Haiku

cave echoes

my mistakes

come rushing back

receding tide

in the rocks

part of each wave



Frogpond, 2014

HSA Anthology 2015

Haibun

 

                                       FERN GLEN 

We park in the nature preserve near a path that leads downward. On our left is a pond edged with water lilies and lotus blossoms. Along the outer edge grow reeds and bulrushes.  A familiar sound causes us to turn towards it.

                               an ancient poem–

                               a pond, a frog, a splash

                               widening ripples

                               continue through the ages

                               a beginning with no end

A rustle in the reeds attracts our attention again. This time, it’s a painted turtle with a shell about six inches long, moving slowly toward the pond. After watching it quietly slide into the water, we begin our descent. The dirt path is rutted and peppered with loose stones.

                                 slow and steady

                                 helping each other

                                 to keep our balance;

                                 through long years of marriage

                                 there is still a garden

Low growing plants fill in the spaces between mature trees, the green enlivened by occasional clusters of small pink or white blossoms.  At the end of our descent is a thick growth of ferns in various sizes and species, from a single shoot of only a few inches to others two and three feet high and just as wide across.   

We’re the only ones here, but others have come before us. 

                                  a hidden Eden

                                  the songs of a coursing spring

                                  the chirring of birds

                                  a bench for the weary

                                  a place for body and soul

Haibun Today

Tanka Prose,

Dec. 2017

Haiku

a quick flowing stream

in late afternoon

the hurried shadows

full moon

on my neighbor's porch

a new light

goldenrod

growing in abundance

a new restlessness

Presence 2015

Daily Haiku 2011

One Hundred Gourds 2012



Haibun

                                                                            
                                                                       Clean-up 

The autumn chores are complete. Plants cut back. The planting beds cleared of debris. Wood stacked by the back door. Container plants we want to save brought inside. Each year we ask:  how much longer can we do this? Each year we move more slowly; the clean-up takes longer; we have more aches afterwards. Knees, backs, shoulders–all complaining loudly. Each year we think about a condo.

                                                                       a sunny window–

                                                                       begonias inside

                                                                        a bee outside

 World Haiku Review

Haiga





Haigaonline October 2017



Haibun

COFFEE - BLACK

A street empty of people. Just the all night diner is open. Plain, devoid of sentimentality.  A sickly greenish light streams through plate glass windows. A man sits smoking, his eyes looking straight ahead, expressionless.The woman with him appears more interested in a matchbook cover than in his company.

A third customer, a man alone with his back to us, his shoulders hunched. A faceless man in a gray suit. Behind the counter, a young man in a white uniform, a sharp contrast to the darkly dressed customers. He's busy with the dishes and appears to be speaking. Perhaps to himself. No one seems to be listening.

                                 

                                   Nighthawks—

                                   waiting the slow hours

                                   till morning

                                   

Contemporary Haibun Online, March 2007

Edward Hopper, "Night Hawks,"

courtesy of Wikimedia

Haiga:

Daily Haiga

Cattails

Daily Haiga

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

Tanka

setting out plants

I take a chance this year

with something untried–

at my age even this

is an adventure

 

peonies bloom again

after trying to kill them

in ignorance;

what else have I lost

because of my not knowing?

Presence, autumn 2016

Ribbons, spring 2017

Haiku

                                                spring showers

                                                I peel a red onion

                                                in running water

                                                footprints on the floor

                                                beginning the mud season

                                                with a new mop

                                                 a perfumed breeze

                                                 shaking loose the moisture

                                                 from peonies

Presence

Under the Basho

Modern Haiku

Haibun

                                                      THE DINNER PARTY      

1. Getting Ready

 Mrs. Fraser is getting ready for dinner. A party of twelve. Very special (as always), designed to impress Mr. Fraser's colleagues and their wives.

 A black velvet dress clings to her slim figure. Diamond earrings and necklace.  Silver hair, coiffed in an up-do only her hairdresser can accomplish. She's almost ready.

From a dresser drawer, hidden in her silk lingerie, Mrs. Fraser takes out a silver flask and swallows long and slowly.  The liquid fires up her throat and her nerve.

