Poetry for a Night Owl

haiku

2011-07-04T11:00:00.001+01:00

summer breeze

lilies swaying in the air--

of shakuhachi strains

©2011 Beatrice van de Vis

2011-06-24T22:54:00.001+01:00

.
after the storms

unfolding from a green leaf

the scent of rain

©2009 Beatrice van de Vis
Blithe Spirit (Journal of the British Haiku Society) vol. 21 No 2, June 2011

2011-06-15T14:31:00.005+01:00

Haiku

on his eyes and mine

although we are far apart,

a glint of the same moon

==

Cherry blossom,

too much beauty... for a heart--

to bear alone

©2011 Beatrice van de Vis

Balinese Stories

2011-06-15T14:10:00.003+01:00

Lawar, a Balinese delicacy

Lawar is a traditional delicacy of Balinese cuisine which is served on special occasions and ceremonies. “Bani ngajeng lawar?” (“Are you brave enough to eat lawar?”) is a question often posed with a mischievious grin to foreign guests, as lawar is, for many, an acquired taste.

The basic ingredients for lawar are pig's blood and an assortment of traditional Balinese spices such as shrimp paste, kunyit, turmeric, salt and pepper, galangal and other roots; grated coconut, green beans, boiled jackfruit and singkong leaves. Different types of lawar are made with chicken, duck,beef, pork or turtle meat.

In Balinese culture tradition dictates that certain types of foodstuff be prepared by women, while others by men. The preparation of lawar is the duty of the menfolk, and on the day of a religious ceremony everyone rises at daybreak, the women to prepare the temple offerings, while the men sit in a circle chopping, mashing, generally socializing and sipping cups of fragrant Balinese coffee, while they cook.

Most lawar includes raw blood mixed with it, something not to the taste of all modern Balinese, some of whom prefer their lawar vegetarian. Of the many types of lawar, the most unusual is the one made with dragonfly.

Balinese Stories

2011-04-21T10:58:00.002+01:00

Pawukon

The Pawukon is a 210 day calendar that has its origin in Java, but it is still today widely used by the Balinese. The calendar consists of 10 different concurrent weeks of 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, and 10 days. On the first day of the year it is the first day of all the ten weeks. Because 210 is not divisible by 4, 8, or 9 - extra days must be added to the 4, 8, and 9 day weeks. In Bali it is used to determine the proper dates of temple anniversaries and ceremonies, as well as the best day and time to make a fishing net, get married, start a business, build a house and other events both large and small.

There are 30 seven-day weeks in a wuku year, each with a different name. The origin of the weeks' names is told in the legend of Sinta, a woman who became pregnant after she dreamed she slept with a holy man, giving birth to a beautiful child. One day Sinta lost her temper when the boy misbehaved, and struck him, wounding him on the head. The child run away and his grieving mother searched for him in vain for years.

In time, the child became the powerful ruler of the country of Giling Wesi, where he was known as Watu Gunung (Stone Mountain). One day his wandering mother came to Giling Wesi accompanied by her sister Landep. Watu Gunung was so overwhelmed by the strangers' beauty that he married them both, having in due time 27 children by his mother and aunt.

One day Sinta recognized the scar on Watu Gunung's head and became aware that he was her son and they had committed incest. To avert the wrath of the gods, it was decided that Watu Gunung should marry the goddess Sri, wife of Wisnu, thus becoming a god himself, and free of the curse of incest. But Watu Gunung rejected this solution and declared war on the gods. Wisnu took command of the armies which he sent to punish Watu Gunung's arrogance and finally defeated him. To celebrate this victory it was decreed that his 27 sons be killed, one every seven days. Sinta wept for seven days and was received into heaven, so Wisnu added her name as well as her sister's Landep and Watu Gunung's to the 27, and established the 30 weeks as an everlasting sign of his victory.

Balinese Stories

2011-04-11T16:43:00.000+01:00

Balinese Doors

The construction of any gateway to a home or temple is an integral part of the surrounding boundary wall and the positioning of the gateway is an important element.

The basic design of any gateway, is based upon a Hindu concept known as “Tri Angga” or three part, which is related to the human body. The top (head), center (torso) and the base (legs). This concept of Tri Angga” is carried out beyond gateway to other objects, which have shapes resembling the human from. It can be seen here that abstract art has existed in Bali for more than 900 years.

