tenacity/la ténacité (haiku)

Originally posted on Tournesol dans un Jardin:

© Clr Métro Rosemont
© Clr Métro Rosemont

at the subway 
beggar pleads each commuter,
never loses hope

au métro
mendiant plaide chaque passager
ne perd jamais espoir


autumn gusts rip
through a day`s hard labour,
spider spins anew

© Tournesol’14

Carpe Diem TackleItTuesday #12

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an angel stands in wait (haiku)

Originally posted on Tournesol dans un Jardin:

Thinking of my friend this week…

her sobs echo
across the Atlantic
a long journey

Caspian Sea and
Arabian Gulf imbibe
salty tears

the skies rumble
iridescent light,
safe passage

pain free at last
an angel stands by, waiting
in white light

heavens whisper
the last chapter,
Rumi stirs

© Tournesol ‘14


Don’t run away from grief , o soul
Look for the remedy inside the pain.
because the rose came from the thorn
and the ruby came from a stone

© Rumi

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un grand homme/a great man (haibun)

Originally posted on Tournesol dans un Jardin:

© Clr – GrandPapa 1957                                      

We seem to be in the spirit of death, being in the middle of autumn, approaching Halloween and all Saint`s Day November 1st; we also call this month in French, le mois des morts (month of the dead).  November 11th, being rememberance day where we pay tribute to all the soldiers who gave their lives for their country and for world peace.  And so I continue on remembering another great man…my grandfather, when he died in his home, Princess, his old mongrel (spaniel mix) went down to the basement and howled grieving for her master.  She stayed there for a week in mourning.

la mort d’un grand homme – Grandpapa

pinson est muet
dernier souffle du maître,
vieux chien hurle

death of a great man – Grandfather

blue-finch falls silent
 master’s last…

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mystic fields (haiku)

Originally posted on Tournesol dans un Jardin:

Our host has introduced Karunesh – Magic Fields as our inspiration to write a haiku.  Here is our host’s offering:

magic is in the air
the sweet perfume of autumn
brings ecstasy

© Chèvrefeuille

nature’s glory
whispering grace,
mystic fields

© Tournesol ’14

CP#582 Magic Fields

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Café de nuit (shadorma)

Originally posted on Tournesol dans un Jardin:

Terrasse du Café le soir  par Van Gogh- Wikipédia

terrasse du café
sous la nuit
des étoiles
ce soir, sont engagés
pour s’aimer toujours


at café terrasse
the night stars
that night, they made their promise
forever to love.

© Tournesol ’14

Mind Love Misery’s Menagerie – Bastet’s Shadorma Photo Prompt

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silent stories (tan renga)

Originally posted on Tournesol dans un Jardin:

Carpe Diem Tan Renga Challenge, Magical Mystical Teacher “River Stones”

I was so pleased to see this haiku offered as our prompt to complete a tan renga. When I first saw it, I could think of so many completions simmering in my mind. I sat with pen on notebook, scratched a few but was not satisfied. I decided to do some research. One thing ( of many) I like about Carpe Diem is that our host as well as many of his family members often add a tidbit, a story, a history or background about the topic accompanying their stanza. Sometimes it is written, other times it is a video but certainly it is enough to inform readers of something they may not have known. So imagine how wonderful it is to learn more how to master (I’ll settle with compose for now) a haiku but to acquire knowledge about…

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nature’s wonder (tan renga)

Originally posted on Tournesol dans un Jardin:

In my search for riverbeds, rocks and deserts for Carpe Diem Tan Renga Challenge “River Stones” by Magical Mystery Teacher ,I came upon another great find. Apparently this recording has gone viral on YouTube since March 2014, one that I had yet to see.

For centuries this dry area, a massive creek bed, has seen the disappearance and return of water in a series of flash floods. I found it fascinating that the Zin river in the Negev desert suddenly transformed due to heavy rains from the mountains. This river runs 75 miles long and drains into the Dead Sea. (read more here)

The DailyMail – UK – River Reborn

In the Old Testament it is said, that Moses sent twelve spies to cross the Promised Land and that the Zin River, in biblical times, marked the border of Israel.

Now watch this video and you will see as…

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six day bender (haiku)

Originally posted on Tournesol dans un Jardin:

looking for home
got lost

lost again
turning in circles
unlisted number

soul searching
chanting my mantra,
I’ve come home

© Tournesol ‘14

Most people are bi-cultural or multicultural…let’s face it. In North America we are are blended in that huge melting pot.  What IS interesting  is how one identifies himself. I sometimes envy French Québecois who feel so sure of their identity. My mother always presented herself as a bilingual Canadian. I guess that is the only way I can see myself too. I cherish both languages/cultures that have woven the tapestry of who I am today.

lonely soapbox,
sometimes my views get
lost in translation
on the fence
each side
tears me apart

© Tournesol ‘14

This last one was just having fun thinking of Kerouac’s road trip for almost a month when he wrote On the Road.

six day bender
sex, love and rock ‘n roll,

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Saint-Benoit-du-lac (tanka)

Originally posted on Tournesol dans un Jardin:

St-Benoit-du-lac, Québec

This prompt brought me to a monastery in the Eastern Townships, about an hour’s drive from Montreal near Magog at Saint Benoit du lac where monks do not only pray but they are known for their cheese.

au petit matin
et le vent montagneux
soufflant des cantiques
jumelant avec les moines
un pinson gazouille en harmonie

early morn
and mountain wind
blowing hymns
accompanying the monks
a finch tweets in harmony

© Tournesol ’14

Carpe Diem

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dawn breaks (haiku)

Originally posted on Tournesol dans un Jardin:

© Clr '14 6:30 a.m.
© Clr ’14 6:30 a.m.

October morn
peering through my window
dawn breaks

heart warmed with grace
my cat calls me to bed

sky shades
with purple hues
a naked tree

© Tournesol ’14

© Clr '14 6:40 a.m.
© Clr ’14 6:40 a.m.

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pressed leaves (haiku)

Originally posted on Tournesol dans un Jardin:

squirreling away,
losing layers of colours
still, beauty in loss

spared none
leaves have all fallen
pressed in Basho

Basho holds
whiffs of dried leaves
varied colours

© Tournesol ’14

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kite on a branch (haiga)

Originally posted on Tournesol dans un Jardin:

Deviant Art Red Kite in a Tree -JBordons

red kite in flight,
snares on a tree branch
squirrel’s new friend

© Tournesol ’14

Carpe Diem

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mourning a healer (haiga)

Originally posted on Tournesol dans un Jardin:

If my grandmother would have been born within the Aboriginal culture, for sure she would have been a wise elder and perhaps a Shaman. But she was a humble woman living  by la rivière Yamaska; a village healer in many ways being a mid-wife, a go-to person if someone was sick from newborn to elderly. She had herbal remedies and others passed down to her from her mother and an old village doctor.

