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Category Archives: tanka

a work of love (chapbook)

22 Wednesday Jun 2022

Posted by Tom Clausen in A Work of Love, Chapbooks, Published Poems, tanka

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A Work of Love, Chapbooks, little poems, poetry, Published Poems, tanka

A Work of Love  (1997)  Tanka

from Tiny Poems Press ( out of print)

*
*
*

midnight again
the furnace cycles off
and no wind-
for a while the quiet
becomes a longing

*

*

*

between chores
I study my hands
as if they might hold
something
I should know

*

*

*

tiny bluets
all around me
and over there
a couple,
very much in love

*

*

*

I can’t help my desire
glancing over
to her terminal
after little bits of decent
time have passed

*

*

*

by spontaneous consent
our subtle flirting
has played itself out–
our friendship will be
all the better for this

*

*

*

she’s not here
to see it
but after breaking the stick
I perfectly fit the broken ends
back together again

*

*

*

as if one
were not enough
I daydream pleasantly
of several women
I know

*

*

*

her look guarded
as she tells me
she may be late–
what great news this is,
she still will come

*

*

*

so intent with feeling
that her warm greeting
to someone just beyond me
gave me a moment so sure
she was greeting me

*

*

*

seeing her by chance
I once had a dream about her
years ago–
over time it has taken on
a substance of its own

*

*

*

what a surprise
she wants to take a photo
of us together–
I keep thinking
about it

*

*

*

Queen Anne’s Lace and
Black Eyed Susans
by the thousands along the road
and to think
you married me

*

*

*

as we gaze across the fence
my wife asks what I think
about a cow’s life,
honestly it looks quite okay
except for the flies

*

*

*

far from home
in the car
my wife mentions in passing
the name of someone
we don’t see anymore

*

*

*

in the company of friends
our marriage takes on
an air of comfort
as we all attend to things
other than ourselves


*

*

*

after supporting
their divorce plans
I write them a Valentine;
suggest they reconsider
it all again

*

*

*

beyond this life
that one old friend
I bump into over and over
promising that we’ll get together
again, someday

*

*

*

deep in the night
letting the phone ring
and ring…
then for a long time
wondering who?

*

*

*

when I think back
six years ago
when my mother had the stroke
I can’t remember who
I was back then

*

*

*

under a tree
we talk of mother’s passage
from this life–
inchworms suspended
all around us

*

*

*

I had it all
figured out,
this little wisdom of mine,
then in the night
the rain so hard

*

*

*

who knows what she thinks
or desires
yet the rain this Saturday
steady, as my wife reads
I watch her carefully

*

*

*

these days housebound
if only we could agree
to keep our words
silently
to ourselves


*

*

*

wanting my old life
when I wanted
my present life
stirring the soup she made
as a cold rain falls outside

*

*

*

some days seem
altogether too much
but then
so welcome it becomes
the night

*

*

*

after a rough day
she props her head in hand
a few inches from my face
and asks intently:
“do you really like me?”



*

*

*

the house quiet
and cold
this early morning alone
saddened to know how much
I desired just this



*

*

*

the envelope to me
sealed carefully with tape
on every seam
when opened, reveals
absolutely nothing



*

*

*

tolerably melancholy
to sit here while the kids play
and be lost in myself–
on a path nearby
she walks in the sun



*

*

*

for over a decade
we’ve talked–
still you want our talk
as much as I want
the silences between



*

*

*

nothing special
about deja-vu,
feeling down–
once long ago I felt
young and free



*

*

*

even though
we’re always together
my wife asks if
I’ve tried
the new pizza place

*

*

*

I look over
the three sleeping bodies
beside me–
to think a whole decade
I felt all alone



*

*

*

instinctively
for old times’ sake
I reach out, half awake,
to give your breast
a quick little squeeze

*

*

*

this rainy fall Sunday
I write poems and watch
steam rise from my tea–
as she passes she rips off
a little piece of sandpaper for me



*

*

*

my youth spent
gathering strength and solace
of friends near and far–
these short years later
losing them one by one

*

*

*

the cold walk,
silence
between us,
the creek running
under ice



*

*

*

every few bounces
the robin pauses on the lawn
to look and listen
as if that were all
there was to do

*

*

*

I have much to do
it is obvious–
what I will do is exactly
what she wants,
her little two year old heart



*

*

*

the tentative start-up
of talk…
to a new friend?
begins the old doubt
of just who I am, again


