A Shadowy Life, A Tanka Prose

moon tanka again!
lingering in the cold air
can words alone
transform our misery
into common unhappiness?

parrot-phrasing
to write is to speak
the unspeakable...
the critic's high-pitched voice
piercing my foggy mind

the old poet
cuts a piece of prose
into five lines...
waking in winter light
to shadows on the wall

A poet's life is lived
in the shadow of the Muse
my pen in mid-air...
will there be anything
new under this spring sun?

my dream
hanging at the edge
of twilight
the Buddha statue
adjusts its shadow

alone tonight
on my 40th birthday...
the high school yearbook
left on a dusty shelf
whispering endless tales

Kokako, #18, April, 2013