To this day, I still miss her when I am sick. For some reason her hand on my forehead and her homemade chicken broth comforted me. She spent hours and days with mothers in labour, sat by a dying person’s bed many late nights and even doctors called on her for help. Most people called called her Garde Daudelin OR GrandMaman.

At Carpe Diem our host tells us about a Mongolian shaman named Batbayar.  A beautiful story you can read…

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hot summer night (haiku)

Originally posted on Tournesol dans un Jardin:

Carpe Diem Nights of Summer

freedom at last
hot summer night
skinny dipping


blue mist
ocean fog rolling in,
flippers splash

© Tournesol ’14

This was my response at the first prompt in June ’14 “By the River”

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crossing (haibun)

Originally posted on Tournesol dans un Jardin:

Our host at Carpe Diem’s prompt is “A Departed Soul”.  Many of the great masters of haiku  wrote “death poems” about their own deaths. One of the “big five” who delivered haiku, Shiki wrote this on his deathbed:

sponge gourd has bloomed
choked by phlegm
a departed soul
© Shiki

having gazed at the moon
I depart from this life
with a blessing
© Basho

and our host writes:

morning dew
evaporates in the early sunlight
spirit climbs to the sky
@ Chevreuille


crossing (haibun)

I love our host’s haiku because it reminds me of my GrandPapa who passed June 17th during the day. I don’t remember if it was morning but the “morning dew” makes me think of the river where we were brought up and where my grandfather died in his home.

The dove is often represented in “death” but its significance is more personal to me. …

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Wordless Wednesday


praying for hope (haiku – free verse)

it started bleak
I felt discouraged

no confidence
the tale just worsened

each keyboard stroke
my heart was broke

could see no hope
she could not cope

her mother died
by her own hands

although she cried
her father scorned
and hit her too
she could no longer
keep up… forlorn

my words just seemed
to drown on-line
she could not see
a light to shine.

then live-chat to
hopeful shots
we finally found
she had great friends

she did not want
to end her life
but life at home
was hell on earth.

her mom had left
her dad bereft
she feared return
father enraged.

told her to text
a friend indeed
her mom came next
to meet her needs.

I can’t say more
constraints forbid
but I shall hope
her soul to keep
a safe good night
hope she won’t weep.


threw her a line,
she grabbed in hope
  …better days.

© Tournesol ’14

Haiku Horizons “Hope”

collectibles (haiga)

Carpe Diem, Nights of Summer

© Golf Course Art Work - Pebble Beach
© Golf Course Art Work – Pebble Beach

summer liaison
sizzling rendezvous
cicadas chirp

summer nights
hot sticky love-making

memoirs of sordid affairs
pebble beach

© Tournesol ’14

Although I did visit Monterey and Pebble Beach on my trip to San Francisco, I am not a golfer. I was impressed by the landscape, the ocean and the breathtaking houses in that area.

© Oliana Kim, 2014/10/28

 This is my first response in June to this same prompt: Summer Nights (haiku)


fit in my pocket (free verse)

If Canada could fit in my pocket

If I could fit you in my pocket
you’d be strong but not heavy
tough skinned but still pretty
you could be round like a drum
sounding beats of a drum circle
patient people of our First Nations
teaching us to love this planet
Mother Earth needing respect;
the sounds of French and English
blend with thousands other
tongues and dialects;
you would be light as a feather
strong enough to still do battle
kind enough to gauge whether
orphaned children
a price to pay
for things we call
the greater good.

you’d reflect colours
and different hues
weaving a tapestry
of all the cultures
faiths and views,
not simply tolerance
but for acceptance
there is a difference
that much we know.

like Northern Lights
you’d reflect change
and evolution
you’d be compact like
a salamander
but change your colours
like a chameleon
resembling what we call

the perfect size
the perfect fit
in my pocket
you would sit.

© Oliana Kim, 2014/10/28

For DVerse Poets – Pub Talk

a loyal wren (haiga)

The prompt at Carpe Diem inspired me to write this although my father or step-father were not shamans, the relationship of birds and death intrigued me. So bear that in mind, this is not set in the tone of our host’s prompt nor am I referring to eagles.  At my other blog, Tournesol dans un Jardin my haiku respects better the tone of this prompt.

Here is our host’s haiku:

whispering leaves
telling all wisdom of the steppes -
cry of an eagle

(c) Chèvrefeuille

Over 30 years ago when my second child was born, my step-father was diagnosed with lung cancer. My son was three and my daughter was six months old. I was distraught for my mother as he was a man who truly loved her with such compassion, affection and respect. He loved me since I was a teen. He was at my graduation, my wedding and paced the floor when I gave birth to my two children.

With two young children, it was difficult for me to be with my mother for long periods of time. She was caring for him in her modest two and a half room cottage. I was busy still nursing my baby, carpooling my son to nursery school, so I would visit one day in the day with the children and another time in the week in the evening when the children’s father was home to mind them. It did not seem like much…only twice a week. My mother was melting away with worry and fatigue. My step-father was suffering so much and within a few months he was bedridden. I had asked the Great Spirit if He could wait until my daughter walked. That way I was hoping to prolong the prognosis his doctor gave of 3 to 6 months.

It was difficult speaking to my step-father for he had suffered a stroke a year after they met and it affected his speech. Now with this cancer 12 years later, his speaking was even more compromised with pain, opiates and fatigue. I had never told him outright that I loved him as a father although I knew he must have felt it. I also wanted him to know that I would be there for my mother. The home care nurses would often tell my mother that he was hanging on (despite the suffering) until she was ready to let him go.

One day I told my ex-husband that I felt I needed to visit again that evening. He was surprised since I had already been the day before but something was telling me I had to be there. My daughter was with me the day I last visited and made her first steps across the living room towards her grandfather at 10 months old. I was filled with joy for her but sadness remembering what her walking may mean.

On the drive down a black crow smashed onto my windshield. It did startle me but it also confirmed (a superstition my family had told me for years) that someone was going to die soon.
I arrived late in the evening and my mother was shocked. She whispered not to awaken my step-father, asking me why I had come back so soon since my aunt was now here to help her.
I sat by his bedside and hugged him and kissed him on the cheek, whispering in his ear, that I loved him and would take care of my mom. I got home around midnight and learned early the next morning that he had died in the middle of the night. My mother and my aunt were with my step-father when he died and his suffering ended.

I still fear big black birds and do not like crows too much. It scares me if I ever hit one with my windshield that someone I love may die soon.

Ten years ago in winter, my father died and a day before my daughter had announced that she was expecting a baby…our grandson. The next day the hospital called to say my father was in a coma and I waited for my sister who had a long drive before the doctor removed my father off the respirator. We were both by his side when he took his last breath.

