Haibun Monday – Yum!

This is Haibun Monday over at the dVerse Poets Pub.  I am prompting people to write about one of the best meals they ever had.  Come join us for some good eats!
Down By the River
I remember once when I was 10, my father took me fishing. Through Durham flows the beautiful Eno river. Papa had a place picked out for fishing. It was right before one of the several cascades of white water along the river. We scrambled down rocks and jumped over streams until we came to “The Spot”. My father took several cokes out of the basket I was carrying and nestled them into the rocks at the edge of the river. I knew in the basket were also a couple of bologna sandwiches, a small bag of corn chips, and a couple of Hershey bars. We sat in companionable silence and fished. Time passed slowly and I began to nod. Suddenly my pole began to twitch and I jerked awake, just in time to pull up the large trout. It was a triumphant moment.

It was almost noon and my father decided it was time for lunch. We pulled the cokes up out of the river and I unwrapped the sandwiches. I washed my hands in the river and dried them on the back of my shorts. My father and I gobbled up the sandwiches, chips, and Hershey bars and drank our cokes, cold from the river water. I haven’t eaten bologna since then but that day, the sandwiches were sheer delights, wonders of modern cuisine. We sat there for several hours and finally decided to call it a day. The trout was swimming in his water basket and Papa decided to let him go. I was glad he did. I had been feeding it bits of leftover bread and had formed a tenuous friendship with it. It was the only fish we caught that day. My father packed up all the trash and wound the lines tight. We clambered back over the rocks to our car and then drove home. I told my mother what we had had for lunch and she smiled. “I remember a similar lunch he packed for us while we were dating and we went fishing on the Eno.”

melted butter sun
dapples river and trees – the
river runs silent

 

public domain photo Eno River Org

 

 

Meeting the Bar: Impressionism

Today Bjorn is Pubtender and is prompting us to write impressionist poetry, based on impressionist paintings.  Splashes of color, some scents, some cooking, some blurred edges – all the hallmarks of the great Impressionists, including Claude Monet.  Come visit us at the Pub and view the artisitic offerings:  Meet the Bar with impressionism

Water Lilies in the Kitchen 
In the lemon yellow kitchen
Sunday dinner is being prepared.
aromas of fried chicken and pot roast
mingle with scents of onion, celery, bell peppers
and the sizzle of the fried chicken competes with
the sound of birds outside.
through the wide window framed with red maple
and blue and white curtains
the bright jade green summer lawn
runs to meet the azure sky.
The heavy leafed trees comb
the sky clear of purest white clouds.
Inside the kitchen
the tender green perfume of freshly cut herbs
float on the heavier scents
like water lilies on a pond.

Water lilies – detail from Claude Monet

dVerse Poetics: Amuse Me

Today is Poetics at the dVerse Poets Pub. Lillian is prompting us to write about amusement parks, rides, etc. Come visit the Pub to read these poems at: https://dversepoets.com/2017/03/14/amuse-me-take-me-for-a-ride/ Hopefully, they will make you smile.

For Sale
The rides are silent and still
the games are shuttered
and the food booths are empty

Trash blows about the Park in the winter wind.

The carousel has some heads feet horns
broken from the magical creatures
that lost their magic an age ago

a tattered piece of red balloon
hangs from a lone dart stuck
in the back of the Darts! Game booth.

rat wanders into a deserted food stand, sniffs and leaves.

A tattered For Sale sign hangs
cattywhampus on the fence
that closes the place off from the rest of the world.

Our tattered dreams blow about the Park in the winter wind.

 

Image result for closed amusement parks public domain

public domain photo

Quadrille Monday #28

Today is Quadrille Monday and Kim Russell is our Pubtender!  Write your poem of exactly 44 words using the prompt word “spring”. http://dversepoets.com/2017/03/13/quadrille-28/ The poems are super short – so come visit and get your monthly dose of poetry!

Spring

the calendar says spring is
just a kite flight away –
although the nights are freezing cold,
days are chilly but growing longer.
trees are blooming scattering their petals
in the harsh wind.
the full Worm Moon glistens on frost
In the night –
plum blossoms shiver

public domain photo

dVerse Poets Pub – OLN #191

Today is Open Link Night (OLN) over at dVerse Poets Pub. Gayle is our host today and sadly, this is her last go as Pubtender. She is an amazing talent and is one of the kindest people around. She will most definitely be missed. I know I will miss her. So come by the dPub and read some excellent poems. Today I am doing a haibun in order to get in on Frank’s prompt last week of writing prose poetry. https://dversepoets.com/2017/03/09/open-link-night-191/

The Samurai and the Sparrow
Hot summer in the South – a feeling of walking around in a bowl of hot oatmeal when one ventures outside. But the air was sweet with magnolia, honeysuckle, night blooming jasmine, roses…my life was obsessed with smells that year. But this Saturday there was to be an exhibition of Kendo; several Hachi-dan Hanshi sparring against each other. I had just started dating a man who was arrogant, thought his long blonde hair made him look like a Nordic badass, and he was also into Kendo, at a higher level than I. He wasn’t great but he was an amusement. One of the men in the exhibition line caught my eye immediately. He was truly one of the most beautiful men I had ever seen. The participants all bowed and when he looked up at the sparse audience, I gasped. He looked me right in the eyes. You could have walked on the bolt that shot between us. The man beside me heard me gasp and looked at me with a frown. “What’s so great about him?” he muttered. I turned and looked at him with a sniff. “Other than he is gorgeous and dressed in a black silk hakama? Other than the fact that he is obviously good?” I had to laugh. My date got up and left. Fine with me.

