Wednesday, December 2, 2020



Home from Sunday Mass where I received communion. Climbing the back stairs to our flat, the fragrance hits me. Fried onions. Dad is at the stove making the pasta sauce for dinner. He takes a meatball, flattens it and cooks it along with the onions. I slice open one of the warm rolls I bought at the bakery near church and spread on some butter. It melts into a glistening pool. Dad tops this with onions and a smashed meatball. A little salt, lots of pepper and the top half of the roll.

full go Grace–
in each bite
Contemporary Haibun Online

Sunday, November 22, 2020

Tuesday, November 10, 2020



an ekphrastic haibun inspired by

Bathers in The Forest, by August Renoir



At last! Back again at Totally Nude and Not Afraid Nudist Camp. Two weeks of freedom from the toil of work, the stench of the city, the constraint of clothes. Here in this secluded wooded glen, this tranquil pool, here where birds sing is perfect paradise. Here is where I can breathe.


"Henry! Stop that! You know the rules."


Look at Louise. She's put on some weight since last summer. Well, she's tall enough to carry a few more pounds. Janine and Marta are very close. Hmmmmm…I wonder. That's fine. If they're happy, that's what matters. Live and let live. 


"Henry! I mean it. Quit that."


Wonder what young Paul is dreaming about so quiet over there. Girls? Getting rich? Wonder what the school board would think if they knew I was here. 


"Miss Richmond, what did you do on your summer vacation?"


 I could give them an earful. Those fudd-dudds would have a stroke. 


"Henry! Enough! What's that? You say this is a nature camp and we should follow our nature? You should set a good example for the others, for young Paul. Observe the nature around you, think lofty thoughts and write a haiku. You'll feel better in the morning."


cool waters

splashing away

the heat of desire

Failed Haiku

Tuesday, November 3, 2020


                                 meadow grasses bent by the wind the purple plumes

                                                              breathing in
                                                              the sharpness of autumn
                                                              no words spoken

The Country and Abroad

Friday, October 23, 2020




                                                                                   two roads

                                                                                   reaching the same place

                                                                                   the choice is made


The local historical society hosts a tea in the patio of a grand estate. Seven hundred and twenty acres of land with a main house, three or four smaller houses for family members, various out-buildings, two ponds, gazebo, rose garden, hills, woods, fields stretching as far as the horizon. One family since 1700. Father to son, generation after generation of stability and commitment to a place.  I think of the homes I've had. East coast, West coast, Europe. Ten homes, averaging a move every seven or eight years.


                                                                                    trellised roses

                                                                                    an old thorn still lodged

                                                                                    in my thumb

Haibun Today

Wednesday, October 14, 2020


 grapes ready to pick
cobwebs connecting bottles
in Gramps wine cellar

Under the Basho

Saturday, October 3, 2020


The day is overcast and cool, a welcome change after four days of sun, sun, sun and high heat. I am back in Los Angeles after twenty years. The plan is to drive west to the Pacific Ocean. We start out at 10:00 a.m. Our route takes us to Hollywood and Highland, the entertainment center for Los Angeles, replacing Hollywood and Vine as the mecca for tourists.


Lines for movies, lines for coffee, lines for trendy shops, lines to cross the street, lines with no beginning or end. Weaving between the lines — people sauntering, hurrying, standing still to pose and gawk. A conglomeration of people. A Bruegel painting waiting to be put on canvas. Glamour and glitz.

Hollywood Boulevard

forward "into the breach"

to shoot a selfie


At La Brea we turn left, down one block, turn right. The Sunset Strip. The place to be at night. Comedy clubs, live music, restaurants, cafes, shops, hotels, apartment buildings, people. Always people, day and night.


We pass Whisky-A-Go-Go. A ghost memory from younger days, dark and sleeping on a Saturday morning.


come do the twist


at the thought


My eyes keep looking up, above the buildings. 


oversized billboards

tinsel town

in your face


What to see, where to go, what to buy. Signs that need no glasses to read. We reach Sierra Drive, leaving Los Angeles and enter Beverly Hills. Manicured and quiet. Mansions behind walls and high shrubbery, with the occasional glimpse of a house or garden. One hundred year old palm trees along the streets. No walkers. No parked cars, except for one. A garishly painted vehicle with a young man standing near it, waving and calling.


movie stars’ homes

get close and personal

with dots on a map


We continue along Sunset through Westwood, Brentwood, Pacific Palisades and reach Highway 1 and what I came to see . . . the Pacific Ocean.


low clouds

slate gray waves

shatter on the beach


surfs up!

Newton’s law proven

with a splash

World Haiku Review

  Autumn 2020