I read books on grief, stories, novels and had been volunteering at a bereavement agency. One book was about a man who had lost his partner at a young age. He wrote about a bluebird that visited him for a year thereafter and he felt it was his partner. I found comfort in this story. I used to take my work breaks outside and near the cement railing a wren would sit by me for the time I was there. It would chirp a little; it seemed to look at me moving its head from side to side. For a year at every break, I saw this ordinary, city wren at the same spot each day. I felt comforted that it might be Dad checking in on me until I was ready to let go. Whether this is true is unimportant…it helped me in my grief.

© Oliana Kim 2014/10/27

                                    Wren – Ontario

last exhale,
breathing life to a
new generation
grieving a loss
rejoicing a new life
city wren chirps

© Tournesol ‘14

tranquil solitude (haibun)

© Clr 2014 Teal blue sky
© Clr 2014

Another day gone
skies darken, teal blue
sun is setting

slash of greys and pinks
frame of serenity

it`s safe to rouse
shake weary apathy,
owl hoots aloud

© Tournesol

October 26th…Sunday, my muse and me, playing peek-a-boo

Another day  has gone by. The sun is setting and skies are darkening to teal blue with slashes of grey and pink;  It is safe to finally rouse and shake the weary apathy from the soul.

In the past…
The days were shorter yet she hid in darkness until dusk.
And when night life dawned in spirals like sentinels from the unknown,
were still implicit to the spirit world and those damned to insanity.

Misunderstood was she even by her worst nemesis she’d been fleeing all her life.
As a child it came to her in the dead of night in the form of death and later as ghostly figures carrying “always” seeds of those who loved her. And so the endless journey began searching for clarity to finally shed the darkness. Until then, her darkness was embraced for here twilight gave her some control.

She rubs the gnats of guilt from sand filled eyes and pours a cup of tea, sipping slowly waiting for the mind to stir. Shall she read a bit to stop the twisting sounds within her mind? It used to shroud her in the past…a trip away from herself. For days, she would be in lands of suspense, death, murders, romance and always the nemesis met his fate. She grew attached to many heroes, for years looking forward for respite …any moment of waiting idly she would always fill with thoughts and words of “other” writers. Words that would soothe her, excite her, entice her and most assuredly, distract her.

Basho prepares a journey in the Northern interior of Japan, traveling with his friend Sora and they both will journal their travels. Although Sora recorded the places they stayed, the weather, the people they met, his master wrote a more literary journal.

Now why had she not kept her old journals? She knew why. They were records of discontent sans naming facts and true events. Too many facts were blocked from her memory; memorable events stirred to consciousness was sometimes painful; that would entail being clear on the darker moments. And so, her memory was always clouded. Events were spiced with happy times, good times, smiles and laughter and all too often dreams flooded reality. Could she ever trust her memories to share some day?

It’s too late dimwit, you’re such a stupid, useless bitch! Get over yourself and do something with your life or do us all a favour and…

Basho arrives at a hot springs in Kanazawa where Sora took ill and later so did his master. The trip was resumed later with Basho and Rotsu. By February they were in Kyoto where students celebrated New Years together.

There is so much not said…I want to know more what IS between the lines…more about the long periods of melancholy…more about this thoughts on this long journey, stalled for a while when he took ill…the more I read, the more I know less and famishly curiously about Sora’s Narrow Road to the Deep North, Accompanying Diary (Oku no Hosomichi Zuiko Nikki), published by Ogawa Shobo, withYamanoto Yasusaburo as editor as moreso, Basho’s Narrow Road to the Deep North or Journey to the Interior.

Following this brief chapter are 138 haiku written during this period but I am stomped by this one and have met back with my muse and write…

On looking at a picture of a man drinking alone, Basho writes:

drinking sake
without flowers or moon
one is alone © Basho

© Clr 2014 Fallen leaves
© Clr 2014 Fallen leaves

Here are my regurgitation with the help of my muse:

drinking tea
without sugar
fallen leaves

bittersweet is loneliness
quiet is the muse tonight

flower fades
old china cup,
forgotten rose

lips that touch yet do not taste
bitter nectar for a honeybee

setting sun
clouds remiss
alone again

© Tournesol ’14

© Oliana Kim, 2014/10/26

Born from Dear Emma

Dear Emma,

October 26 2014

Writing has taken over me a bit too much just as reading used to several years ago. Like a crazed artist inhaling too much cleansing solvents, I know not how to manage this. Have started writing some dark nonsense I want to try to maintain for a few months…I rarely can write on the same subject and yet, I look back and I am often on the same theme…I get tired of hearing these thoughts making me hostage…such intrusive tenants are they!

I am enjoying my slow read of Basho – The Complete Haiku (translated by Jane Reichhold, by Shiro Tsujimura) and yet I tend to slip into the melancholy rather than bathe in his verses penned so masterfully. I am reading the chapter: Journey to the interior tonight and it stirred the subconscious and struggled for a time with me and my muse…

This haiku inspired me to write my next post reflecting on my muse and me, entitled Tranquil Solitude (haibun).  One series of haiku were inspired after reading and pondering on my thoughts. Bless this muse who rescues me from moi-même… when I get too lost in that abyss nothing prized is ever derived.

drinking sake
without flowers or moon
one is alone
© Basho

© Clr 2014
© Clr 2014


darkness fallen lost
nothing prized ,ever gained
this dark abyss

bless this muse
rescues from moi-même
black crow cries

© Tournesol ’14


  • struggled with that first line from ” “darkness fallen lost”

fallen lost (my first choice)
lost in the thick
lost in murky woods
lost in darkness
lost in misty forest
in dark forest, lost…

© Oliana Kim ’14/10/25

degree of importance (SoCS)

When I first saw the prompt “degree” I was tempted to write how it took me nine years to finally get my degree as a wife, mother of two primary school age children, daughter of a mom who had two quadruple by-pass surgeries and then I thought, maybe I will expand on the on several degrees. I believe the word, degree, means so many things whether you think/say it in French or in English.

To what degree are you in love with someone? What degree must I set the oven to bake my pumpkin loaf? (I thought I would say pumpkin since we are in Halloween season). And then there is the expression six degrees of separation but I cannot get into that if this is a stream of consciousness write…I mean, I would have to research a little to get my facts straight and to what degree of this would be bullshit or fact.
When we raise our children from the day they are born, we worry how we measure as parents. Then a child gets sick and has a high fever and we panic! We call the health line or if you are lucky like I was, I just called the pediatrician every morning between 7 -8 am, he would take calls at his home for neurotic mommies like me and many others. Well, okay, it was not the degree of neurosis, I just worried is all…like most mommies.

