Tanka Sequence

                                                                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

Senryu

road detour

turning off the GPS

to get lost

three hour fire log

romantic ambience

on a timer

antique car show

cool cars

hot prices

Living Senryu-

Cattails

Living Senryu

Tanka Prose

MY COMEBACK ROSES 

We have a garden and I have become, by necessity, a gardener.  Our move to the country to a house with over an acre of land meant some gardening had to be done. With books, a spade, and the knowledgeable voice of a local nurseryman we plant shrubs, grasses, flowers.

                                                       dirt under my nails

                                                       I trade pink polish

                                                       for peonies

                                                       sweeter and longer lasting

                                                       than any manicure

Success with daisies, phlox, black-eyed susans, irises, spirea and many shrubs and annuals have swelled my head. I’m a gardener! I’ll plant roses next. Pooh on all the doubters who say they are hard to grow. The roses do well that summer and survive the harsh winter, leafing  up beautifully in the spring. Then, catastrophe. The leaves are full of pin holes and getting brown. Buds are shriveled. Aphids! That's what the nurseryman tells me.  I go on the attack, spray heavily and wait one week. Two weeks. One morning I see new leaves growing. By mid-July new buds have formed. I spray again and wait.

                                                         a rose bouquet

                                                         sprinkled with morning dew

                                                         in bare hands

                                                         ignoring the thorns and pricks

                                                         and fresh drops of blood

Haibun Today, June 2017



Haiga

A Hundred Gourds

Haiku

fire-red lilies

a radiating heat

at sunset

between

the swelling sound of crickets

pressing heat

a misty beach walk

following the footprints

of gulls

Living Haiku Anthology

HSA Anthology 2002

Ambrosia

Haiga

publish in Cattails



Tanka Prose

 BETWEEN THE BRICKS    

 

Poor inchworm. Back and forth across the tabletop. Down a table leg.  Halfway, it turns and climbs up again. Crosses the top once more to another leg.

                                                    there was a time

                                                    when I had to choose

                                                    love or adventure

                                                           was it luck or wisdom

                                                           that my choice gave me both?

The little worm takes a leap with its invisible thread, nearly reaching the bottom. Continues on, finally reaching the ground, crawls away. I lose sight of it when it disappears in a crack.

                                                   bird calls and wind

                                                   the shuffling of leaves 

                                                   the shuffling of time

                                                           what I did and did not do

                                                            and where I’ll be tomorrow  

Haibun Today, Tanka Prose,

March 2017