Haibun: Everyday Life

For Poets United Mid-week Motif – everyday life

Haibun: Everyday Life
“Write it on your heart that every day is the best day in the year.” ― Ralph Waldo Emerson

Everyday is a day of peace. Before I retired four years ago, I grasped at the beauty on weekends like a drowning person grasped at a lifesaver, like a dying person grasps for the last look at a beloved face. I hungrily snapped up the vision of leaves, the feel of rain, the silken scarf of moonlight, the smell of French toast for breakfast. I binge cooked on the weekends making meals to feed us during the week, smells of bread and red sauce, pot roast and fried chicken, quick breads and cinnamon and ginger and onions wafting through the house. Now I walk daily – in the rain, the snow, the blistering hot sun. I visit my friend the Oak every other day and sometimes take my violin and sit in its upper branches sawing away for the birds and squirrels. Peace. A commodity more important than money to me. The quotidian details are there but now they are happily supplemented with all I had starved for before.
the autumn cool
says blessed and happy –
and the name of peace

blood is blood

A Poem for Magaly’s prompt on Real Toads: three titles one poem. Today is Day 13 of NAPOWRIMO, There are eight book titles in this poem. At least three have three or more words. Titles: The Nasty Bits, Blood is Blood, Some Danger Involved, The Violet Fairy Book, The Secret Life of Bees, The Perks of Being a Wallflower, Road to the Deep North, The Witch’s Gift, Pet Sematary

Blood is Blood
I often referred to my trip to the farmer’s market
as the road to the deep north because of the distance.
I started up the side steps and stopped –
a rabbit ear lay in the center of the top step –
a little chewed –
all was gone, even the nasty bits.
I looked at the seven pair of golden eyes
staring at me – the feral cats I feed.
Did one of you do this? I asked sternly.
the witch’s gift, I muttered.
I went into the house and came back with a sheet of paper towel.
I carefully picked it up and grabbed the shovel.
I shook the tears from my eyes and contemplated.
this bunny had started life not knowing
there would be some danger involved.
I went to the edge of the woods,
to the area I called the pet sematary,
dug a hole and inserted the ear,
covered with violets and dirt.
Take this child oh Mother for blood is blood
you take it unto yourself.
I walked back to the house and sat on the back steps.
This spring the back yard exploded in violets –
like the violet fairy book, they spread everywhere –
white, deep purple, lavender and rare pink.
I watched the bees going back and forth
between the violets and the hive.
I gained peace watching the secret life of bees.
The front lawn was perfectly smooth
the back yard was wild with clover and wildflowers.
The perks of being a wallflower,
Alone, living and growing under the sun,
drinking the rain and dew.

Peaceful Leonids

For Sherry’s Prompt at Real Toads, Wordy Saturday, places of healing.

 

Peaceful Leonids
Lying in the darkness in the cold night
Wrapped in my grandmother’s quilt,
I watch the Leonids weaving light in the black sky
singing their way to earth.
Peace coming up from the earth
And down from the sky.
I watch the meteors bursting into light
And I am healed.

leonids November 2018

Silent as Dust Falling

For the Tuesday Platform at Real Toads.

Silent as Dust Falling
“Maybe that’s enlightenment enough: to know that there is no final resting place of the mind; no moment of smug clarity. Perhaps wisdom…is realizing how small I am, and unwise, and how far I have yet to go. -Anthony Bourdain”

I lay on the sand
gazing up at the stars.
No ambient light –
just the stars above me.
I realize that when I am wiser
I will seek out these places of solitude,
the bowl of simple noodles in broth,
the tree in the middle of the forest.
I will find peace in the stars above me,
peace in the loneliness of the desert,
peace in the middle of the noisy rowdy city.
Listening to the waves whispering
is the only music I need –
The rain tapping the leaves,
the snow falling silent as dust,
the leaf falling from the tree,
the songs the stars sing as they travel through the darkness,
I breathe deeply, quietly
not wanting to disturb the music.