The first thing the doctor would ask was “What is his temperature?” And I would panic more with my son who seemed to waver from 102 to 104 degree F. way too often! Okay, I say it in Fahrenheit because it sounds worse!! You see to what degree we can psyche ourselves out to borderline a panic attack. The thoughts in my mind may read 40 degrees C but my thoughts register 104 degrees F well…because it is hotter…darn it, it makes doctors and nurses move their butts more…you know! And most assuredly, freaks me out more!

Anyway, we seem to live in a society that measures everything. Oh yes, of course health is different but coming back to the degree I finally got. To what degree did it make me happy and fulfilled? Um, well, I still had to work my butt off to find work, to get my degree recognized because it was not a nurse, teacher or social work degree. Nope, I had to take a social science and family life educator degree because at my university they offered evening and part time courses but the other degrees could be acquired only full time which I could not afford. I had to work to pay my expenses and spread it all out to raise my family.

So having worked hard to get it, I felt there was little measure of degree in putting all the efforts possible to make it happen…find a career finally in what I loved…counselling or doing group work. The amount of degree invested was to make some sacrifices like move further away from family and friends.

So I guess that did tell me to what degree it was important to me. And it was, and my career does fulfill me to many degrees.

(c) Oliana Kim ’14-10-25
Linda Hill’s Friday reminder and prompt SoCS Stream of Conciousness – Degree

she checks on me (free verse)

writing zone
© OK 2014 Writing zone

she checks on me
from time to time
her love is pure
for that I’m sure

did not get to sleep
until morning hour…
thoughts kept cascading
like April shower

she checks on me
from time to time
her love is pure
for that I’m sure

but, when my muse
appears enthused
just have to follow
these words that flow
she comes and goes
one moment near
and then, not here.

I wrote all day
hung on each word
she sent my way

meeting new
parts of me
that stayed away
for many years…

exciting and satisfying
discovering parts of me
was gratifying…

sides of me
quite alien…
an endless labour
undying love
some may be shadows
obscure and dark
my darker side
I have inside
but that’s what
is all about
not just repentance
or self-rejection
but tolerance
love and compassion…

slowly slipped into deep sleep
felt her near but not a peep…

she checks on me
from time to time
her love is pure
for that I’m sure

she placed her mouth
upon my lips
to feel my breath
that I’m alive…
and gently stroked
my cheek and arms
… I did not stir
despite her charms…
she then would lie
next to me… sigh
and wait ’til I
opened my eyes…

she stretched her body
and curved her spine
and slept beside me
until the sign
that I`d awake.

she checks on me
from time to time
her love is pure
for that I’m sure.

© Oliana Kim 14/10/25

the long wait

The Reclining Gentleman

He’d been waiting for an hour… still, no show.
“She’s just like her mother! I’ll just have to leave and show her a lesson to be on time for a change.” He heard the ferry coming in and contemplated getting back to Belle Isle without his daughter.

Elena tried to scream but the duck tape muffled her cries. Her hands and feet were tied.   She sat on the floor in the bed of the boat weeping softly. On deck, she could hear men talking:  “Okay, let’s call her old man and ask for $500,000.”

(94 words) Friday Fictioneers – write a story under 100 words to the above photo

Click here to read other great stories An InLinkz Link-up

© Oliana Kim, 2014/10/25

© Shutterbox – Old wooden sailboat

monsisur Jack Kerouac (haibun)

For my 50th birthday my friend took me on a two week trip to San Francisco. We travelled to Big Sur, Monterey, the Napa Valley and Mendocino County. His cousin from Oakland brought me to visit Haight-Ashbury but I would have loved to visit longer.


I remember the 3 days in San Francisco, we went to one well known bookstore but the name escapes me; my friend kept raving about Jack Kerouac. I had heard of him vaguely and felt a bit silly since I was the insatiable reader of the two. But my friend was older and born and raised in Toronto so I figured perhaps Kerouac was more known in English Canada and the US. I found it interesting he had a French name and was so famous. Then I read that his parents were originally from Gaspé, Québec.

Gaspé – Québec Maritime.ca

The Gaspé Peninsula is a region where people are hard working and extremely friendly and have a lovely rich accent unique to that area just like Americans have accents in different states. My son has been going there every summer for the past 10 years.

Many Québecois moved to find work in the US during the Depression. I know I must have 2nd and 3rd cousins in Vermont and Rhode Island from my mother’s side.

I remember looking through a few of Kerouac’s novels and understand that as a teenager and young adult, that was not quite my style of reading. Yes, I was a late bloomer.  Engaged at 16 and married at 19 did not allow me to be exposed to as much.  The great thing about getting older is that one can settle and wilt or keep on growing.   My views on so many things have changed in the past 30 years…thank goodness!  Having children helps.  Reading helps, working with younger people and having lived in Toronto where it is much more multicultural than Montreal (mostly because of the larger population) has allowed me to grow.

It struck me when I read that Kerouac felt like he didn’t always fit in, being a Franco American. He spoke French at home with his parents and that is probably what helped him to keep his French. He lost his nine year old brother to rheumatic fever; that must have been so difficult for the entire family. The family turned more to the church after that and his father started drinking.

Kerouac had originally wanted to write On the Road in French entitled Les travaux de Michel Bretagne … “there were six pages of confidences, where he sums up his career as a writer and tries to define himself: “I am French Canadian, brought to the world in New England. When I am angry I often swear in French. When I dream I often dream in French. When I cry I always cry in French.” * I can sure relate to the swearing for it just rolls at the tip of my tongue especially driving.

“La nuit est ma femme continues with a short story telling the voyages that Kerouac made with his parents in Quebec and later in Vermont… In the following stories, he describes with promptness and humour various jobs which he occupied between 1941 and 1942, after he had left Columbia University in New York. Among those, his passing in a biscuit factory and a circus, jobs which he occupied for only 50 minutes, make us foresee the wandering and pleasure-seeking Kerouac of his most famous beat novels.”

After reading more about this writer I can see him resembling very much our well known eccentric folksinger/songwriter Robert Charlelebois. Why? Because of his transparent and shocking style.

Here are a few haiku I have written after this research and our host’s interesting information at Carpe Diem Sparkling Stars: Jack Kerouac.

