Upon an endless paper plain,
the sword leans—half blade, half quill.
Black ink falls like dark tears,
gravity grieves in its remembrance.
Each drop forms a kanji—
unwritten yet complete;
the keen edge hums calligraphic,
penned silence within this violence.
Strike and poem share one stroke—
both wound in revelation.
Inking spreads in confession,
each blot blossoms in resolve.
Here, art and war merge:
not battle, but witness.
The samuraic brush bleeds verity—
truth written where blood once spilled.
Fantastic. Oh! I love the blade.
Oooh, that last stanza, wraps this poem up perfectly!
I love this, S!
Powerfully penned, S. Incredible write my friend. Appreciate you.
Damian
孤独なトンボ Kodokuna tonbo ≽༏≼
(Lonely Dragonfly)
The mind is touched, sad emotions softly whispered unto, your diction, Dear Poetess, lends a tale of long ago … yet, ever-present in the Samurai heart’s core ‘n eternal soul ~ his katana.
And, ohhh, you’ve sang it’s poignant timbre as a true Onna-Bugeisha, who always spoke her power equally by virtue of ebony kanji or blooded tanto.
The rhythm ‘n flow of your Free Verse Quatrains dance above the page, as though transporting us into those feudal moments of yore … the magick hallmark of a master poetess’ pen.
I strived to highlight a word, a line, a verse for you … alas, all conspired to create the whole of exact poetical symmetry – your artwork choice in sheer perfection.
I gratefully bow 🥋 … thank you, Dear S. Libellule ⁓ Richard ⛩️
The soul of a samurai rendered into a pome of compelling wonder. You have the spirit of Japan written with the Zen of a poet who can translate a culture and a place and its people into poetry that resounds like koto music in the night.
John