Haibun

DEAD

But not buried. It will come to life again, resurrected by some young techie who can perform miracles even with his eyes closed. In the meantime I am forced to use pen and paper, to scratch and scribble, to cross out and throw away. I am forced to concentrate. Concentrate  on my thoughts, my vision. Feel the shape of the pen, how it glides across paper, feel the movement of my hand as words leave my mind and are written down. Think of Austin, Dickens, the Bronte sisters, Byron, Shelley…all of those who had only pen and paper and achieved greatness.

winter dawn

the pines whisper words

I cannot hear

HAIBUN TODAY Dec. 2013

Haiku: Christmas

Christmas Eve

behind the clouds

there is a shining

Christmas night

reflected puddles on

empty streets

Christmas tree

the glow and sparkle

of old ornaments

holiday cheer

a little eggnog

for the rum

unoublished

Gean

Lunch Break

Failed Haiku

Haibun

                                           SINGING CHRISTMAS MASS

The first Mass on Christmas at St. Anthony’s Church is at 6:00 a.m.  I am 13 years old and sing in the choir.  It is still dark when I arrive, and the church is not fully lighted, just the vestibule and the choir loft where we gather for a brief practice.  This first Mass and the last at noon will be high Masses.

Lights come on in the sanctuary, candles are lighted, the heat is turned on.  At such an early hour the church is only half filled.   Stained glass windows, dark when Mass begins, gradually brighten as the sun rises, and beams of color travel over pillars and pews.  The organ swells; our voices blend harmoniously; the fragrance of pine boughs, candles and incense float up to the choir loft as our voices float out over the congregation.

the sun in my eyes

singing “Gloria”

from memory

Contemporary Haibun Online

Haiga

Haigaonline 
Sept. 2019

Haiku for Late Autumn

autumn leaves

a puddle mosaic

shifts

my tangerine

and his cigar

overlapping voices

December morning

wild turkeys strut

across the yard

Bottle Rockets

Kukai for Autumn

Stylus Poetry Journal

Haiga

Failed Haiku

Tanka for autumn

apple picking

each year with children

now just we two

I gather the fruit

as I gathered memories

the brilliance of fall

coupled with shorter days

gives me pause

this certainty I accept,

yet I long to dally

a new month

the advance of autumn

proceedes quickly

morning frost on bare trees

and sweaters out of mothballs

Lyrical Passion Poetry, 11/2017

Tanka Anthology, 2015

Presence, winter 2015

Haiga

Haigaonline

Haibun

Heritage  Familiar songs from a land not mine, yet linked by genes. Stories told. A time imagined.  But for chance, I would have been a peasant like she was, living in scraggy hills, milking a goat, running over rocks in bare feet, so calloused they never bleed. There would be hungry days and starry nights with the wind for a companion. There would be fear and want and fleeting dreams waiting for my father to return.  After the letter arrives there would be a bumpy ride in a patched-up cart to the train.  With many a look back I would watch the dry, dusty land change into a crowded town with the smell of the sea where a ship waits in the harbor, belching smoke from its black stacks.  I would travel in the stink of the ship’s lowest depths with days of anxiety, heat and cold, hunger and sleepless nights, to reach another shore where life would begin again.  a soft spring day the family comes together for a funeral  Contemporary Haibun Online

Haiga for Halloween

                                               

Daily Haiga

Haiku for Autumn

old tree stump

the same woodpecker

whittling it down

tree gazing

the brightest shades of red

on poison ivy

non-stop rain

puddles connected

into a pond

Moonset

Gean

World Haiku Review

Haibun

In the Eye of the Beholder    

Bath time for my two year old daughter. Soapy and slippery. Giggling, she splashes water on me. I’m in an old robe, no makeup, my hair in curlers.  As I towel her dry, she puts her arms around me and says, “Mommy, you’re beautiful.”

weeds and more weeds–

aging in a crock

dandelion wine

World Haiku Review

Haibun

                                                                           MEDITATION      

Grandpa's grape arbor. A shaded retreat for reading, for playing with my dolls or jacks, for a game of checkers with my sister, for helping Grandma shuck peas or for just sitting and doing nothing. I don't remember thinking anything when sitting under the arbor or lying on the grass watching clouds or bugs. Just doing nothing was the activity. 

                                                                          sitting za-zen

                                                                          the position I take

                                                                          is lying down

Failed Haiku Sept.2019 

Haiku Sequence

ARRIVAL IN GENEVA

gray dawn

the gray smell of coal smoke

against gray buildings;

a stranger in a foreign city–

will it ever be home?

exploring the streets

the quick French of the natives

carried in the wind;

tentatively I ask

for directions

cold wind down my neck–

my string bag bulges

with groceries;

at the end of the first day

a lighter step to my walk

Modern English Tanka

Haibun

                                                                           Walking the Path  

We walk the path on a breezy autumn day. It is peak season. The sky, an energetic blue, decorated with pillow clouds. Colors vibrant and many:  umber, russet, orange, burgundy, lemon yellow, tawny gold and colors for which I have no name.

                                                                      one step at a time

                                                                      our shadows merge

                                                                      into one

Leaves loosen their hold on trees and zip across the path, some grazing us as with a dry brush. Passing a copse of spruce the wind give voice.