How often do we search for life’s meaning? Traveling, searching, wandering and all to come right back home and see it is not “outside of me”.

looking for home
got lost

lost again
turning in circles
unlisted number

soul searching
chanting my mantra,
I’ve come home

© Tournesol ‘14

Most people are bi-cultural or multicultural…let’s face it. In North America we are are blended in that huge melting pot.  What IS interesting  is how one identifies himself. I sometimes envy French Québecois who feel so sure of their identity. My mother always presented herself as a bilingual Canadian. I guess that is the only way I can see myself too. I cherish both languages/cultures that have woven the tapestry of who I am today.

lonely soapbox,
sometimes my views get
lost in translation


on the fence
each side
tears me apart

© Tournesol ‘14

This last one was just having fun thinking of Kerouac’s road trip for almost a month when he wrote On the Road.

six day bender
sex, love and rock ‘n roll,
day of rest

© Tournesol ‘14

Taken from:

Jack Kerouac – Biography

50th Anniversary of  of On the Road – Kerouac wanted to write in French

fallen (haiga)

Originally posted on Tournesol dans un Jardin:

© Clr 2014
© Clr 2014

Fallen leaves,
needy for fertile grounds
geese honk
naked tree,
defensive and forlorn
squirrel on a wire
besieged by barren trees,
 unwelcome guest

© Tournesol ’14

Sunday Scribblings 2

Three Word Wednesday

Carpe Diem Special #114, Shiba Sonome’s 4th “longing for someone”

View original

Longing (haiku)

Originally posted on Tournesol dans un Jardin:

stirring her cup of tea,
milk curdles
weeping salty tears,
pillow case no longer
carries his scent

© Tournesol ’14

Carpe Diem Special # 113, Shiba Sonome’s 4th “longing for someone”

View original

death and beyond (haiga)

Originally posted on Tournesol dans un Jardin:

Indian Summer – Québec

OurGhost Writer at Carpe Diem today is Gary Gay and our inspiration is October as the first full autumn month. I love that that photo chosen with vibrant colours is in Québec and near the Richelieu River where I raised my family.

Gary asks us to “Think outside the Box” when you use Halloween topics. It can be a good source of humour as well. Here is his example of thinking outside the box or misdirection.

My skeleton

going for a walk

in the cemetery © Gary Gay

The poem has a subject of death and yet Gary’s skeleton is still alive.

Here is my attempt in both languages in honour of that lovely autumn photo in Québec dans la Vallée du Richelieu

© Heavenly Tranquility – Flickr

mains en prière
parlant à GrandPapa,
lui! sait m’écouter


hands clasped,
speaking to GrandPapa…

View original 220 more words

Mother Earth’s quilt (haiga)

Originally posted on Tournesol dans un Jardin:

Our host has posted music to inspire us. I don’t know about you but fairies, leprechauns and angels keep fluttering in my mind’s eye.  Perhaps it is the Irish in me for I do love Celtic music and this piece brings me close to my Irish roots on Ballybunion. I am not much of a fairy tale writer as you may have noticed in my other blog I wrote for the Lavender Lady at MLMM prompt. My children told me while they were growing up all the bedtime stories, I invented when tucking them in, were not subtle enough…all had a morale to the tale and they quickly figured it out.  . Well, what do you want with a mom who is a counsellor and family life educator?  But I do remember one tale of the rabbit with those long droopy ears and that extra tall giraffe who were…

View original 172 more words

rainforest concerto (tanka)

Originally posted on Tournesol dans un Jardin:

Maui Hawaii

The Time Glass  prompt today at Carpe Diem  Valley Stream, is to use the haiku composed by your host AND the photo of a waterfall.  It was tempting to complete this into a tan renga but he did mention a “solo” renga or a tanka.  I could not help but notice the waterfall was a photo in Maui, Hawaii. When I saw the last line of our host, “the silence” I thought of birds singing being masked by the sounds of gurgling streams OR the roar of the waterfalls.

I wanted to include birds from Hawaii and liked the sounds of the honeycreepers such as ‘l’iwi , hearing several examples on Youtube. I wanted to add the name of a tree that these birds inhabit and fell upon the Ohia lehua tree.  Well, that brought me to a legend and Carpe Diem is keen on legends and stories.

View original 209 more words

river heals (Tan Renga)

Originally posted on Tournesol dans un Jardin:

Such a lovely prompt today at Carpe Diemto complete a Tan Renga.  Our host shares his heart warming delight that Carpe Diem has become an engaged and loving family. Here are two completions by our host.

river stones
caressed by flowing water
pale moon shines (Becca Givens)

the sound of a waterfall
makes the night more silent (Chèvrefeuille)

river stones
caressed by flowing water
pale moon shines (Becca Givens)

behind a thin veil of clouds
she, the one I love, smiles at me (Chèvrefeuille)

Indeed, I am a late comer, more like the half-sister or step-sister whichever seems the nicest {grins}.  A family that creates an art painters do, a mood great writers do and encouragement and guidance a caring parent or older sibling do.  In that vein I have written this.  I am starting with the completion that suits the mood of this prompt best.

river stones

View original 146 more words

soothing tea (haiku)

Originally posted on Tournesol dans un Jardin:

I love sipping tea in porcelain tea cups. My great aunt bequeathed her collections to my father and I now have them in the same curio my Auntie Mae O’Donnell had. Although the tradition is on my Father’s side, my aunt being Irish, my mother taught me how to brew my tea as young as five. She would let me drink it in espresso cups which was just right for my tiny fingers.

My grandson loved to drink tea as well and would choose his tea cup whenever it was tea time. One day I invited my friend and her daughter who was grandson`s playdate. Well! I set up their tea cups with the tea pot brewing their tea. Ah, the cute things they do at five. I doubt he would want to even admit doing this now that he is 10.

I had a dear friend living next door…

View original 144 more words

lost at sea (haiku)

Originally posted on Tournesol dans un Jardin:

 lost at sea,
fog horns prevent collisions,
lighthouse guides ships home

(c) Tournesol ’14

Carpe Diem “the Lighthouse of Alexandria”

View original

season’s end (haiku)

Originally posted on Tournesol dans un Jardin:


fallen leaf
led by destiny’s flow
season’s end

© Tournesol ’14
visit also Tournesol dans un Jardin at Blogspot

Frédéric Chopin – Classique, Sonata no.9

View original

Dear Emma,

Dear Emma,

I have finally installed 2 mouse traps and feel so guilty because they won’t kill the little critter but will hurt it. So then when I hear SNAP! what do I do then? I don’t want to kill it. Now if Bette hunted and ate it, it would be just nature, right? But If I do, what does that make me? Oh dear! Bette has not slept in 3 night, guarding the doors where she “thinks” the critter is.

I took the day off today. My landlord was supposed to come and block the holes under my sink and counter where the critters DO sneak in. But he did not realize the hole was that big. He will come back tomorrow.

I am glad I took today off…I am tired of late. I feel the season washing over me and soon I may sink deep if I am not careful. And so, I take care of my MOI…take a day off here and there. I miss not seeing my mom though. I don’t have a car and can’t bus there. I wish I did not have to ask. My son and daughter are too busy with their lives I suppose. So I must check into renting a car perhaps this weekend to visit Mom and perhaps my best friend in the country. I miss socializing a bit…but I don’t miss it enough to stop writing. Writing and writing haiku makes me happy…it IS really an addiction but what the heck, it is not a danger to my health and only enriches my soul.