*

*

lost love

18 Saturday Jun 2022

Posted by Tom Clausen in Frogpond, Published Poems, tanka

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Frogpond, lost love, love, poetry, Published Poems, tanka

the time I’ve spent looking
for her slipper
outweighs the cause-
lost love I’ve heard
requires such searching



Frogpond XX: no. 2 September 1997

A Work of Love

16 Thursday Jun 2022

Posted by Tom Clausen in A Work of Love, Book reviews, Published Poems, tanka

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Book reviews, Chapbooks, poetry, Published Poems, tanka

A Work of Love by Tom Clausen, Tiny Poems Press Chapbook Winner 1997.The booklets of the winners of the chapbook contest are 5.5 x 4.25 inches, staple bound, and available for $3.00 ppd each, or $10 for the set of four postpaid. Hint: go for the whole series. They are truly worth every cent. Order from Tiny Poems Press, 170 Elm Street, Enfield, CT 06082.Here, an existing language has been chosen by Tom Clausen to enlarge and explain certain spiritual spaces in which a privileged reader can participate. There is, like always, a price for such an experience – the reader somehow has to give up conventional linear thinking and instead has to give into physical and psychic areas where Clausen is not only at home but through several years of hard work also developed his own way of composing 5-liners.Tom Clausen has the advantage to work as a librarian, which means, he enjoys having constant access to world-literature. With this far reaching education he paved his way into the haiku/tanka/haibun-scene. Now, with Lynx also on-line, his work occurs in circles spreading into another body of resonance. With this latest composition of forty tanka, A Work of Love, Clausen offers new ways to refer to daily life at a level where the poetical language meets and surpasses the demanding situations we all often would like to stay away from. Well, with his booklet in a small pocket you may sit in a rowboat at dawn. You are on a trip while already having in mind to go diving; the element you’ll chose is the fluid one. Preparing yourself, there is some spare time ahead of you to be filled with something important, right? What’s available to be read? Perhaps Clausen’s tanka? Here are only three of the works of love: 


the envelope to me
sealed carefully with tape
on every seam
when opened, reveals
absolutely nothing





for over a decade
we’ve talked –
still you want our talk
as much as I want
the silences between





tolerably melancholy
to sit here while the kids play
and be lost in myself –
on a path nearby
she walks in the sun





Books Review Copyright © Jane Reichhold 1997.

Gusts tanka

04 Saturday Jun 2022

Posted by Tom Clausen in Gusts, Published Poems, tanka

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Gusts, little poems, poetry, Published Poems, tanka

to ward off
who knows what
i buy a dozen pencils
to be armed
just in case

***
***

covered quietly
by falling snow
in the woods
along with everything else
the deer’s remains

***
***

with three running lights
burning through the night
our neighbor’s house shipshape
on it journey
to tomorrow

-Gusts no. 33 spring/summer 2021 

***
***

not once has any of them 
signaled ‘goodbye’
when walking away…
yet they keep coming back ;
my deer family 

***

***

upstairs sounds 
of my cat running around
and caterwauling …
don’t I know these forces 
at work in us all?

Gusts no. 32   fall/winter 2020 

***
***

a lonely stretch
of road
with no passing 
from one dream 
into another

***

***

thistledown
in the air
as I begin the hike
wondering when
I’ll see you again 

gusts no. 31    spring/summer 2020 

***
***

I’m not even looking 
for anything
second time out 
to the empty 
mailbox 

***

***

the world 
may be falling 
apart 
yet my skittish cat
settles on my lap 

gusts no.30  fall/winter 2019 

***
***

only a dream
yet so not me
to drive full speed
right through 
a STOP sign 

***
***

room by room
our house
undergoing KonMari-
in an easy chair
i drift off

gusts  no.29     spring/summer 2019


***

***

even if I knew better 
i might follow
the swallowtail
from one milkweed
to another…



***

***

our evening walk
into the dusk
and silence…
the hollowness
of a mourning dove’s call

***

***

what have I done
and can such a thing
be undone…
a doe waits and watches 
expectantly for me

gusts no. 28   fall/winter 2018

***

***


these years
listening to the wind
in the trees …
where has my love
left me?



