Haibun

                                                                           MEDITATION      

Grandpa's grape arbor. A shaded retreat for reading, for playing with my dolls or jacks, for a game of checkers with my sister, for helping Grandma shuck peas or for just sitting and doing nothing. I don't remember thinking anything when sitting under the arbor or lying on the grass watching clouds or bugs. Just doing nothing was the activity. 

                                                                          sitting za-zen

                                                                          the position I take

                                                                          is lying down

Failed Haiku Sept.2019 

Haiku Sequence

ARRIVAL IN GENEVA

gray dawn

the gray smell of coal smoke

against gray buildings;

a stranger in a foreign city–

will it ever be home?

exploring the streets

the quick French of the natives

carried in the wind;

tentatively I ask

for directions

cold wind down my neck–

my string bag bulges

with groceries;

at the end of the first day

a lighter step to my walk

Modern English Tanka

Haibun

                                                                           Walking the Path  

We walk the path on a breezy autumn day. It is peak season. The sky, an energetic blue, decorated with pillow clouds. Colors vibrant and many:  umber, russet, orange, burgundy, lemon yellow, tawny gold and colors for which I have no name.

                                                                      one step at a time

                                                                      our shadows merge

                                                                      into one

Leaves loosen their hold on trees and zip across the path, some grazing us as with a dry brush. Passing a copse of spruce the wind give voice.

                                                                    see Naples and die

                                                                    the meaning arrives

                                                                    with a rush of sound

 Presence

Haiku Sequence

Swan Lake at Pocontico Hills

November shadows

beneath the lake's surface

slow moving bass

a thousand suns

rippling across the lake

into one

leaves settling

on the black water

without a ripple

a misted sun

reflected in the lake

still the cold

Stylus Poetry Journal

Haibun

DREAMS

Often the same dream, unfolding contradictions.  In college, missing classes, wanting a car; out of college, no job, driving to class; graduating, quitting before the last year, late for class; riding the bus, walking fast, reading the want ads; feeling guilty , making plans for tomorrow, giving in to inertia and confusion.

early morning crows

not understanding

their anger or mine

Simply Haiku, Feb. 2009

Tanka Sequence

Happy Birthday

September 4, 1932—March 31, 2018

Falling

my dreamer’s dream

the fluff of fairy tales

and happy endings;

the fresh fragrance of you

like a May morning after rain

all that I feel

a lovely anguish

and a longing

relieved only by your kiss

and your arms encircling me

cheek touching cheek

your hand firm on my back

guides me as we dance;

our hearts falling 

into the same rhythm

Red Lights

Haibun

STREET OF SHADOWS

A sunny morning in southern Spain.   In summer, there is no other kind of day. Already hot at nine o’clock. Still…a good day for exploring.  With our three young children we leave our hotel, located a short distance from the center of town. Vendors have set up their wares on the sidewalks.

         the sun in my eyes—

         that first squirt of juice

         from an orange

Leaning against a stone wall, a thin woman and two children.  The toddler, hair matted, eyes rheumy, staring at everyone and no one.  The baby, wrapped in a soiled blanket, lying on a straw mat near a box for shade. Garlic for sale, nothing more. 

                                    a burning wind

                                    funnels down an alley—

      grit in my shoes

Presence 2004