Haiga

 

Daily Haiga, May 2013

Haiku

                                                     spring dawn

                                                     with the returning geese

                                                     my mind takes flight

                                                     yellow broom gone wild

                                                     the freedom to write

                                                     as I please

                                                   

                                                     moonless sky–

                                                     the deep night speaks

                                                     with many voices

Shiku Kukai, April 2015
Acorn, summer 2015
Presence, winter 2015

Haibun

                                                   INNISFREE GARDEN   

We went back to Innisfree today. One hundred fifty acres surrounding a lake, sectioned into "cup gardens". We begin on the path which circles the lake, but frequently meander up soft grassy slopes or stone steps, pausing at each vignette. We step over trickling water or cross on a narrow wooden bridge, get sprayed by mist from a water spout, listen to the gurgle as water splays down rocks and into a basin.

Butterflies, bumblebees, dragon flies, humming birds seek out the nectar on Joe Pye weed, black eyed Susans, goldenrod, and other flowers secreted in between rocks. Tall grasses bend, swishing lightly, along the lake. Rock plinths and mounds create shadows and shape my imagination. Lotus and water lilies color one end of the lake.

                                                small ripples

                                                from a dragonfly
                                                a pause to rest

                                                air bubbles

                                                breaking through the lake's surface
                                                all that lies hidden

A heron poised on a lily pad maintains its position long after I take its picture. Ferns fill the bogs.  We cross a bridge spanning a channel in the lake and continue on the path, now bulging with tree roots.

                                                uphill walk

                                                the rough path eases
                                                into the promised view

                                                sultry heat

                                                cooling reflections
                                                in the lake

World Haiku Review, June 2015 

Haiku

                                                       the old town

                                                    even now the rough stones

                                                    soak up the warmth

 

                                                    early morning walk
                                                    reaching through the mist
                                                    for wild berries

                                                    a walk to the beach
                                                    the asphalt road changes
                                                    to sand 

World Haiku Review, Aug. 2005

Simply Haiku, Aug. 2006

Solares Hill, May 2005

Haibun

                                              A 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, Winter 2014

 

Haiga

 

 

Daily Haiga spring 2010

Haibun

                                           CELEBRATION OF SPRING

 

Early spring.  Time for the cows in the Swiss village to leave the winter pastures and head for the mountains.  We gather at dawn with three other foreign families for a traditional ceremony.  A blessing from the priest, a prayer, a song. 

The cows are adorned with ribbons, flowers and bells; the cow herder and his young helper with lederhosen, embroidered suspenders and perky feathered hats.

                                             morning mist–

                                             we follow the scent
                                             of slow moving cows

Up into the Jura we drive, breaking through the fog.  La Madame, the owner of the herd, meets us at her fromagerie in the mountains.  The cows disburse in the open pastures. Pigs shurp their feed in mud-soaked pens. Goats roam freely around the small sleeping hut and the work buildings.

 La Madame, weathered hardened and wiry, dressed in worn work pants and knee high rubber boots. "Ecoutez.  Listen," she tells us. 

We lean forward, trying hard to understand her lesson in cheese making.

                                          bubbling vats of cheese–

                                          a slice of sunlight shines
                                          through a high window

We follow her again, now to her chalet a little further up the mountain.  A vista of sweeping meadows, wildflowers and rock croppings.  Le Monsieur is laying stones for a wall.    Before we can eat, there is work. The men in our party carry stones and level dirt; the women slice bread and carry wood.  In this corner of the Jura everything is as it was a hundred years earlier. A wood stove, water pumped from a well, lanterns for light.

We breakfast on strong coffee with fresh cream, baskets of crusty bread with sweet butter and the local current jam.  Even today, time does not move.

                                         an invitation

                                         from the warm sun and soft grass—
                                         the bugs ignored


Stylus Poetry , Dec. 2005

Haiku

 

fern glen

we find the creek

by its song

 

early morning breathing spring after rain

 

early breakfast

with morning glories

the ticking clock

 

Heron's Nest, Sept.2014
Under the Basho, 2014
Daily Haiku cycle 11, 2011