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]
Tags: Existenlism, Haibun, Haiku, Notes Found On The Refrigerator, Zen
June 14th. 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 15th. 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 16th 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]
Tags: Haibun, Haiku, Notes Found On The Refrigerator, Quarantined, Zen
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 ?
Tags: Existenlism, Notes Found On The Refrigerator, Zen
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
Tags: Haibun, http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/, Pine Cone Diaries, Zen
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
Tags: Existenlism, http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/, Love, Zen, ~The Night Before Breakfast~
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
Tags: Existenlism, http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/, Notes Found On The Refrigerator, Zen
~Five Short Haibun(s)~
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
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.
the mower has yet to come
enjoy the green grass
(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
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
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.
Tags: Existenlism, http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/, Notes Found On The Refrigerator, Spiritual, Zen
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: Gift, http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/, Mourning Dove, Pine Cone Diaries, Zen
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
Tags: https://dversepoets.com/2018/05/14/haibun-monday-compassion/, ~The Night Before Breakfast~
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: Existenlism, Gift, Haibun, Haiku, http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/, Pine Cone Diaries, spirituality, Zen