkness
and dawn
alive with joy

tranquil past
rarely revisited

pain of
going there
runs too deep

awakens
longing

feeds
regret

 

(All rights reserved.)

White Dove

The white dove glides above the lawn
a beautiful sight in the early morn;
I watch with envy each move so free
and wish that beautiful dove was me.

Oh, how I wish that I too could fly
up and away in the clear blue sky;
governed by my most basic needs
and free of man’s hates, lusts and greeds.

I’d spread my wings, I’d rise and soar
never to be bound to the earth anymore;
I’d fly with the wind and hide from the rain
and once it was sunny I’d fly on again.

Oh, beautiful white dove, lovely and free,
I’ve wished and wished like you to be;
but no matter how hard I might try
unlike you, white dove, I can't fly.

  

(All rights reserved.)