Failed Haiku A Journal of English Senryu
Failed Haiku A Journal of English Senryu
the after hours chatter
I listen in vain
for a missing voice
My head is beating with wishes
says the great King Ginevra,
they are straight out of the costume dispenser,
where the clouds are made of Paris,
and the day is made of swirling capes
to wear on the cusp of morning,
the air is peppermint basil to go with a bite of sunlight,
blue mangoes and frozen kiwis
he sails around in the Caribbean,
filled with smiling fish,
we’ll bring the fat owl
who ate too many toads
and now is made of ribbits.
the owl smells like a knock- knock joke
and sings with the rubberized cow.
King Ginevra goes looking
for a painted mermaid hanging in the sky,
and he roams the nighttime ocean,
cawing birds follow him down the drowsy hole
and together they float to the Eiffel Tower
without a single band-aid emergency.
He returns early in the morning,
drinking banana tea with honey,
and eating a bacon muffin too.
Soon after breakfast,
the great King Ginevra decides
that the theme for today is jungle.
and he rides the Q train
all the way to the popcorn zoo
or maybe to the fingernail moon,
his head still beating with wishes.
Bards Annual July 2015
from nursing home
to nursery school –
sunrise to moonrise
I have a weeping cherry on my property, visible from all the windows that face the back yard. It is about 20 feet tall and sixteen years old. It inspires me in every season of the year but especially in spring when it becomes a cloud of pink. The tree was a gift from my mother who used to love weeping cherries. She no longer remembers that she loved these trees but I do. She is ninety-two and is losing more and more of herself each day.
forgetting her grandchildren
one by one
My six month old grandson came to live with us for about five months last winter. He and his parents were waiting for their new home to be ready. All winter and into the spring, his favorite pastime was to watch the tree branches moving with the winter wind and then the gentle breezes of early spring. When the cherry tree bloomed, he was mesmerized.
perfectly still –
a baby watching
pink blossoms sway
My daughter, who also watched the garden unfolding from winter into spring, was bitten by the gardening bug – a legacy from her grandmother – my mother. By the time she moved into her new home, she was dreaming about the garden she would plant. Although my mother will never see her granddaughter’s garden, her spirit will reside there. Perhaps her great-grandson will come to love gardening too!
A poem-maker lives with silence, happily straining to hear what the trees whisper to the raindrops. It is winter and the rain is welcome. It arrives with warmer temperatures and the scent of the ocean.
After Christmas, she receives a gift – three gifts, really. A daughter arrives with her husband and new baby for an extended visit while their new place is made ready.
Silence departs to make room for the guests. The poem-maker puts aside the pen and listens to the new sounds.
The baby gurgles, squeals, giggles and trills along all day, even singing himself to sleep. She hears her daughter sing – and everyone joins in the song…. and the laughter. Soon, she can even hear her own heart singing. And it sounds like the gentle patter of winter rain on the roof.
a mother’s voice –
the sound of winter rain
a whispered lullaby
For Recuerda Mi Corazon – haiku my heart
For Carpe Diem – heart sutra
Haiga – Grandmother and Grandson ©2013 Wabi Sabi
I am experimenting with a free photo program this week called ‘Pic Monkey’ to try my hand at altering photos to create haiga with a different look. One of my daughters, an artist, suggested I try it before buying anything. Although I have been unable to achieve a Japanese brush painting effect yet, I am enjoying the variety of effects which are possible. I am attempting to create a haiga a day for the month of September, using the prompts at A 19 Planets Art Blog for inspiration. Today’s prompt is ‘grandmother.’ I’m also sharing with friends at Recuerda Mi Corazon ‘haiku my heart.’
From the moment I noticed
( it was in a fourth grade geography book)
there was another landscape outside my own
the plan was to throw on a pair of shoes
escape to the mountains,
to California ,
just the thought of the going
sent me to a place in my head where
my breath mingled with holier shadows
than the ones I could see.
I lost the thread one day,
and the plan changed with a kiss,
a kiss that kept me rooted,
a gravity that pulled me toward bread-baking
and salting the earth
the shoes still sit at the front door
burning me with desire
to wander the walking road –
I try to put on the hiking boots,
and discover they are nailed to the floor
by two small boys
playing with their grandfather’s tools.
Pepper holds me.
©2013 Wabi Sabi
For Sunday Whirl ‘ Wordle #120’
For Poets United ‘poetry pantry’