Haibun

                                                              ALONE

Coffee in the café, 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

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

Haiga for November

A Hundred Gourds
A Hundred Gourds
Cattails

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

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

Haiga

Haigaonline

featured artist: Rock Challenge

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

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

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

Haiga for Autumn

Daily Haiga
Cattails
Chrysanthemum

Tanka

tea roses

the heart of the garden

was her presence

still growing in abundance

missing their sweetness

Ribbons 2017

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

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

Haiga

Haigaonline

Haiga

Daily Haiga

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

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



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

Haiga

Daily Haiga

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

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

 

Haiga

Cattails

Gean

Daily Haiga

Tanka Sequence: For Joseph

For Joseph F. Shaw

09/04/1932--03/31/2018

TO HAVE AND TO HOLD

To JFS on our 50^th 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

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