Tanka poems by Kayla

passing seasons

worn thin on her finger

a wedding ring

the only thing she owns

after years of serving him



gentle breeze

a spider weaves her web

moving clockwise

she sews her thread to each spoke

weaving a perfect spiral



a cold crisp dawn

a hawk stands

over her prey

feathers roll and scatter

in a field of sunshine



grandson's classroom

an english lesson written

on the blackboard

all the things i should know

to write poetry but don't



in my mind

it suddenly appears

then passes away

the black hearse without a door

moving without a sound



side yard

even the lilac blossoms

seem sad today

how many more springs

will they see?



when we seeded

the field

with clover

you should see the joy

on the faces of the rabbits



the veteran

race car driver

on his final ride

passes by his house

in a hearse



in the basement

she moves slowly

grabbing at the darkness

that makes her hair stand on end

to the fear of what might be there



front porch swing

a mosquito searches

for her meal

she lands on my arm

this little vampire



rising over

the trees this summer evening

the red planet mars

closer to he earth tonight

then 60,000 years ago



cemetery

happy birthday balloons

floating above the grave stones

memories of all the parties

she was invited to but missed



dandelions

spread across the lawn

bursting yellow

the color of the sun

and old piper cubs



every spring

i listen to the tree frogs

celebrating

the anniversary

of our romance



she's 3000 years old

i am fascinated

by her eyelashes

how beautiful

how delicate



not the sweet spring air

nor the sound of tree frogs

nor the scent of honeysuckle

but the memory of you

and our first kiss



native american children

perform a native dance

at the west end fair

they touch me in a surprising way

i am moved to tears



early morning

on top of the mountain

so far from the ocean

yet i hear the lonely sound

of a buoy



God

the universe

dusk in the park

i watch the bats

flying overhead



with the sound

of the train's whistle

thoughts of my father

alive again

full of life



a huge red fire truck

roars around the corner

driven by a man

that i held in my arms

when he was a baby