Sunday, December 16, 2018

Haibun



                                                              ALONE

Coffee in the cafĂ©, her daily routine.  Many of the same faces.  Busy people.  Lonely people.  Happy. Sad.  She was one of many.  Who cared?  Did she?  Not enough.  Would she die like this, uncaring and uncared for?

                                                        full winter moon
                                                        in the wind
                                                       shadows touch


Contemporary Haibun On-line Sept 2010

Wednesday, December 5, 2018

Haiku for autumn



tilting graves
composting histories
in fallen leaves

small town
swallowed by shadows
in early dusk

early morning
the silence broken
by a single honk

Simply Haiku
Presence, Never Ending Story
Shiki Monthly


Monday, November 26, 2018

Haiga for November






A Hundred Gourds
A Hundred Gourds
Cattails

Friday, November 9, 2018

Tanka for Autumn


the autumn woods
leaves drop with a slowness
in the long shadows
unspoken woods of love
between us

gathering leaves
I can’t decide which to toss
pressed between
waxed paper
they still fade

reaching upward
the heavy limbs of the maple
dimmed by the mist
the eternal patterns of autumn
spread before me

Tanka Society of America
Bottle Rockets
Anglo-Japanese Tanka Society Journal

Friday, November 2, 2018

Haibun

                   
                                                                                  Eden

a drowsy autumn afternoon through the open window distant calls from children at play a slow moving breeze koto music from our Japanese neighbor you beside me asleep after loving your breathing easy and rhythmic

Paradise regained
a bumper crop of apples
in the orchard

CONTEMPORARY HAIBUN ON-LINE
April 2013

Thursday, October 25, 2018

Haiga








Haigaonline
featured artist: Rock Challenge

Sunday, October 14, 2018

Haibun

       
                                                        A COUNTRY HAIBUN

A murky sky on a late winter day.  The farm country is brown. Rolling pastures of dried brown grass, plowed fields of muddy dirt, corn fields left with a golden brown stubble. Here and there a white farmhouse with outbuildings in either red or white.  Otherwise, the vista is brown, brown, brown.

There is a subdued beauty about the brown hills, their sweep and curve, their valleys and ridges. A smoothness and a calmness in their brown coat.  A solid color, brown.  Dependable, lasting.  On this dull day horses and cows stand quietly in pastures.  The stillness of a painting by a Dutch master, but for the crows. 


                                                            cawing and pecking
                                                            down one hill and up another
                                                            black dots on brown

Bottle Rockets #17, August 2007


Saturday, October 6, 2018

Haiku for Autumn



                                                              first glimpse of fall
                                                              what I planned to do . . .
                                                              what I did

                                                             slow line of traffic
                                                             above . . . the V formation
                                                             of geese

                                                             pelting the windshield
                                                             yellow poplar leaves
                                                             swished up by cars

Chrysanthemum 
Stylus Poetry Journal
Dragonfly

Thursday, September 20, 2018

Haibun


                                           DRAWING BLOOD   

She is young and willing. How could he, an aging widower, resist her soft and waiting arms, her silky and responsive body? The coming baby is unexpected, a problem for him and his family.  

“My best friend!” his daughter says.

“She’s no better than a whore,” his mother and sisters say. “Worse than marrying Enid, that lazy, frizzy blonde.”

Enid had coped with gin to silence the criticism, until the gin silenced her. And, where had he been all those years?  Cowering in the background, afraid of the harpies’ condemnation. A coward then. A coward now.  

Should he pay her off? Send her away and wash his hands? Even lye wouldn’t clean them or strip away his guilt.


a pile of ash
and cigarette butts–
the night
ticking into dawn
burning memories

revelation
a sharp stab
drawing blood–
can he suture the wound
with repentance and grief?

one bad turn
does not beget another–
there is a new road
free of litter and detours
leading to a second chance

Haibun Today, Tanka Prose, March 2018

Thursday, September 13, 2018

Haiga for Autumn



Daily Haiga
Cattails
Chrysanthemum

Tuesday, August 28, 2018

Tanka


tea roses
the heart of the garden
was her presence
still growing in abundance
missing their sweetness

Ribbons 2017

Wednesday, August 15, 2018

Haibun


LIGHTHOUSE POINT

On the way to Cape Cod we stop in New Haven, city of my birth.  The refurbished carousel at Lighthouse Point is the attraction. A mostly cloudy morning, only groups of children from day camps on the beach. Each sports its own distinctive tee shirt. No one in the water.  At low tide, the gray glassy sea spreads out flat in the distance. The pavilion housing the carousel is open, but empty.  The horses look as fresh as I remember them.  Shiny black or white, dappled grays, rich mahogany. Guilt edged benches, gleaming brass poles.  All the glitter of my youth restored.

A young woman sells me a ticket. "You have to wait for that group of campers."  She points to a bunched mass of six and seven year olds squirming in a ragged line. We take a walk away from the campers and the carousel. Unlike the pavilion, the park and other structures are worn out. Scrub grass and blown beach sand. Chipped paint and graffiti. 

                                                the lighthouse–
                                                after fifty years, smaller
                                                than memories

Back at the pavilion. "Come on," says the young woman. "That group will take all day to get organized." She turns on the carousel lights and the calliope.  By the Sea, In the Good Old Summertime, On a Bicycle Built for Two.Old songs from the pumping calliope, old even when I was a child.