Traditional Balinese family compounds have only one entrance gate, on the side, bordering the street. The entrance defines the threshold between the inside and the outside, and is viewed ambivalently, because while they admit welcome visitors, they may also allow in malign influences. And although the Balinese are known for their art and creativity, Balinese architecture is not subject to a great degree of decorative elaboration, with the exception of doors and ornamental gates where much effort and expense goes into their ornamentation.

Doors are typically panelled and made from carved jack fruit, teak or rain tree wood. The decorative elements involve painting and carving, and in the case of palaces and temples or other important structures, such as the bale gede pavilion in the compound of a noble family, the ornamented surfaces may also be gilded with gold leaf.

In Balinese tradition, doors and gateways symbolize a demarcation between the realm of ordinary life and some other plane of existence, whether it is sacred (in the temple), or political (as in the palace). One of the most striking images typically found over the monumental gateway of palaces and temples is a Bhoma head, whose fearful countenance is intended to drive away malevolent spirits.

Balinese Stories

2011-04-01T14:39:00.002+01:00

Megamendung

Indonesian Batik

Indonesian history is heavily influenced by Chinese culture, the large ethnic Chinese population in many cities, brought with them their culture, many aspects of which then became assimilated into the local culture. Through the times, this process has left its mark in Balinese architecture, cuisine, dance, songs and fashion, and textiles including batik.

According to history, Cirebon, a city on the coast of Java, was famous for its harbour, where trade flourished with visiting Indonesian as well as foreign vessels. Cirebon, then known as the Kingdom of Pakungwati, was founded by Sunan Gunungjati (1448–1580) who was the only religious figure (Islamic leader) to become a king. He used his reign to propagate Islam all along the Pesisir, or northern coast of Java, from Ciberon to remote Pasundan.

One of Sunan Gunungjati's wives was a Chinese princess named Nio Ong Tien, who became an influential force promoting the artistic elements of the Ciberon court, and ceramics in particular.

The influence of classic Chinese ceramic motifs can be seen in Indonesian Batik, hence the blend of Ciberon-China batik designs with ornate phoenixes, cranes, peonies and a mythical beast part lion, part dragon and part bird. One the most famous Ciberon batik motifs is Megamendung, which literally means 'dark clouds'. Because of its association with rain, Megamendung, symbolizes life as water for a parched land. Often the cloud motif is also combined with roosters against intertwined leaves and vines; usually in layers of blue, in different shades. Again, the colour dark blue, making reference to dark clouds and life-giving heavy rains, while the lighter blue is a symbol of hope for a brighter future.

Balinese Stories

2011-03-24T21:11:00.002Z

Padi Wali

According to legend, the Balinese originally only had the juice of sugar cane as food. Out of pity for the human race, Wisnu, Lord of the Underworld, the god of fertility and water, came to earth in disguise, to provide them with better food. Wisnu made love to Mother Earth to fertilize her and give birth to rice, she became known as Sanghyang Ibu Pertiwi, the Smitten Grandmother. Then Wisnu went to war with Indra, Lord of the Heavens, to persuade him to teach men how to grow rice. Thus rice was born as a gift from the gods and the principal source of life and wealth. Rice was born from the cosmic union of the divine male and female creative forces represented by earth and water.

There are four sacred directions, each represented by a different colour, red, black, white and yellow. God intended to give the Balinese rice in all these colours, but when Siwa sent a bird to bring the rice to the Balinese, the bird ate the yellow rice --except for a little bit which was planted under the eaves of its home. From the seeds grew kunyit, turmeric. Thus yellow rice which doesn't grow in Bali, is prepared by mixing white rice with turmeric, and is the fourth type of rice. The other three are bras (white rice), bras barak (red rice) and injin (black rice). Yellow rice is essential for certain ceremonies and temple offerings, such as Kuningan, the last day of the harvest festival, Galungan.

The rice plant is considered a divine and animated female being which is treated with particular respect. Each stage of its growth is carried out on an auspicious day and accompanied by appropriate temple offerings, in the same way as other rites of passage ceremonies are conducted for human beings.

