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Category Archives: Haibun Poetry

An Elders Love

Aug. 28th, 2020: Quar   

       I am not a keeper of records or memories. Nor, of cream and curds mixed with fantasy and the absurd. As if… it is like yesterday or yester-year! I never know today or the future clear.

       There is a presence in the keeper’s mind of your absence; in the “tock” of time or the “tick” of our heartbeat that brings us closer, in each disappearing day.

 the rose is a scent

that wants to be remembered

knowledge understood

 

Aug. 29th, 2020: Quar

 

  There are storms and floods

covering the shallows

disparaging the un-holy;

 while the righteous soil

absorbs the water.  

And emerges as just another flower,

in the garden.

During these times:

       We are looking for monks, brothers, and sisters who live, eat, and teach in our neighborhoods.

       Instead we find a High Order of Holy Administrations that accepts, for the propagation of our core beliefs in each other, Alms… that prop up ancient Architectural structures to modern day Mansions; that feast in its symbolic understanding. Accepting tidings and spending them as a profit from a ticket purchased to Paradise, Angels, and reconciliation and if you double your offer, they’ll include free shipping.. Some admit it’s a raffle; 1st. place, Heaven. 2nd. place, Purgatory, 3rd. place Hell. 4th. Place, stay alive and pay twice.

       We are looking for the monks, brothers, and sisters who live, eat, and teach in our neighborhoods. That understands the Holy spiritual path to community without compensation or lack of dogmatic male compliance.

it’s a cloudy day

winds are changing tomorrow

sun not far behind

 
1 Comment

Posted by on August 30, 2020 in Existential, Experimental, Haibun Poetry, Haiku, Reason, Sisters, Zen

 

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an editorial: To exhausted to open the refrigerator door this morning,

To exhausted to open

 the refrigerator

 door this morning,

I found this note

 getting swept up

 from the kitchen floor:

Aug. 10th 2020: Quar

       Politics has grounded up the idea that the ignorant  can become morons without learning un-biased information, even when their lives are in chaos, it comes to them through  a Piper’s flute, jumping off the cliff of the true principles they all  believe in… whether PhD., GED, home school, or on the job, life and work experience. They have nested termites under the floor of our Great Experiment. Good grief!

       Then, there are the American Patriots, rarely ever accepting a label other than they are Americans and believe in the same things all Americans agree on, and pledge Allegiance to our Constitution; without embellishment. They believe in the equality of our neighbor that makes a hood a home-town community; that excels in growth, in principle, that becomes a State with a balanced opinion by democracy and Justice. It has prospered, as a United States, the successful American Experiment that other’s said would fail. (They ask to silence the anger, demeaning slurs to our neighbor and live the American Dream, with logical dialogue. “…to the Republic for which it stands: one Nation indivisible, with Liberty and Justice for all…”

       Only an enemy of these principles, of this Awesome Country, can divide us into strife; systematically, until it implodes. Leaving the spoils for them and to enslave the people, for basic necessities. There will be no time to mourn luxury.

        The time needs to be reminded that “the times (as usual) are a changin’ …”; to correct our mis-steps going forward into the American Dream.

fog lifting the field

revealing dandelion

in execution

 

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notes-found-on-the-refrigerator-Aug.5th 2020 (Quar)

     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

 

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Notes found on the refrigerator…End of July ? 2020 QUAR

 

     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

 
2 Comments

Posted by on July 27, 2020 in Haibun Poetry, Haiku, Spiritual, Zen

 

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Last night’s lover

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

 
12 Comments

Posted by on July 26, 2020 in Haibun Poetry, Haiku, Zen

 

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Notes found on the refrigerator…June 17th. 2020 QUAR

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.

insatiable grass

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]

R.K Garon

 
2 Comments

Posted by on July 10, 2020 in Haibun Poetry, Haiku, Quarantine QUAR, Zen

 

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Notes found on the refrigerator…June 8th. & 9th. 2020

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

oh my!

     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

 
2 Comments

Posted by on June 9, 2020 in Existential, Haibun Poetry, Nature, Zen

 

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Dark Chocolate

      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

 
22 Comments

Posted by on January 26, 2019 in Haibun Poetry, Haiku, Love, Zen

 

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Notes Found On The Refrigerator September 2017

     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.

Everglades ripple

Gator and snake are dancing

Enjoy illusion

*****

     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. 🙂

ZQ

 
13 Comments

Posted by on September 17, 2017 in Haibun Poetry, Haiku, Love, Nature, Prose Poetry, thoughts

 

Notes Found On The Refrigerator May 2017

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

: https://growinghistory.wordpress.com/2012/02/28/some-history-of-historic-plants/

 

*****

            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.

*****

I sit here by the firelight of life, feeling old, tired, and worn out.

I sit proud with a peaceful heart after battles lost and won—

I notice the imprint of my shield, above the fireplace,

Nicked and gashed in gallant memory as history touts.

It has been sold. Two weeks ago. For bread, vegetables, lettuce, meat,

And sprouts.

I am neither happy nor angry

Nor am I hungry.

 

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