Wednesday, December 24, 2014


                                          CHRISTMAS DAY 2002
Christmas afternoon at my daughter’s house.   Lulled by good food, holiday music and family  cheer.  Realizing too late we have stayed too long.
                                            a spreading whiteness
                                            as darkness descends—
                                            the intense quiet
Street not plowed.  Almost no indication where curbs are.  We open the side windows to see better.  Heavy-laden trees and bushes reach out to grab at the car and lash us.  Can’t make a hill.  We back down and try again.  A longer run this time, but still not quite.  Once more we back down and slide into a drift.
                                             wind-blown snow
                                             the slow slog back
                                             to family
Presence, #28 Jan. 2006

Thursday, December 18, 2014


spring 2014
part of a series,
Fantasy Garden

Friday, December 12, 2014



Once more I’m down on my hands and knees creeping along the garden bed pulling weeks.  It’s an on-going spring and summer activity, never getting ahead, always playing catch-up. Weed killers or preventers have limited or no success.  What works, although only temporarily, is pulling them.

There is some pleasure in this chore.  It requires no deep concentration on the activity itself, freeing my thoughts to float on the breeze.  To think about big things–the unrest in the Middle East, unemployment, the national debt.  And, little things…

                                                 an ant
                                                           crawling across my hand
                                                                                             the long journey

March 2013

Friday, December 5, 2014


                                            NAXOS BLUE

Blue…as the sky is blue, a hot blue seen on a scorching day at noon.  Blue…as the Aegean Sea is blue, a shimmering blue under the never ending sun.  Blue on doors and shutters, on small boats in the harbor, on café signs, on domes of churches in the dusty hills.  Blue against the glare of white stucco buildings, blue against the sheen of white marble steps and sidewalks.

                                          blue and white bowl
                                              ancient history takes shape
                                                   in my hands

JOURNEYS, An anthology of International Haibun
Edited by Angelee Deodhar, 2014



Monday, November 24, 2014

Tanka Sequence

                                                   MEMORIES II

                                                he  came poor
                                                with needles and thimble
                                                to a far land
                                                     his vision and life
                                                     pass on through me

                                               a walnut brown face
                                               from hours in the sun
                                               tending his garden
                                                    on a cold, wet morning
                                                    he is lowered into the earth
Modern English Tanka
March 2005

Saturday, November 15, 2014


Daily Haiga, October 2013

Saturday, November 8, 2014


                                                 A CITY CORNER 
A hot day in June.  New York City.  Lower East Side.  People-watching from a corner café.  The tourist busses rumble down 5th Avenue, holding at the corner light.  Sun-drenched double-deckers.  The tourists squinting.  A guide, standing before one group, microphone in hand, lips moving.  “And here we have…and there…and there…”  No need for me to hear his words. 
This is a casual area of the City.  No high fashion, society or career women, no Brooks Brothers.  executive suits walking around.  Every-day New Yorkers, shopping the small markets and delis, the dollar stores.  Dog walkers, three and four canines marching like obedient foot-soldiers.  Mommies with strollers, delivery vans, loading, unloading.  The occasional vagrant or bag-lady shuffling through the corner trash-cans, wary and abandoned expressions on their faces.
                                                    shielding my eyes
                                                    from the sun glare
                                                    Walk.  Don’t Walk.
 Contemporary Haibun On-line, Sept. 2009

Sunday, November 2, 2014


                                                    tree viewing
                                                    a thinner crowd
                                                    on the steep trail

                                                    the rain over–
                                                    strong winds continue
                                                    to shake leaves dry

                                                    autumn dampness
                                                    the midnight train
                                                    late again

Daily Haiga, January 2010
Bottle Rockets, February 2009
Modern Haiku, spring 2014

Tuesday, October 28, 2014



Many gravestones sunken into the ground. Names barely legible.  Dutch and English names.  Family members buried near each other.  New York settlers seeking religious freedom, land, adventure, fortune.
One large headstone for three children: William, one day old; Margaret, seven months;  Jonathan, three months, each one born a little more than a year after the death of the previous child.

Did the parents try again and their fourth child live? Surely, this couple had a dream, a plan, along with courage and fear,  when they came to this raw, new land.  Did they ever find what they were seeking?  There are no other markers with the same family name.