After planting --by hand over several days- the first yellow-green shoots of rice begin to appear, and their little seedlings can be seen reflected on the water. It is at this time that the rice is at its most vulnerable from the birds, and scarecrows, wind chimes, bamboo bird-scarers and cloth effigies are put up in the rice field, even people keep watch, and yell at the birds to send them away.

Two months later the rice will have grown taller and green, it takes about five months for the rice to mature and be ready for the harvest. After the harvest, the stubble in the fields is burnt or alternatively flooded, so that the old rice stalks slowly decompose under the water.

_________________________________________

2011-02-12T14:32:00.002Z

opening the window

this utterly still night

to let in the moon

2010-12-03T12:58:00.006Z

listening

to the sonorous silence

of snow piling up

2010-11-02T15:49:00.001Z

the sound of

the ash tree-foliage falling

on a windless night

2010-11-02T15:43:00.008Z

raining leaves

fall around the trunk of the ash

into a deep lemon pool

©2011 Beatrice van de Vis

2010-10-12T15:14:00.004+01:00

curled up

in the hollow of the night

autumn moon

©2010 Beatrice van de Vis

2010-05-13T16:56:00.000+01:00

echoing within

even long after he left--

his Irish lilt

2010-04-07T20:30:00.001+01:00

The excitement of

things --trembling on the brink

of new life...

Tanka

2010-02-01T12:54:00.004Z

Night in the country,

startled by the sound of

white silence

after bell ringing session

I lie next to the full moon

Haiku

2009-12-24T12:57:00.005Z

Losing face

he now looks rather abashed

melting snowman

Haiku

2009-11-04T16:39:00.004Z

Full moon -this morning

falling asleep in the arms

of the rising sun

©2009 Beatrice van de Vis

Autumn Haiku

2009-10-09T09:56:00.002+01:00

Unanswered questions

swept away in a whirlwind --

fallen leaves

©2009 Beatrice V

2009-09-02T11:31:00.004+01:00

Dawn --a little paler,

and wilting honeysuckle

at the frosted window

Tanka XXIV

2009-07-27T21:16:00.004+01:00

.
flowers bloom
even under a summer storm
petals unfolding
What have you done to my heart,
shuttered to the brightest sun?

©2009 Beatrice V

Tanka XXIII

2009-07-10T16:03:00.004+01:00

.
Tonight the Thames
carves a translucent jade bowl
of a July rose moon;
many moons past -- since you and I,
shared wine from the same cup

©2009 Beatrice V

2009-07-04T18:13:00.005+01:00

.
in sweltering heat

dew-drops of sweat on my brow

planting snowflakes

(Snowflakes, garden plant: Gypsophila Paniculata)

©2009 Beatrice V

Tanka

2009-06-29T13:10:00.008+01:00

.

stiffling morning heat

last night's thunder nothing but

--an unkept promise

once, you went to fetch the moon

and like the rain, didn't return.

©2009 Beatrice V

2009-06-26T08:06:00.001+01:00

Midsummer night

lingering in rose garden

--scented memories

©2009 Beatrice V

2009-06-21T17:02:00.000+01:00

By the canal
sharing a summer lunch,
the ducks and I

The strolling tourists
wool-wrapped for the occasion
-- midsummer in England

2009-06-18T11:40:00.000+01:00

.
a tiny spider

crawling back and forth

weaving --another day

©2009 Beatrice V

2009-06-12T11:41:00.000+01:00

.
a passing swallow

takes flight in the blue morning

my thoughts on its wings

©2009 Beatrice V

2009-06-11T09:21:00.002+01:00

Waking up

to the crackle of dawn;

sunrise

©2009 Beatrice V

2009-06-03T23:15:00.004+01:00

the setting sun

hesitates for a moment,

caught on a building-crane

©2009 Beatrice V

2009-06-01T19:27:00.010+01:00

Bright June sky

shadows anticipate the night

--the elusive moon

©2009 Beatrice V

Beginning and End

2009-05-29T22:46:00.006+01:00

In the rose garden
I wait for the beloved
until the stars dawn in tear-dew.

Roses wilt
in the noon sun,
outside the gates
--as you carouse.

The desert parches my throat,
but the cool moon
washes away the night.

Rose gardens fade
into verdant oases
of crystalline water
and succulent fruit.

