Waiting for Snow

For Real Toads Weekend Challenge

Waiting for Snow
“There is no Final Resting Place of the Mind.” – Anthony Bourdain

the cold air feels still –
total silence – the air feels hollow –
an empty ring – like the single bonnnngggg
from a distant temple bell –
a sweet smell in the air –
the snow is holding off
waiting for 3:00 p.m.
the timeline announced by the
blatheringyammeringnattering
weather folk for the snow to begin.
The feral cats are hunkered down,
Hidden.
They know. The birds know. The squirrels know.
We humans don’t know shit.
European model. U.S. model.
Snow will begin when snow begins.
The first flake slowly circles downward.
Let the games begin.

The Duns of Winter

For Amaya’s prompt over at dVerse Poet’s Pub – the secret ingredient.

The Duns of Winter
The duns of winter
sleep softly
waiting for the last ingredient –
snow

Haibun: The Last Holdout

For Imelda (guest prompting at dVerse) prompt of waiting at dVerse Haibun Monday. A haibun is a short prosimetric Japanese form. I am following my new style of writing haibun in the abbreviated style of the original haibun created by Basho, 44 – 100 words. Remember: A haibun is an accounting of a true incident that happened to you. It is not poetry separated by “haiku”. the haiku must be seasonal and nature related to be a haiku.  A haibun is also not flash fiction. This will also be posted on Tuesday Platform at Real Toads

Haibun: The Last Holdout
Almost the end of November. The weather varies between warm and cold, dry and wet. Some leaves still cling to the trees waiting for the word from Nature to let go and fall, drifting slowly to the earth. Every day I walk by and count fewer leaves than the day before.
the black oak
still warming the cold sky –
last to lose its leaves

copyright kanzensakura

 U7

dVerse Poets Pub – Haibun Monday #29

We have a guest prompter today at dVerse.  Come find out who….hint:  he’s from Australia.  The theme is “waiting”.   https://dversepoets.com/2017/01/23/haibun-monday-29/

The Waiting Game
You are gone. You got on that big plane and it took you back to Kyoto. You had lived in the US long enough to teach medicine at Duke, to move to Richmond and become a forensic pathologist, long enough to rescue me from an abusive relationship and for us to fall totally deeply wildly in love with each other. Twenty years in the US and then you moved back to Kyoto. What were you waiting for? Why did it take you so long to return? Was it me? I waited long nights for you to come home after taking apart the dead to find answers, to give names to the nameless, to convict the guilty and vindicate the innocent. You stayed long enough to teach me kendo, to use a katana, to properly cook rice, to learn the sensation of cherry blossoms falling on naked skin. I taught you to properly fry chicken, to savor a fresh summer tomato, the sensation of ice cube held within lips slipping over your skin.  I waited for you to return; day after day after month after year after season. You wrote every week and I threw them all away. You waited on my reply. I waited for your return. We waited and waited and…

cherry blossoms on
naked skin – lips on mine –
seasons wait forever