Haibun: My Mother’s Voice

For dVerse Poets Pub Quadrille Monday.  A quadrille is a poem of exactly 44 words using the assigned word.  Today De gives us the word “voice”.

 

Haibun: My Mother’s Voice
The death of a mother is the first sorrow wept without her. ― Anonymous

This morning I heard my mother’s voice. I had an omelet for breakfast with a fresh picked tomato on the side. The tomato was juicy and spread its juice all over the plate.
my mother’s voice
in a tomato –
tears and juices mingle

 

 

Autumn Contemplation

Autumn Contemplation
“The upper reaches here and the lower of the river – the friend for the moon.” Matsuo Basho

Meigetsu,
the harvest moon is fading –
Bright gold coin in black sky
now dims and wanes to a partial dish of cream.
Hatsu arashi – the first storm of autumn
has washed clean the sky.
aki simu – autumn is clearing,
brilliant blue,
luminous white clouds drifting, silent. peaceful.
Autumn’s voice whispers –
breeze across dry leaves on the grass,
wind in the reeds at the creek,
The little priest – the tiny cicada delicately
moves his wings, a small voice
among the raucous pine and bell crickets,
an alto to the larger cicadas
and their metallic thrum.
Shinryoo – new coolness in the air.
The coming of autumn is somnolent today.
No rise or fall,
A steady tone of almost silence.
The morning glory twines
lovingly around my plum tree
and shows her blue face,
echoing her sister,
aki no sora – the autumn sky.
The small grey tabby across the way
sits beneath an oak
watching the occasional
slow falling leaf.
Her eyes stay upward
and she does not move for she wants to see
the leaves as they float and fall around her.
An early leaf burning –
smoke wanders and its incense drifts to heaven.
my wondering heart sit entranced
in the midst of the haiku
I wish I could write.

Haiku – 8/9/2019

For my prompt at Wednesday Muse, Sunday Muse BlogSpot – butterflies a haiku

Haiku – 8/9/201
9
“When nature moves, butterflies take flight.”
― Anthony T. Hincks

butterflies flitting –
self-propelled flowers –
floating blossoms

Haibun: Peace of Mind

Lynda Lyberg is the host at dVerse Poets Pub today. She writes about how do we purify our minds? A haibun for the prompt.

Haibun: Peace of Mind
“The places of quiet are going away, the churches, the woods, the libraries. And it is only in silence we can hear the voice inside of us which gives us true peace.” ― James Rozoff

Green, fresh, and fragrant as the pines, cedars, and oaks of the forest I wander among them. I learn a lot from these trees, in this forest. Creatures and insects go about their lives without being polluted by man and his bullshit. The creek burbles at the foot of the hill and minnows swim, nipping at the water spiders that skate on the surface. I own this land and have resisted offers to sell it. No price is high enough to destroy this place of peace. When I die, the land is willed to a peace foundation. I keep my mind pure by not allowing the poison into my veins, my mind, my heart, my home. When I die, the land will not be polluted by my ashes; instead they will just be dumped into the garbage can along with the rest of the refuse. I have not done much in my life but this one thing I have done – I have kept a place for my mind to wander away from the filth of humans.
peaceful forest –
peaceful mind –
peace lives here

copyright kanzensakura

Haibun: Hiroshima Day

This is a post I wrote a couple of years ago. It still rings true today. I have shortened it a bit and added a video by World Order, a Japanese singing group. I am posting the version with English lyrics so you call can understand the words. Ironically it ends at the beach on which the Fukushima Power Plant stands. The band received special dispensation to go and briefly film some shots there. It shows alternative power sources, the helping of the injured in the tsunami (symbolic) and how in their homage to Hiroshima and Nagasaki, “time just stops”.

Hiroshima Day
“We are still living in the aftershock of Hiroshima, people are still the scars of history.” – Edward Bond

America dropped the first of two atomic bombs on Hiroshima. People were going about their normal activities that day. Women were shopping for food to prepare for dinner that night. Children were playing and men were going about their business preparing to continue facing off against the Americans. They went about with living not knowing death was in the skies.

Suddenly the sky turned white and within a few seconds Hiroshima was almost obliterated from the face of the earth. The death toll was approximately 90,000 – 120,000 men, women, and children. Some walked after the blast until they collapsed and died. Others died of burns and being crushed by falling buildings. Skeletons could be seen in the debris. Still later, people died from bone marrow disease from the extreme radiation. A few skeletal structures remained standing, notably the white gate Shinto. “Photos” of people etched into stone by the blast- their bodies obliterated but replaced by the radiation remained. We bear a guilt so deep time will never leach it from our bones as the bomb turned people and buildings, plants, and animals into dust.

children jumping rope
on hot August day – becoming
shadows forever

Haiku – 7/31/2019

For my prompt, summer rain, at Wednesday Muse

Haiku – 7/31/2019
“And it’s a hard, …And it’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall” Bob Dylan

hot close summer day –
thunder rumbles – lightning flashes –
hard rain suddenly pours

 

 

Haibun: Travel Food

For my prompt at Real Toads – Picnic.

 

Travel Food
“The journey is part of the experience — an expression of the seriousness of one’s intent. One doesn’t take the A train to Mecca.” Anthony Bourdain

When I was a kid, I remember our trips up north to see our cousins in Montclair New Jersey. We always started out before the sun rose, in the cool dark of a summer’s day. My grandmother would have packed for us ham and sausage biscuits, fried chicken, and cole slaw. After a couple of hours of driving, we’d be ready to pull into a rest stop. The biscuits would be unpacked along with a thermos of coffee and several pint jars of iced water. Later in the day, we would stop at another rest stop and eat lunch. I remember those days of sitting around a cement table and benches, the family digging into cold fried chicken. There would always be a treat of a coke. I can still taste that friend chicken. Under the trees with people walking past, walking their dogs, other kids playing around. It would always consist of my mother and father, grandmother, and my mother’s two younger sisters – my aunts. It was always more casual and lighter than eating formally at the table in the dining room. Sliced tomatoes from the garden would be in their own container, exuding juice. I liked to dip the piece of chicken into the juice. I still do. At last we would arrive in Montclair, journey’s end.
riding up the highway
stopping along the way for lunch –
cold fried chicken is nectar

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