Tanka Sequence

                                                    
                                                 A COUNTRY IDYLL

                                                 summer pasture–

                                                 a sway-back horse grazes

                                                 in the shade;

                                                 the quiet of this morning

                                                 comes to me in waves

                                                 hill-top farmhouse

                                                 flanked by sentinels

                                                 of twin pines;

                                                 the years they have stood watch

                                                 through the rolling seasons

 

                                                 silver-edged clouds–

                                                 a shadow slowly glides

                                                 over the meadow;

                                                 soon the day will give over

                                                 to ordinary chores

Modern English Tanka, spring 2007

Haibun

                     A NEIGHBORHOOD PARTY

Five o'clock on a balmy afternoon in late summer.  A party at the neighbor's.  A Jordanian family with dozens of relatives, all present to celebrate a young man's completion of his medical training.

                     a pink and blue sky-

                     the early evening vibrates
                     with a tublah drum *

Exotic odors wafting throughout the garden.  Between eating, there is much talk in Arabic and English and joyous music.

                       a murmuring wind -

                       the ululations of women
                       in the night

We are welcomed into this close family, encouraged to eat, drink, dance.  At one end of the garden, rock and roll; at the other end, a belly dancer.

                        the moon's half light-

                        bejeweled hands twist and turn
                        beckoning

*tublah drum:  a Arab drum similar to a bongo
Stylus Poetry Journal, Dec. 2005

Haiku

                                      falling blossoms

                                      the swirl of her dress
                                      as she spins

                                      her merry giggle
                                      twirling in the rope swing
                                      dogwood blossoms

                                      weeping cherry
                                      the reason to hurry
                                      forgotten

Honorable Mention,
Vancouver Cherry Blossom Festival 2011
Haiku Reality, Dec. 2010\
Presence, summer 2012
  



                                         

Haibun

                                       THE BIRTHDAY PARTY

My granddaughter’s sixth birthday.  Ten girls and two boys buzzing like trapped bees in the screened-in patio.  All anxious for the games to begin.

Pin the tail on the donkey first.  Most are too accurate.  Suspect some peeking going on.  Prizes are awarded to everyone.  A bit too soon, it seems.  Nothing left for later.  The birthday girl shrugs.  “Sorry, Mom.  Too late now.”

Pizza and coke and games on the lawn.  Red light, green light, statues, a relay race and a three-legged race.  No tears, but many excited players jumping the starting whistle.

Watching my daughter maintain the pace and the peace, I feel my age.  Once I stood where she stands.  Now I watch and marvel at the speed of time and how some beautiful events repeat themselves.  A comforting awareness.

                                              a soft wind –

                children race to the finish

                                              tripping with laughter

Stylus Poetry Journal, July 2003

Haibun

                                       A DREAM VISIT 

Once more I'm going home to the street of my childhood.  The trolley taking me is going too fast, and I'm afraid I'll miss my stop.  I'm afraid I won't remember it.  Shops along the route are not the same.  I feel lost, anxious.  I pull the cord.

I've reached my street, and it is as it used to be.  The ice house on one corner; a candy and tobacco shop on the other. It is a working man's street, one and two family houses on one side and factories on the other.

It is summer.  I inhale a miasma of odors, the strongest from the Goodyear plant.

                                    12 o'clock–
                                    in the shade, the clanging
                                    of lunch buckets

On this visit, I am an adult and married.  I know this, although my husband isn't with me.  I am an age I can't determine.  Thirties, forties?  Maybe older.  I live at number 42 on the second floor, above my grandparents.  They are still there, and it makes perfect sense.  I climb the front stairs to the second floor.

 
                                    the afternoon sun
                                    through the stained glass window—
                                    climbing a rainbow

The flat is not large, yet we live here, my parents and I, my sister, my husband.  My father sleeps heavily.  He had died.  Or so I had thought, and I wonder where he's been.  My mother indicates the need to be quiet.

 Moving slowly and softly I prepare food.  My mother and I together.  Roast chicken, pasta.  Large platters of food never to be eaten.  They dissolve.  My parents dissolve.  For a short time—minutes, seconds perhaps—I see and feel the inexplicable reality of the unreal, and I am grateful for this brief meeting.

                                    mourning doves call—

                                    in dreams, neither hello
                                    nor goodbye

Contemporary Haibun On-line, Aug. 2005

Haiga

Smply Haiku, winter 2011

Haiku

                                 morning at the farm
                                 the milk in my jug
                                 still warm

Hoi Polloi, winter 2010

Haibun

                     
                                   A WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON 

The third day of a heat wave.  We escape to a new Portuguese restaurant for a leisurely lunch.  Sublimely cool inside. The décor, sun colored stucco walls with a blue tile border.  The food, a blend of seafood and rice; the wine, a chilled white.  

I smile at the other diners; they smile back.  Everyone is my friend.  There is no place but here, in this cool, blue tiled room with the sound of guitars coming from an unseen source, the sweet, syrupy port slipping down my throat. 

                                       a dip in the lake

                                 floating in the coolness

                                           of dusk 

Haibun Today, Dec. 2012