                                           chilling wind –
                                           children on the playground chase
                                           a run-away kite

 Presence #38, Spring,2008

Monday, October 20, 2014


                                              she sings of autumn
                                              and of love dying–
                                              I know not of this
                                              yet, for all my happy days
                                              there comes a melancholy

Modern English Tanka
July 2009

Tuesday, October 14, 2014


                                           cooler today   I form a plan
                                           greater than    my energy

                                          tea in china cups
                                          the wet afternoon perfumed
                                          with tangerine peels

                                          a waning sun comes through
                                          the autumn damp

Cattails, Jan. 2014
Shiku Kukai, May 2011
Hokku Web page, Dec. 2003

Saturday, September 27, 2014


                                                       AUTUMN CARNIVAL
A  chill in the air, a slowing down, the gradual browning of the earth, but first, there is a party, a celebration, a carnival, complete with red and orange lights, ochre and gold, glowing in sunshine and shimmering even through fog and mist, and, like a carnival, the spectacle is too soon over, the performers have packed up and gone, leaving behind only their skeletal remains and memories.
fermenting leaves–
from sweaters on the line
a scent of camphor
  Haibun Today, December 2009

Friday, September 19, 2014


Haigaonline, spring 2014
part of a featured series,
Fantasy Garden

Tuesday, September 9, 2014


                                                  scurrying leaves–
                                                  we delay our farewell
                                                  five more minutes
                                                  pushing aside thoughts
                                                  of no returns

                                                 the young man speaks
                                                 of tests and radiation;
                                                 unashamed I listen
                                                 and pray that life goes beyond
                                                 these early days of autumn

Gean, 6/2009
Magnapoets Autumn/Winter Anthology, 2009

Friday, August 29, 2014


                                  A TRAGIC LOVE AFFAIR
He is born after his father dies and before there was a marriage. The boy’s grandfather refuses to acknowledge him publically, but agrees to provide for his education.  In exchange, his mother is to remain silent regarding the boy’s paternity. The no name boy is given a name by his mother’s brother, a name which means fighter, for that is what he will have to be.

He studies music and teaches children what he knows, organizes a small band and plays at local village concerts, parades, family celebrations and church festivals. He writes music for the church, marries and has 10 children. The child–the man–neither rich nor poor survives and remains a fighter.

                                    skinned knees and elbows
                                    the boy dives into the sea
                                    and comes up laughing

Contemporary Haibun on-line
April 2013

Monday, August 18, 2014


Haigaonline  Spring 2014
part of a featured exhibit,
"Fantasy Garden."

Sunday, August 10, 2014


                                                   summer storm
                                                   the knocking wind
                                                   finds a way inside

                                                   the heat wave broken
                                                   morning coffee sweetened
                                                   with a cool breeze

                                                   city park
                                                   pausing for the silence
                                                   of grass

Bottle rockets, Aug, 2010
Country & Abroad, Sept. 2007
Daily Haiku, Oct.25,2009

Friday, August 1, 2014



                                                A SUMMER EVENING

I am eight years old and walk from the trolley stop to the amusement park. My aunt and older sister are with me.  From two blocks away, odors of cotton candy, hot dogs, fried fish.  The wind from the ocean sweeps these odors in and out, along with the noise.

                                                 beyond the park lights–
                                                 the growing darkness
                                                 of the sea

The fat lady with her maniacal laugh stands at the entrance to the fun house.  Too scared to go in; too scared to wait outside alone.

                                                 sneaking a peek
                                                 in the darkened tunnel–
                                                 eyes half shut

 Any ride we want, my aunt says. The giant Ferris wheel, caterpillar, bumper cars. Rides my father would not allow.

                                                 screams and laughter
                                                 on the roller coaster–
                                                 which is mine?

 I try games of chance and skill.  The penny toss, spin the wheel, pop the balloons. Have neither skill nor luck and leave with no prize and a long face.  "Cheer up," my aunt says.  "Time for one more ride."

The merry-go-round. The best for last. I choose a big black and white horse.  An outside horse, one that moves up and down.  No stationary animal for me.  Gaining speed. The calliope pumping a tune, quick and gay. I reach for the brass ring.  Arms way too short.  Next year, I think.

                                                   head held back
                                                   whirling into the wind
                                                   a taste of sea salt
  Frogpond winte 2006(revised from published version)

Tuesday, July 22, 2014


                                             in the garden umbrella
                                             a baby bat

                                             fishing the river
                                             shore to shore
                                            wild grapes
                                            from the fogged in road
                                            grinding gears

Shamrock, June 2013
World Haiku Review, March 2013
Simply Haiku, June 2012

Saturday, July 12, 2014


Daily Haiga, 6/9/2014

Thursday, July 3, 2014


                                                       picnic by a brook
                                                       on the road nearby
                                                       an idling truck

                                                      woodland trail
                                                      in the trees above
                                                      the pit-pit of rain

                                                      respite from the heat
                                                      we put our discussion
                                                      on hold
Stylus, 4/2007
Stylus, 10,2007
A Hundred Gourds, 6/2013

Sunday, June 22, 2014



                                                    NEST BUILDING

Deep inside an evergreen bush a robin is building a nest.  She is not alone.  With help from her mate, the nest takes form. Twigs, sometimes longer than they are, grasses, bits of fluff.  A well choreographed dance.  One at a time, in one side and out another.  Drop the building material, sit on the pile and twist and squirm to shape it.