In turning away,
we come face to face
with one another

unbeknown to us yet,
is the path’s beginning and end,
hidden in the midst of our embrace.

van de Vis, Beatrice: "Beginning and End" published in Silence On A BrokenTrain by Publishing Room.com, 2009

2009-05-29T17:38:00.007+01:00

honeysuckle scent,

in the breeze, the moon turns

into a flared nostril

In the looking glass

2009-05-22T00:19:00.005+01:00

A fairy of gossamer and silk,
with fine wings;
blooms in hand, as stiff as a question mark.
Unfolding arcane ritual, ceremonies,
special robes, face paint and sweetmeats;

Rites of passage, to music and dance.
In this liminal space between past and future
between freedom and duty
between excitement and fear
between nights of lust and sleepless

child-worn nights
between being whole and splitting in half
--the wedding day.
Blooms already fading,
in the looking glass --broken wings.

van de Vis, Beatrice: "In the Looking Glass" published in Silence On A Broken Train by Publishing Room.com, 2009

Mondays -the corner table

2009-05-15T12:15:00.013+01:00

Around the magic circle cast by Harriet’s spell,
sit the wordcrafters, spinning wondrous tales.
Here Anthony sets the stage with fairy lights.
We are the revellers dancing away the night.

In this changing kaleidoscope, we espy
Stephen hitting a ball on the golf course,
which at all once bursts into rhyme!
We’re green grass, peppered in a confetti of verse.

Now Gill reaches up, to pull down the ceiling
and reveal to us the starry African sky,
all scary night, but we have fairy lights on the path.
We’re the scent of the night, the song and the stars.

The wind blows cinders from Jane’s conflagration,
her perennial existential question threatens
the frivolity of the night, with fear in our hearts
--we whirl in the arms of the shadow flames.

Recalling the brevity of this life, dawn snuggles up
to the night, Maria’s Magyar song wakes the day;
in an enchanted forest with mythic beasts,
we are life celebrants, to the strains of her violin.

©2009 Beatrice V

Haiku LXXXIII

2009-05-15T08:21:00.003+01:00

blossoms everywhere

following the breeze nowhere

- there are no blossoms

©2009 Beatrice V

Books

2009-05-08T12:26:00.012+01:00

Plates of delicacies
Fired by longing
Rest on the windowsill of knowledge
Submissive to the stick of curiosity
-In my books.

Sticks of curiosity
Rubbed into fire.
Through a window
--light falling on a plate
flames that speak in tongues,
the world --surreal, inside of books.

van de Vis, Beatrice: "Books" published in Silence On A Broken Train by Publishing Room.com, 2009

Haiku LXXXII

2009-05-06T19:44:00.014+01:00

.

Late march winds
scattering a faint scent
of mimosa

van de Vis, Beatrice- Magnapoets (Japanese Form) - issue 4, July 2009 ISSN 1916-3010

Haiku LXXXI

2009-03-30T09:55:00.009+01:00

buds come to life
even in the chill wind of March
-new beginnings

Haiku LXXVIII

2009-03-22T20:21:00.005Z

lonesome among buds
a dove scanning the distance,
for her mate's return

©2009 Beatrice V

Tanka XXI

2009-03-18T00:52:00.008Z

Cherry blossom
without a care in this world
-year after year.
Yet, why do I bemoan your
absence, when spring doesn’t care?

©2009 Beatrice V

Sand and Dust

2009-03-01T11:35:00.016Z

Your amber eyes are liquid gold with lust
fierce under the sun of African noon-fire,
we smile behind a veil of Atlas dust,
two tightrope artists walking the high wire

loud beats the drum of our hearts’ desire
the light, piercing under the cloudless sky,
orange- blossom inebriated; we conspire,
we have become drunk on love, that is why.

We have come to Marrakesh. That is why,
but did she warn us, the wily fortune teller,
of the dark hollow underbelly of day?
When the end comes -surprised, we take no cover.

Time forgotten ghosts tremble in my hand,
old parched photographs crumble into sand.

