Notes found on the refrigerator August 2018

a wonderful rain

as the mist behind sun dries

enemies of peace

 

so …as the song goes

why do our heads hang so low

down in a valley

 

rising with a Love

as spring does resurrection

“We shall overcome”.

 

let’s get up with Joy

and show them our example

life goes back and forth

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The Soul of Maurice J. *[A dedication to Paul Lenzi]

*( written 5 yrs ago with another of my family’s  Patriarch’s Passing)

 

 It was three days

And three nights

Before he could rise again.

 

Death invites itself

Long before we receive

Its invitation.

 

The Soul with grace

And poise

Accepts the moment.

 

Who then is preoccupied

With judgement

Of this one;

 

Of this mist

That is dried by the sun

And returns as the pond?

 

The passage

Is insignificant

If balance has been achieved.

 

Only the witnesses

Are important

As another soul is freed.

 

 

Mindless Scribbling

 

My heart is balanced with nothing.

Bags of emptiness, once full of expectations,

finally, have become

light as a feather.

 

The Legend of the Last Tribe at Little Pond (Center Sandwich, NH)

An angel flying closer to land and seeing, from its view, a better direction

for completing their mission —continued with more traveling

for the possibility to land in the space of extinction,

where new growth can sprout.

 

The tribe, now down to only the chiefs, children, and wives,

trudged in complete innocence, as in birth,

towards ZoralinQ. Carrying with them this incredible link.

 

When suddenly, they found on the path, their feet on an edge

holding the link at arm’s length above an abyss.

Questioned among them, received no answers.

 

Nothing new, What possible course?

So, they all decided to grab the existing link

To become the angel landing,

 

for the possibility to land in the space of extinction,

where new growth can sprout.

 

“To this day, I often hear their chant,” an old fisherman says,

“usually in the twilight of a waning moon”.

photo and wood carving R.K. Garon

 

Notes Found On The Refrigerator June, 2018

~Five Short Haibun(s)~

   

   1.

     She swam naked with her friends; I sat on the shore haunted by “Original Sin”. I watched fully dressed, as summer would allow, watching her swim.

Eve in confidence

allowed spring to leave and bow

to summer solstice

 ***

2.

     I’m following a long lineage of incompetency that has gotten lucky at times. But, most times, mistakes were flown over my head and wondered, “what the heck was that?’ Then, those lucky times, what I wanted to do, seem completed, with what I did.

sit dandelion

the mower has yet to come

enjoy the green grass

 ***

 

 ***

3.

(Last Night’s Lover)

     She deferred her last glass of wine to what she felt, before passing out in a warm summer evening sleep.

     Awaking before sunrise, she looked and found the keys to her car that she had illegally parked on the curb, between two maple trees.

     Leaving her underwear between the sheets and without a parking ticket, she smiled as her tires chirped with a happy squeal and went south for the winter.

spring rain on lush greens

drips on dandelion weeds

loving what it feels

***

4.

      Who puts a half piece of toast with jelly and peanut butter in the frig at midnight, after eating the first half ten minutes before?

 

lightning bug shines

in the dark of yesterday’s

story still untold

 ***

5.

     So, you told me that life never ends. yet… you want me to sign a contract in blood, with my soul; nailed to a post of my past —as you fiddled with us in Rome and roasted us silently in hell.

     You promised us redemption and angels as brides! And they, would receive us into life ever after. But, what are you doing for us now? Without anger or flood to keep our heads above the waters.

what season is light

when darkness seems to prevail

in hearts without love

*photo by R.K.Garon in his cave and his "barn".
A Special Thanks to Björn Rudberg for introducing me to Haibun and Bashō.

 

In my hometown

     In my hometown, Center Sandwich NH, after being reclusive and driving in to get my mail, I saw a sign outside the local art barn announcing an “open Mic” night. I have on occasions gone to these invitations, listened to poetry and spoke my own pieces, respecting all that shown.  I put the date on my calendar and posted it on my bathroom door.

     I showed up with three poems. Asking for the sign in sheet, I introduced myself. I was told this is a musical night for local musicians and you are welcome to read, if you like, what you have written for tonight. The music was nice as I listened and smiled… then, they called my name. Humbly, I read my poems. The audience was gracious. I bowed and quickly left the stand.

     I went to the next month’s open Mic and brought my guitar; understanding the freedom, they had given me on my first night, as I played my own songs. Again, breaking protocol allowed on the first night with applause, I was welcomed again with the freedom I brought with my personal art.

Our skin will age

in the seasons of our life

accept the wrinkles.

 

Let us Pray

     Sir/Madam do not interpret with your own mind, the words of Divinity; having to explain what is held In the temple of my Soul.

     You only speak as the sinner you are. Now then, let us pray.

Without umbrella

Scent aromatic in clouds

Spring rain wakes summer.