***

***

the work and gifts
of this world,
whether I do anything 
or not,
summer stars 

gusts no.27   spring/summer 2018


***

***

waves leaving the sound

of stones against stones

this lifelong mystery

of trying to become 

myself…

gusts no.26   fall/winter 2017


***

***

one of my childhood drawings 
of what looks like a factory 
next to a cemetery,
as if i knew something 
way back then…


***

***

below where the tree 

broke off

some branches 

carry on

in the wind

gusts no. 25    spring /summer 2017


***

***

another reminder 
in this writing life
that it just may be
I’ll never get organized 
in this life


***

***

this resignation 
that even spilled tea 
can bring up our need 
for a different 
bigger house


*** 

***

lying there 
at the end of the bed
my cat shows me
what being fully content
is all about 

gusts no. 24  fall/winter 2016



***

***

a scatter of feathers
under the big pine
in the cemetery …
piecing together again 
my memories 


***

***

reading an old letter
I wrote to my parents
from Mexico…
another part of me
gone with them 

gusts no. 23  spring/summer 2016



***

***

before we were here 
the centuries 
already became eons,
the gravity of light on water 
falling into dark



***

***

old friends
and flowers
faithful each year, 
the smile of knowing 
across the years 


***

***

cloud gazing…
I thought about it 
but wasn’t sure 
what I’d do 
with an empty mind 

gusts no.22   fall/winter 2015 


***

***

in the dark
these ruminations 
of what I think
others think 
I should be doing…


***

***


it had been years 
but then just like that
an email shows up silently, 
the way a death arrives 
from far away …


***

***

more redundant snow…
time to let goof this day,
to sleep and take up 
the life of dreams 
and nothingness 

gusts no. 21  spring/summer 2015 


***

***


I am getting older 
with these trees
but can still remember 
as a child 
I really loved old things 


***

***

the time I’ve spent looking 
for her slipper 
outweighs any good cause-
any love lost 
requires such searching 

gusts no.20   fall/winter 2014  



***

***

the logistics
not to mention the expense
has turned out ideal
this trip around the world
while lying in bed 


***

***

I’ve found a place
this rainy January day
to be alone by choice
with some emptiness 
that sustains me…


***

***

around the bonfire
conversation focused
on the past…
I bring woodsmoke 
to bed

gusts no. 19   spring/summer 2014 


***

***

in this last chapter
the cast of hundreds 
in my dream
without my knowing 
a single one


***

***


I’ve heard it enough
to know well
it is not a happy word, 
yet she just said “whatever”
with a refreshing nice new tone…


***

***

quickening my pace
as the rain picks up
I reach an all-out run…
fully drenched I slow back down 
to a walk again…

gusts no.18    fall/winter 2013 



***

***

at the outdoor theater
my attention shifts 
to a few wild geese
sounding through 
the Shakespeare…

***
***

yet another message
to be found out here, 
the plains town 
football field 
without a scoreboard 

gusts no. 16   fall/winter 2012 

***

***

so much 
not happening 
the way it’s supposed to;
not the least, our cat
circles the empty dish 

***

***

pulling the sheet
and covers back
I get in and lie down
prepared for the theater 
of my dreams… 

gusts no.15   spring/summer 2012 

***

***

everyone gathered 
in a circle under the trees-
between readers 
in the microphone
the wind 

***

***

summer night 
in a pile of rubble
the house’s scent,
a hundred years 
just like that…

***

***

the grass gone brown
this summer of my 60th,
that much is clear…
now, to reclaim myself
in this long-term drought 

gusts no. 14   fall/winter 2011  


***

***

so many tangles 
in the snowy thicket
the sparrows go through…
it’s the kind of place
my past resides 


***

***

were I an old dog
with a happy grin
and even some naughty habits
it seems my family
might find me more sympathetic 


***

***

passing by so close
and quietly…
it’s as if the dark permits 
the deer and me
a mutual sense of safety 

gusts no.13  spring/summer 2011


***

***

just as dutifully
as the cat 
brought the mouse
I remove it
before my wife can see 


***

***


in the attic
to find things to get rid of,
but the rain on the roof
lulls me to the joy
in each thing I find


***

***


inches away from me
in bed, 
yet in my dream 
I’m on the phone to tell her 
I’m going for a bike ride 

gusts no. 12   fall/winter 2010 



***

***


the moon 
after the rain 
moldering leaves-
not that I ever could 
make sense of my life 


***

***


I ask him
if he believes 
everything he writes…
yes, he says, God has said
it is all true


***

***


drawn to that page
in the paper as if 
some great secret was there; 
to see the age that 
everyone left their life 

gusts no. 11  spring/summer 2010 


***

***


out in the woods a relic
with a rusty chrome bumper
detached…
it becomes my cross to bear 
back home



