RSS

Category Archives: Haibun

Understanding Love [Haibun]*

     The screech of a bird on a nearby tree alerted me, that their prey was at my feet. I saw nothing but my heart beating, which through my shirt, slipped and fell at my feet, among the weeds.

     The bird screeched louder, followed by small chirps before landing on a branch next to me. I could see its eyes focused on my eyes.  

     I reached down and picked up my heart, tried to force it into my wallet, but it would not fit. So, I tried to stuff it into my pockets. Naw, that wasn’t it! I had no choice but to reconnect to my body, speech and mind. By the time, it was done…

summer bird is gone

leaving me with fall’s bright colors

quilt for winter snow

 

 

*Haibun (俳文, literally, haikai writings) is a prosimetric literary form originating in Japan, combining prose and haiku.

 

 
14 Comments

Posted by on September 15, 2018 in Haibun, Love, Pine Cone Diaries, prose, Zen

 

Tags: ,

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

 ***

Dandelion comp

        

 

 ***

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.
 
22 Comments

Posted by on June 23, 2018 in Haibun, Haiku, Love, New Hampshire, Spiritual, Zen

 

Tags: , , , ,

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.

 
7 Comments

Posted by on June 11, 2018 in Haibun, Zen

 

Tags: ,

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.

 

Tags: , , , , ,

Redemption Dove ~>

     Oh mourning dove, sing to me this evening in the last glow of sunset —so clear and so resound in song —with hope for me to remember what was lost, now if sought, could be found. You echo through the forest, on the edge of fields, sidewalks, and across the parks.

      I open my window wrapping myself in my sheet and blanket as I sink into my pillow. I close my eyes to hear your song. Falling asleep, I understand your repetitive melodic low-high pitched notes, as I move through age.

      I listen to sounds about my life; with its many ups and downs. Finding in your chorus, a gift of an early morning spirit, that has forgotten yesterday —woo,  WOO, wooing, into a ‘morrow, without the cloak of fear.

Large black crows in flight

carnivorous in their plight

                               landing —find new life.

 

*Please Note: …By virtue of their melancholy call, mourning doves have been fittingly named. Their distinctive “wooo-oo-oo-oo” sounds may evoke a feeling of grief over the loss of a dearly beloved.

But far from representing death, the symbolism of mourning doves gives us optimism with its spirituality. Beyond their sorrowful song is a message of life, hope, renewal and peace.

 

Tags: , , , ,

Day Carries No Memory

     I cannot remember anything since childhood except abstract flashes that had broken or brightened my life. I, was told by Jesuit mystics, that memories could become misunderstood, as I grew up, until they become distilled from what I saw, without bias, speech, or photographs   —I had to smuggle in sacrifice into wisdom.

     “Thus, so shall you write. But, remember there is no permanence.”

do not wait for thought

day carries no memory

when winter melted

 
8 Comments

Posted by on May 14, 2018 in Haibun, Haiku, Life, Ode to The Budha, Zen

 

Tags: ,

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

 

 
 

Tags: , , , , , , ,

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

 
1 Comment

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

 

Tags: , ,

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:

 

 

 

 
17 Comments

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

 

Tags: , , , , ,

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

 
 

Tags: , , , ,

 
%d bloggers like this: