Coco Chanel (MicroPoetry Month #12) Daily moments (Troibun)

 

The sun shines brightly in the cold pale skies and yet, her soul is filled with greyness? The day will move slowly as she shuffles through her clutter. That old overcoat that should have been thrown in the trash, swings gently from side to side. What is she doing still holding on to those tan boots that cramp her toes? They remind  her of better days and happy times, strutting with a sense of purpose. As she moves further into the greyness she finds  her mother’s old raincoat she has yet to wear. As she slips it on,  she feels her presence…still.

soft scents
float around her
Chanel

soft scents
rest in droplets
kissing her cheek

float around her
Sinatra and Doris Day
melodies

Chanel
admiring CoCo
worshiping the sun

©Tournesol’17/11/12

I love the haibun form and since I have also fallen in love with the Troiku (a haiku form created by Chevrefeuille at CarpeDiemHaikuKai) I have coined the haibun with a troiku, Troibun.

Written for MicroPoetry Month #12 where we are inspired to write a haibun.

The history of sun tanning and Coco Chanel.

melancholy (troiku)

© CLR 2016

troiku

melancholy
stalker of the night
daylight smiles

melancholy
familiar and comfortable
holes in my shoes

stalker of the night
shadows
larger than life

daylight smiles
shimmering
on a puddle

©Tourneosl;17/09/04

Carpe Diem Haiku Kai – Writing and Enjoying

cleansing rain (haibun)

©Clr'17
©Clr’17

Walking home from work,  she sometimes feels the pain of many weigh on her. Shuffling home with heavy foot, tears run down her cheeks.

melancholy
clinging to her shadow
rain washed it away

rain washed it away
leaving just one
tear on her cheek

©Tournesol’17/02/07

Haiku Horizons: Rain

melancholy (haibun)

This is a time of year a virus peaks its ugly head around mid-November.  It  spreads a virus to those most vulnerable. You may not “catch” it at the same time; you may not catch it every year and yet, there does not seem to be guaranteed antibiotic to cure its infective powers.

September days start waning as the sun sets sooner; October days rob you of nature’s dinner’s sweetest and most potent “digestif”.  November drops its veil of hoary matter and thickens day after day, week after week hiding nature’s Monet, slowly slipping into Picasso’s  Blue period.   Nights are longer than days and symptoms of this virus multiply

Humans are deprived of nature’s nutrient feeding brains with hope and cheer. Life, death, separation and loss blend.  Waiting, as it stings open wounds and those who’ve barely healed  are reminded  of life’s demises.

Children as well as adults struggle through these muddy paths sucked into the windstorm of grief and loss adjusting  to season’s changes in the depths of their heart and soul.

Staring out her window, faithful cat by her side,  cloves comes to mind. That dark bud stares at her, hard and bitter scents bleed into her soul, remembering  Grandmaman in the kitchen adding spices to the turkey dressing.  A portion of sage, pepper, salt and savory, are measured in the palm of her hand.  She smiles when asked the portions as she adds just a pinch of cloves.  Only she had the antidote that lifts the greyness of the soul and makes the heart beat anew.

clove
http://www.webindia123.com/garden/herb_spi/clove.jpg

Mother’s spice of life
unopened flower buds
cloves of promise

© Tournesol’15

The prompt at Linda Hill’s Friday reminder for Stream of Conciousness Saturday is “clo”

 

"</p

in the darkest hour (troiku)

This was inspired by Ese’s “in the darkest hour”

in the darkest hour
wishing upon the morning star
just like years ago

© Ese of Ese’s Voice

*************

in the darkest hour
melancholy calls –‘til dawn
chases it away

in the darkest hour
whispering rhymes
playing into prayers

melancholy calls – ‘til dawn
softly warms the heart
morning beckons hope

chases it away
darkness runs not far,
playing hide and seek

© Tournesol’15

Carpe Diem Haiku Kai “Ese’s int he darkest hour”

soothing voice (haibun) Haiga festival – Troiku

It is interesting that this prompt is posted the exact day I was reminiscing of times past with my mother. I was speaking with someone yesterday who mentioned that he felt sad that he no longer remembered the voice of his long deceased mother. That made me think about people I love who have passed especially my mother who recently passed this past December. I remember her voice, her off-key voice when singing, her laugh…oh her laugh!! and her cough that was unique to  her. She always tried to be a lady even when coughing and would clear her throat a bit like her mother (GrandMaman) but still unique to her. I remember her ankles making that snapping sound when she entered the church when I was little and clearing her throat, I felt so much better knowing she was joining me in the pew closer to the front of the church very soon for the priest in the pulpit high up was quite ominous!