I wrote a few prompts at Mind Love Misery’s Menagerie tonight. The prompts spoke to me and I wondered if I should go with the flow…well, I did. Perhaps sharing a bit too much but it felt right.

Nite, Emma, thanks for listening.

© Oliana 2014/10/21

family secrets (free verse)

Pandora's Box Wikipedia
Photo prompt – Pandora’s Box – for Mind Love Misery’s Menagerie

Don’t ask me
you don’t really
want to know
all the gory details
of our past.

why do you ask?
I have shared once
and you hushed me,
not to tell your husband…
my cousin…
were you ashamed
to tell the truth
of his godfather?

why must these secrets
It boggles my mind
people of YOUR kind.
keep it all hush hush
you and your parenting style
not wanting to call things as they are
hiding behind the face of
Victorian secrets…

why do you ask me to disclose,
you pretend to be my friend
but what your really want
is control…
to know what should
or should not
be discussed
at the dinner table…
what IF I open up
that Pandora’s Box?

Not to worry,
my dear cousin in law…
I shall not divulge
the ugly truths
of the family
in which you have wed…
not to worry, I shall
put the truth to bed.

if only you knew
of all the other cousins
and aunties than you do notwish
to acknowledge…
that could share the same
stories I hold in this
Pandora’s Box…

If only you knew
that secrets
only prolong the abuse.

But , my lips are sealed
I shan’t say one more thing…

I pity your ignorance
your false pride
and modesty…
but I do love you both
and would not strain
our connection
and shall not divulge
any more concoctions
of our family’s sordid past…

…the box is sealed forever.

© Oliana Kim, 2014/10/21

tu me manque, Maman Colombe!

Liberty 31
Photo Challenge #30 Liberty at MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie


que tu me manques…

I miss you so much!

Do you remember when you would listen to me

tell my stories…go on and on and on

and you seemed so interested.

Your patience, your eyes wide open with interest

wrapped me with such a blanket of assurance.

That was the year you thought it was safer

for me and Kim to live with GrandMaman.

I loved it there but I did miss Daddy,

I don’t know why but I just did.

The stories I heard you and GrandMaman,

Uncle Fernand and Ma Tante Hélène whisper,

I knew I should be afraid of him but I never remembered

any bad things during those years.

I was lucky … my psyche

erased it all from my memories…forever.

I remember when GrandPapa died that year…

I used to sit and hold his hand for hours

… well maybe it was mintues

but for a six year old it felt like hours.

I remember his smile, Mom, when you

and your brothers and sisters

knelt around his death bed

praying, weeping…

I tiptoed in the doorway

and GrandPapa smiled at me,

he was lying propped with pillows

with a facecloth on his forehead,

He died several minutes later.

I remember how Dad came back to you

at the cemetery when GrandPapa was buried…

I kept asking you if he was heaven yet…

But, he was not the fun daddy anymore.

He had joined AA and he was impatient, bitter

and mean. He called me mean names too many times.

I think I liked him better when he would drink

those big long necked bottles of brew I would

get for him in the back of the door at GrandMaman’s.

At least we danced to Lawrence Welk and he didn’t

call me “J.C. you’re stupid!”

I remember when you cried for months and months

when he admitted to cheating on you

You played those Connie Francis records for months…

the blinds always closed and it was no fun

coming home from school then Mom.

Although I felt bad for you, I still hated coming home.

I remember your look of guilt and pain

when I came back from that trip in Toronto,

when I visited Dad. I felt so bad…

you were right …

I should never have gone to visit him alone.

I remember when you met Fred

at his 25 years of military service

and you both created a Love Story.

He loved you so much, I had no choice

but to put my jealousy aside

and love him too.

He loved me like a “real” father.

He paced the floor when I gave birth to Oli and Ani.

You were there for me at both births and helped

me bathe them because I kept feeling weak and getting

hot and sweaty when I had just come back from hospital.

I remember when I left my husband

and you were so angry with me!

I know now that you were just worried about me…

you come from a generation where you “think” women

need a man to survive.

I remember when you came to visit me in Toronto

and finally said,“I wish I had had the courage

you had at your age and made a life for myself”

You were so proud of me.  I was finally “FREE”!

Even in your dementia,

I remember giving you a bubble bath

and you thought I was a social worker

and you said, “You are nice like my daughter.

She helps children who are abused.

She is so smart.”

I remember, Mom, and I still feel your love and miss you

so much, Maman, Colombe.

© Oliana Kim 2014/10/21


Colombe is my mother’s real name and translated

it means DOVE like the caged dove you s ee in this photo.

Mom has always been my strength and my love. I am who I am today

through her love, the strength of her mother (GrandMaman) and the

unconditional  love of her and her parents.

Submitted for MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie Photo Prompt #30 Liberty

self-taught (monologue)


“Education is an admirable thing, but it is well to remember from time to time that nothing that is worth knowing can be taught.”  Oscar Wilde

I remember when I finally got my degree after nine years of part time studies raising a family and working at 2 to 3 part-time jobs to pay my expenses. That piece of paper was what society insisted I have. Big deal! What have I learned? I learned to be more patient. I learned that some people will NEVER learn in books what one learns through experience.

One of our last classes was Human Sexuality. I had pretty much been consistent in my research. So far I was trying to find ways to help give tools to victims of child sexual abuse. If they knew what to look for, if they knew they could trust their gut instinct, it might…just might save one case of child sexual abuse…most times, incestual. We don’t use that term anymore at work by the way. That used to irk me but then I understood why they call it ALL sexual assault or abuse. Calling it “incest” makes it seem less serious…hello! it is probably worse because the victim has to continue living in that same fkcing family and it get so complicated. There exists a “love/hate” relationship with the perpetrator.

Moving along, so this Human Sexuality class was interesting. One week we had a transgendered person disclose. He was actually a student and then one night he went up front and facilitates that lecture on transgender issues. I liked him so much. I wondered why I thought he was such a perfect a guy…well, he was a mom before he became a guy. But it was interesting how he discovered that being a guy opened up SO many doors for employment. Okay, that is sort of annoying. It enraged me for a while until I realized that all I ever wanted to do with my life was help people and that is pretty much more a career choice for predominantly women.

Another week we had a woman who was in her mid thirties. She was a sexual assault counsellor and life insisted she get a degree to actually help victims. But her story just boggled me. Well, since then, with my 20+ years of experience, in this field, I realize it is not so rare.
She was 9 years old, she shared, and her family doctor discovered she had gonorrhea. Her mother was offered the choice to choose her daughter or her boyfriend. Yep, she chose her boyfriend. And so, this child was raised in foster care by the state.

