Category Archives: Haibun Poetry
Love is an illusion (friendship is instinctive), be just like me or perish (enjoy diversity), only self-serving interests (sharing and participating in another’s), laughing at calamity (understand and re-structure) …
…Love, the unimaginable truth, and its Divinity to commune with understanding family and neighbor, that creates quilted communities, is real. No material of its fibers and colors are independent of itself; unless it stands alone void of inclusion.
Less we push It into something abstract that dis-avows it. Love is not a contract, it’s an allegiance; morally and with mutual integrity that displays Itself, as an outward sign of friendship. Set to become the binding mystery of Love.
August is lazy
stillness does not seek a fight
an agreement made
Who puts a half piece of toast with jelly and peanut butter in the refrigerator at midnight, after eating half of it, ten minutes before?
lightning bug dims
in the light of yesterday
story still untold
So, You told me life never ends. Yet, you want me to sign a contract in blood, with my soul nailed to a post from my past; as you fiddle in hate and roast us in hell.
You promised redemption and Angels for brides! And we would be received to life after. But what are you doing for us now? Without blood, anger or flood to keep our heads above water?
what season is light
when darkness seems to prevail
in hearts without love
She deferred her last glass of wine, to the glass topped “coffee” table. as she got up going to the bathroom and went to bed before passing out, in her summer evening night gown.
Waking before sunrise, with a stirring and murmuring as I was falling back to sleep, I could hear her looking and finding her car keys that she had illegal parked on the curb between two maple trees.
Leaving her underwear between the sheets and without a parking ticket, she smiled and blew me a kiss, as her tires chirped with a happy squeal and went south for the winter.
spring rain on lush green
drips on dandelion leaf
sprouting an outlaw
a wine-o’s lament
sometimes i feel no pain,
without memory, history,
or just absent from the space I am.
for a moment or two
or fifty years it’s the same.
i’ve atrophied the ability to understand
or acknowledge the pain.
someday I will only hurt
without pain again.
groom to please caretaker green
wilts when you piss on
Summer’s heat with a cool mountain breeze melts the senesces, as I watch the glitter from the lake below.
bending flower sleep
a noon hour lunch hurries
empty bag to save
Sunset, reminiscent of my sunrise, yet not remembering how I got here.
Oh! I am enjoying how I come and go.
it’s a good evening
sunshine fades with “Bon Nuit”
moon grass celebrates
QUAR Notes: [Haibun Journal]
June 8th. 2020
Skirmishes about; passed the villages below. A light mist of rain may calm the senses down. Releasing all opinions and doubt.
We are all part of Nature. Plants on window sills, rooftops, or in the garden, seek no help; except for the generosity of their loved ones.
There are skirmishes about
the villages below;
they are casting idols of gold.
June 9th. 2020
i stopped at the village store and figured i would buy some scratch tickets. my luck lately has had its ups and downs.
i bought three, three- dollar tickets, asking the clerk to pick only winners. please. She said “they are all winners until you scratch them”.
i couldn’t smile at her, behind my cloth mask, so I winked. 😊
love is nature deep
sand dollar hidden on beach
an itch is scratched
I was looking through old pictures today —some scratched and beginning to fade. You were beautiful, impressionable, and innocent; packing lunches and 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 find the joy in reviewing history. Remembering all the missteps I made when I was young, fearless, sometimes arrogant, misunderstanding love and its commitment. I drank the wine not savoring the chocolate.
I will get back to them someday —but, for now, this evening, I will listen to Lake Winona. In-between the silence and dobs of the lake’s small rolling waves. I place the photographs beneath the bed I made.
Sit still to listen
Lake is playing a love song
Remember the tune
Originally written : Aug 8, 2016 …Rev 12: 1/26/2019 5:26 PM
There are three trees in this two-acre yard. The one palm tree in the front yard stands near the sandy part of the lawn, standing alone. It offers little shade, keeping the sand warm. I take comfort for its resilience, reaching stunted bright green leaves above brown, in a September Florida sun.
Awakened with the morning light and heat, at sunrise and sleepless till’ midnight, are the other two; one tall, the other a strapping offspring evergreen. They provide shade throughout the day on an oasis of shade in the back yard.
Gator and snake are dancing
Depression is not the snake that crawls up your leg. It is the caterpillar you kiss, before you turn into a butterfly for a day ending in despair. Or you go flying around the world without reason or care. I wear goggles and always know where I keep my parachute. Smiles.
Moon through pines needles— shines my path through night.
Swaying black maple branches along the way— gives light in-between dark shadows. Without discrimination —and without apology.
Love is not something you look for and find— It is something you discover and keep to yourself— in the darkness of your heart teaching you, waiting for your understanding…
To wake up, unable to hold it anymore having to share your discovery —a spark from existence, so small yet so bright, mutual hearts burst from darkness into light.
Note:Unfortunately I have very little service to read other’s creative work. I’ve been on a writing retreat in Pine Lakes Florida in the mist of Hurricane Irma. Just got electricity after five days… town won’t take anything but cash all atm(s) are down Sporadic wi-fi— using the generosity of a friends limited hotspot. Trains have canceled my reservation back to the NH mountains 3 times. Send me lawyers, guns, and money. 🙂
Thankful twigs, children of the blight:
Used as kindling from Camelot to Brooklyn, with ancestry in branches of Majestic Elms—
Extinct in the flames of purification they crackled and glowed in memories
Of the beautiful Main streets with bustling thoroughfares.
—when they, in regal tradition, stole the whole show.
Some interesting research digging around on the subject (for whatever, when it popped up in my mind) about the Elm tree… and perhaps I was looking for something about our future? Understanding and approaching it with history’s humility
No matter where I have been, in my heart I have always heard “welcome son!” And, I am as sure as my sisters have heard addressed— personally to them. The question that accompanies such a greeting is; where exactly are we? That we are being received and welcomed? And, of course, how our etiquette suddenly begins and our exit should end.
Rain falls hard on thorns
Roses soon to bloom perk up
Both will co-exist
Whoa, Silver! Here comes the black stallion to welcome the Pinto.