copyright kanzensakura

Red is the color of peace

For Paul’s prompt at Real Toads about Peace.  This is an old poem previously posted but reworked and tightened up a bit.  I truly believe that we carry peace around with us, that it must be found within and shared out like excess red tomatoes from my garden.

copyright kanzensakura

 

Red is the color of peace
Peace comes in many colors – like the rainbow,
like us humans or animals or flowers.
You may not think so, but red is the color of peace –
the tomato plucked from the bounty of my backyard garden
and handed over the short fence to the neighbor next door –
red of holly berries nestled among dark green clusters
of leaves hidden deep in the forest, with white snow
softly falling or the cardinal perched on the branch –
The red of maple leaves preparing for winter sleep
or the red of the rose given to a beloved.
Long blondeblackbrownred braids tied at the ends
with perky red bows.
Red is the color of peace – of units of blood donated
for someone about to undergo life saving surgery
for the child with cancer
or the service  person needing
emergency treatment.
The wild apples are red and hang down far enough
a herd of deer can satisfy their hunger.
Red are the azaleas planted by my father years ago
that continue to bloom after all this time.
Strawberries from my garden are rich and red and sweet.
Red is also the color in the jars of preserves
I make and give out as gifts to anyone.
Red is my generations old flowering quince
blooming in a freezing snow.
The heart your child drew and the words “I Love You”
hangs with pride on your refrigerator door
photographed and posted on Facebook so everyone would know
– drawn with a bright red crayon.
Peace is what we make it and it is colored by our souls,
our hearts our words and actions.
If our words and actions do not speak of peace and hope
how can we be peace and hope to a world
sadly in need of both?
You may not think so, but red is the color of peace.

copyright kanzensakura

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Food – a haibun

A haibun for the Tuesday Platform at Real Toads.

Food – A Haibun
I don’t often write about when I was a chef. But my love affair with food is still running wild and unfettered. The fields of produce, the trees with fruit, the bakeries and butchers – all of them still lead me ever onward. We all have a comfort food, the food that says home or safe place or happiness. I know I do and the list grows longer every year. The feel in my hand of a warm freshly picked tomato or an egg still warm from the body of the hen sends a frisson of comfort down to my toes. The smell of my father’s fried chicken still lingers years after he died, the taste of a sharp acidic North Carolina tomato makes me almost orgasm when I taste it for the first time in summer, the taste of butter on bread or slurping a long noodle out of broth, stuffing a burrito into my mouth, or eating a big bun full of barbecue makes me happy in a way I cannot describe.

Food is what brings us together. It also separates us but food at its basic level brings us together. What we fix for someone tells us a lot about us to the person eating our food. We always give our best when we fix food for someone else; the food may be biscuits and gravy or Beluga caviar on toast points or fried rice or carne asada – it doesn’t matter. On some level I think we want to show off but on another, I think we want to say to the other person: “This is me. Please accept me.” I never refuse anything I am offered or say, I don’t eat that. I believe when we do that we are rejecting the person or culture offering the bite. I wish we could all sit around a huge table and share the food of our wealth, our poverty, our happiness, our grief. Pass the plates one to another, look each other in the eyes.  If we can’t do that then I feel we are all of us are well and truly lost.

seasons changing –
water to wine to juice –
we all are one

public domain

Planting

For Jilly’s Prompt over at dVerse Poets Pub – Getting Wild.

