Children of the Poppy by Diane Dehler

Children of the Poppy

A small boy abandoned on a freeway,

intersection Hades/five miles Hell/next exit.

Morning sun does not breathe on this child.

Children of the Poppy: some stolen some

abandoned, some dead.

Midnight on its toes, promise of a surge

greater than self.  An offertory bless the

vein that craves for death is dark and nods

a dreamy head.  A wicked refrain complete

with jail cell strip search overdose. 

An image of four young comrades poised

while waiting, and the little one only eleven

can’t hold up his head. The others make the

finger while humming alive with pulsing

night hour jazz. 

Ruined children stained teeth shattered heart,

History purges them. Plastic bag snaps open,

knife chops & some wine some die some fix.

Chance holds the Queen of Hearts under an

abandoned indigo sky.

Diane Dehler

First published in poeticdiversity: the litzine of Los Angeles, November 2013

                                                                                   

Midnight Garden

reprint from March 23, 2007



The full moon shines
with all its might,
drenching my garden
with mystic light...............

L. 11 years old

Flowers such as "Queen of the Night" bloom only in hours of darkness and belong to my sister's midnight garden. They open pale eyes under the light of the moon, when the rest of the world is sleeping. Their perfume is more intoxicating than ordinary flowers for they belong to dream and mystery. One of the night flowers; Cereus greggi blooms only for one midsummer's night each year. The flower exudes its exquisite perfume as night falls, then closes forever with the first touch of dawn. There are people who are like that too; special people who in a unique moment touch us with ephemeral beauty.

Venus Retrograde said Princess Haiku

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.

by Diane Dehler

This poem has been published in,
From the Four-Chambered Heart: In
Tribute to Anais Nin Sybaritic Press,
June 2013

Thanks to Pamela A. Babusci, said Princess Haiku

October 26
For: Diane Dehler

the intense white
of chrysanthemums
while making love
i become
a thousand petals

Pamela A. Babusci


I am delighted and deeply touched that Pamela wrote this lovely poem for me! Thank you for this gift of eternity <3

Flute by Night

Dark sounds in a minor key.

At night tide I hear the flute sing.


Leave your haunted world, poet.

Follow the leap,

shimmer of trills.

Waves rising and

swelling with the sea.


Sparkling black sand tosses

a shell ashore.


Luminous and void

the pearl within.


At the entrance lingers the flute’s voice.

Sorrow in the musician’s hand.

Diane Déhler

Beauty awakens God/dess said the mysterious Princess Haiku

Moon


Why do I return
again and Again
to your altar.

Resplendent in your reflection,

I discover a mysterious
Solitary Us/twin
goddess Dispersed pearl.

Your real name.
Truth is this; your skin
Your beauty, spirit

Speaks on me- to me.

Moon/ clouded cratered
Lake of mind in her
Gorgeous tristesse



February 3, 2008

Beauty awakens God/dess

ghost love

You lose your beloved; discover they never existed except as a ghost of who you are. The dream stirs far memory; rose perfume in rain. Together, you walk across a street unnamed as is this night. Was this a fugue moon?


by Princess Haiku


Fugue
(German - Fuge; Italian - fuga).
A composition, or compositional technique, in which a theme (or themes) is extended and developed mainly by imitative counterpoint.

In the opening section, the 'exposition', the main theme or 'subject' is announced in the tonic. after which the second 'voice' enters with the answer, i.e. the same theme at the dominant (or subdominant) pitch while the first may proceed to a countersubject. This procedure is repeated at different octaves until all the voices have entered and the exposition is complete. An extra statement of the subject or answer following on the exposition is called a 'redundant entry'; a set of such entries is a 'counter-exposition'.

Princess Haiku visits Clemence Isarue

Princess Haiku had a lovely and ghostly visit with Clemence Isaure last night. After all, said Princess Haiku, we both love the arts so much.

"Clemence is well known in Toulouse as the poets' muse and benefactress. Legend has it that her father refused to give her hand to a young knight she was infatuated with. The young man died at war and the desperate young woman promised to remain faithful to her pure love and devote her life to poetry. After her death, she bequeathed her estate to the city of Toulouse provided that the “Capitouls”, the city magistrates, would pay for the expenses of the "Compagnie des Jeux Floraux"; an association dedicated to preserving the poetry and the regional dialect “Occitane". Poets were invited every May for a festival of sorts and to share their work. A violet made in fine gold was given as a symbolic award. Soon after her death, the Capitouls denied the existence of the inheritance and in effect the very life of the generous Clemence. Today the "Compagnie des Jeux Floraux" still exists thanks to the tenacity of poets eager to maintain the Occitane language. The association is located in the Mansion d'Assezat, a beautiful palace from the Renaissance era."

Purple; a plum's tale

Purple; a plum's tale

A plum comes to me
in my dark place, where
there is no Eye.

Purple sweetness-
Satin sheets are the arms
of an orchard.

Spring disguises itself
as my lover again;
it happens every year.

I know full well
the ear lobe I bite is the
visceral beauty of god.

a Distant Moon

The moon rises and falls,
pale light travels through us
for we are ghosts of the hour.

Moon's hand print is the
symmetry of risings and
settings.

It is a map of twilight
engraved on my skin; a journey
of French dream and poetry.

Together, we are
dissonance of words reflecting
on a silver, silver Tree.

Aubade


Beneath a canopy
of pale dawn,
the storms of
Debussy gather.

A gentle nuance,
sky traces the curve
of Aurora's neck.

Dawn rises,
wraps herself
in opal clouds
of rain.

Aurora follows the
flight of drenched birds
while still I dream.

Ghost Flower

Ghost Orchid

After watering
her for months
with tears,

My ghost flower
bloomed.

She became a
magenta orchid,
the color of

Princess Haiku's
textured lips.