                                                        a lone walker–

                                                        the night blooming jasmine

                                                        cast in shadow

 2. The Dinner

 Crystal glasses, English china, Belgian lace. A table set for royalty. Mrs. Fraser longingly gazes out the window. A summer night cries out for a barbeque, not caviar and squab; beer not Verve Clicquot.

 On her right is Mrs. Henry.

 Your grandson?  Precocious is he? Toilet trained in one week you say? Remarkable! Did you notify The Times?  Yes, I'm joking. Of course I'm joking.

 On her left is Judson Parker. She kicks his creeping foot away from hers.

 Yes, I agree. Desperate hunger in the world. Should all do our part.  I'll start now and pack up this dinner for the Homeless Mission downtown. What's that you say? A joke, yes. Just a joke.

                                                           bouquet of roses  
                                                           silky petals

                                                           fall with a touch

 3. Saying Good-bye

 Goodnight. Goodnight. Thank you. Lovely to see you.  Next week at the Henderson's? Can't wait to see their infinity pool. A restful view, I'm sure. Perhaps, I'll jump in and disappear into infinity. Yes. Yes. Another joke.

                                                             night voices

                                                             rumbles of thunder

                                                             before the deluge

 4. Lights Out

 Midnight. The house locked down. One more successful dinner. One more gold star. 

 Mrs. Fraser takes out the flask again and places a bottle of pills next to it.  She lines up the pills on her dresser. With slow deliberation her hand moves from pill to mouth to flask, from pill to mouth to flask, from pill to mouth to flask.

                                                           storm brewing

                                                           an owl's call

                                                           thrown to the wind

Modern Haiku, Oct. 2016 





Haibun

                                                                                 

                                                                             FRIENDS

 

She was a bright student, Phi Beta Kappa.  Married before graduation.  Has her first child six months later.  Three more children follow in rapid succession.  She moves to a New England Coastal town and writes that she is happy.

 

She, with husband and children, move to Florence where he continues his art studies.

 

She writes that she is happy.

 

Upon their return she teaches high school English and writes that she is not happy.

 

She and the children move to a commune in California where she grows vegetables, bakes bread, has a lover, changes her name to Sunflower and writes that she is happy.

 

                                                                      dried roses

                                                                arranged in a vase

                                                                    for a second life

Lynx, 2011

Haiga

                                       

A Hundred Gourds

Haibun

                                                              MOVING        

An old colonial house. Ours. Cleaned, painted, polished, scrubbed and repaired.  An object on display, a star on stage, ready for the public.  Ready to be someone else's home.

We wait, out of sight and out of hearing.  What do they think, these lookers, these pokers and prodders? Will someone see its charm as we did 29 years ago?  An old lady with a few idiosyncrasies. The sloping hallway, the creak in the dining room floor, the  leak above the side door when there is a drenching rain? Will the new family be forgiving and adjust to the old lady's habits and manners?  Another sweater when winds blow through loose windows, a pot under the leak.  This old lady has so much else to offer.

From a bedroom window, rolling fairways and fastidious greens on the golf course.  Lilacs and roses on warm breezes; the maple, a canopy of gold in autumn and the envy of Midas; the transformation of the land with fresh snow.  Birds, squirrels, rabbits, raccoons, chipmunks, possums.  Residents and visitors, including the occasional deer and wild turkey.

 The walls will soon hear new stories and absorb new memories.  Will they echo with happy celebrations, crowded with children, grandchildren and friends? And, when it is time for the owners to move on, will they look back, as I am, and wonder what has happened to the years?

                                                          this morning the sun

                                                          glowing in the east-

                                                          later… the west

Haibun Today, April 18, 2008

Haiku

river walk

the scent of lilacs

and fresh tar

our new home

neglected in and out

but for white lilacs

Kernels, summer 2013

3 Lights Gallery, Oct. 2008

Haibun

                           

                                                                 DINNER WITH THE FAMILY

He is 16.  Long hair and a pierced ear.  Baggy jeans and extra large tee shirt.  He is with his parents and grandparents.  They talk to each other, but not to him.  He sits apart and says nothing.  He is 16.

                                                                  darkness falls

                                                                  in the dense woods

                                                                  all that’s hidden

Contemporary Haibun On-Line,

Sept. 2009