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Tag Archives: tanka

Tanka by Tom in LYNX

14 Sunday Nov 2021

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

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

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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Tags

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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Tags

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

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


falling apart by tom clausen

18 Friday Oct 2019

Posted by Tom Clausen in americana, cats, Gusts, mailboxes, nature, poems and photos, Published Poems, tanka, Tom poems at other sites

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Tags

cats, life, mailbox, nature, poems, poetry, tanka

gusts  no. 30

 

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

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

autumn at treman by tom clausen

13 Tuesday Nov 2018

Posted by Tom Clausen in autumn, gorges, Ithaca, lakes and rivers, leaves, nature, parks, paths, poems and photos, tanka, trees, waterfalls

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

autumn, gorges, nature, parks, photos, poetry, tanka, trees, waterfalls

 

 

 

again this year
the leaves fall
and I watch…
the world as it is
a great mystery

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color therapy by tom clausen

15 Friday Jun 2018

Posted by Tom Clausen in americana, close up details, flowers, gardens, Ithaca, landscapes, nature, plants, poems and photos, spring, tanka

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Tags

blossoms, color, flowers, nature, photography, photos, poems, poetry, spring, tanka

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

 

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mind reflection by tom clausen

19 Thursday Apr 2018

Posted by Tom Clausen in americana, close up details, Ithaca, leaves, nature, parks, poems and photos, ponds, puddles, reflections, spring, tanka, trees, Wabi Sabi, water reflections, winter

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

leaves, nature, photography, photos, poetry, ponds, puddles, reflections, tanka, trees

 

 

my wife asks
what it is I want-
there it is, that question
not even I
can answer

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Sapsucker Woods pond reflection...
Sapsucker Woods pond reflection loop...
Sapsucker Woods logged into a dream...
reflection from Sapsucker Woods boardwalk through woodland back waters. 3-27-17
reflection photo from Sapsucker Woods boardwalk through woodland back waters. 3-27-17
reflection from Sapsucker Woods boardwalk through woodland back waters. 3-27-17.
reflections at apsucker Woods main pond reflections... 3-27-17
reflection at apsucker Woods main pond reflections... 3-27-17
reflection -Sapsucker Woods main pond reflections... 3-27-17
reflection overlays of bare trees in standing water big puddles with their treasury of leaves in Sapsucker Woods 3-27-17.
reflection overlays of bare trees in standing water big puddles with their treasury of leaves in Sapsucker Woods 3-27-17..
reflection overlays of bare trees in standing water big puddles with their treasury of leaves in Sapsucker Woods 3-27-17...
reflection at Sapsucker Woods ...

taken by the wind by tom clausen

05 Thursday Apr 2018

Posted by Tom Clausen in americana, cemeteries, close up details, Ithaca, nature, poems and photos, puddles, reflections, spring, Wabi Sabi, water reflections

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

flag, nature, photography, photos, poems, poetry, reflections, tanka

the wind
must have carried
the little flag
from a grave to a puddle
at the cemetery gate…

 

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