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Tag Archives: Haiku

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

 

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

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]

 

 

 
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Posted by on July 5, 2020 in Haibun, Haiku, Quarantine QUAR

 

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Notes found on the refrigerator…June 10th. 2020

     Desire! The devil in the bottle, the glitter of gold in empty fisted hand, greed, self-adoration, and snorting the frosting on every cake.

     Often desires, overwhelms the conscience at the table of our nature. Understanding the argument, in the environment that it presents: our sub-conscious processes the outcome.

Shall we seek the truth

Desires are a bastard

Dandelions bloom

 
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Posted by on June 12, 2020 in Haibun, Poetry, Still Quarantined, 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

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

 

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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

 

 
 

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Annie~

     I never know where you are —In the Alps, Himalayas’, Europe, or in the mountains of New Hampshire? I miss you, your stories, and the personal footnotes of the un-condensed adventures;how you accepted them, good or bad, and passed through them. So quiet and shy in your beautiful observations —yet bold and independent in your actions.

     I hope you are well, happy, and peaceful in India; a beautiful country made more beautiful —welcoming your presence.

Your grace continues

to precede you as lady

pink slippers follow

 
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Posted by on January 18, 2018 in Haibun, Haiku, thoughts, Zen

 

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A Lost Silver Dollar

     The clear Vodka bottle stood full, unopened on the top of the refrigerator. It has been there for hours, turning into days, weeks, and months. Every time I opened the refrigerator door— I would looked at it, and sing “Choices.” (Written by Billy Yates and Mike Curtis made popular by George Jones), and I would go about my routine day.   But, eventually— one evening I took the bottle down and placed it on the counter. I found a clean mason jar and placed a few cubes of ice into it—poured from the bottle two mason jar fingers—staring out the kitchen window, I saw the full moon looking like a lost silver dollar—I raised my glass.

  Let loving hearts ache

Release all blame and accept

The seedlings of trust

 

In case your curious:

 

 

 

 
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Posted by on December 9, 2017 in AA, Existential, Haibun, Haiku, Love, Poetry, Zen

 

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Autumn Haiku(s) 2017

 

I taste food at dusk

I eat my meal in the light

by shadow of moon

 

Blue Haiku(s)

Blue mussels cling rocks

Tide and moon are true lovers

Boiling for supper

****

Blue skies parting leaves

Green grass below aging feet

Balance beneath me

****

Blue birds sang in spring

Announcing flower trumpets

Shook summer to rise

****

Morning Glory blue

Summer’s last call before fall

Welcomes winter frost

****

 
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Posted by on October 7, 2017 in Haiku, Morning Glories, Poetry, Sittting still

 

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Notes Found On The Refrigerator July 2017

A Melancholy song

Songs are hidden in the words we speak. —sometimes in harmony

with the background hum of those we did not

know or ever meet.

 

 Our melody can sometimes be disheartening

 as well as our belly aching, vomiting

between the screeching cacophonous dominant notes

we may have perceived.

 

My music repetitively keeps playing yesterday’s Rock & Roll songs,

Rhythm & Blues songs, gospel’s black and white songs

—they are all fine—

 

 But, go to the window and lift the shade

and hum them—

 as you look at the sun and the future of rain.

 

Sing off-key if you must —loud and unalarmed.

Sing the songs that are hidden in the conscience that spoke without a word-

putting you in music unharmed.

 

Hum the song for unity in freedom

that has morally and musically given us;

without disrespect to life in the words

or thoughts written in our songs.

Or, what we sing.

*****

The Banjo Player

    I was talking to an old banjo player, pushing a 103 yrs old the other day. I asked him how his band was doing. “Well,” he said, wiping his face with one hand. “It’s over. There were four of us. One is dead, which left three of us unable to play his part and ours at the same time. Besides that, one is as Cuckoo as a broken string. The other young fella, in his late eighties, besides losing his hair has also, seemingly, lost the beat. Towards the end, we realized we were all playing different tunes insisting the other guy was messing up… and looking at each other with the stare of “each of us had better catch-up”. And, what was worst, when we were all on the same song, forgetting the words, we would automatically pick people out in the audience and break out into “Happy Birthday, to You…”.

We still keep in touch…”’

    There was a moment of silence, thinking he was reminiscing when he suddenly blurted out, “Now where was I? Oh ya! That was quite a box of good cigars”, sitting back in his chair with a great big smile.

*****

Oh sea glass greening

Passing through low and high tides

Speckling at my feet

*****

 The path once well-worn

 Through the passing of my youth

Is now overgrown

**** 

 
21 Comments

Posted by on August 12, 2017 in Existential, Experimental, Hi-Koo, Love, Poetry, Prose Poetry, war, Zen

 

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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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