Thursday, March 27, 2014

Persephone; a poem by Diane Dehler


I can be seen
Slipping down the dusk
In a thin black boat.
Oars made of my 
Wooden love, send 
Chilly notes of reproach 
Through watery channels.
I pass beneath frozen
Rocks that dazzle me
Cold black and grey designs.
A solitary bell tolls,
Persephone’s bell
Ringing an ancient time.
One moment past tragedy
Hours before dawn.
Remembering roses and
Sunlight, windy clouds,
Rain on my face. 
There are crevices where 
My eyes once were.
You who have tasted the
Bitter red fruit 
Of love, we know one 
Another you  and I.

Diane Dehler

Published in the Taj Mahal Review Vol. 12 Number 2

Saturday, March 15, 2014

a white peacock said, Princess Haiku

Charles Tomlinson Griffes was born 1884 at Elmira, New York and lived a quiet life until an early death at age 36. Griffes early developed an interest in the Far East and one of his favorite authors was Lafacadio Hearn, a kindred spirit in literature. "After he saturated himself with Hearn the young Griffes began to absorb all of the literature he could find on Persia, Hindustan, Japan and China. Though influenced by Debussy the White Peacock was inspired by a poem of William Sharp".

Guide to Listening:

"The music paints a garden on which a tropical sun bets relentlessly.  This garden is rich in blooming magnolia, honey flowers, multi colored poppies, and pomegranate; and in it "cream white and soft" struts a while peacock. A languorous melody paints the beauty of the vain creature as it moves through the garden. Glistening with a subdued glow, strange chords flow one into the other, picturing the lush growth and vivid colors of the garden..."

Excerpt from "The Story of One Hundred Symphonic Favorites," by Paul Grabbe.

Saturday, March 08, 2014

the moon after rain said Princess Haiku

The Moon After Rain

Died 1205

Isn't she waiting for the moon in the village at the end of the clouds as the fierce rains recede?

On the Moon above the Chrysanthemums on the Woven Fence:

Waiting for frost the chrysanthemums on the woven fence take on the color of the moon at the rim of hills.

On Mount tatsuta the storm must have weakened at the peak: even the water uncrossed has torn brocade.

translated by Hiroaki Sato

Saturday, March 01, 2014

Anne Hebert

More and More Narrow

That woman at her window
A place for her elbows on the sill
A vermillion furor tied to her side
Lovely nasturtium in blue sandstone.

She watches a bitter traffic pass
And doesn't budge
All day
Afraid to bump into that wall of silence behind her.

Frosted breath on her neck
Silent space where that man of salt
Has just enough place
Between the woman's back and the wall
To damn her veins that freeze each time he breathes
His slow, cold and immobile breath.

Anne Hebert

© BOA Editions, Ltd 1987

Saturday, February 08, 2014

a leopard flower from, Ono no Komachi said Princess Haiku

Ono no Komachi
(fl. 833-858)

The color of the flower has faded, as vainly as my life and world have passed in these long rains..

Because I fell asleep thinking of him I saw him. Had I known it was a dream I wouldn't have woken.

Ever since I saw someone I love while dozing I've been depending on what you called dreams.

When I miss him desperately I wear my leopard-seed nightclothes turned inside out.

In the real world all right perhaps: Seeing you watching for others' eyes in a dream desolates me.

Following my endless thoughts I'll come by night; it it's a dreampath, no one should notice me.

Translated by Hiroaki Sato.

I just ordered a copy of this wonderful book!

Thursday, February 06, 2014

Helene Grimaud plays a ravishing Brahms Concerto with the San Francisco Symphony...

Helene Grimaud, played a ravishing Brahms Concerto today with the SF Symphony. Confronted with a keyboard, Grimaud becomes a conjure woman; channeling otherworldly force and beauty. Her fingers pulse and radiate across the keys with an almost supernatural strength, power and sensitivity. During her performance she enters a hypnotic fugue where all is music and draws her audience into her own personal realm. -A place where music is created anew each time she performs

Saturday, February 01, 2014

a flower, a poet, Yves Bonnefoy

The Task of Hope

It is dawn. Has this lamp, then, finished
Its task of hope, hand placed
In the clouded mirror, on the fever
Of the one who kept watch, not knowing how to die?

But it is true that he has not put it out,
It still burns for him, in spite of the sky.
The seagulls screech their soul at your frost-covered
Window, morning sleeper, boat from another river.

