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Category Archives: Haibun

The Gift Of Free Will At Sunrise

      I shall not seek Thee —in a stiff collar of white or colorless turbine. Or, robes of wool…covering skin dark or light over bones disguised in cloaks of Yellow, Orange, Brown, and lest not we forget Cremora White!

      —You have no need to convince me of the fig leaf on my soul! I have acknowledged its presence. I will find its place in the empty void.

      I shall find You —by going forward and leaving me alone.

In valley below

winter thaws upcoming spring

On Holderness Road

 

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Annie~

     I never know where you are —In the Alps, Himalayas’, Europe, or in the mountains of New Hampshire? I miss you, your stories, and the personal footnotes of the un-condensed adventures;how you accepted them, good or bad, and passed through them. So quiet and shy in your beautiful observations —yet bold and independent in your actions.

     I hope you are well, happy, and peaceful in India; a beautiful country made more beautiful —welcoming your presence.

Your grace continues

to precede you as lady

pink slippers follow

 
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Posted by on January 18, 2018 in Haibun, Haiku, thoughts, Zen

 

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A Lost Silver Dollar

     The clear Vodka bottle stood full, unopened on the top of the refrigerator. It has been there for hours, turning into days, weeks, and months. Every time I opened the refrigerator door— I would looked at it, and sing “Choices.” (Written by Billy Yates and Mike Curtis made popular by George Jones), and I would go about my routine day.   But, eventually— one evening I took the bottle down and placed it on the counter. I found a clean mason jar and placed a few cubes of ice into it—poured from the bottle two mason jar fingers—staring out the kitchen window, I saw the full moon looking like a lost silver dollar—I raised my glass.

  Let loving hearts ache

Release all blame and accept

The seedlings of trust

 

In case your curious:

 

 

 

 
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Posted by on December 9, 2017 in AA, Existential, Haibun, Haiku, Love, Poetry, Zen

 

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Breakfast Before Their School‘s Mid-Terms

          In the foothills of New Hampshire, on the threshold of the White Mountains, the sun began to warm the valley. The warm spring morning sprayed glistening frost into fog. Another growing up season had passed. The children were getting dressed with some apprehension.

            I looked out the kitchen window and I could smell, feel spring, and see it lightly, loftily, taking its place. The morning greeted me with multiple shadows getting more confident and larger behind cereal bowls and warm buttered coffee cake.

Budding on branches

Spring’s new born generation

Peaks beyond shadow

dVerse~ Haibun Monday: The Shadow Knows 4/3/2017

 
 

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Stoke The Flames

  I received a phone call today. On my 70th. birthday from my best friend:

Who helped, me as an adult, grow up— Wishing me, a continued good life, without her.

  I wished her the same, encouraging her— to stoke the flames.

Tides when riding surf

In all seasons rise and surge

By the light of moon

 
22 Comments

Posted by on November 28, 2016 in Haibun, Haiku, Love, Zen

 

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Haibun Monday: A Little Romance

Dark Chocolate (a love story)

    I was looking through old pictures today, some really faded and scratched. You were beautiful, impressionable, and innocent. Packing lunches, having picnics, going home after chilled wine, crackers, Vermont cheddar cheese, and dark chocolate. My heart sank. I had to put them away, Unable to see the joy in reviewing history.

    Remembering all the missteps, I made. Young, fearless, sometimes arrogant, misunderstanding love and its commitment; drinking the wine not savoring the chocolate. I will get back to them someday. But, for now, this evening, I will listen to Lake Winona passing in-between the silence and dobs of the lake’s small rolling waves. As I place the photographs beneath the bed, I made.

Sit still to listen

Lake is playing a love song

Remember the tune

***A past poem written into a Haibun

 

 
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Posted by on August 8, 2016 in Haibun, Haiku, Love, Pine Cone Diaries, short story, Zen

 

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Sea Shell ashtray

 

   Walking Rye Beach mid-morning, I got lucky. Swept against the rocks, by its fierce ocean parents, I kicked up in shallow sand, a whole, still intact, not easy to find on Rye’s rocky coast a half of a clam shell. Yup! I got lucky. Cause’ just up the street to Hampton Beach, they cost a pretty penny. I slipped it into my pocket.

    When I got home, I brushed, with my fingers, any sand that would remind it, other than where it came from… other than where it is.

I did the same with the pocket I carried it. Turning it inside out and shaking everything free, every tidal grain of beach sand. Knowing I wouldn’t get it all.

I placed it on a table, on my porch. I heard, without ears, spirits, east, west, south, and north… applauding me for a gift well received.

    Anyway, it sits on a small iron table next to my chair. And, once in a while, having my morning cigarette and coffee, or, my evening cigarette and tea, I often wonder where you went? Were you boiled, fried, or, slithered down someone’s or something’s throat? Or maybe, your shell was cast away with a porpoise’s kiss and lives as a child of Poseidon, dancing your life away to the contemporary bands of Atlantis.

    I think of you… leaving this shell for me and my cigarette, whether through sacrifice or a beloved life. I still keep this gift, left for me— to find.

 

Hard life floating smoke

Seashell sits empty in bliss

Happy cigarette.

Ash tray Sea Shell frame

 
 

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