Haibun

                                                    

                                                          MIGRAINE          

  

It comes on quickly. Pain above my eyes. Intense. Sharp. Carving my head into splinters. Producing nausea. Swallow a couple of pills. Retreat to a darkened room, a cold cloth on my forehead.  Breathe. Concentrate on nothing else. Just breathe.

 

                                                         shooting stars

                                                         watching with held breath

                                                         I forget to wish

 

WORLD HAIKU REVIEW, Jan. 2014

 

Haiga

 

 

 

Daily Haiga

Haiku

                                                  rain and snow
                                                  another closet
                                                  cleaned today

                             skeletal trees in deep snow shadow patterns

                                                  snowbound
                                                  all the bushes
                                                  shorter

Bottle Rockets
A Hundred Gourds
South x Southeast

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 On-line, Sept. 2011

 

Haiku

 

 

                                                    today's wind
                                                    stripping autumn
                                                    to the bone

                                                    masons at work
                                                    creeping along the stone wall
                                                    afternoon fog

                                                    heavy fog
                                                    the changing shape
                                                    of this day

Heron's Nest
Shamrock
Chrysanthemun

Haiga

Simply Haiku

Haiku

 

                                                   damp infested wood
                                                   growing in the garden shed
                                                   two types of mushrooms

                                                   autumn garden
                                                   gathering this and that
                                                   for a last display

                                                   mist and fog
                                                   the smeill of November
                                                   decomping

Under the Basho, 2014
Frog Pond, summer 2014
Bottle Rockets, 8/2014

Haibun

                                                        PORTRAITS              

Next to my wedding photo is one of my mother’s on her wedding day.  The pictures were taken 30 years apart.  Comparing my face as it is now and as it was then, I see the same bone structure, thick eyebrows, a small indentation in my chin.  My now face has wrinkles around the mouth.  My hair is white and my neck is crinkly.  When I compare the two me’s it is always with a surprised feeling of time, not just time flying, but never coming back.  Looking at my mother’s picture is less startling.  I don’t think of her appearance when she died.  I see her photo every day when she was young.  I imagine knowing her then.  Dark eyes and hair, smooth olive toned skin, a delicate nose and a mouth showing the tender beginnings of a smile.  A beauty in a Juliet cap and ivory velvet gown, the smooth fit showing well her slim figure.

                                                         stillness

                                                     before the midnight bong
                                                         her face in shadow


Modern Haibun and Tanka Prose, June 2009