©2009 Beatrice V

Touch the Moon

2009-02-13T10:00:00.008Z

You must shed all fear if you want to reach the moon
you must spread your wings far and wide, to reach the moon

Dance naked under the moonlight, but don't be cold
wear her as a wedding mantle, go fetch the moon

Go pitch your tent up the high Atlas, under
African skies, gaze into her eyes, touch the moon

When dawn breaks the day, hold out your hands,
and be ready when it falls, to catch the moon

In the long winter when you find her frozen
on the lake, thaw her by the fire, go fetch the moon

Plunge the depths, embrace the sea bed,
hold a fistful of pearls, pitch them to the moon

Ah... my heart! hurry up, drink your wine for
night is brief, and it's far to reach the moon

©2009 Beatrice V

Cheek to Cheek

2009-02-04T14:01:00.020Z

In the soft blues and whisky breath
of a hotel bar at midnight moon
oblivious to the scent of death

they cling tightly to
the piano’s tune
peacekeeper, war-reporter
deep growls from the saxophone.

The high pitch of breaking glass
-a shiver down the spine, a moan.

A sway of hips, a touch of lips
daylight darkness kept in check
night music, wails of the dispossesed;
war and peace dance cheek to cheek

da.. da.. da.. da.. da...
the saxophone sings the blues tonight
ra ta ta ta ta
a crackle of machine-gun fire.

van de Vis, Beatrice - Ascent Aspirations Anthology No 7, Spring 2009

Sleight of Hand

2008-12-10T09:17:00.004Z

A doe-eyed rabbit out of a hat
coloured ribbons, magic bubbles
all tumble out of your
dreamsleeves tonight

kisses in the wind,
the soupcon of a caress
daylight dims for a
Chinese shadow play.

A sleight of hand
one shadow, then another,
climb up a moonbeam
vanishing into the night.

©2009 Beatrice V

Haiku LXIX

2008-11-22T11:39:00.007Z

dead leaves gilt in gold,

another autumn day gone by

--like empty promise

©2009 Beatrice V

Tanka XIX

2008-11-07T12:00:00.014Z

Dusk, the green valleys,

your cello bows to the moon,

and with each note

my breast too, like the strings,

trembles with longing, for you.

©2009 Beatrice V

The way to Llangunllo

2008-11-06T21:26:00.011Z

Lusciously winding and windblown
canopied in caramel foliage
autumn stripes of russet reds
round bends and turns
that twist on the tongue
into unutterable consonants
-lost
leading up the hills of Wales
to unpronounceable heights.

©2009 Beatrice V

Haiku LXVII

2008-10-27T09:00:00.012Z

In the autumn gales

the ground littered with dead leaves

--all those yesterdays

News and Events

2008-10-26T16:43:00.033Z

REVIEW

Moonbathing, a journal of women's tanka, ed. by Pamela A. Babusci
The first issue of a journal entirely dedicated to women tanka poets, reviewed online on Poetry Dances by Beatrice van de Vis and in print on Blithe Spririt, Journal of the British Haiku Society, vol. 20 No 1, March 2010

______________________________________________________

MOVIE:
Chichester: Thursday 13th August 2009

Screening of "Handwritten" a video animation by Jenny Lewis at the Chichester Arts Festival "I Am Joy", between 5pm and 8pm. The inspiration for Jenny Lewis' work is the poem of the same title, by Beatrice van de Vis. To watch Jenny Lewis' video and listen to the reading visit Youtube here> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AOEHlDiRCiQ
______________________________________________________

READINGS
London: 12th May 2009, 19-21 hrs
AMBIT at the Bath House, Soho -London - UK

London: 10th February 2009, 19-21 hrs
AMBIT at the Bath House, Soho - London - UK
______________________________________________________
PRESS RELEASE:
February 2009
Poetry Dances http://www.pr.com/press-release/131494
_______________________________________________________

Kashmir

2008-10-25T18:33:00.020+01:00

A brilliant spectrum of cloud and snow
the world below
a vanishing dark spot

and come the night, if it wasn’t so cold
I would have dipped a hand in lake Dhal
to pull out the moon
and let it thaw by the warm fire

it would have been so easy
to reach up to the sky and scoop
some stars to carry in my pocket,

but I didn't. Now how can I
ever describe to you
what a spring night is like, in Srinagar?

Tanka XVIII

2008-10-21T23:53:00.014+01:00

autumn and I

the sound of a falling leaf

alone in the forest

your footsteps long buried now

under the changing seasons

A leaf in the wind

2008-10-20T11:48:00.029+01:00

Redolent of musty forest
red apples and wood smoke
the breath of hot chestnuts,
comforting as a crimson caress.