Yves Bonnefoy

Translated by John Naughton

Monday, January 27, 2014

To Debussy by Diane Dehler

To Debussy

In a bottle of sea,
Debussy dreams of
Sharps and subdued
Flats. Muted flute trills
Through water. Salt water
Clings to a wet chemise.
A muse eluding poetry,
Symbolist music speaking
Beneath mind.

Saturday, January 25, 2014

Anyone wishing to purchase a signed copy of, "A Solitary Woman;" contact Pamela Babusci at: moongate44@gmail.
i carry
borrowed moonlight
into the house
only a translucent memory
of myself exists

A Solitary Woman – Tanka by Pamela A. Babusci. Trade Paper-Back, 5.5 x 8.5 , 76 pages, $15. Available at the Createspace e-store: Introduction by David Terelinck. Cover Art Still Water Bath by Larry DeKock, oil painting. For a signed copy contact . ISBN-13: 978-1492846741 ISBN-10: 1492846740
Re...viewed by Jane Reichhold

When I first opened this book and began reading of all the people involved in the making of it, I was struck by the contrast to the title. Babusci may see herself as a woman alone in the world, but she has the distinct ability to garner the talents and cooperation of a large number of persons.

I found the introduction by David Terelinck, of Australia, to be especially well-written and luminary with his sensitive insights into Babusci’s tanka poems. The best review one could give this book would be to reprint his words. Even the blurbs on the back cover seemed to be the best reasons for getting a copy of this book:

"There are many reasons to fall in love with A Solitary Woman. I did! Lovely, sensuous, brave, spirited tanka in the tradition of Izumi Shikubu, Yosano Akiko, Akitsu Ei and countless others who took the joys and pains of love, life and loss and transformed them into poetry. Hats off to Ms.Babusci for digging deep and unearthing the light in even the darkest moments of the heart. The ancient tradition of tanka lives on around the world, and Ms. Babusci is testament to its enduring power and grace."

--Leza Lowitz, Editor of A Long Rainy Season: Contemporary Haiku and Tanka by Japanese Women and Author, Green Tea to Go: Stories from Tokyo

Pamela A. Babusci is an artist. When she writes tanka she "puts a brush into paint & paint unto canvas" and not one shade of emotion or experience is absent from her palette. Hanging comfortably alongside van Gogh's Starry Night, Picasso's Blue Nude and O'Keeffe's Red Canna are honest self- portraits, passionate abstracts, landscapes of a life and soul laid bare. These are tanka of love, grief, pain, strength, longing, and at the heart of each, the pulse of every woman is palpable. In the hands of this gifted poet, A Solitary Woman is an invitation to a private viewing of a remarkable collection.

-- Claire Everett, Editor of Skylark and author of twelve moons.

Perhaps the only thing missing is a selection of Babusci’s poems.

Here in joy:

skinny dipping
in a summer river
a million stars
clothe us
in liquid light

In hurt:

i walk for miles
after your betrayal
my black beret
white and heavy
in the falling snow


pure moonlight
three years post cancer
the long surgical scar
fading into the belly
of my womanhood

And as a poet:

river of stars
in the pond
i scoop up
Orion’s belt and tie it
around my heart.

Pamela A. Babusci
A Solitary Woman (2013)

Diane Dehler: Five Poems Accepted for, The Art of Being Human Vol 9- the Best Poetry of 2013

Special thanks to Daniela Voicu & Brian Wrixon for accepting five of my poems for, THE ART OF BEING HUMAN VOL 9 - THE BEST POETRY OF 2013 - An anthology of international poetry. It will be published in Canada and online. It's difficult to have a better start to a day than this. :)) Also thanks to Marie Lecrivain for sending me the submission link.

Monday, January 20, 2014

Sweet Release by Diane Dehler

Sweet Release

I follow a leopard
up steep cliffs and
breath escapes; oh
pain of a stolen rib.
I enter a territory
high in the mountains
of Kathmandu
where I have known
a thousand nights &
eyes of surrender; a
sweet release.

A moment of spirit;
a body gives itself
away and returns.
I know the tired
anguish of a long
journey that never
ceases. Or a lover
that never comes, a
mated century of
doves roast on
oracle fire.

Leopard, I follow
you into a craggy
mountain terrain
where the gentle
hours give way to
a kohl lined night
of predatory love.
You are hungry for
bare flesh and a
most delicious
entry into spirit.