During her lecture, there was a break, and I overheard some “more fortunate” individuals who seemed to live on cushy clouds in their past, snickering, “I can’t stand this lecture tonight. I can’t believe we have to be exposed to this. I cannot even believe it happens that often.” I wanted to punch her in the face. It took everything to hold back my anger…I wanted to ask that woman who made those comments, “Why the hell are you in this programme to begin with? Is it just to pass the time as the kiddies have grown up and you are looking to fill the void? Well, LADY, let me tell you…don’t fkcing even try to work in the REAL world. Shit happens and that is what life is! You try to help mend the broken spirits.”

But I did not say anything and just fumed in my frustration. Fortunately, in this particular programme, we HAD to journal our thoughts and feelings after each class. So I vented and my counsellor/professor “got it”.

That year I graduated and did my internship at a clinic across the street. I was running a group of woman and stress. Each person was screened by the secretary to ensure if they had “majour” problems that they were at least, in individual therapy. So one woman in the group had been sexually assaulted by her psychiatrist {please do NOT tell me that it is rare for professionals to cross the line! It was not rare in the 70’s and 80’s}. She skipped two classes and after 2 I am supposed to call the participants to ask if they are okay and if they still want to continue in the programme.

Her response astonished me. She told me her bulimia has kicked in again as there was something said in my last group that triggered something. I learned real quick to process the last twenty minutes before ending a group after that internship. But it’s what she said afterwards that stunned me. “ Je sais tu comprends dont je parles concernant mon abus.” {I know that you understand very well relating to my sexual abuse.” I was silent for a long pause…don’t know to this day how long but it floored me that she had a sixth sense too…something I thought was a fluke I had inherited. But nope, my abuse developed a special antennae and she sensed my past too without my EVER disclosing.

Earlier, on my very first group I asked my mentor if I could be a participant rather than an observer. That group was Women who Love too much, like the book by Robin Norwood. Most of the women there were in abusive relationships but they preferred to live 3 days of HIGH’s in one month and the rest of abuse and neglect. One woman was fortyish and she felt she was frigid and it made her sad. I had a feeling listening to her story and offered to share something about my past. When I finished disclosing my abuse with my father, she said, “I remember now, I had an uncle when I was eleven….” She was so relieved that there was a reason for her problem. We eventually referred her to a different group but I will never forget my phone call with her. She thanked me for unleashing something she never realized was hidden.

My mentor thanked me for my courage and told me, “You know, you really didn’t have to do that.” No, I didn’t but I had a feeling and I went with it because I thought it might help. I was right. I never learned THAT in books. Life happened … in the process it turned “icky” things into something beautiful and helpful . I am fortunate that sometimes I can use this gift.

© Oliana Kim 2014/10/21

Submitted for MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie – Prompt Oscar Wilde Quote

she purrs like a cat (free verse)

© Clr '14
© Clr ’14

she purrs like a cat
she meows like a cat
she snuggles,
rubs her furry body
on your legs like a cat,
she eats my plants like some cats,
loves to get petted…
scratched behind her ears
…all like a CAT
but she CANNOT HUNT like a cat!!
I fear she is a princess
of Siberian heritage
she seems to want to play with that thing
that makes me jump when I see it,
makes me scream like a girly girl!!
that thing that runs so quickly I cannot
catch…sigh!…and so I sleep with the lights on
until this itsty bitsy tiny creature
is out of my home.

© Oliana Kim, 14/10/21

pays Bleu Lavande

I rarely write fairy tales but this Fairytale prompt  #30 spoke to me at MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie

Photo by Kristy Mitchell

They say that when you die, the heart stops, all brain activity ceases, hence you also stop breathing on your own. We all know that there are “lives” after physical death but they differ depending in which camp you grew up, who brainwashed you or you were led to believe as a conscious and intelligent adult, what happens after you die.

There are not that many, I am afraid that are familiar with le pays Bleu Lavande. It overlooks the Kookum* Mountain, in the Mauve region. It rains only at night, and it NEVER snows. Yes, indeed, this is the what we call le quartier trois-saisons. Spring, Summer and Autnew (short for AutoRenewal). The latter season being the shortest. It used to take longer but in the dawn of technology, even the heavens slipped into temptation. Why not? That way the lavender fairy, Mauve, is allotted one month between seasons to get out of the musty archives and run free like the other lucky mortal souls.

Bleu Lavande – Fitch Bay, Eastern Townships, Quebec

She is long overdue for a rest as you can see in this photo. {sigh!} She is somewhat of a tax collector, working for Revenue Lavande. She decides who is accepted to run freely in the meadows of lavender and who need to be diverted to other places like Laurier Rose*, the overcrowded Hell, swarming Purgatory and Heaven, but the latter is not she who decides. Those who can go straight to Heaven by-pass all the other worlds. Now back to pays Bleu Lavande.

Indian Yellow Oleander Shrub

Mauve greets freshly dead people and recognizes the scent of innocents and the scent of exploiters. Some men and women arrive at her field of lavender as teens,  middle age, older adults or even young children BUT if they were victims of any kind of abuse, they magically resume the look of that youthful person in body, shape and age. If, however the person is a misfit who did cause any abuse and destroyed the innocence of children, that person is automatically sent to Laurier Rose…no need to overcrowd Hell.

Laurier Rose is set also on a hill but not as majestic as Kookum*. It has several ponds where there is settled water and many many mosquitos who travelled from West Nile; there are many beehives and farmers who make honey for the inmates of Laurier Rose. And they all must live on honey, leaves and stems of this plant and pond water. Naturally, most do not live very long and it is never overpopulated.
At pays Bleu Lavande you see children running through meadows, laughing, smiling and embraced by the love bestowed at Kookum Mountain like the warmth and love of a grandmother.

© Oliana Kim, ’14/10/20

Bleu Lavande – Fitch Bay, Quebec

*Kookum = grandmother in Cree
*quartier trois saisons = three season region
*Laurier Rose= RoseBay or Oleander

According to NYTimes Health Guide: Oleander poisoning occurs when someone sucks nectar from the flowers or chews leaves from the oleander or yellow oleander plant. Poisoning can also happen if you eat honey made by bees that used the oleander plant for nectar.

For My Friend Oliana Kim – Free Verse – October 19, 2014

Traces of the Soul:

A friend in need, i
an ocean away s
till trying to keep
my mouse at bay:)

Originally posted on Bastet and Sekhmet's Library:

Kandinsky_couple-riding-1906under a soft feathery sea
of a grey duvet on a cold day …
she dreamt of a handsome prince
and long sweet pony-back rides …

oh how difficult t’was to rise,
so lovely and warm she felt inside
until squeaky squeaks were heard!

jumped she from paradise
to chase a mouse around the house
coming back to stark reality!

if only that hooty owl,
that screeched in her reveries,
would join the chase right now –
for her kitty stayed abed
under the grey feather sea
enjoying her warm autumn nap.
her only alternative you see
without owls or cats or princes …
was a humble,
peanut butter

Written for Oliana Kim at Traces of The Soul

View original

Dear Emma,

I sit here and hear the cries of my neighbour’s  Spaniel. He is surely traumatized having passed an entire year where the owners were never there…off to Europe on some work contract. Only a neighbor now and then or the landlord would take him out. So sad to hear unhappy animals with undeserving owners. I suppose it’s like parents who think it is their “right” to parent when it is, in fact, a privilege.