                                                a lone rider
                                                on the merry-go-round–
                                                here and there a ghost

Contemporary Haibun On-line, spring 2006

Tuesday, July 31, 2018

Haiku


                                                             twilight stroll
                                                             my fingers perfumed
                                                             with sage

                                                             half asleep
                                                             wrapped in the morning coolness
                                                             humming cicadas

                                                             yellow butterfly
                                                             in the heart of a lily
                                                             the taste of new wine

Presence
Taj Mahal Review
Daily Haiku

Wednesday, July 18, 2018

Haiga







Haigaonline

Wednesday, July 11, 2018

Haiga



Daily Haiga

Wednesday, June 27, 2018

Haiku for Summer



                                                                  fingers of the sea
                                                                  rushing through marsh grass
                                                                  the sinking path


                                                                  windows open
                                                                  the sound of summer
                                                                  in all the rooms

                                                                  early morning walk
                                                                  grass clippings turn old sneakers
                                                                  a new shade


Presence
Heron's Nest
Cloud Peak

Saturday, June 2, 2018

Haiku for Spring





iris garden
the sisters pose
in purple dresses

 

copper chimes
between wind gusts
the sudden quiet



woodland phlox
filling the spaces
between trees

Daily Haiku
Stardust
Daily Haiku


Friday, May 25, 2018

Haibun



                                                  A  PICTURE POSTCARD


A green and gold landscape.  New wheat and rape fields set out in connecting squares.  Black and white cows spotting open pastures.  Lichened stone walls; solid rough wood barns and farm houses.  Flower fresh window boxes trailing summer against dun colored walls.

                                                           a mountain village
                                                           resting above the fog line– 
                                                           the quickness of change 
Bottle Rockets

Tuesday, May 15, 2018

Haiga





Daily Haiga

Wednesday, May 2, 2018

Haibun: Breakup


                                                      THE BREAKUP 

So, now he was alone with his pain.  A red hot poker in his belly.  Searing coals ready to sizzle his insides.  The episodes were coming at shorter intervals, each more intense. 

“It’s  been three weeks since I’ve seen you, and you still don’t look well,” Libby had said, as she began to straighten up the mess in his apartment, a mixed look of concern and disgust on her face. “When are you going to see a doctor?“

“I did, I told you.  Ulcers.  Gotta watch the chili peppers.”

“I mean a specialist.  I think that diagnosis is wrong.”

“And what do you know, Dr. Libby Sullivan?  Miss couldn’t get through any high school science class without my help?  Stop butting in where it’s none of your business.”

His words and tone had the desired effect.  Libby left again.  Maybe she would stay away for good, this time.  He was as rotten as his insides.

There’s nothing in it for her.  A lot of self-sacrifice and TLC around the clock.  Three months?  Six months?  Too long to watch her eyes cloud up with his pain.  Too long to see her lips quiver as she fed him or wiped the sweat from his face.  Too long to watch her watch him.  Too long to see her love turn to pity.  Better that she hate him.  It was the least he could do to show his love.

                                          end of summer
                                          cold draft
                                          in all the rooms

Contemporary Haibun On-line, Dec. 2007

Saturday, April 21, 2018

Tanka Sequence

                                                                 
                                                              Falling
 
                                                     a 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   
                                                     guiding me as we dance
                                                     our hearts falling
                                                     into the same rhythm
 
Red Lights
 

Sunday, April 15, 2018

Haiga







Cattails
Gean
Daily Haiga


Tuesday, April 3, 2018

Tanka Sequence: For Joseph

For Joseph F. Shaw
09/04/1932--03/31/2018




TO HAVE AND TO HOLD
To JFS on our 50th anniversary 

first date
he reaches across
to take my hand
in an instant I know
he will hold it for life

the winter sun
through a window
warming my back;
the lazy comfort
of lunch for two
               
if I could turn back
I’d revise some stories
of my life,
yet, the part in which you come
would always be the same
 
youthful excitements
long ago put aside
for comforts of home;
my books, my music and wine
and you in my life

all the years
learning the ins and outs
of a marriage,
the last chapter not yet read,
not yet written
Red Lights
Jan. 2011

Sunday, March 18, 2018

Haibun


                                                                   MY LIFE    

has been easy with husband children grandchildren and love lots of love with no problems but little ones about children’s illnesses to move overseas to buy a house and never a serious problem but days free of worry lulling me into thoughts of immunity are false for the time is now not then but now

                                                               a windless day
                                                               one by one leaves
                                                               lose their hold
Modern Haiku
autumn 2017

Friday, March 9, 2018

Haiga




Daily Haiga

Tuesday, February 13, 2018

Haiku: winter


 
an icy blue sky
clear to the horizon
my calendar empty 

heavy snow
we watch old movies
in black and white

bus stop
the winter dance
of cold feet

Cattails
Modern Haiku
Heron’s Nest

Friday, February 2, 2018

Haibun: Center Stage



I’m shy,  a little overweight and wear glasses.  I’m eleven years old.  I’m smart, but I don’t raise my hand in class.  I don’t volunteer to read aloud.  I don’t want to be included in a school play, even as the narrator reading from a script.  I’m not like my older sister who relishes being center stage.  When appointed to be the narrator, I’m too scared to object. I practice reading the lines at home, again and again.  My sister is my audience.  Rehearsals go smoothly; there’s only the teacher and the other kids in the play.  On the day of the show, there’s lots of encouragement from the teacher and big sis, but now there is an audience.

“You have to do it,” my sister says

“You do it,” I say.  I give her the script and go sit in the back of the auditorium. 

She does it beautifully, not merely reading the narrative, but reciting it from memory.


spring snowfall
daffodil buds delayed
another day
One Hundred Gourds, March 2012