Even when she was sick and her memory was muddled, her voice never changed. I remember sitting in the front seat of the car when I was very little because I was always car sick and leaning my big fat head on her breast always worried my heavy head would crush her tiny breasts.
I remember her singing pop songs of the 50`s missing a few words here and there but her voice would make any hit parade. And of course her signature pinch. She loved with such affection she had to control herself from pinching our cheeks too hard.

I remember her telling me so often, “Dont worry, darling. Dont forget to say your three Hail Mary`s and your Act of Contrition before going to sleep.” And the latter not that long ago.

 

her voice soothes me   haiga

(Troiku)

when I close my eyes,
brings me back in time
her voice soothes me

when I close my eyes
beauty adds red to her lips
scent of Youth Dew

brings me back in time
pins my hair in a French twist
pinches my cheeks

a voice that soothes me
humming Toura Loura Loura
Hush, but I now cry

© Tournesol ’15

CP – Melancholy

shadow of your leaves (haibun)

I close my eyes off and on today and I seem to be in a wabi-sabi mood if that makes any sense. If I let myself float to places of nothingness I feel nano seconds of peace, sometimes sadness but not a hurting sadness. A feeling of when your heart swells and forces you to take a deeper breath, a louder exhalation…a sigh of melancholy. That is my day today…pure, simple and free. I close my eyes and remember those moments nursing my children…those precious moments in the middle of the night…no distractions in those days…no cell phones, no television…no dvd’s either. Just that opportunity to look into their eyes as they look up with wonder, with loving adoration, depending so much on me for love, sustenance and nurturing…those liquid blue eyes gaze at me.

such sweetness/so long ago, I close my eyes/back in time.

 

(Troiku)

pure innocence

love runs through my veins

I look at you

 

pure innocence

looks up in adulation

my heart melts

 

love runs through my veins

wrapping you in warmth

forever more

 

I look at you

purity of yesterday

revisits me

(c) Tournesol ’15

(c) Clr '15
(c) Clr ’15

lean yet robust

keeps me whole in bitter chills,

shadow of your leaves

(c) Tournesol ’15

Carpe Diem Wabi-Sabi

Rain – la pluie (tanka)

© clr 2014
© clr 2014

(tanka)

ciel terne sanglote

temps triste, déchirant

d’espoir sue

sous l’abri de ma douce couette

dormir pour fuir les chagrins.

 

dull grey sky weeps

sad times shedding tears

wilting despair

wrapped under cosy duvet

fleeing chagrins in my sleep.

© Cheryl-Lynn 2014/06/13 (Friday 13th)

Holy C Melan

deadlygothicdesigns.webs.com
deadlygothicdesigns.webs.com

Her nickname is Melan,

she is of sly, slithering species

tantalizing in her distinct bouquet

mesmerizing in her discrete array

of victims of her choosing

dripping bliss as she`s oozing

her prisoners of despair

suffer anguish in her care.

Hallowed in her divine

prowess she will define

the true painful meaning

finds her prey ever demeaning

suffering the wrought of her ability

winning casualties of her torment

sinking teeth of Ms. Melan C. Holy

whilst innocent souls lament.

© Cheryl-Lynn 2014/04/05 All Rights Reserved

Too often the powers of depression or long dreaded visits of melancholy can bring a person down. Not everyone has to be diagnosed with clinical, situational or other forms of depression to relate to these feelings of despair and I thought this poem describes the tormenting visits of this Melan C Holy baby.

Originally submitted at Stigmahurtseveryone