Haibun

                                                            SILENT NIGHT, HOLY NIGHT

 

The EMS attendant in the ambulance keeps asking me questions trying to keep me alert. A feeling of weakness and nearly passing out necessitated this ride on Christmas Eve.

 

At the hospital, a full emergency room.  Very young children in the cubicles on either side of me.  They don’t understand what’s going on and cry.  I don’t understand either.   After a number of tests, an overnight stay connected to a heart monitor.

 

                                                           Christmas dawn–

                                                           a pink horizon

                                                           comes with the nurse

 

Vital signs taken and more tests.  I’m given a good breakfast and a bad lunch.

 

                                                           eating desert first–

                                                           memories of Christmas past

                                                           fill the afternoon

 

I wait for test results, sharing the holiday silence with my husband. Late in the afternoon, a visit from a doctor.  No conclusive diagnosis he says. Dehydration or a heart valve problem.  He urges follow-up tests in a couple of weeks, to which I agree.  He also urges another night in the hospital, to which I don’t agree. 

 

                                                          Christmas night

                                                          going home on wet streets

                                                          flickering thoughts 

 

 

Presence,  2010

Haiku

Christmas tree

the glow and sparkle

of old ornaments

Lunch Break

 

Haiku

 last day of autumn

the space between trees

filled with fog

Presence

Tanka

 leaves dropping

leaves blowing

leaves on the ground

what all this amounts to

are bare trees and loneliness

Moonbathing

Tanka sequence

MOTHERHOOD TIMES THREE

 

my first-born child

sleeps deeply in my arms

his body weightless;

            emptiness I shall have

            when he is grown and leaves

 

her baby softness

the fragrance of her skin

her downy gold hair

            I flow into her warmth

            and she into me

 

again, love grows

before she takes her first breath

and opens blue eyes

            her life in my hands

            my life in hers

Haibun

                           

                                 GRIMSON FRAGMENTS                                                             

Autumn falls into the river. Ochre and mustard rush past the summer towns bringing early mists and fog, stretching across fields and roads, wrapping all in its path with gifts of silence.

The season brings an early dusk, banishing the languid nights. Trailing winds, hinting of icy storms, chase away picnickers, the brass bands and swimmers at the shore. Bare branches let in the sky and the earth turns brown.

                                                fire in the hearth

                                                I choose a book from the stack

                                                by your empty chair

Drifting Sands 

Haiku

 bouncing leaves

the wind changes

to a new rhythm

another day

pushing against the wind

autumn leaves

Shamrock

Modern Haiku

Haibun

 Hector

April 17, 1889 - -October 27, 1996

THE BIRD MAN

Dad. Always perfectly dressed. Suit, hat, tie. Shoes polished. We are at the town green. He puts a few peanuts on one shoulder, then on the other. He has peanuts in his open hand.

"Stand still," he says. "Wait and they will come."

 

Sunday church bells 

summoning the faithful 

a flurry of pigeons 

Cattails

Haiga

 Asian Fair

Haiku

 woodland phlox

growing in abundance

a new restlessness

100 Gourds

Haibun

THE LONG WAIT

 

I am eight years old and in the hospital for a tonsillectomy. Knowing that there is something in my throat which is often making me sick and that once removed I will feel better does not lesson my fears. But, I am a brave little girl. Or pretend to be. I'm not sure, but I don't cry or whimper or protest when the nurse leads me away from my mother.

 

On a rolling bed, I'm wheeled into a too bright room, all white and shiny, with silvery tables and cabinets. Men and women in masks fuss around me talking, talking. I understand nothing except "Breathe into the cup and count backwards from one hundred. "Ninety-nine, ninety-eight, ninety-seven… nine…

 

The room in which I wake is dimly lighted. The girl in the bed next to me is crying; another child across the aisle in calling, "Mama," just the very word I want to say, but can't. I don't feel better as I was told. My throat hurts. I want the pain to go away. I want to go home. I want…I want…    

    

                           waiting for mama

                           in a hospital gown

                           little girl lost

                           waiting for mama

                           the little girl cries

                           as she wets herself

                           waiting for mama

                           the little girl swallows pain

                           and chocolate ice cream       

 Frogpond

Haiga

 Daily Haiga

Haiku

 the church pews

half in shadow, half in sun 

where do I sit?

Presence

Haibun

THE TASTE OF HONEY

 

You expect to find that your childhood home is older.  You also find it smaller.  Duller.  The neighborhood is confined, insulated, a world unto itself.  You wouldn’t fit in even if it were ship-shape and clean of graffiti and rusting cars.  Even if there were neat plantings in front of each house and window boxes with flowers and children playing hop-scotch or roller skating on the sidewalks.  Even if the older folks sat on their front porches on a summer night and gossiped. You know it would not be your home anymore.