It is as if the trees knew
about the bleakness in this part of town
concrete blocks and blank stares
behind broken windows

asylum seekers in faded-hand-me-downs
and war orphans, whose bundles
held no room for the colour of home.
Here, life comes in shades of grey.

Then a muffled explosion of colour
splits and shatters the dusk,
a wind whispered promise,
as an autumn leaf brushes my cheek.

Tanka XV

2008-10-13T13:54:00.015+01:00

print by Yoshitoshi, Tsukioka (1839 - 1892)

autumn vaguely felt

in town -so far from your wild isle

where the deer roam free,

yet, we share tatami dreams

tonight under the same moon

Tanka XIII

2008-10-12T20:34:00.016+01:00

this dark autumn day

red flowers in a vase bloom

challenging time

grown sheltered without seasons

indifferent to life and death

Landscapes

2008-10-09T12:36:00.010+01:00

Mountains fade into the mist
while a willow's longing pours
into a stream of languid tears,
a faded watercolour tint
from the brush of a master.

Those are the things I saw
as I rode home today.
How sad then I cannot share
with you this beautiful landscape,
for we have no common tongue
to explain the languor of the willows
the flowing of crystal waters
the mythic paradise that lies
beyond mountain and cloud

For all you would say is: don’t be a fool,
that is nothing but a stain of dirt
on an urban skyscraper’s wall.
How sad I am today that you and I,
will never sit under the shade
of the same willow tree.

Tanka XIV

2008-10-08T23:56:00.018+01:00

undimmed by autumn

the trees remain verdant

yet the days darken

now you have gone far away

even so, my love blossoms

This tanka was selected by Poetry Dances to appear on their online October Collection.

Haiku LIX

2008-09-05T15:30:00.035+01:00

autumn afternoon

twin white roses on a vase;

recalling summer

Links to this post:

Poets Who Blog, September Collection
Poetry Dances, selected poems, October

Haiku LVIII

2008-09-03T10:19:00.025+01:00

the sun is muted

seeing trees deepening to red

with autumn passion

Jumping Fish

2008-08-24T15:22:00.011+01:00

They skip above waves

holding breath, the little fish

out of their depth

enamoured of the full moon,

kept apart by empty seas

Haiku XLVII

2008-07-31T22:18:00.025+01:00

A summer wedding,

Confetti papering the sky.

- The seagulls.

This haiku was listed for the With Words International Haiku Competition (2008)

Sun Kissed

2008-06-27T09:15:00.025+01:00

the taste of ripe grapes

from the Italian hillside

still in your kisses

and traces of molten sun

like liquid gold, on your skin

Silk

2008-06-16T12:49:00.050+01:00

(Part of a narrative poem about the Silk Road trade -a tale within a tale, each poem ending with the beginning of the next.)

Fed on the choicest mulberry leaf,
As a little emperor --sheltered,
I spend time weaving gold thread.
Forbidden to leave my cocoon,
One day I dive into a steaming cauldron.
Not for me to be an ugly moth.

What a barbaric death!
My brothers –who lived, cry...
And I sigh on hearing them
For they will never know
The scent of milk and honey
Mingled with roses
As I rest on a noblewoman’s breast

Nor taste the jasmine breath
Of the Circassian concubine I veil,
Or feel the strength as I climb
The limbs of the Genghis Khan men,
Or how lissom are those of the dervish.

But let me tell my story from the beginning,
It is said it was the empress Lei-Tzu
Who enamoured of my web of gold
First unravelled me, and spun a yarn
To robe the Yellow Emperor in silk.

Thus my fame grew till I was coveted
From East to West and North to South
By every sultan, khan, Roman emperor
and pope of Byzantium alike

And what a life I have lived since!
From China to Constantinople, I traversed
The Gobi, the Pamirs and the Tien-Shan,
Lovingly carried on camel back
And by horse cart; I dwell in palaces and temples,
Eavesdrop on the love-nights
Of Roxelane and Suleiman,
Dress lamas, Persian princes, warriors,
Venetian courtesans and Topkapi favourites;
Lay supine under banquets, and I am
The carpet under the feet of dancing-girls.