                                                   bare dirt–
                                                   setting in the first plant
                                                   for the garden

Contemporary Haibun On-line June 2007

Wednesday, June 11, 2014


From a series "Fantasy Garden,"
now in Haigaonline, featured
in the Gallery, June 2014

Monday, June 2, 2014


A Hundred Gourds, 9/2012

Wednesday, May 28, 2014


                                                A GOOD NIGHT’S SLEEP

   Still awake… a calm lake, clear reflections, soft breezes….I drift
   Still awake…I am now by the sea, waves gently lapping against rocks, 
          the splash and gurgle…
   Still awake…hilltop vistas, rolling green hills, waving grasses           
   Still awake….

                                                         first light
                                           tickling the edges of sky
                                                    fly on my nose
Frogpond, 2010


Wednesday, May 21, 2014


                                                    a Pollack painting–
                                                    the three year old says
                                                    "Mine is better."

                                                    the puppy
                                                    after breaking wind
                                                    barks at his rump

                                                    balancing accounts
                                                    the temperature drops
                                                    a few more degrees
Kernels, 4/13
Kernels, 4/13
Bottle Rockets, 2/14

Friday, May 9, 2014


Our new home will eventually be in the country.  We go there often to paint and work in the yard.

It's early May.  The rolling hills are lush with new grass.  The road bends and turns. A red barn and silo.  Holsteins and horses standing quietly in pastures.  Dogwood along the road, the delicate limbs spreading outward.  

So much to see.  I want to go slowly to absorb it all, to have this beauty become a permanent part of my being.

All too soon we reach our house where work awaits.  Once…someone's pride.  Now…overgrown grass to cut, bushes to prune, dead wood to remove.  So many trees and shrubs left to wither and die.  Years of neglect to undo. 
                                                the old house–
                                                finding in the side yard
                                                white lilacs

Contemporary Haibun On-line September 2006

Thursday, May 1, 2014


                                                    CLASS REUNION

After 40 years I wonder who will come.  The small Catholic women’s college isn’t open anymore.  There’s just the building, now a film institute.  I’ve come three thousand miles to see a bunch of old women. Knowing they’re old, but still surprised at how old they all look.  We look.  I sometimes forget to include myself.

                                                   trying on a smile–
                                                   the face in the mirror
                                                   not what I want to see

 We swap stories about marriages, divorces, death; show pictures of children, grandchildren and pets.  Some bragging, some honesty, some return to that free exchange of  confidences with a chosen few.  My best friend:   a little heavier, but the same deep voice and hearty laugh, the same vivacious personality and the same vice.
                                                   sharing smokes outside—
                                                   all the afternoon heat
                                                   in the low brick wall

Frogpond, Winter 2005

Thursday, April 24, 2014


                                                       For Martin Lucas

                                              poet and editor of Presence

                                                        Rest in Peace

Sunday, April 20, 2014


Haigaonline, spring 2013
part of a series, Spring in the Valley

Sunday, April 6, 2014

April Haiku

                                                          through the fog
                                                          splashes in the creek
                                                          and muffled quacking

                                                         persistant wind
                                                         forsythia blooming
                                                         in a crystal vase

                                                        warmer days
                                                        reflections on the pond
                                                        between ice floes

Dragonfly, Jan, 1976
Haiku Presence Spring 2004
Simply Haiku, March 2011

Saturday, March 29, 2014


Haigaonline,spring 2013
part of a series, Spring in the Valley

Wednesday, March 19, 2014


Haigaonline, spring 2013
part of a series, Spring in the Valley

Friday, March 14, 2014


                                                          My Winter Muse 

You flit in and out, teasing me with promises, freezing up or vaporizing like mist all too quickly.  I search for you in the woodlands.  The trees naked and dark under a slate colored sky.  Branches and limbs tossed and tangled on the woodland floor. Last year’s leaves sticking to patches of old snow.

Horses in a muddy field wearing blankets, one a bright blue and gold plaid, glowing in the cold winter sunlight.  Beyond that field, another.  Dairy cows, their black and white hides splattered with mud.  Uncaring, except for munching bales of hay spread on a raised platform.

Rain and more cold.  The singing stream chokes up at an ice dam where a tree has fallen. 

                                                        sleepless hours
                                                     listening for words
                                                         in the wind
Contemporary Haibun On-line
August 2013