Snowing in my mind

A haibun of 107 words in the manner of Basho for Izy’s pillow fort prompt on Day 11 of NAPOWRIMO

Snowing in my mind
I don’t have a bed or pillow fort. But I do have a set of cool satin sheets I love to roll on after my husband has gone to work. I love the cool feeling against my skin; especially during the hot spring and summer when I get so hot, even in the air conditioning. I lay in the silence of the morning and look at the grey light coming in between the blinds. I pretend it is snowing. I love snow. I love the coolness of the satin sheets.
hot summer mornings –
it is cool in thoughts
of snow rather than sun

 

In the Backyard at Night

In the manner of Ezra Pound’s In the Station the a Metro. In its entirety:

The apparition of these faces in the crowd:
Petals on a wet, black bough.

For those of you who think all poems must be long.

In the Backyard at Night
the clouds drift and cover the full moon.
a coyote carries a dead rabbit in its mouth.

 

Night Trolling

Night Trolling
“When I go fishing I like to know that there’s nobody within five miles of me.” Norman MacCaig

I used to love fishing with my parents, especially at night.  We slowly and blindly trolled our lines, waiting for the fish to hit the bait.
silence on the water –
a swift pull on the line –
a bass at the end of the line

 

Haibun: Neighborhood Music

For Carrie’s Sunday Muse #48

Haibun: Neighborhood Music
“Time is the longest distance between two places.” Tennessee Williams, The Glass Menagerie

Mrs. Williamson was a crochety old woman. She had a thousand sets of collected salt and pepper shakers, windows hung with handmade lace, and a hand wound old Victrola up in her bedroom. Sometimes through the neighborhood you could hear the scratchy music winding through the neighborhood. “You can bring Sal she’s a real nice gal but don’t bring Lulu” or, “He was going down the grade making 90 miles an hour, His whistle broke into a scream, He was found in the wreck with his hand on the throttle, Scalded to death by the steam”. The wreck of the Old 97 was her song when she was melancholy and sipping on sherry. Of course she died, in the midst of 1950’s rock and roll and bee bop aloo-ing whining. She left me her Victrola and half of her salt and pepper shakers because I would play with them when I visited.
summer nights seem empty
without the sound of old songs –
stars fall from the sky

Haibun: Dr. Samuel Beckett

For Kim’s prompt on Real Toads, Nomenclature, how things get their names. What a fun and lovely prompt!

 

Haibun: Dr. Samuel Becket
“I believe cats to be spirits come to earth. A cat, I am sure, could walk on a cloud without coming through.” Jules Verne

He was tiny, his eyes barely open. He was an orange marmalade tom and he wobbled as he walked about in the box where we had put him to be safe and warm. When one of us would enter the room, we would call softly, Baby! Baby!.and his tiny mews would drift up out of the box. I walked over and looked down at him. He looked up at me with his blue baby eyes and suddenly, he jumped and tried to climb to the top to reach me. I laughed, and reached down and picked him up. Well Sam Beckett, you did a quantum leap, didn’t you? He remained Dr. Samuel Beckett until his life ended 14 years later. I was his human and I loved him dearly.
to me life passed quickly –
to my cat life passed slowly –
too soon our time together ended

*Quantum Leap was a TV show in the 90’s starring Scott Bakula who was a physicist studying string theory.

Haibun: Smudgy Moon

For Real Toads, Margaret’s picture prompt of retro-paintings and for OLN at dVerse Poets Pub.



Haibun: Smudgy Moon

“She had a beautiful laugh which was like rain water pouring over daffodils made from silver.”
― Richard Brautigan, Sombrero Fallout

Yellow in the sky. Is it the moon setting or is the sun rising? The trees are a smudged backdrop to the moon. Birds are twittering, a distant dog barks. The flowers in my yard bloom boldly in the half-darkness, reflecting the moon.
daylight savings time –
daffodils don’t care about time –
they bloom in their own time

Haibun: March 6, 1984

For Amaya’s prompt at dVerse, Mardis Gras mambo.  Let me tell you cher, the times were wild in restaurants back then.

Krewe of Zulu Throwawy Coconut

March 6, 1984
“There’s a thing I’ve dreamed of all my life, and I’ll be damned if it don’t look like it’s about to come true — to be King of the Zulu’s parade. After that, I’ll be ready to die.” — Louis Armstrong

The restaurant was empty of customers. They were all in the streets getting wilder and crazier. My sous chef looked at me askance as I was a little bit high myself. One only one waiter and two runners had come into work along with one dishwasher.

I looked at them and said, “Hell, let’s close it up and go outside.” My sous laughed and pulled a small brown vial from his pocket and laid down a line. The dishwashers pulled out their vials and a joint and we all had a party, right then, right there. The noise outside ratcheted it up. “We are missing Zulu Krewe. Y’all go. I’ll close it up. Tell Carl the place was locked when you got here.” Mardis Gras in the Crescent City. Zulu Krewe was lambasting past. I laughed and shook my hips. I threw my apron on the counter, did a couple of more lines,turned the security system back on and headed outside. If I ran, I could catch up to Zulu Krewe. Who knows? If it took off my shirt and shook my tits hard enough, they might just throw me one of their prized coconuts. Laissez les bon temps rouler! Let the good times roll!

fat Tuesday rolls hard –
sex sin and dirty dancin’-
tomorrow we pray

Krewe of Zulu

 

 

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