But do not think that my life
Is only one of charmed idleness,
At war, I am the archer's bow
Roped tight, till I burn --strung to break
I silence the enemy's heart with my arrow
I am the strings of the zither
That sing of love
Yet I am plucked till I wail..
Plaintive, of love’s loss.

On my travels, I encountered
Chinamen, Sogdian, Turkmen,
Mongols, and blue-eyed
Men from the west.
At the bazaars of the Gobi,
Porcelain, jade, tea, pearls,
Saffron, glass from Venice
And I whispered carpet tales
Under the stars while
Man an camel dreamed.

Right now I am the sash
At a young prince’s waist
Held in a dragon's clasp of jade;
But enough of me…let me tell you
The tale of green Jade…

Haiku XLII

2008-05-26T17:11:00.015+01:00

chasing a swallow

the ripples in the pond

and they are gone

Haiku XXXIX

2008-05-25T13:15:00.015+01:00

a fly on my page

casts a shadow on "wisteria"

-half a verse remains

Diva

2008-05-25T12:52:00.011+01:00

On the gramophone, Elvis is asleep;
Your slender fingered caresses
Are for the piano, your high pitch soprano
-not made for whispered endearments.
A child’s small voice is drowned...
By Schubert, Verdi and Strauss.

Featured in Poetry Dances poem of the week 08/02/2009

Pearls

2008-05-11T06:42:00.037+01:00

In the silent chorus of dawn
I bask in the glow
of your last embrace

and on the paving stones
of longing, I tread impatient
towards our next encounter.

Your gift nestles proud
between my breasts, intertwined
pearls of love and light

while nature wraps
her grief with artfulness
in the lustre of a gemstone

Hamlet in Somerset House

2008-05-02T23:31:00.020+01:00

Strangers warble in Somerset House
between mouthfuls of Hamlet and chocolate cake
Underneath, the Thames flows undisturbed

Out of reach, skyscrapers rise into the ether
-phallic symbols of the times, politics and power,
lands razed, war zones; a cloud ceiling without beyond.
Down below, little men become even smaller.

Yet even among concrete, the season blooms.
- All the while the Thames flows undisturbed.

Senryu XII

2008-05-01T20:26:00.017+01:00

waiting for her lover

under the chestnut blossom;

petals moist and unfurled

van de Vis, Beatrice: "Senryu" published in Ascent Aspirations Anthology No 6 by Ascent Aspirations Publishing, 2008

Haiku XXXIV

2008-04-28T09:15:00.017+01:00

in dawn's silence,

the din of restless thoughts, shushed

by gardenia scent

Memory Lane

2008-04-22T21:54:00.017+01:00

My skin tingles,
when the souvenir of your caresses
leaps out of the shadows
as I drive past our trysting place;
tracing electric pathways on the skin.
Your body inviting as a blank page,
I write a poem on it,
with the quill of my lips and
the ink of kisses; soft strokes
in long languorous sentences,
measured verse, rhyme and meter

as you would expect,
in a lilting, mesmerizing

predictable rhythm;
but then, I jump to an immediacy
that is all so modern and free,
the unexpected eccentric strokes
on the upper case, tiny scintillating
lower case and no metre, no rhyme,
madness all over the place,
a dissembled and surrealist caress,
you never know where the sentence,
the kiss, will fall next.
For an instant, I hold you hard
close against me; but all too soon,
the car goes beyond memory lane
-now you are no longer there
I softly let go of you.

Between Desert and Steppe

2008-04-21T08:49:00.020+01:00

I do not remember the archers
aiming at the night sky, yet in the light of dawn,
Scattered on the ground, lay fallen moons.
The nomads' white gers --asleep.

I do not remember that horses had wings;
There are no footprints on the ground.
I cling to a Pegasus, mane to the wind,
The hooves of my horse, dust-free.

I do not remember a shaman's magic dance;
But in the vastness of a Mongolian steppe,
my eyes saw the edge of the world disappear.
In the eeriness of the Gobi --a spell cast.

Haiku XIX

2008-03-22T18:48:00.004Z

a blackbird breaks free

of winter's lingering clouds,

in search of colour

2008

Footprints in the snow

2008-03-22T18:47:00.011Z

We stroll hand in hand against an ice-blue
alpine landscape of cloud and snow,
you stand prouder than the pine trees
with amber eyes that outshine the sun,
our smiles radiant with the moment's joy;
Two of us –a single plume of breath, intertwined,
footprints snuggle into the welcoming ground
etching a trail of happiness deep into the earth.
So ephemeral –already erased by the fresh snowfall.
The heart does a dangerous somersault, stumbling
--upon these old forgotten photographs.

