Saturday, March 21, 2015


                                           First Day of Spring                                                 

                                            two-fifteen a.m.
                                            spring arrives with a yawn
                                            and a snore

                                            bird song
                                            pulling me out of a dream
                                            first day of spring

                                            haiku group
                                            the discussion stops
                                            for a robin

Chrysanthemum, Oct. 2008
Ambrosia, July 2009
Shiku Kukai, July 2012

Sunday, March 15, 2015


                                                   neither one season
                                                   nor another
                                                        I ponder anew
                                                        to stay or go

TSA Anthology, 2009

Saturday, March 7, 2015


                                           BEYOND NEVER
At 16, because of problems at the public high school, I am sent to a Catholic girls’ high school. It is an unique experience for me to be taught by nuns and priests, to follow the practices of morning, noon and evening prayer, daily rosary, frequent confession, first Friday communion, to wear a drab navy uniform, no make-up, no bare legs, to be made to think about the religion into which I was baptized, along with its obligations, a religion which my parents and grandparents ignored, except for, perhaps, in their hearts.

I am intimidated, silent before my teachers, absorbing doctrine and practices with fear, belief, curiosity and sometimes boredom as the priest or nun dwells too long on a fault, a habit, a sin to expunge or better still, to avoid.  Oh, the pitfalls that could and would confront us chaste teenage virgins.

                                             thunderous rain-
                                             a little fib nibbles
                                             at my sleep

Was I interested in the religious life, in becoming a nun, a teaching sister, a nursing sister, a missionary?  No, I say to the nun who asked.  Out of a class of 98 three say yes.

They don’t stick, all those drills and habits instilled during the two years of high school, followed by four more years at the college run by the same order of nuns. Practices and routines fall away like leaves in October, sometimes returning, budding anew months, years later for a short time, until the cycle repeats itself.  The core of belief remains, often unacknowledged, but there, guiding my thoughts and actions, giving hope and solace, raising questions that remain unanswered, raising doubt, yet stubbornly hanging on. I join my parents and grandparents in a faith stripped of accoutrements and accessories, but imbedded within my being.                                                                                        

                                            winter twilight
                                            the route home
                                            still familiar

Bottle Rockets #24, Winter 2011

Tuesday, March 3, 2015


Daily Haiga, 2011