***

***


it’s just
three little words 
but she stops 
crying 
and we move on 


***

***


the deer still finds 
some reason to ford
the river swollen with rain,
how content I am 
rarely fording anything 

gusts no.10   fall/winter 2009 


***

***


snow falling 
in the dark woods 
like endless thoughts
there is no way out 
of who I am 


***

***


from Trinidad and Tobago 
his smile irresistible
and within mere moments 
he warmly shakes my hand 
again, and again 


***

***


a horse rolling 
in the sunny snow, 
now, that will be the image 
to carry today 
for tomorrow

gusts no.9   spring/summer 2009 


***

***


frisky as all get out,
her boyfriend smiles 
at me-
a knowing smile
I once knew 


***

***


asked to arrange 
the flowers in a vase 
I put them in any which way –
so glad there are some things 
which can’t go wrong


*** 

***


it’s her keys again, 
the search now
in its third day…
would that we might find 
some of our love lost as well 

gusts no.8   fall/winter 2008


***

***


thinking again 
I should do everything 
just as my wife wants…
these cycles of new snow
becoming old and melting away 


***

***


I leave it
unwashed, 
her fragile glass 
like others 
I’ve broken before 


***

***


I ask him about his day, 
what he did, 
if he got enough sleep 
and in response 
a soulful look and purring 

gusts no. 7   spring/summer 2008 


***

***


in the sun
a fine sifting of snow
blows off the roof-
betrayed once
she never forgets


***

***


how can one relate
to one season 
more than another…
this deep and clear sense of autumn 
stretching back to childhood


***

***

across our bed
my wife reminds me again, 
that love letter she found, 
one I wrote long ago
with someone else in mind

gusts no. 5   spring/summer 2007


***

***


in the park
someone approaches me,
they have found God
and want to tell me
all about it


***

***

in a silent moment
of honesty
I see my children,
the way they protect me
from myself 


***

***


it is a small event
at the end of the workday
this can of beer
yet without doubt my life
has become such small events 

gusts no.4   fall/winter 2006 


***

***


sun on new snow
fills the field
with a certain blindness
unable to see you now
as I did back then


***

***


my daughter’s hand 
reaches out to receive
the plate with bagel…
how silently I mouth 
‘thank you’ for her

gusts no.3   spring/summer 2006


***

***


lying here, eyes closed
in denial
until I get up for the day
mostly forgetting
that new ceiling crack 


***

***


my wife says
I can’t change, 
I’m too happy as I am
as soon as the snow is gone
it starts to snow again 


***

***


not even 8 a.m. and 
already I’m tired 
of my little family-
thank goodness for the outside
peace of trees 

gusts no.2    fall/winter 2005


***

***

watching my wife
train the puppy
the truth sinks in…
how much I’ve resisted
over all these years 

gusts no. 1   spring/summer   2005

Tanka by Tom in LYNX

14 Sunday Nov 2021

Posted by Tom Clausen in Lynx,, tanka, Published Poems, tanka

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poetry, tanka

LYNX– XV: 2  June 2000 

autumn rain 
at each window i stand 
considering my life-
the overflow of feelings 
and possibilities 

**

**

if you pulled up 
out front to visit
what could i show you
of my life
plainly as it is …

**

**

the rise and fall 
of the cicada’s song,
my own heart
quietly recording
what it can

**

**

in the midst 
of the children’s raucous play 
i notice my son a moment
staring as if aware of something
fleeting past 

**

**

no longer me
it proves a mystery who it is
i’ve become,
walking around this house
with my family there inside

**

**

at sleep’s border 
the encounter is brief,
yet oh so magical and soft
caught where this life
 merges into there…

Gusts tanka by Tom Clausen

13 Monday Sep 2021

Posted by Tom Clausen in Gusts, poems and photos, Published Poems, tanka

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Gusts, poetry, tanka, writing

to ward off
who knows what
i buy a dozen pencils
to be armed
just in case


***


covered quietly
by falling snow
in the woods
along with everything else
the deer’s remains



***


with three running lights
burning through the night
our neighbor’s house shipshape
on it journey
to tomorrow


-Gusts no. 33 spring/summer 2021

Tanka by tom clausen On line

05 Sunday Sep 2021

Posted by Tom Clausen in Published Poems, tanka

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confession, insight, life, love, poetry, reality, tanka

could be I’m tired
                                                    or lost, but to close my eyes
                                                    and nod off
                                                    while the world goes on
                                                    gives me a certain peace

/

/

                                                    wind outside the mall
                                                    and as I wait
                                                    with my eyes closed
                                                    a killdeer calls
                                                    from another life

