Category Archives: prose
Understanding Love [Haibun]*
The screech of a bird on a nearby tree alerted me, that their prey was at my feet. I saw nothing but my heart beating, which through my shirt, slipped and fell at my feet, among the weeds.
The bird screeched louder, followed by small chirps before landing on a branch next to me. I could see its eyes focused on my eyes.
I reached down and picked up my heart, tried to force it into my wallet, but it would not fit. So, I tried to stuff it into my pockets. Naw, that wasn’t it! I had no choice but to reconnect to my body, speech and mind. By the time, it was done…
summer bird is gone
leaving me with fall’s bright colors
quilt for winter snow
*Haibun (俳文, literally, haikai writings) is a prosimetric literary form originating in Japan, combining prose and haiku.
Notes found on the refrigerator November 2017
Although I enjoy the ease of a sidewalk
I often preferred cutting across the lawn
*****
I can only do one thing at a time
Even if takes me two
Or three tries
I was listening to music on my earphones
And found the sound unclear—
I adjusted the volume
—nothing
I went to the settings
—no adjustment required.
Suggested, I plug them in
And printed,
Did you find this helpful?
Yes, I knew I should be grocery shopping
*****
A Writer’s Confession:
As a writer, I may not necessarily write about my own personal experiences.
Although they influence perception and understanding, they often are not themselves; the words that are written. They are only reflections of me as a writer.
My characters are in constant flux… as I… also see and feel my way through each moment—
experiencing what others and what I see, and what is being seen —what we universally have in common ambiguity. Often I am just a humble hapless observer making it written into words as only it could be, from the source of a perceptive and creative writer.
*****
How are we able to see the darkness
in the center of the light
and be able to see the light
in the center of darkness?
We see its impermanence.
as in all nature
every day is greater
doing what you need
Notes found on the refrigerator October 2017
Contemporary Poetry has un-cuffed many creative minds
As the tide washes the shore with an ever-changing sea
As the ships sail away with Shakespeare and Yeats
Leaving us with Ferlinghetti*
“… Ferlinghetti, felt strongly that art should be accessible to all people, not just a handful of highly educated intellectuals”.
*****
A storm is coming! What shall we do?
Where should we go?
“Go home!
Take care of things.
–Then safely and honorably leave.
—Settle in where you are now
Away from the path of the storm”.
A path we both have weaved
Crumbling— flooding— grabbing
The unborn, above the Holy indiscriminate stream.
A storm is coming! What shall we do?
Where should we go?
Let us follow our hearts
And mind
With the light of our soul.
*****
When your heart and mind are in tune*
being Holy is being human.
*Tuning is the experiences between right and wrong
Celebrated and balanced without guilt or animosity.
*****
A Lady In The Mirror
It was a great race between Reflection and Essence; running through the mountains and across the lakes of New Hampshire. They crossed the border through Pittsburg into Canada, where only shadows could follow.
Chasing each other or being chased they finished their race in the old City of Quebec; drifting into a boarding house up one flight of stairs— across from the Château Frontenac. And, there on a rooming house mirror— they caught up.
She is the reflection— that is, in essence, what becomes ~A Lady in the mirror~
Reflection’s true Essence? Perhaps what we are like, before we are born.
Photo by RKG: Quebec City, Quebec Canada late 1970’s
Written; 10/30/2017
Dump Days— Wednesday and Saturday New Hampton, NH 03256
People, who have a lot of things
use them, and have a lot of things still left over.
People, who, have a few things,
use them, and have no left over’s.
People, who have no things, who seek many things,
end up using only a few things, and, have nothing left over.
All, who have things,
become one thing.
My things, became empty from use,
They were dug from the earth, and made in a factory
through creation, imagination and mistakes.
Useless now, worn, exchanged, or sat on a flea market table where even gypsies refused to take
are now ready to be disposed of—
on this pleasant day, at the New Hampton dump,
at 12:15 P M. on a bright and sunny Saturday.
Metaphor Notes About “Involvement”
Where ever you started or finished,
First or last, the game was won.
It all began when you dressed for them all.
Starting positions? Often left opened.
But, acknowledging there were better players on the team
That you should have passed to, when your ass
Was about to get massive grass stains
For failed fancy footwork and tripped by your own feet,
Flying in the air praying a Holy Mary,
For no broken bones.
*****
Oh, shit! At 70, I wake up having to remember all this again?
Start the bus!
*****
Hey! I am on my way out of here, a shot of Vodka, V8 juice and a note on the chalkboard thanking all the players
That dressed for them all.