Based on Van Gogh's "Thatched Houses in Cordeville", Field and Forest

A whispering zephyr,
whisks across
dark green waves, misty clouds, and tree studded plains.

Ridged Brushstrokes meld the cultivated land
with the untamed forest.

The thatched houses turn to a sylvan hideaway, the rural country road strolls past,

going nowhere in a hurry , another peaceful , bucolic brushstroke.

There, people are content with their lot in life,
Not ambitious or deceitful, conniving or greedy.

The simplicity of the country and forest,
their stolid, time-worn wisdoms,

The city with all it’s frills, plots, and fetid corruption cannot compare.

Tilled soil and feral forest
Puzzle piece stone walls and stumbling waterfalls

They are alike as the country to the city, but,

Disregarding each others foreign strangeness,

They live their lives, nestled together, mutually content.

These Haiku for class don't have a true title, but you can tell what they're about.

Ethereal hands shape
waves with sculptors poise
elemental grace


Soft brown flanks adorned
chips of onyx, eyes, sea-green
Rhythmic grace in all


A crystal orb falls,
reflecting what you really are
small piece of the whole

Some Renga that my class put together...

The fly, hidden,
cowers in safety on the mottled floor of Room 215

The bell buzzes loudly,
as your books
fall to the floor

Silence is a virtue in Meditation.
If you wish to lighten it, float to higher awareness

The god-like state of omnipresence flooded his human emotions.
He held the power of the cosmos in his hands,
such might brings madness

his pen moves violently across
the paper

Mightier than nothing,
her anger
falls into frustrated silence

Overflowing thoughts...
endangering my stability

Madness and insanity,
Blackness and silence
What am I coming to?

Like wind leaving a room, or a leaf falling from a tree,
still, in the end, all is empty and forgotten

a flower,
budding in the silence
of spring is here

Nestled away in the seductiveness of summer,
the rising sun kisses a blue sky morning

the sad young child
kisses his grandmother
for the last time

A project unfinished
praying for more time

Telling a story,
don't know where to begin,
smiling in pure joy

Refusing to leave, a smile
firmly painted onto her face
not planning to leave anytime soon

the sky
is in tiles

Fire

Verdant lives still,
at the sight and sound,
of Fire's foreign trappings. It's Red and Gold robes,
it's monumental splendor,
it's deadly majesty.
Forced to dine,
on this tapestry of vibrant life.
A coup de etat, a quick moment of weakness,
all consuming greed,
and it's gone,
all of it,
That forest, that fortress of sylvan shadows,
that bastion of plant and animal life.

No safeguards, no secrets of longevity, in magic or medicine,
could save it from.
Fire,
energy in it's near to purest form.

It will accept no ransom, no royal treasure,
in exchange for it's feast.

Without boundaries, without limits, fire is a ravening wolf,
falling on any hapless prey, that falls across it's path.

It drops it's pretense of a warm, watchful defender, a goodwill ambassador,

and devours life.