I watched the Japanese man avidly. He was a bit taller than most Japanese me and he had his hair pulled up into a warriors knot (not those silly “man” buns of today) and in his belt were tucked the two swords – katana and wakizashi. He was carrying daisho – literally “big little” referring to the two swords. Every once in awhile, he would slightly break his concentration and find me in the audience. I shivered. I clearly had an admirer. Why I do not know. I was plain. My long dark hair was worn in a braid down my back, I was wearing glasses. I was under five feet tall – four feet 10 inches. He was gorgeous and moved like a tiger on ball bearings. Swift, graceful, lethal, powerful, passionate. But something in me spoke to him as something in me answered. Do you believe in love at first sight? Never ever put it down. Something started that day that after 35 years still resounds. It is hidden now but it is still there. I heard when he returned to Japan, he never married.

magnolias scent the
summer air – moths come to the
flame – wings become singed

old snapshot taken in Duke U Medical Library

dVerse Poets Pub – Tuesday Poetics

Sara McNulty is our guest host today. she is prompting us to write about the house we would build. Mine is already built. Come join us today!

Our House
Ah. A house of my own design.
I actually live in that house, although I did not design it.
It is low and solidly built brick.
A spare bedroom turned into a library
With floor to ceiling books.
A couple of acres of land around it
Big enough for a garden of veggies,
A garden of flowers and a water garden.
A huge window off the dining room where one can see it all
In.one.glance.
A kitchen big enough for my husband and I to practice ballroom dancing,
For me to do kendo on inclimate days
And shelves – lots of shelves
And a huge gas stove with two ovens –
plenty of space to hold all of my cooking equipment –
a chef’s kitchen.
It is not large or fancy, it is not grandiose
It is not a commune.
It is peace and quiet after a long day
It is watching the first snow falling late at night
It watching the moon and stars from my back porch
It is awakening to sunlight filled rooms
And filled with the smells of good cooking –
it is fresh vegetables from my garden
and hundreds of daffodils all in bloom.
it is sitting by one of several fireplaces
after a cold day of working or being out in the rain.
A huge bedroom for my husband and I.
The yard is home to all manner of creatures –
birds, bees, deer, stray cats, snakes, frogs
But most off all,
It is surrounded by the woods
And shrubs of flowering quince and Japanese plum.
49 Azalea bushes surround the house and fence off the yard.
The house quietly whispers a welcome to all –
It is home. it is peace. it is love. It is ours.
I could ask for nothing more.

copyright kanzensakura

Haibun Monday – Taking a Bath in the Forest – say what??

Today at 3:00 PM, EST, I am hosting the Haibun Monday prompt for dVerse Poets Pub.  Come join us at this virtual pub for good conversation and good poetry.  I am asking people to write (non-fiction) a one – three paragraph haibun ending it with a classic haiku (using kigo and kireji) and to write about the last time they were immersed in nature.  The subject that prompted this was shinrin-yoku – literally forest bathing.  It is a recognized health benefit in Japan and lately other places.  So please, come join us! I was going to write about getting my vegetable garden ready for planting but decided on true shinrin-yoku. I am an old tree climber from waaaay back.

Having a tree as a BFF is a good thing!
I leaned back into the arms of the old oak tree, it’s warm bark comforting and cradling. All around me in the stillness of the woods that surrounds my home, I could hear the sounds of birds – songs, calling territory, rustling in the branches, wings occasionally flapping as one landed or took off. Every once in awhile, the bark of a crow or several sharp caws would join in. Small creatures – squirrels, chipmunks, deer, bunnies, snakes, frogs – all would make sounds as they went about their daily business. Foraging for food, scurrying from hawks gliding overhead, tunneling, eating, croaking and meditating in the sun – all the woodland sounds.

I come to these woods about once a week to nourish myself. I stand at the edge and decide what path to take today. Often I take the path to this ancient oak, an old friend of mine. I climb the tree until I find the certain conjunction of branches that hide and hold me. Winter or summer, spring or fall; snow or rain, sunshine and cold or heat – I love all the turns of the seasons I can watch from this place in the tree. Last summer, I watched a nest of cardinals hatching over in the neighboring tree. I looked down as a buck and his harem processed majestically beneath me. I have seen much and felt much in this tree. This tree is like the welcoming arms of my husband or my mother or a friend.

It is time. I rustle around a few minutes and bring forth my violin. Today in midsummer, it is time for something light and playful. I place my bow to the strings and begin Boccherini’s La Musica Notturna Delle Strade No. 6. The woods and all its creatures listen for just a space and then, they begin again, going about their business.

summer sounds drift by –
lazy creek at bottom of
hill sings its own song

copyright kanzensakura

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