                                                                    see Naples and die

                                                                    the meaning arrives

                                                                    with a rush of sound

 Presence

Haiku Sequence

Swan Lake at Pocontico Hills

November shadows

beneath the lake's surface

slow moving bass

a thousand suns

rippling across the lake

into one

leaves settling

on the black water

without a ripple

a misted sun

reflected in the lake

still the cold

Stylus Poetry Journal

Haibun

DREAMS

Often the same dream, unfolding contradictions.  In college, missing classes, wanting a car; out of college, no job, driving to class; graduating, quitting before the last year, late for class; riding the bus, walking fast, reading the want ads; feeling guilty , making plans for tomorrow, giving in to inertia and confusion.

early morning crows

not understanding

their anger or mine

Simply Haiku, Feb. 2009

Tanka Sequence

Happy Birthday

September 4, 1932—March 31, 2018

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

Haibun

STREET OF SHADOWS

A sunny morning in southern Spain.   In summer, there is no other kind of day. Already hot at nine o’clock. Still…a good day for exploring.  With our three young children we leave our hotel, located a short distance from the center of town. Vendors have set up their wares on the sidewalks.

         the sun in my eyes—

         that first squirt of juice

         from an orange

Leaning against a stone wall, a thin woman and two children.  The toddler, hair matted, eyes rheumy, staring at everyone and no one.  The baby, wrapped in a soiled blanket, lying on a straw mat near a box for shade. Garlic for sale, nothing more. 

                                    a burning wind

                                    funnels down an alley—

      grit in my shoes

Presence 2004

Tanka

pleasure boats

bob on the outgoing tide

silhouetted

against a wide red sky

the toys we have

in my advanced years

a found peace in simple things

the summer dusk

slips into night with an ease

I long to emulate

Country & Abroad

Modern English Tanka

Haiga

Chrysanthemum
Daily Haiga

Haibun

JOIE DE VIVRE  

““I want chocolate ice cream,” a child calls out to anyone with hearing distance. “Yes, you may have chocolate,” his mother says in a more modulated tone. She takes his hand firmly, yet gently. They step from the curb, the toddler hopping and skipping. Mom adjusts her pace to his. Once across, they continue their lopsided walk, a babbling child, a smiling mom.

                                                          soft breezes

                                                          cherry blossoms caught

                                                          in a small hand

Presence 

Haiku for Summer

Japanese garden

from one path to another

nothing on my mind

afternoon stillness

my neighbor’s chimes

announces a breeze

pressing heat

in late afternoon

the fridge’s hum

Under the Basho

Daily Haiga

Presence

Haibun

                              HOLDING                            

An old man, wearing a Yankee baseball cap, sits reading a newspaper. His face is tanned and cross-hatched with wrinkles like a well used leather glove. I can't begin to guess his age. He could be older than I or younger. 

drought cracked field

a dandelion root

holds on

Cattails

Haiga for Summer

Simply Haiku
Haigaonline
Haigaonline

Tanka Sequence

SEASONS

a twin baptism--

incense mingles

with lilacs;

the sweet and sharp blends

to a new fragrance   

a slow afternoon--
the cicadas' hum grows louder
in the pulsing heat
time stretches before me,
cool shadows just a dream   

true shape revealed
the trees bare--
there under a somber sky
I shed my robes alone
for no one's eyes but yours   

the first snow--
I hold out my tongue
to taste the cold
memories running pell-mell
back to childhood   

Modern Tanka Press

Haibun

Garden Design 

An unknown crop of seedlings appears in the garden in autumn. Perhaps one of the flower seeds planted in spring which did not sprout. Perhaps weeds. I leave them alone.

They survive winter, grow quickly as soon as the days warm up, producing dark lavender flowers. What they are, I don't know. 

                                                                            garden book

                                                                            the perfect plan

                                                                            on page twenty-eight

Haibun Today

Haiku for Summer

                                                                         strains of Vivaldi
                                                                         the heat of the day remains
                                                                         in the stone patio

                                                                          morning chores
                                                                          pushing a broom against
                                                                          the heavy air

                                                                          heat wave
                                                                          again I learn
                                                                          to slow down
       
Cattails
Presence
World Haiku Review

Haibun

The Casbah

Exotic Morocco.  Heat and odors. Sweet flowers, spices, dust, overflowing sewers, diesel fumes. A desiccating hot wind that pulls moisture from one’s eyes.  Ship whistles, shouting voices, car horns, motors, riveting engines, music.  Before and behind, hidden and in plain view.

imagining

veils and tambourines

sounds of rock and roll

"Be your guide?"  A young boy tugs at us.  "Casbah.  Guaranteed fun."  We say no and take a taxi.  "I show you," he says, waiting for us at the entrance to the Casbah.  His own taxi, perhaps?  Or a magic carpet?  We relent in the presence of such mysterious powers and cleverness. 

The Casbah! A maze of shops, stalls and living quarters, as well as a mosque or two.  Thick with people. Women weaving in doorways, helped by rheumy eyed children.  Mostly silent as they work.  

                                   weaving our way up
                                        to the top of the Casbah-

                                    this desert het

Mohammed pushes us past some shops, pulls us into others.  "Buy, buy."  Whispered conferences in the corner with the owner.  We buy a leather hassock.  "Good bargain," we are assured. 

                              our twelve -year old guide

                              pushing aside hot crowds-

                              promises of mint tea

Cooler at the top.  A plaza with an open tea room and street performers.

toothless snake charmer                                                   pauses to grin at the crowd  

 the waiting cobra

coiled in a basket,

the cobra's eyes

not quite closed

The end of our tour..

our Moroccan guide

looking cool in his long robe

hand out for a tip

Raw Nerve