Planting
In the wildness of nature,
I become peaceful
and happy and full of joy.
Stepping in furrows of a newly plowed field
I drop seeds or plants.
I watch the birds in the sky
and wait for the first bit of green to show.
I plant extra for the birds and
the other critters.
In the wildness of the city
I get quiet and move carefully
as if passing by hungry feral beasts.
I’ll take the trees and corn over the
buildings any day.

pinterest image

Instagram Poem

Today at Real Toads is Tuesday Platform. Sanaa is Suggesting instagram sized poems. So here we go for day 24 of Nannumope. This is also posted for Poets United Mid-week Motif – Summer.

the full moon flutters
on the surface of the pond
lone cicada sings

Leaf Hagaki

Today is Quadrille Monday at dVerse.  What is a Quadrille?  It is a form unique to dVerse Poets pub consisting of exactly 44 words (excluding the title) and the chosen word.  Today Victoria is in charge of the Pub and has given us the word “poem” or variants of the word.  Come join us for these lovely short poems.

public domain image

Leaf Hagaki*
I carefully prick one word poems
on fallen leaves, letting the wind
take them where it will –
Postcards of joy, love, tolerance, hope.
I don’t expect a reply
but I let them loose anyway.
The silence between the falling of the leaves
is deafening.

* hagaki – Japanese for fragments of writing or postcards

 

Crayola Dawn

I am posting this on dVerse Poets Pub for De’s lovely prompt on Quadrille Monday. She requests that we use the word “dream” – dreamer, dreams, dreaming, dreamed – make the noun a verb or the verb a noun – it’s all good! A quadrille is a poetic form that came about a couple of years ago when we were making changes to refresh the Poets Pub. the form has exactly 44 words not counting the title. You must include the prompted word in your poem.  Come read these wonderful humming bird tiny poems. I am also posting this to Real Toads Tuesday Platform.  Here are the links for both:  http://dversepoets.com/2017/08/14/quadrille-38/   and  http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2017/08/the-tuesday-platform_15.html

Crayola Dawn
I see the dawn before the rest
of the world awakens.
I came to this dawn through the moonlight
of my dreams.
I dream of the world in argent shades
and awaken to the Crayola dawn –
It is cool this morning.
I am at peace.

copyright kanzensakura

Haibun Monday: Butter Yellow Morning

I couldn’t resist this prompt from Grace.  I am still on hiatus and doing fairly well.  thank you!http://dversepoets.com/2016/10/03/haibun-monday-22-extraordinary-days/

Butter Yellow Morning
It is early in the day and I have just awakened. My husband left for work an hour ago. I lazily stretch and get out of bed and wander into the kitchen. I fill the coffee maker and switch it on. Soon my house is filled with the lovely smell of fresh coffee. I pour myself a large mug and add the dollop of cream. I then go outside and sit on my back steps, sipping and listening to the sound of the morning getting its start. The mockingbird and brown thrasher are up on the wire trilling the first six notes of the X-Files theme, over and over. The birds that will winter over are busy twitting and rooting through the bird feeders. My Swedish neighbors from next door pass by on the lane for their morning walk and wave but do not speak. They know this is my special time of day and do not intrude. My neighbor across the lane puts her two daughters on the school bus. She waves and heads back into her house. From the farm at the end of the lane, the sound of a rooster cock-a-doodle-doing and the soft lowing of cows add to the morning sounds. I sip my coffee. For right now, all is well, all is at peace.

autumn finally comes –
the morning is cool in the
butter yellow sun

 

dVerse Poetics: Wishful Thinking

Today Mish is in charge of the prompt for Poetics today.  She wants us to make wishes – on a star, blowing on the fluff of a dandelion, our wishes for humanity, the world,  ourselves.  It is a lovely poetics.  I hope I do it justice. Come join us for wishes! http://dversepoets.com/2016/09/06/poetics-wishful-thinking/

Twitching one’s nose
It would be nice if I could twitch my nose
like Samantha, the witch from that old sitcom Bewitched.
I’d twitch my nose and twinkletwinkle,
people would be fed,
children would always be loved and welcomed,
the air would be clear and clean,
animals would no longer be hunted to the point of extinction
and all animals and humans would be treated humanely and with kindness.
we’d all have enough money for our daily needs and some of our wants.
politicians would disappear.
we’d all be tree climbers and water worshipers
flower growers and sharers of vegetables
from our gardens.
If I could be Samantha for just one day –
what a different world we would have.
twinkletwinkle! twitch! twitch!
make it so.