MORNING WALK
A hint of red bleeds through fog shrouded trees.
the drip of moisture
from leaf to leaf-
mist on my glasses
Seeing the lane one tree at a time. The almost silence, just white noise in the distance.
the crack of a branch-
a squirrel down one tree
and up another
Simply Haiku, September 2004
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
TANKA FOR NOVEMBER
the lanquid nights gone-
chill winds, hinting of winter
chase away lovers;
bare branches let in the sky
and the earth turns brown
Anglo-Japanese Tanka Society Journal, Jan. 2005
November winds
rippling across my back-
your hand on mine;
the feel of each bony knuckle
warms me through
Presence, Sept. 2005
Ash Moon Anthology March 2008
autumn leaves
brightened with mist
like jewels;
mine to borrow
again this year
Ribbons, March 2008
the lanquid nights gone-
chill winds, hinting of winter
chase away lovers;
bare branches let in the sky
and the earth turns brown
Anglo-Japanese Tanka Society Journal, Jan. 2005
November winds
rippling across my back-
your hand on mine;
the feel of each bony knuckle
warms me through
Presence, Sept. 2005
Ash Moon Anthology March 2008
autumn leaves
brightened with mist
like jewels;
mine to borrow
again this year
Ribbons, March 2008
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
REMEMBERING DAD
for Hector Combattente, Date of death: 10/27/1995
October's chill-
from the old man's window
leaves dying slowly,
a beginning race with time
and the weather
all night the rain
and the knocking wind-
he speaks in whispers
and waits for a morning
that doesn't come
clearing skies-
the dull thud of damp earth
on the coffin;
how can a hundred and six years
be confined in so small a space
Ribbons, winter 2006/2007
for Hector Combattente, Date of death: 10/27/1995
October's chill-
from the old man's window
leaves dying slowly,
a beginning race with time
and the weather
all night the rain
and the knocking wind-
he speaks in whispers
and waits for a morning
that doesn't come
clearing skies-
the dull thud of damp earth
on the coffin;
how can a hundred and six years
be confined in so small a space
Ribbons, winter 2006/2007
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Our House
We live in the country now, a ranch house with large windows. Chores become lighter when glancing out these windows. The shape and solidity of trees, the swift motion of birds, the dizzying chase of squirrels. A living world beyond the glass.
Misted in fog, awash with sunshine, covered with snow or tinted with silvery blue moonlight. A different mood daily, sometimes hourly.
Gradually we begin to fit into our new home, adjusting the fit to where it is most comfortable. Like a garment, we have let out and taken in our expectations. Paint and wallpaper, hammer and nails, power saw and rakes. We have adapted the house to our style and our style to the house.
the morning sun –
polished old furniture
takes on a new look
The Country and Abroad, Sept. 2007
We live in the country now, a ranch house with large windows. Chores become lighter when glancing out these windows. The shape and solidity of trees, the swift motion of birds, the dizzying chase of squirrels. A living world beyond the glass.
Misted in fog, awash with sunshine, covered with snow or tinted with silvery blue moonlight. A different mood daily, sometimes hourly.
Gradually we begin to fit into our new home, adjusting the fit to where it is most comfortable. Like a garment, we have let out and taken in our expectations. Paint and wallpaper, hammer and nails, power saw and rakes. We have adapted the house to our style and our style to the house.
the morning sun –
polished old furniture
takes on a new look
The Country and Abroad, Sept. 2007
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Nantucket in October
a mid-week sail
solitary in the bay
one buoy light blinking
squabbling seagulls
on an empty stretch of beach
the white sand
clattering footsteps
over cobblestone streeets
darkness comes early
end of season
brown leaves fill the doorways-
a shop bell jangles
the six o'clock ferry
huddled over hot coffee
waiting for sunrise
heading home
white caps against the bow-
mist turning to rain
Green's Magazine, Autumn 2003
solitary in the bay
one buoy light blinking
squabbling seagulls
on an empty stretch of beach
the white sand
clattering footsteps
over cobblestone streeets
darkness comes early
end of season
brown leaves fill the doorways-
a shop bell jangles
the six o'clock ferry
huddled over hot coffee
waiting for sunrise
heading home
white caps against the bow-
mist turning to rain
Green's Magazine, Autumn 2003
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
WHITE PETALS
A few tanka
mid-afternoon
the sun still warm
so late in autumn
a gentle slowing down
nothing to do but give in
Modern English Tanka, Summer 2007
newly married-
a Friday night date
at the Laundromat
we hold hands
between cycles
Moonset, Nov. 2007
hydrangea bush-
one blue blossom
amidst the pink;
how strange it is
to be so alone
Red Lights, Jan. 2008
hh
mid-afternoon
the sun still warm
so late in autumn
a gentle slowing down
nothing to do but give in
Modern English Tanka, Summer 2007
newly married-
a Friday night date
at the Laundromat
we hold hands
between cycles
Moonset, Nov. 2007
hydrangea bush-
one blue blossom
amidst the pink;
how strange it is
to be so alone
Red Lights, Jan. 2008
hh
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Haibun
From the Old School He takes my arm, not to lean on, but to guide me across the street. This father protector, his sole acknowledgement ...
