Rachel Swirsky's Blog, page 10

Rainbow Bright

[image error]

 

I think I just wanted to play around with colors so I played around with colors.

This chick definitely goes to pride parades where she lurks near people until they look over and go, “Ahh! Creepy!” and run away.

A Haiku for Friday, September 20th

At five, the sky rusts.

My stride matches my husband’s,

a shared metronome.

A Haiku For Monday, September 16th

The sky is no clock.

My body wants to obey

its demand for sleep.

Haiku Round-Up #5

Time for another round-up of my recent Haiku! (Here is an explanation of why I’ve been writing and posting haiku.)

 

A startle of wet

briskly awakens my skin.

I am thinking flesh.

 

The willow droops black

against a lavender sky,

a still precipice.

 

Dripping, drooping, weak.

The skin and the rain: both grey.

An unrestful sleep.

 

In early dimness,

a quiet, unmoving sky

chills, waiting for dusk.

 

Waiting in the cold,

trying not to let my mind

rush when all is calm.

 

Returning, the cold

breaks against the bedroom glass.

Wild-eyed, the cats watch.

 

Afternoon, evening,

merge as the sky stops dancing,

parting from the clock.

Birds

[image error]I’m honestly mostly amused that when I drew this in my notebook, I felt the need to label it “birds.” In case I was confused later

A Haiku For Monday, September 9th

The sky is no clock.

My body wants to obey

its demand for sleep.

A Haiku for Friday, September 6th

Afternoon, evening,

merge as the sky stops dancing,

parting from the clock.

Meep

[image error]Meep is a character I drew for a role-playing game I was sketching out called Cats and Dogs Living Together.

Strangers rarely glimpse Meep, a shy, four-pound, six-month-old kitten with a fluffy mass of white fur, enormous blue eyes, and a perpetually perplexed expression. Though quick to startle and flee from anything new or surprising, once Meep has a chance to get comfortable, he’s boisterous and bold. When he’s not sure what to do, he compensates for youthful naivete by copying older animals.

A Haiku For Wednesday, September 4th

Returning, the cold

breaks against the bedroom glass.

Wild-eyed, the cats watch.

Remembering the World

The king is dying,

memory fading.

Now honor is gone

now yesterday’s dinner

now mother’s hand stroking

the ermine collar

of her deathbed gown.

 

(For now, the world

flat and finite

like his mind. The ocean’s

crisp boundaries

spill over four corners

like memory, disappearing.)

 

The king orders

a fleet of glass galleons

set out to explore

the edge of the world.

They launch, crystal sails

aloft in the sun,

casting rainbows

through ocean spray.

 

(A century hence,

the world will be round

like a fruit:

one endless circumference.

Minds, too, become

deeper thoughts hidden

like icebergs

submerged in men’s souls.)

 

Sailing toward

the periphery

translucence deepens.

Ships pale, disappear,

til but one is left.

Atop the survivor’s mast

the king’s sole

remaining lieutenant

peers at knife’s edge horizon.

The world tapers

stretched thin. Sky bleeds 

navy, royal, azure

fainter  

to absence’s hue.

 

(World and man

exchange simplicity

for paradox,

linearity curving

swallows its tail.

The traveler’s straight path

leads home again,

in the end. His marriage

disintegrates

in childhood’s castles.)

 

Beyond, nothing

save slow cascade 

of water pouring nowhere.

King’s faded schooner

balances on edge

one moment neither

within nor without.

Heavy, stern dips

mast creaks and shatters.

Tipping over

she falls

following oceans

over precipice

to comprehension,

lost.