Only saw this reply today… sorry for lag. Is it wrong to consider your β€ symbol "feminine?" LOL
nah, I’m quite feminine, so! π
Yes, I gathered that, and your symbol reminds me of that on more than one level. I feel like, at times, I am living your ups and downs through your haiku. Have you been following my haiku blog?
Of course, Ron! New posts get sent straight to my inbox.
I picked a prickly pear once. Invisible needles. Your poem brought the memory back.
For each specie, hidden underneath is a beast.
Wearing the mask, for an illusion of familiarity…
Behind each corset of nature – lies the potential
And beneath the surface lives – a mystery…
Being in a veil or being transparent…
Being a savage or being gentle…
Deluding self or self becoming an illusion.
Being true to the essence is a real beauty…
Some call it red 
Under the refractive angles of sunlight we all bleed red.
Perfect β€
Only saw this reply today… sorry for lag. Is it wrong to consider your β€ symbol "feminine?" LOL
nah, I’m quite feminine, so! π
Yes, I gathered that, and your symbol reminds me of that on more than one level. I feel like, at times, I am living your ups and downs through your haiku. Have you been following my haiku blog?
Of course, Ron! New posts get sent straight to my inbox.
I picked a prickly pear once. Invisible needles. Your poem brought the memory back.
That makes me happy π
Here in California, it seems all of the most beautiful petals are gaurded by pricks. Innocuously dangerous. Very nice.
So right, and thank you!
Such is the curse of beauty!
Truth π
π
This is wonderful Taereh. π
For each specie, hidden underneath is a beast.
Wearing the mask, for an illusion of familiarity…
Behind each corset of nature – lies the potential
And beneath the surface lives – a mystery…
Being in a veil or being transparent…
Being a savage or being gentle…
Deluding self or self becoming an illusion.
Being true to the essence is a real beauty…
thank you π and thank you for leaving me such wonderful words to read. xo
we used to think that if you held buttercups under your chin
the yellow glow would prove our love. But summer always fades, and even butter cups wilt.
that’s still a romantic thought, though π
yes, I think there’s a poem in the memories of
endless summer, picnics amongst the buttercups…
Loved the way you compose the poem.
Thank you very much π
π