My previous post made me smile as I was composing it. I had mentioned to my friend Georgia from Bastet and Sekhmet that Klimt had been inspired by Kandinsky and she had written a lovely post , Shades of Kandinsky. It is interesting how wild and eccentric Kandinsky’s art is and yet Klimt in later years created softer forms but the colours in his paintings are exquisite and perhaps that was the influence of Kandinsky.
I felt warm and loved and beautiful for a moment, Emma, as I reminisced of times a decade ago. How time has passed with so many mixed emotions since that affair and yet, since only short lived heartaches.

I’ve met darkness, joy, death, birth of another generation, emptiness, gloom and the slow death of mom’s mind; I’ve met compassion in its truest form and feel more in tune with my spirituality. Why then, if I’ve met peace and goodness do I still battle the darkness? It is separate from my work for there is joy and sadness each day as I hear of abuse and then smile when one shares their first crush or asks “ What if he wants to kiss me?”

Yes, my work is reality …good, bad and the grey in between and as I mentioned in another post, I prefer to say a pearly grey for there is hope and radiance in that tone.

I suppose it is being halfway past autumn and soon the colour will disappear and the darkness overtake with bare trees and shorter days. I found a lovely piece by Chopin I think fits my mood just about now, Emma. Thanks for listening… Oliana

This is such a lovely piece that it inspired me to write a haiku…


fallen leaf
led by destiny’s flow
season’s end

© Tournesol ’14

visit also Tournesol dans un Jardin
also Tournesol at Blogspot

Frédéric Chopin – Classique, Sonata no.9

“The Kiss” Gustav Klimt

© Clr `13

I discovered this artist in a 1991 movie, where the main character was giving his lover, Julia Roberts,  history of the art of Gustav Klimt.  A former lover gave me a reproduction of “The Kiss” and a vase made in Spain

© Clr `14 - The Kiss by Gustav Klimt
© Clr `14 – The Kiss by Gustav Klimt

I looked at this painting by Klimt for years,
used to dream of spending an entire night like this
in the arms of my lover, a warm embrace,
tasting soft lips,  that perfect tender kiss…
a former lover offered this painting “The Kiss”
as a gift on my 50th birthday
cherishing how I could spend hours
dancing to sultry music, breathing kisses
feeling the heat of his breath
on my neck and my shoulder,
lifting me on his two feet…

Ah, I was slight, then
at barely five foot eight
wearing only size eight

sweeping me off my feet
mon amant, my love mate,
holding me closer to his chest,
looking  into my eyes
I was mesmerized
ah yes, “The Kiss”…
makes me reminisce
of fantasies I’d once craved
since that film in ninety-one
now true deeds,
fond recollections
shall not forget, of times passed
such sweet memories
will forever last…
even though I still miss
that tender warm kiss.

© Oliana Kim, `14/10/18

 Dying Young – Gustave Klimt

Getting in shape (SoCS – free verse)

Well I was looking for a prompt, a photo or something for an excuse to just write or bitch or vent. So I thought of checking out Linda’s blog for SoCS and “shape” is a pretty fun word to play with. I am quite relieved I can stop shopping now and just go with the flow…

I’m not in
the greatest shape
or frame of mind
this lovely sunny autumn weekend,
week of abuse and exploitation
sexual assault and desperation
unspoken truths
newly disclosed
no longer whispering
icky secrets…
relieving hearts, minds and souls
at last they may even start
to get in better emotional shape;
hopefully this may be a start
of shaping up and getting help
but then again,
help comes in  different shapes and sizes,
professional, free and confidential
but anonymity is still the best!
it bothers me to hear some stories
I know will never change their lot
can only help them learn to live
endure unhealthy living homes,
accepting that they’ll rarely change
shapes of abusive caregivers…
can’t change the way they think or act
but maybe, I can help these youths
change their reaction
towards their folks
who tend to be much too demanding;
they could surround themselves
with positive, caring
and helpful friends
encouraging them
to keep their minds
in healthier shape…
it’s not a miracle
I know that much
but I have to hope
may cause a dent
to help them cope.

© Oliana Kim, Oct 18/14

The Friday Reminder for SoCS – “Shape” with Linda G Hill

Crashing Cranes (free verse)

MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie – Paper Cranes

tables cleared
of tasteless meals
music purrs
 archaic reels
chess board set
 at window seats
young and old
 no difference here
myriad time
old fools may check
but seasoned vets
know better yet.

Garde Louise
calls out “craft time”
several follow
like cattle do
herded in to
craft some art.

artsty tools
paint brushes too
easels, clay
and water colours

Marc  sets his easel
brushing strokes
of black on black,
mirrors of his darkened soul
shaded over many years
with spiked grape juice
apple, orange,
they`re all the same
tasteless food
bland juices too.

Sylvie sits crocheting bonnets
blues and pinks and yellows too
trying to erase the past
justice for missed-carriages

Émile who’d battled
so far away
a brave peacekeeper
now led astray
 since coming back
a little rattled
he witnessed things
no human should
and now he dreams
in living colour
and drinks his juice
no one the wiser.

today he sits
with shiny paper
gold and silver
 building fragile
paper cranes
with yellowed fingers
from nicotine
his mind may linger
and flash a scene
then cranes come crashing
all over the floor
until Garde Louise
will start to pour
some orange juice
of moody blues
and rainbow cranes.

© Oliana Kim, ’14-10-18

Photo Challenge #30 Crashing Cranes at MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie

bliss (haiku)

Traces of the Soul:

You will fall in love with this video!

Originally posted on Tournesol dans un Jardin:

Bastet gave us a lovely musical video to help inspire  our muse at MindLoveMiserysMenagerie  Such a lovely choice too! I love violins and the harp…such beautiful instruments that mimic nature as well as human nature.


harp breathing life
sunflowers twirl in concert
bees buzz

violin weeps,
mother’s happy tears

butterfly haven,
sunflowers pirouette
nature’s ballet

© Tournesol ’14

I can’t help but feel movement in this prompt, in nature and spiritually as well. Hence, this will be my offering for Carpe Diem “Movement”

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summer sounds (haiga)

Traces of the Soul:

Haiku about Little Creatures for Carpe Diem…

Originally posted on Tournesol dans un Jardin:


cricket’s shrill
invades the night,
a toad burps

 © Tournesol’14

Carpe Diem “Little Creatures”

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