Wave | Charissa’s Grace Notes

wave ever rising
hanging there eternally
wave ever falling

Source: Wave | Charissa’s Grace Notes

Summer Snapshots in Haiku | Charissa’s Grace Notes

Over the years I have jotted down uncounted numbers of haiku…
because it is a powerful tool in capturing imagery and heart flows…

and recently, I have been trying to focus more
on the process and reason why haiku is that tool,
that “turbo-charger” of the imagination, if you will.

I think it is that deep awareness of the nature of “nothing”
that one finds in the heart of much eastern spiritual thought.

Here are some of my attempts to find
the confluence where east meets west

and the waters mix.

rain-filled ruts reflect
an apple red summer sky
that highlights brown hills

in the wind my skin
revels amidst bitter-sweet
echoes of that day

wind, you will have a
terrible time smothering
my soft clarity…

Source: Summer Snapshots in Haiku | Charissa’s Grace Notes

Horizon Beckons: Passages From A Journey Painted in Haiku

This morning I feel like reblogging my own poem.  I write a lot, and sometimes gems get buried in all the driftwood.

I love this…from the title to the last word it is all in Haiku.

Source: Horizon Beckons: Passages From A Journey Painted in Haiku

Advent Poem: The Season of Promise (in haiku)

The sound of raindrops
and the smell of fir branches…
I was lapped by time.

I am mindful of
many things I hold in faith,
committed to God.

In this reverent mist
silver memories descend
gentle on my face.

I think of my heart,
its four chambers birthed from me
leaving Their Promise

soft there inside me,
layers of a tight red rose
blossoming each day

It’s these Christmas gifts,
given in deep love, bright hope
Of that final gift…

…of arriving home,
every Promise made fulfilled,
All Things Then Restored.



Horizon Beckons: Passages From A Journey Painted in Haiku

I walk slow on a
road that bears leaves in mountains
on the peaks of spring.


rain-filled ruts reflect
an apple-red summer sky
that highlights brown hills.

in the wind my skin
revels amidst bitter-sweet
echoes of that day.

wind, you will have a
terrible time smothering
my soft clarity.

in fog a tree steps
back graceful, allows passage
shedding misty skin.

light fall of the moon
gently caresses the tree
and subtracts some dark.

silver sliver slides
through dark blue breaths of still night
on a cricket’s song

voices of snowmen
call the white-haired children home
then melt in their mouths.

beggar’s withered hand
stretched out inert, silent as
if already dead.

The old ones, bookends
whose bodies encrust their lives
find peace yet again.

a good poem somehow
makes what’s true a little more

melting candles drip
with hidden light most precious
a grain-growth of gold

Poem within the poem
Grace inhabits this body–
Image finds its Source.

I love you, but it’s
not the finish, not the end
but the beginning.

flow’ring thru silk sleeves
are come memories of all
the moments of life.

You say “I love you”
a sound so tender that the
dead could even hear!

View More: http://juliemassie.pass.us/kristenplusalli
I raise my hands high
to have them remember you
they trace you in air.

Floating Home
together they sway
like a small boat on a lake
hull snuggling waves

there is no rainfall
no wind’s taste nor full moon’s touch
soft enough for you.


#7: Final Call
Come. Walk beside me
Heads held high we’ll sing into
the difficult dark.

River meets river
They meld, one to another
our beings, the streams

We journey slow, on
a long road that leads to a
Final, Always-Dawn.