Senryu V

2008-03-22T17:55:00.012Z

pillow dreams for two;

he steals into her wet dream,

at dawn- the lust thief

van de Vis, Beatrice: "Senryu" published in Ascent Aspirations Anthology No 6 by Ascent Aspirations Publishing, 2008

Haiku XIV

2008-03-22T17:54:00.004Z

lost in winter mists

I pause in a fog of thought,

before the abyss

Silent Music

2008-03-22T17:52:00.001Z

How long now, before I can slip on

my dancing shoes, and whirl again

to the sound of your silence?

Haiku XI

2008-03-21T20:39:00.004Z

A bright winter sun

burns sharply into the chill,

warming unclothed trees

Love's ghost

2008-03-21T20:31:00.018Z

For centuries, your ancestors ruled over
Endless plains and mountains in the East,
A proud nomadic people of warrior-poets,
Then the vagaries of life, took away
From your elders, that given right.

I found you in exile embittered, a pauper,
Languishing in a stultifying city of the West.
With the knowing patience of love,
I nursed you back to life, offering you
A new crown, I did invest you prince-poet.

With such graciousness you accepted,
Dressing me in the robes of your ancestors,
You sung praises to me, your true beloved.
Embellishing me with gems and a crown of
Orchids, humbled by love, you paid homage.

We dwelt endless years, in our secret kingdom
Smoking the pipe of happiness,
And drinking from the cup of love.
Our passion reached farther than the stars and
Grew deeper than the oldest geological strata.

But, though I did purloin the moon for you,
All my love could never bring your beloved
Mountains back, nor buy the respect of your
Scattered people. Or the summer palace north,
Nor riding south with the wind, to winter plains.

Flesh and blood, sorrow and joy, could not
Compete with your opium dreams, that deceitful
Mistress that promised all, but gave you nought.
Yet you, my beloved, in a dream, followed her.

That day, without warning, darkness fell.
For three years long, like a grief-stricken Orpheus,
I roamed the Underworld, clad in widow’s garb,
Tearing my hair, discarding paint and jewels
I cried at passers-by, have you seen my beloved?

Disconsolate Orpheus, I return to this world
Where your ghost comes back to taunt me
With the memory of your amber touch,
The mesmeric voice calling in the night,
Those eyes of liquid gold, in whose depths
I swam so many times, without fear of death.
Today, your ghost struts with such regal mien,
So lissome... that elusive feline grace I know so well.

I pray return to the underworld and sleep,
For your crown is safe, no one can ever take
The place of my beloved khan-poet, but now,
My heart beats again; lay your ghost to rest.

Senryu No IV

2008-03-19T14:38:00.010Z

through the car window,

cakes at the baker's rush by-

counting calories

van de Vis, Beatrice: published in Blithe Spirit vol. 18/2, Journal of the British Haiku Society, 2008

Senryu II

2008-03-19T14:33:00.014Z

wet and forlorn

the park, on this morning's jog.

like lust unsated

van de Vis, Beatrice: "Senryu" published in Ascent Aspirations Anthology No 6 by Ascent Aspirations Publishing, 2008

Senryu I

2008-03-19T14:32:00.010Z

her handbag trembles

as the mobile phone thrills

-with the ring of lust

Autumn crescent

2008-03-16T22:52:00.013Z

Curled up into the perfect arc
of an autumn moon,
love, soft and mellow, draws down
deeper with the season's turn

reaching out to scan the dark
there is a glimpse of you
returning my regard
from the crescent's other half.

Seen in a shaft of light,
the universe is so utterly still.
curled up into the perfect arc
of an autumn moon.

Haiku III

2008-03-16T22:51:00.020Z

this autumn night,

the moon has gone missing;

in your absence

van de Vis, Beatrice: published in Blithe Spirit vol. 18/2, Journal of the British Haiku Society, 2008

Untitled

2008-03-16T22:42:00.028Z

With feline delicacy

I groom your eyelashes,

Wiping away tears;

With the tip of the tongue.

Your lips, reshape into a smile.