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

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Notes found on the refrigerator…June 14th.-16th. 2020 QUAR

June 14^th. 2020 QUAR (Sunday)

            Loneliness has been good company. It has allowed me to play solitaire with joy and frustration. And eventually urges me to water the plants, for better company.

Old man in the field

Tall grass welcomes summer breeze

Car honks going by

June 15^th. 2020 QUAR

Social Distancing to save lives seems to be reasonable:

     People seem to be gathering in a lightning storm without being grounded. I saw a bunch of them lined up to get an ice cream cone carrying bottled water. Holy shit! Watch out for the lightning.

     Traffic was buzzing as I was leaving off the coast of Rye as I exhale coastal air; heading back to the mountains of Sandwich NH to inhale the rivers, ponds, and lakes. It is different “air”, but here in New Hampshire, neither would exist without the other.

     I didn’t speedup, nor had to use my brakes too often, on my way home.

life is in color

each one has its own nature

mindful in the eye

 

June 16^th 2020 QUAR

     Father’s day is looming in between the sun and clouds. Each day, as I remember, was a celebration of love and birth.

Life is ongoing

Breaks the ground for a new born

Blooming where planted

*****

     I set out to explore an overgrown garden that a previous tenant had started. It still is a beautiful space that someone had lovingly taken care of. Flowers pop up any where they want- in between the tall grass and other nomadic residents.

     I put on tick and mosquito repellent then sat down re-thinking my reason for wanting to walk in there. Starring into the old overgrown garden, I saw a path that seem to be inviting me. I got up and walked though it not disturbing anything.

“Let it be” they sang

summer shines before winter

clearing mind and breath

 

 QUAR Notes: [Haibun Journal]

 

 

 

Notes found on the refrigerator…June 4th. 2020

     I’ve been washing dishes since I was twelve years old. Sometimes wiping, sometimes scrubbing, and once in a while soaking. Which brings me to my current state of six spoons, four forks, and three knives. And an assorted accouterments that rattle and roll freely every time I open and close the drawer.

      To make a long story short, at seventy-four, I use one spoon a day. Then on the seventh day I have to do the dishes. I rinse one out for the day’s coffee, having run out of spoons and noticing the mess it has created during the week before, I throw it back into the suds; and begin my day of service.

shit shines every night

along with the star light bright

“dew shine”, anyone ?

 

The wind sends messages

     

      The wind sends messages through pine wood doors, around skyscrapers and street lights. Through the matrix of the suburbs, over the mountains, across the pastures, sown fields, and vineyards; repeating her message to the sea.

      I heard one night as the wind passed through, that the moon is made of cheese. I smiled and snickered when suddenly my hat blew off my head, hearing very distinctly “oh pull-eeez”.

Winds play limbs at night

Moon dances in their shadows

Winter snow smiles

 

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

 

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

 

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.

 

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.

 

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

 

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