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Category Archives: New Hampshire

The House On Mason Road, In Sandwich, NH

The house on Mason Road

is set in the woods with a dirt driveway.

                                                —Mail box leaning

is the only indication of an entranceway.

Both for the snowplows and visitors.

—One, hopefully will miss—

The other, with blinker on

                                                —will turn in

Around the wooded curve to a clearing

where there, sits a house on Mason Road.

King, Princes, and Queen of the peaceful

Open Fire Tribe, harmoniously reside;

surrounded by pines, hardwoods,

                                                — and one apple tree.

Two Princes protect the entrance

With a bold plastic pink flamingo

                                                —ready to pounce

On imaginary villains who mean to do “good” harm!

Prince Popo? First with a plastic hammer; if the shadow has a cast.

Prince Gavyn? Waits for introductions, ducking once or twice

in the invisible clash… eventually both smile with relief

as they are greeted with the sight of bright  white teeth,

                                                —giving the signal to continue,

to all walk towards the fire

with hugs and handshakes when possible

                                                —Since most of them have their arms full.

Bringing food, twigs, beer, wine, whiskey, and wood

for an evening’s non-occasion meeting of the Fireside Tribe.

Conversation and laughter overtakes everything

as tradition prescribes,

                                                —they put all things,

other than their ancestors,

 And their continued fellowship

                                                —aside.

 

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Haibun Monday: From the kitchen of poets

Lines/excerpts from: “Family Christmas Songs” combined w/ “New Years Eve at Mill Street ” from the Poetry Vol. Night Before Breakfast, to capture and edit for  this weeks Haibun theme..

ZQ

 

 ~ Baked beans in the pot resting with salt pork, hot dogs browning in a small amount of butter on the stove top, brown bread, peeking’ from wrapped aluminum foil nested by the bean pot steaming, drifting, filling the house with a familiar Saturday night smell. Grandma, the matriarch, while straightening and re-arranging Christmas decorations is shuffled off as the children and their families drop in with hugs and greetings. They shed coats for memories of new years past, recognizing the dining room table and the familiar plates, glass salt and pepper shakers, bread and real butter to toast merriment of a seasons’ joy and the ever-present beginning of a new year.~

All proclaiming it

That true nature within us

Is the prophecy.

 

Note: The Long version “New Years Eve at Mill Street ” w/o the Haiku which belongs to :”Family Christmas Songs”.is linked, if interested.

https://rkgaron.wordpress.com/2013/12/29/new-years-eve-at-mill-street

 

 

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Lost Is The Chaser

You have always loved early morning light.
Raising shades pushing closed curtains open.
Each flash from room to room? Presence left bright.

I have followed steps morning to dusk.
I have watched you sigh with a darker sky
And laugh at the sun, for late waking up.

I have caught you in my afternoon arms
I felt your escape from curtain to shade                                       From door to door, calm and without alarm.

 Briskly from room to room almost a dance.
Occasionally you gave me a smile
with blinking dark eyes, in a quick side-glance.

Lost is the love that never can be caught.
Lost is the chaser that never can stop.

Note: Inspired by a modern sonnet by Robert Frost’s “Acquainted With The Night”. ( a must read for all future and current Poets, in my opinion :). The written poem is beneath the video 

 
17 Comments

Posted by on May 6, 2017 in New Hampshire, Poetry, Robert Frost, Sonett

 

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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

 
 

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Dried Flowers In A Seasonal Antique Jar

Dried flowers in winter’s light— brightened by an antique jar.

Flowers picked in the fall, after waiting all summer, to bloom—

Jar dug up, on the other side

of the “tell tale” opening in the stonewall;

an old, late 18-hundreds’s dump, left there —

Many lifetimes’ ago.

I go about my seasonal chores,

I Watch you— waiting for you to fade.

You never do.

My soul curls up in intimacy on the frosted windowsill

Embracing the jar of age; having kept its beauty

 and displaying with pride, its content.

Teach me your resilience, your beauty

From your past, to the presence.

 

I find hope’s secret smile

 In your colors of dried flowers

in winter’s reflection held in my antique jar.

(Helping me understand all the promises, winter carries.

From it’s off Spring, to this coming year’s honeymoon…to its encore.

 

Shorter days and longer nights cannot sustain its post

Against the emergence of summer— and longer days.

 

Unannounced by frost melting into dew

the first wave of spring—

Then, trumpeted through picnics and summer parades—

And, the last wave leaves,

with colorful banners exiting through Fall.)

I sketch this last season’ thoughts— dried flowers

reflecting winter’s delight— smiling this evening,

Looking forward to another beautiful tomorrow;

As reflected in an Antique jar.

I go about.

I Watch you— waiting for you to fade.

You never do.

Until I put you out where we first left

And clean the jar again, in late May.

dry-flowers-winter

Charcoal and colored pencil sketch by R.K. Garon

 

 

 

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Seasonal Thoughts From Center Sandwich, New Hampshire

 In late  autumn, in-between the mountains, a sinking sun

glows bright orange. Silhouetted on ridges above the valleys —

pines, leafless maples, stark  bare oak trees.

 

I notice a single leaf wobbling

on a low birch branch near me.

I presumed, waiting on the winter wind

for her  invitation to an early frost

and a late autumn’s— evening’s fling—

 

I remember

encircling wooden posts with rusting wire fences

for a dance floor, dancing my first  winter waltz

with the chill wind, red cheeks blushing warm—

 

–Snow glistening across the meadow

Pushed through the White Mountains—

Enjoying delightful winter flakes on my tongue.

 

 

Kicking snow into white clouds announcing

my next boot’s intention 

— lest’ I slip.

 

Twirling in traditional steps of solid granite stature.

Dipping, stomping, sliding, gabbing a handful of snow

kissed, licked, and eaten cold.

 

we would play and dance to a robust measure of silent music;

then, with symphonic pause  –time for another last thought—

I would be  pushed home

 whistled in snowflake crescendo,

pulling up my collar,

 and tightening my wool hat

towards drifting wood stove smoke

and supper on the kitchen table

with a cup of hot chocolate that was perfectly warm.

 

Thoughts – as I watched,

late autumn sun setting on

my New Hampshire home.

 

I went inside with an arm full of wood.

Smiling at the leaf’s anticipation

For her first fling— as mine was

in a late autumn childhood.

 
17 Comments

Posted by on November 13, 2016 in Love, New Hampshire, Pine Cone Diaries, Prose Poetry

 

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Winter’s Lover

                I’m not getting around doing much reading lately. Listening to my own head and writing notes into drafts, into outlines, revised again and again trying to avoid the trash; has been taking the days. But, I continue my short walks through the woods outside my “cave” and enjoy autumn swooshing summer away in grand fashion; as the days get shorter and the nights get longer, she prepares for a great sleep over, getting completely naked for winter.

Fallen leaf in frost

Pines shelter an autumn grove

for winter’s lover

 
 

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