                                            the taste of honey

                                            dissolving

                                            into nothing

 

                                                                           

Bottle Rockets

Haiku Sequence

                                                                   A  NEW SEASON

 

                                                     the empty pool

                                                     rippling in the wind—

                                                     first day of school

 

                                                     autumn equinox

                                                     playing outside                

                                                     five o’clock shadows

 

                                                     an armful of fall

                                                     not knowing wildflowers

                                                     from weeds

 

                                                     forecast for frost

                                                     lugging plants inside

                                                     to babysit

 

                                                     apple orchard

                                                     the tart-sweet taste

                                                     of memories

 HERITAGE HILLS NEWSLETTER

Haiga

 Haiga: Black & White

Tanka: summer

spinning ceiling fan 

with eyes closed I imagine

ocean breezes

youthful days with sun and surf

and plans beyond tomorrow

Cattails

Tanka

the desert church

within the silence

of adobe walls

prayers for the living

prayers for the dead

Presence

Haiku

 weary of summer

two white lilies

with a different story

Presence

Haiku: summer

 scorching heat

a breeze through the garden

teases the air

SxSE

Senryu

freshly mowed lawn

grass and weeds blend

into just green

Failed Haiku

Haiku: War in the Ukraine

 spring's arrival

a fragrance in the air

of cordite

spring equinox

the half-life

of peace

Frameless Sly

Haiku

renewed

my subscription

to spring

Frogpond

Tanka Prose

GOING SOLO

 

Gardening today and we are up early. Summer annuals, three dozen, (give or take a few. I’ve lost count) await in their small, utilitarian  containers to be transplanted into larger, decorative containers in the patio. It’s quiet here. There is never much road traffic in front, and neighbors are at a distance and rarely heard. On one side are tall privet hedges, on the other, a wide grassy slope, and in the back, a wooded ravine, home to  birds, chipmunks, squirrels, and deer.

 

The plants are an array of colors:  orange marigolds, pink and white begonias, red geraniums, purple petunias, multi-colored zinnias. We fill the planters with potting soil, add water, work it in.  Choose which plants to go where. Combine different plants in one container or keep them separate? We differ and have a coffee break. As happens every year, there are enough plants and containers to please us both. 

 

By the time the noon whistle blows we are finished. The flowers are in the planters, tools put away and patio swept, table and chairs and umbrella brought out from the garage . We stand back and admire our own bit of Eden. 

 

promises 

of forever and ever

know not reality

but only youth’s springtime

when love is in bloom

Contemporary Haibun Online

 

Tanka

 briefly visiting

a cardinal comes. . .

nibbles . . .gone

silent is his approach

silent is my pleasure

TSA Anthology

Haibun

FROM MY WINDOW

 

 

Spring is gearing up. At the far end of the front yard, where it rises to meet the road, crocus splash yellow, white and purple.  Stems on the lilac bushes are knobby with green tipped leaf buds. Daffodils, some just poking through the soil, some already at their full height with swollen flower buds ready to burst.  Through the open window the breeze is damp, ripe with the fragrance of wet dirt, last year’s leaves and manure from the field around the bend.  There are busy calls from unseen birds and announcing honks from another gaggle of geese.  There is, in this moment, everything that there is.

 

                                                               coffee brewing

                                                               the anticipation

                                                               before the first sip

Cattails 

 

Tanka Sequence

                                                               Terms of Agreement

                                                   a good sleep

                                                   and sunny morning

                                                   a magic potion;

                                                   a day to rectify

                                                   yesterday's mistakes

                                                   living alone now

                                                   the walls whisper his name,

                                                   coaxing his presence

                                                   at a time when we were young

                                                   and life was rich with promise

                                                   

                                                   fast forward, rewind

                                                   if I could, I’d choose rewind

                                                   and go back

                                                   and do better at doing

                                                   that which is impossible

                                

                                                   it is expected

                                                   this change of homes

                                                   yet put off

                                                   until the push of years

                                                   tells me to move on

                                                   two inches shorter

                                                   than when I was young

                                                   health and strength fading—

                                                   what’s left must be enough

                                                   to see me through these late years

Red Lights

Haiga

 

Haiku sequence

, , ,and the rains came

 

opening windows

the first rays of sunshine

after a hard rain

 

showers

splashing down the grassy slope

purple crocus

 

the blurred shades

of a watercolor garden

rain-streaked window

 

spring rain

the pond rises

to meet the willows

 

more rain

April ends

with a new pond

Heritage Hills Newsletter

Tanka

sunrise pink

sunset red

in between, blue

this is what I remember

this is what I keep

Red Lights

Haiku

rain-slick road

coming through the fog

shadow mountains

Shamrock 

Haibun

What Fits   

In a moment of madness, I buy a puzzle depicting The Great Wave, the woodblock print designed by Hokusai. I clear off the dining room table and begin to sift through the pieces looking for the flat sided edges. More light is needed. I place a floor lamp next to the table.

 

After several days, with some help from my daughter,  I have the frame completed. The cartouche in upper left corner is next. Slow progress, but progress. Done.  Onto the skiff in the lower right. With help, that is done, almost. 

 

Then. . .a stall, pause, stoppage, no progress.  White space, blue waves, splashes, curly lines. dots, all the same, same, same, but each different. Different in shape, different in design.  

 

                                          a jigsaw puzzle

                                          a thousand pieces to join

                                          a lifetime’s work

                                          to find the right connections

                                          and make them fit

CONTEMPORARY HAIBUN ONLINE  April 2022