Thursday, October 10, 2019

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 

Friday, October 4, 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


Wednesday, September 25, 2019

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

Thursday, September 19, 2019

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

Wednesday, September 11, 2019

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

Wednesday, September 4, 2019

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

Friday, August 30, 2019

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