Renga Writing

Theme: "All about us is noise."

Rules:

1. Each poster must use one word from the previous poster's stanza.
2. Every third verse must contain a volume shift.
3. If the moon shows up more than once in the renga, it had better be in a different phase.
4. Verse 18 should include a poetic seismic shift.

Suggestions:

1. Pick a day to post. (Jane: Tuesday; Sneza: Friday; HAT: Saturday)
2. When you post, use the number of your stanza as the title of your post. That keeps the person after you from having to count on his or her fingers to figure out where we are.
3. When you post, add the label "All About Us is Noise" to the entry so we can find the verse later.

1

Clank and rumble of
garbage truck--the birds'
morning flutters by.

Tuesday, December 09, 2008

Completed Kasen: Traveling

Traveling

Maps seeded with hope;
small, stray ink marks press paper
like feet on soft soil

Mud clings drags sucks backward but
the path-- there is one-- forward.

Draw up equations that fraction
the possibility of moving along
curved dimensions among

Distances carved in minutes,
counted in latitudes, degrees

So far, so far, and
yet still here, still in the midst
of the sky.

night breeze wafting, citrine moon,
campfire tales... we leave too soon

to pack climaxes in bags full
of openings and these
departures, fumes and noise

zippers pulled tight, campfire coal
gathered, eradiating

lost: wildlife camping,
tallgrass prairies viewed up close,
highway refuges

Unfamiliar tastes roll out
spicy language on the tongue.

gyros and lemon
cacophony of taxis
leaves fall, unnoticed

no, there is one who sees, her
eye enlarged, watching land pass

Telescope focus,
Microscopic visionary--
Earth promise, ants, trees...

uprooted, train tracks speed through
narrow tunnels: go go go

caves below the crust
salted with light, pepper pitched
coal scattered, shovels

Lift the lantern: in glinting
shards the light shows diamonds.

dun rock, sparkly white
quartz spiderwebs, no diamonds.
true gold flakes entwined

with phrases on displays
we crane our necks to read

down stairs to platform
electric oil smell
noses pressed to glass

breath steams window art, daisies
jut yellow, white, exhausted

looking in plain view
passenger aisles row
after row, no exit

Motion, stillness, illusion--
Which is it? Are we here? There?

why did we leave, wanderers
trailing dust, sand, rocks
clinging haphazardly to

steel gateways arching above,
memory fibers sculpting

rhythmic thump of feet
on wood slats, death's head puppets
wobble crazily

Shuffle the papers, declare
to the uniform your reason.

recall them to life
on Día de los Muertos
with tears, songs, sweet bread

pray whispers to saints, angels
holy feet blistered, torpid

after the first light,
visages of the divine
engraved in ruins

after fifth light, dawn tears in
pink, cobalt, orangery

pock-marked sandstone face
the ancient lion goddess
sees nothing, knows all

brushes the swaggered tail
of a tiger who passes

sojourner on
the prowl, unchecked, searching
vacated hemispheres

sleepy eyes regard wonder
with diffidence, rheum, yawning

at last the turning
the familiar facade
hurry hurry home

its rhine moistened with dark mulch
a gradient, festooned den.