Tag Archives: haibun

morning stirs

Posted on by
32

morning4

The clock shows six a.m. Maybe. My eyes don’t quite focus first thing in the morning. My dog Chules has awakened me with his gentle “woof” from halfway down the hall. I don’t know how he expects me to hear such soft greetings, but I do hear them, almost every time. I rise and make my way down the hall to the front door where Chules now waits. “What kind of day do you suppose it is today?” I ask. Chules answers as usual with a generous tail wag and an expectant smile. He doesn’t prejudge days. He’s very Zen about that kind of thing.

I prop the door open with my Himalayan salt crystal. The lamp inside broke some time ago, but it’s quite heavy and makes a perfect door stop, so there it sits. Chules steps out to the  porch and plops down on the cool cement. The lyrics from a Dan Fogelberg song enter my head.

Yes it’s going to be a day // There is really no way to say no // To the morning.

Chules’ eyes meet mine. Does he hear the song, too? In my imagination, I hear us both saying, “Yes.” A most hearty yes to the morning.

morning stirs awake
day unfolds to greet the sun
petals of summer

dVerse Haibun Monday: morning

Turning In

Posted on by
35

chules at night2

It is 10 PM. My dog Chules stares up at me from the floor, where he has been sleeping most of the evening. He wants to catch my eye so I will realize it is bedtime. I’m not sure how he distinguishes between his many naps and bedtime, nor do I understand why he feels responsible for getting me to turn in at this particular hour. Nonetheless, bedtime it is.

As per ritual, I open the front door so he can go outside and relieve himself one last time. Not wanting to draw moths to the light inside, I step out onto the porch, close the door, and wait in the dark for Chules to finish his business. Sometimes he gets right to it, sometimes he goes off on a final check of the yard’s perimeter. On warm nights like tonight, he is just as apt to sit on the lawn and gaze at the stars. I join him in sitting and gazing, though I’m certain our ruminations run on very different tracks.

it is quiet tonight except for the chirping of crickets. I don’t recall having heard them for quite some time, and I find comfort in the familiarity of nature’s music. So much of it has gone missing. After a time, I stand and Chules comes trotting back to the porch. We go inside and — having settled my mind and his kidneys — we retire to our beds in peace.

crickets serenade
on dark, warm nights I eavesdrop
songs not meant for me

dVerse haibun Monday: crickets

Hiroshima, reluctantly

Posted on by
13

Hiro

August 6th is the anniversary of the atomic bombing of Hiroshima. For the dVerse Monday haibun challenge, poet Frank J. Tassone suggested we write a haibun “that states or alludes to either the Hiroshima attack, or one of the themes of the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Ceremony, such as peace, the abolition of nuclear weapons, or the horror of nuclear war.”

From my place of privilege, I would rather post about my pets, show photos of flowers… you know,  the nice feel good stuff. I almost passed on this week’s poetry challenge, but given the current state of the world, I felt it important that I not do so. So, not my usual fare, but in my thoughts:

It never really registered, when I viewed the black and white newsreels. The children, in the street, crying. Some naked, their clothes having been burned off their bodies. Some… I wouldn’t even want to describe it. I wouldn’t want to put it into words, because then maybe it would cease to be a black and white movie, and it would be real. Real flesh and… flesh and…

… the flesh, it was melting off their arms.

Mushroom cloud rising
I can only imagine –
no, not even that

on wings

Posted on by
5

chicken

Scissors in one hand, hen in the other, a couple of quick snips and the wing tips swirl to the ground. Keeps ‘em from ‘flying the coop’, the farmer says. He releases the hen. She takes a moment to regain her balance, then runs to the opposite side of the pen where she flaps and clucks her objections. Isn’t it rather cruel to clip their wings, I wonder? Nah, the farmer says. It doesn’t hurt them, and ‘sides, if they don’t like it, they can leave. The farmer chuckles at the irony of his own joke and reaches for another hen.

boundless sky beckons
anticipation takes flight
gravity prevails

dVerse Haibun Monday — Complexity of Freedom

Rush Hour

Posted on by
12

traffic1

I should have taken the I-5 freeway, I tell myself even as I commit to the onramp of I-84 East. Traffic is at a crawl as drivers jockey to merge into the three eastbound lanes. I choose the center lane. A red Volvo in front of me switches to the left lane even though it, too, is at a near standstill. My line begins to move and I pull past the Volvo. I bet they’re sorry they changed lanes. I smile smugly. A mile later, my lane slows, and cars are passing on both sides. The Volvo, now in the right lane, zooms past me. That’s okay. It’s not a race. I stay in the middle lane. Dance with the one that brung ya, right?

drivers on their marks
finish lines are self-described
bring your own trophy

For the next six miles, traffic ebbs and flows. Compulsively, I check my progress against cars on either side of me. No, it’s not a race, but there’s that nagging need to prove that I chose the best lane. I reach my exit and check my rear view mirror as I ease over to the off ramp. The red Volvo is right behind me. Ha! For all its lane changing, I still came out in front. Had it been a race – which of course it wasn’t – I would have won. Yep… dance with the one that brung ya. Fidelity always pays off. Until it doesn’t.

crows raise strident voice
choruses of morning birds
solos every one

Haibun Monday: Silent Sounds

moving mountains

Posted on by
10

mountain 2

Some days the mountain sparkles in the sun with its snow-covered slopes. At other times it is invisible behind clouds and fog and – sadly – smog. But it’s always there, always a touchstone when crossing the bridge that takes me from my town in to the bigger city. Another mountain, easily distinguished by its volcanic rounded top, is more of a surprise when it appears, as I can’t seem to remember where to find it. Does it move across the landscape when I’m not looking? I have to keep my eyes on the road at least part of the time, and it would be easily missed. A third mountain is even wilier, and sometimes I mistake it for the first. Perhaps I need to concentrate more to get my bearings. Or maybe it’s just hard to see the mountains for the molehills.

branches in the wind
go to ground in my garden
dog hunts scent of birds

NaPoWriMo Challenge, Day 12: Write a haibun that takes in the natural landscape of the place you live.