Blog Archives
Haibun: ‘If My Friend Comes’
My friend might come to eat dinner with me. We could sit by the window and wait and watch for the first star. We could toss down shots of apple juice, and retrace our long, sublime journey of friendship in story and song. If my friend comes to dinner…
In a dusty ditch
a few sunflowers still bloom—
first days of autumn.
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Seasonal Matters
1.
Above the sheepfold,
frost tore a hole in the sky—
stars tumbled to earth.
2.
There’s no time to think
about your dirty linens—
blizzard’s moving in.
3.
Wash the closet floor
now that all has been removed—
final spring cleaning.
4.
On clean white paper
I write some sunflower songs—
strangers will sing them.
More The Whirligig #388
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Looking toward Summer’s End
1.
Ripening pumpkins
and drooping sunflower heads—
summer’s almost past.
2.
Scorching afternoon—
in labyrinths and tunnels
tiny creatures hide.
3.
Sheltered from the heat,
we tied bundles of sweetgrass
for ceremonies.
4.
End-of-summer dream:
The galaxy inside me,
some unseen hands wove.
More The Whirligig #387
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Haibun: Exposing the Lie
As we build our life, we will tell each other stories about books that held us together when we thought we were falling apart. Over and over, we will say the authors’ names, for they are sweet as chocolates in the mouth, or shiny red apples. Outside, on the street that runs by our house, hardened people will swear that no one has a choice about anything, that all of us are puppets of the gods. But our tales of love and courage will expose their lie.
Why should we pretend
to know what the white lotus
murmurs to the moon?
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Summer Quintet
1.
a white summer shawl
with a streak of grape jelly—
breakfast carelessness
2.
My neighbor’s children,
using a stump for a drum,
mark summer’s passing.
3.
a blur of bright wings
as the sated hummingbird
leaves the columbine
4.
Two crows chase a hawk
through the summer morning mist
above the river.
5.
Head for the deep pools
where the water is so cold
it makes you shiver.
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Four Seasons
1.
Summer border tale:
thirsty immigrants perish
in the sizzling sun.
2.
How eager I am
to see the return of fall—
look, the first red leaf!
3.
Hold me in your lap—
caress me, Lady Winter,
with your frigid hands.
4.
Lady Last-Spring-Frost,
fearful of your kiss, the plum
holds back its blossoms.
More The Whirligig #384
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Serious Haiku, Nonsensical Verse
On a summer’s day
I write a little nonsense,
then lie down to nap.
I smell the water, dream of rain,
And think: “How clever is my brain!”
A window yawns, the waters stretch;
I think: “I’m glad I’m not a wretch!”
The mirror makes a tiny noise,
I lose my Self—and then my poise.
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Dazzling Sunset
A winter sunset in Tucson, Arizona is worth stopping to stare at.
A winter sunset—
only in my memory
do the colors glow.
More Haiku My Heart at Recuerda Mi Corazon
More Friday Writings #36 at Poets and Storytellers United
Four Verses of Hope
1.
You are no stranger,
but both mother and father
nurturing me, Earth.
2.
One tiny white bloom—
all I need to give me joy
on this scorching day.
3.
A magical room—
here the foolish find wisdom
in a spider’s web.
4.
I hear a man’s voice
whispering these fragrant names:
lily, lotus, rose.
More The Whirligig #379
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Haibun: Books
My bookshelves are full. Here’s the music book that touched me as a child. I still remember many of the lyrics. A ponderous volume on the bottom shelf claims to have all the truths in the universe, but really, it’s sprinkled with lies. Oh look! Right next to the book with lies is one about silkworms and how they like settling down at night on beds of mulberry leaves. I had forgotten that. And then there’s the book about wolves. The dust-jacket photo shows them with bared fangs and unblinking eyes. Knowing they would eat me if they could, makes my skin crawl. Why do I keep it? Why do I keep any of them? Because they are my grandmothers, my mother, my sisters, and my aunts. I too am meant to be read, the Sufi mystic Rumi reminds me: “You are a volume in the divine book, a mirror to the power that created the universe.”
I do not pretend
to know what the white lotus
murmurs to the moon.
More The Whirligig #378
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Magical Mystical Teacher 