Imagine

 
 

~~ 1 ~~
 
imagine
red roses growing
in tar pits
among loathsome bones
with rotting sinews
 
~~ 2 ~~
 
The bowl of water
does not sense its own wetness,
nor the twig its bud.
Mud knows not its sliminess,
nor do thorns their prickliness.
 
~~ 3 ~~
 
When the ship I love
leaves the harbor without me,
seagulls lose their voice,
their little silvery tongues
weighed down by loathsome cankers.
 
~~ 4 ~~
 
heaped in the temple
ten thousand desperate pleas
unanswered by God—
perhaps a thief in the night
will snatch the sweet ones away
 
~~ 5 ~~
 
last downpour of spring—
even the woman who sins
murmurs prayers of thanks

 
Tanka and haiku © 2016 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More Poetry Pantry #307
 
More Sunday’s Whirligig #64