/

                                                    as I sit here
                                                    taking in the river view
                                                    I see my feelings for this life
                                                    quite like the trees
                                                    leaning slightly downstream

                                                     how ironic
                                                    coming to love
                                                    this life and world
                                                    and at the same time
                                                    letting it go

                                                    while planting bulbs
                                                    my wife unearths
                                                    a childhood cap gun of mine
                                                    I hold it
                                                    trying to grasp back then

                                                    scribbling,
                                                    that’s it,
                                                    what I do, and tell
                                                    the inquisitive stranger
                                                    who asks

                                                    what attracted me most
                                                    to the poem
                                                    had not so much to do
                                                    with the poem
                                                    but that she liked it

                                                    I asked him about his day
                                                    what he did
                                                    if he got enough sleep
                                                    and in response
                                                    a soulful look and purring

                                                    with thunder very close
                                                    our little dog
                                                    gets under my legs,
                                                    if only I could feel
                                                    so safe with myself    

     

                                                    another ball game
                                                    and she wonders why
                                                    I’m so taken by the win and lose
                                                    as if our lives were
                                                    nothing like that

                                                    on the trail to the top
                                                    my family hikes best
                                                    during the time
                                                    they combine
                                                    to make light of me

                                                    my beer gone flat
                                                    but out of duty
                                                    I finish it–
                                                    living all these
                                                    middle-aged days

                                                    just when I was feeling
                                                    there is always
                                                    too much to do,
                                                    Cassiopeia so sharp
                                                    in the autumn night sky   

 

                                                   by spontaneous consent
                                                   our subtle flirting 
                                                  has played itself out-  
                                                 our friendship will be all 
                                                  the better for this  



                                                 we work briskly 
                                                  into the momentum of the day 
                                                  a long list of what to do, 
                                                  once all there was  
                                                 was to fall in love




                                                  in the company of friends
                                                  our marriage takes on 
                                                  an air of comfort 
                                                  as we all attend to things  
                                                 other than ourselves


                                                     
it is love we all want 
and all these ways 
                                                  we go about getting it-  
                                                 how strange in my secluded spot
                                                  a stranger finds me




                                                  pushed by the wind 
                                                  at the far end of the sky
                                                  a few clouds…  
                                                 I can see what I want 
                                                  keeps changing too





                                                  ambivalence 
                                                  I believe is what 
                                                  I’ve come to sitting here
                                                  watching wave after wave
                                                  land itself




    

                                                       full of rain
                                                       the river races along
                                                       past everything here–
                                                       I can’t shake this sense
                                                       I’m living on borrowed time




                                                       watching
                                                       the smooth flow of water
                                                       over stones . .
                                                       how few of my thoughts
                                                       are new





                                                       beyond this life
                                                       that one old friend
                                                       I bump into over and over
                                                       promising that we’ll get together
                                                       again, someday





                                                        this complete enigma
                                                        of me wanting more solitude
                                                        then company in turn
                                                        on my terms
                                                        at just the right time 







                                                         wondering if this is what
                                                         my parents felt,
                                                         in their own time
                                                         seeing a better past slip
                                                         ever further behind 







                                                         all these years
                                                         in one house, one job
                                                         one town and in me―
                                                         too many changes to fathom
                                                         as I sweep away autumn leaves 







                                                         those two birds flying
                                                         so close together 
                                                        swiftly across the twilight sky― 
                                                        a certain happy sad witness 
                                                        I provide for them . . . 






                                                         that point
                                                         in the evening
                                                         when both cats are in place
                                                         quietly bathing
                                                         while I read . . .





                                                  without fanfare
                                                  I drag the dead branch
                                                  to the brush pile
                                                  another day risen
                                                  and fallen from my life 




                                                for ten years
                                                   we’ve come to this lake
                                                   for vacation— 
                                                  in the camera this year
                                                   your smile a little less






                                                   at the old parking lot
                                                   the sparrows bathe
                                                   in a big puddle
                                                  sometimes I’m so happy 
                                                  just to be here as witness






                                                  between chores
                                                  I study my hands
                                                  as if they might hold
                                                  something
                                                  I should know


                                                  to show me
                                                  the spirit of a train
                                                  I wish for one to come―
                                                  these overgrown tracks
                                                  I walk along

                                                        I keep it ambiguous
                                                        knowing full well
                                                        a defined reason
                                                        for feeling down
                                                        can be dismissed 