In burning fire
love comes to me
with speed; sinking
teeth of a leopard.
Eat my flesh and
consume my heart.
Blind my eyes with
smoke of centuries
of altars. Carry my
bones around your
smooth neck, my love.

Kiss the sacrifice,
inhale a multiplicity
of rosettes.

Tuesday, January 14, 2014

Metamorphose by Diane Dehler



A swan floats into a
weir-fall singing
we are all lost.


I say, this is not true,
your soft hand on me

Discovers the place
where none of us are


I am a shell on a sandy shore
hollowed out mother of pearl


I become a gray dove
and the day is raining.

Our love a deep image
moving forever untouched
forever in water.

Wednesday, January 01, 2014

"For Mycea", Edouard Glissant

Excerpt from For Mycea

I named you wounded Earth, whose rift is ungovernable, and I clothed you in
threnodies uprooted from the recesses of yesterday
Crushing dust and hurtling down my words to the pens and pushing the mute
gray bulls to the edges
I dedicated to you a people of the wind where, in your silence you capsize so
that earth, you create me
When you rise in your color, where there is a crater ever in leaf, visible in the

Edouard Glissant

Saturday, December 28, 2013

Images of Love by Diane Dehler

Images of Love


I touch you staring into a
fire’s crackling flame. We are

Only shadows on the wall
for there is no time.


The evening is short;
surrounds us draws us apart,
reunites us.

We are the only music
that is real.


When you came to me
I knew at once Adam. You
were forbidden fruit.

Soft are your firm hands
on me. We have always
known each other.


My fear of you binds me to the
moving postures of this bed.
Is this fear love?


You leap from the music
of, Swan Lake, a prince but

Tonight I am Clytemnestra,
wearing sackcloth and ash. We
do not touch.


We make love by a
seashore. I marvel at your sun

Drenched hair and throw my lace
dress carelessly aside.


Sand wedges batik designs on
our footsteps. A collector of

Seaweed and tides finds my
dress covered with wet sand &

Takes it home. You love
me without it.


Eroticism is a mirage,
touched it disappears.

Who told you, you could
touch my thigh?


When the sailor’s red sun
sinks low in the sky.

In that second we will know
all desire.

Published reviously, From the Four-Chambered Heart: In Tribute to Anais Nin, Sybaritic Press, June 2013.

Friday, December 27, 2013

Venus Retrograde by Diane Dehler

Venus Retrograde

Private conversation
on a couch of love.
Firm cushions and
a hard wood floor.
White sun – clouds
burst into light. A
buzzing bee hums a
song on the window
ledge. Yet the person
undressed was missing.
Multiple identities fly
by. When they are
coming they are going.
A rhythm that never
stops. People making
love in the mind’s eye.

Saturday, December 21, 2013

tanka by Diane Dehler

Just the dark smoke
of 100 torched gold
I bow to you Autumn
enter a season of grief

Saturday, December 14, 2013

tanka by Diane Dehler

tonight in the
cool arms of another
I conjured you
your breath and touch closer
than the ones that held me

published by Sky Lark's Nest

Wednesday, December 11, 2013

When winter's cold has put to rest the dreams and musings of the summer, we have nothing left except islands of purple and magenta in our mind to retreat to.

In a sea of white anemones and Leopard...

Poems by Diane Dehler


Diane Dehler is an American poet known for her
postmodern lyricism who has been nominated
for a Pushcart Award 2014. 

In a sea of white anemones

I was swimming in a sea
of white anemones,
Whose ivory foam surrounded
me with the tenderness-
gentle hours of a lover.
The frothing ivory interior
of the flower was a white eye.
A perception from which
arose Aphrodite awakening
from the perfume of Alegria.


rises straight high
a spirit wind, winged
beast awakened
Poised on a cliff’s
steep jutting edge
with sharp claws
as pink as dawn.
Embodied writing, the
pale of me and your
molten leopard flesh.
Hot breath of all desire
splattered with pattern
Of wild rosettes.
A stealthy approach
sly leopard licks salt
of my flesh, feeding
On my sheer wild
nakedness — bleeding
creation all over me.
Solitude of a leopard
joins passion.

Monday, December 09, 2013

lips of carmine said, Princess Haiku

This was one of the orchid photos I took at the Pacific Orchid Expo in San Francisco last February. How time flies and soon enough I will be capturing more startling floral images. There is something particularly captivating about the orchid and hope you enjoy this.