                                                        the envelope to me
                                                        sealed carefully with tape
                                                        on every seam
                                                        when opened, reveals
                                                        absolutely nothing


                                                        my youth spent
                                                        gathering strength and solace
                                                        of friends near and far–
                                                        these short years later
                                                        losing them one by one

homework- review- by tom clausen

01 Sunday Dec 2019

Posted by Tom Clausen in americana, Chapbooks, haiku, Haiku Way of Life, Lynx,, tanka, Published Poems, senryu, tanka

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Tags

book review, chapbook, family, family life, haiku, home, homework, life, poems, poetry, senryu, tanka, writing

Homework by Tom Clausen. Saddle-stitched, full color cover, 4″ x 6″, 36 pages. $10., ppd. ISBN: 1-903543-00-2. Order from Snapshots Press, 132 Crosby, Liverpool, L23 8XS, England.

To quote the jacket notes: “Focusing squarely on domestic life, this collection of haiku, senryu, and tanka is often funny, often sad and always paradoxically both familiar and eye-opening.” It cannot be said better nor more succinctly what this newest book by Tom Clausen contains. I can only add my continuing praise for Tom’s work. It is always a revelation and delight how he seizes on the tiniest experience, and through his examination of it and the cool observation his own feelings, carries it over into a major event. This leaves the reader wondering, “Now, why did I not notice that?” and “Why did I not think of that as material for a poem?”. It seems that tanka is especially designed for the methods of Tom Clausen. Even when aware of the smallest thing, he is also aware of how that thing or event is affecting him. This occurs even in his haiku.

While some purists might fault his haiku for not being closely enough aligned with the nature-nature viewpoint, his sensibilities are absolutely accurate for tanka. This collection gains, I think, by the inclusion of his haiku (which often portray the lighter moments of family living). They seem to play off and actually highlight the attributes of his tanka. Altogether, the editing and arrangement of the poems seems especially fine and relevant. For anyone who has grown up in a family or is living in a family now, this book will take away those terrible moments of aloneness when one felt that no one else in the world ever had such moments of doubt, despair and pure undiluted joy. Tom has been there, and he has the courage to face them directly and honestly, and to continue to hang with the feelings until he has created pure poetry out of them.

no longer me
it proves a mystery who it is
I’ve become
walking around this house
with my family there inside

I sort of knew
my coffee cup
was empty –
so much I look in it
just to see

The sensitivity of the editor, John Barlow, is shown in the choice of a drawing done by Tom’s young daughter, Emma Clausen, as cover along with the insider joke of the title of the book – Homework. Delight piles on delight with this one. Review written by Jane Reichhold

sweeps and swoops by tom clausen

01 Sunday Dec 2019

Posted by Tom Clausen in Lynx,, tanka, Published Poems, tanka

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Lynx

Lynx XVII:2 June, 2002


those two birds
flying so close together
swiftly across the twilight sky –
a certain happy sad witness
i provide for them



**


out the car window
through a snow flurry
she studies the sun –
my wife warns her
not to look too close



**



the sweeps and swoops
of swallows
all manner of lovely curves
and you in jeans bent over
just to pick up a stick




**



my daughter shrill
and bumping into me
until i tell her to stop –
how hollow knowing
she was just glad to see me




**



before our marriage
my mother told my wife
that it was her married years
that were the loneliest
in her life…



**



she must read my mind
this fancy i have for her –
how beautifully
she blushed
the time she saw me peek




**


how old it becomes
but no denying
the appeal of this quest
for what is new
and turned out latest…



Tom Clausen

this complete enigma by tom clausen

01 Sunday Dec 2019

Posted by Tom Clausen in poems and photos, Published Poems, tanka

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

documentation, five lines down, little poems, observation, poems, poetry, tanka, writing

Lynx- XVII:1, February, 2002


out in the yard
the crow caws crazily
as if it knows my life
quite like
the compost i leave…

**


with my son
we pass the house
where he was conceived –
a certain run down look
weeds in the window box

**

not much celebration
to this winter solstice
but the neighbors maple
just big enough for a squirrel
and two bird nests


**



the deep blue sky
goes so far
yet the photo has borders
like those we come to
in our love…



**


its a little flaw
i’ve come to accept
as it may be…
these overmatched feelings
loving too much

**


cold rain
in another town
the streets empty –
from one house
a gift of wood smoke



**



this complete enigma
of me wanting more solitude,
then company in turn
on my terms
at just the right time


**



I have seen the cat
sleep most of the day
and yet seem satisfied
my calendar says to show
a cat a piece of gold


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