Vermeer's Eyes by Diane Dehler

Vermeer’s Eyes

Vermeer’s eyes
given to her.
A girl with a pearl and more,
sky transparent… his voluminous

Passion spires…star streaks.

All the luminous.
All the first moment.
A girl caught in a weave of

Fata Morgana.

Diane Dehler

Friday, December 06, 2013

Petal by Diane Dehler


Opulent lips and red blood.
Microscopic details through a bright lens of moonlight. 
Peering through a ghostly obelisk your reflection,
History, desire still warm.

You said that you were coming.
A night naked of black wings.
Kiss prints left up and down milky skin, an interior map.
When I first called out your name, Petal…
Beginning of the world.

Diane Dehler

Thursday, December 05, 2013

Vermeer's Eyes by Diane Dehler

Vermeer’s Eyes

Vermeer’s eyes
given to her.
A girl with a pearl and more,
sky transparent… his voluminous

Passion spires…star streaks.

All the luminous.
All the first moment.
A girl caught in a weave of

Fata Morgana.

Diane Dehler

Wednesday, December 04, 2013

two flowers as white as snow said, Princess Haiku

It is a very cool evening in Northern California and these white flowers seemed a perfect expression of that.

Sunday, December 01, 2013

Chopin - Complete Nocturnes (Brigitte Engerer)

Diane Dehler, "Petal"


December 1, 2013 at 6:35pm
Opulent lips and red blood.
Microscopic details through a bright lens of moonlight.
Peering through a ghostly obelisk your reflection.
History, desire still warm

You said that you were coming.
A night naked of black wings.
Kiss prints left up and down milky skin an interior map.
When I first called out your name, Petal…
Beginning of the world.

Diane Dehler

Diane Dehler, is an American poet known for her postmodern lyricism who has been nominated for a Pushcart Award 2014.  She received a degree from the Creative Writing Program at San Francisco State University, receiving the Outstanding Student of the Year Award. Contact her at:

"Petal" was published today in "The Applicant: A Kathmandu Based Online Journal."

Saturday, November 30, 2013

Circe by Diane Dehler


Diane Dehler/ USA

Circe: renowned for knowledge
of herbs and spiritual purification.

I dreamed
last night
of Circe, pursuing
the Moon.

spilled red
water color passion
indigo gold,

of moonlight
ink across
her face.

Circe, I said - wait
my poem needs you.
She tossed white, wild sage
onto my sleeping body.

In dream
I was powerless
naked before
her beauty.

Rising to a
zenith, Moonlight
escaped my grasp
and Circe’s kiss.

published February 2013 by The Criterion

Friday, November 29, 2013

star dahlia bright, said Princess Haiku

I visited the Dahlia Garden in Golden Gate Park and found this white dahlia in bloom. The beauty of its star petals guided me through the hours of the day. Soon December rains will sweep the petals of the remaining few away. In its face I saw the pathos of a flower destined to live for only hour.

Monday, November 25, 2013

After Girl With a Pearl, said Princess Haiku

Pearl Incantare

November 25, 2013 at 9:43am

Her luminescence is an island of white slumber.
The girl believes pathos is a river that runs a course through stars.

I enter this painting, bring “I” to a place of sleep. Eyelids of the sky vanish. Eyes are the pearl.
She is dressed in lapis lazuli blue.

A flow of vulnerability floods the self.  She is me. You are her. 

Secrets of our nature are revealed in her gaze.
The museum guard is unaware that I have unhooked the painting from history.

Slipped it slowly from the wall and hidden it in my soul.
She becomes a poem from my silence to a petal.

Flora fauna self, spring of all seasons.
Girl with the Pearl.

Johannes Vermeer, the sphinx of Delft was a magician
who conjured innocence:

Girl With A Pearl.

A pearl in her mouth.
Pearl teeth of the dream.
A petal, unpetaled from the flower of the fruit.

Poetry written with ultramarine ink etched into pale flesh.
Girl with a pearl, how she possesses me.

Diane Dehler

Published in Pirene's Fountain, November, 2013

Friday, November 22, 2013

Belle de Nuite by Diane Dehler

belle de nuit
droop their petaled heads
In long perfumed hours
of a languid night

Previously published in Moonbathing 2012

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