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haiku 2 (one-a-day)

Coneflower, Minneapolis, Minnesota, July 2008, photo © 2008-2009 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.

Coneflower, Minneapolis, Minnesota, July 2008, photo © 2008-2009 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.



This is the sequel to red Ravine’s haiku (one-a-day), a practice born from reading Clark Strand’s Seeds from a Birch Tree: Writing Haiku and the Spiritual Journey during a year-long Writing Intensive with Natalie Goldberg in Taos, New Mexico. Last year we had a great response from our readers to the practice of writing a haiku or senryu each day, and wanted to continue the practice into the New Year.

The idea for the sequel post came after doing further research on the history of haiku. This year’s challenge is to co-create and build on the poems of other haiku writers, a kind of word play running through the poetic forms of tanka and renga.



haiku & senryu (part one)


Haiku uses simple, direct language, words that evoke a season, and usually incorporates a cutting or pivot word, so that one half of a haiku seems to speak to the other. According to Patterns In Poetry, haiku is closely tied to the Japanese aesthetic of Yugen and the spirituality of Buddhism. It is written in a 17-syllable form (usually three lines of 5-7-5) that looks deceptively simple. Yet if you read the work of the masters like Basho, Buson, and Issa, wandering poets who lived during Japan’s Edo-period (1600-1868), it becomes clear that the practice of haiku can take years to master.

Senryu is similar to haiku but strays from seasonal or nature themes. According to Simply Haiku, senryu focuses on people and portrays characteristics of human beings and foibles, and the psychology of the human mind. Senryu can express human misfortunes or the hardships of humanity, and even when they depict living things or inanimate objects, human attributes are emphasized.

What both haiku and senryu have in common is that they derive from a form of Japanese court poetry called tanka.


Characteristics of haiku:

  • 17 syllables, 3 lines (with variations for language differences)
  • Simple, direct, non-metaphorical language
  • Captures a transitory insight or moment in time called satori or the aha moment
  • Contains a kigo, an image of nature that evokes a particular season
  • Contains a cutting or pivot word that turns the movement of the poem
  • Based on experience, speaks of the common, in the moment, just as it is

 

tanka (part two)


Tanka, the oldest Japanese poetry form, was often written to explore religious or courtly themes and had a structure of five lines with a  5-7-5-7-7 syllable structure. One person would contribute the first three lines (5-7-5) of the tanka, and a different author would complete the poem by composing a 7-7 section and adding a pivot point such as in this tanka from George Knox at Aha! Poetry:


in the check-out line
a worn face ahead of me
turns tentatively. . .
realities of desire
fade in final reckoning

-tanka by George Knox


There is an excerpt from an article, Come Pivot With Me by Jane Reichhold which explains the pivot point or bridge in this way:

The use of a pivot word is a beloved technique from tanka, still being used after 1,300 years, in that form and its much younger grandchild — haiku (only 3 centuries old).

One of the trademarks of a tanka (besides the traditional five lines of 5-7-5-7-7 onji — syllables) is a short poetic statement depicting nature (here it may seem much like something you could call a haiku) which is linked to a designated feeling or emotional attitude of the author. This latter aspect is a basic one dividing the two forms today.

By expressing emotional feelings tanka affirms a connectedness between something unseen but real — our feelings — with the observable world around us. Tanka gives the mind a picture which can, if it is successful, joins for and evokes a felt emotional state.


Characteristics of tanka

  • 31 syllables, 5 lines
  • Write the first section of a tanka (5-7-5), similar to a haiku.
  • Another person picks up the first 3 lines and writes a response (or continuation) by composing two lines of 7-7 syllables.
  • Can reflect nature or lean toward senryu
  • Emotional, contemplative, imaginative, reflective, written to be chanted


Here’s a final example of classic tanka from the same site, translated from the Kokinshu by Donald Keene, and written by Anonymous:


Because there was a seed
A pine has grown even here
On these barren rocks:
If we really love our love
What can keep us from meeting?

-tanka by Anonymous
 


renga (part three)


Renga (linked elegance) is a form of linked poetry which evolved from tanka, the oldest Japanese poetry form. In renga’s 800 year history it has gone through many ideological changes. (And it was Basho who, after 500 years, snipped off the first three lines of renga to form haiku.)

In renga, one person would often contribute the first three lines (5-7-5) of the poetic chain and a different author would complete the chain by composing a 7-7 section. Then another author would build on the previous 7-7, with another 5-7-5 passage. This chaining of verses or renga, could sometimes add up to hundreds of linked tanka.

The first part of the poem, called hokku or “starting verse,” frequently sets the tone for the rest of the poem, and the authors of hokku often earned the respect and admiration of their fellow poets. By the 19th century, largely through the work of Masaoka Shiki, hokku began to be written and read as individual poems. From the word hokku derives our word haiku.


Characteristics of renga:

  • Write the first section of a tanka (5-7-5), similar to a haiku. Hand this poem to another person.
  • Second person writes a response (or continuation) by composing two lines of 7-7 syllables. Then the second person hands off the completed tanka to a third person.
  • Third person writes another 3 lines of (5-7-5), beginning a new tanka
  • Continue in this way until you run out of time or feel that the poem is complete.
  • Contains a bridge or pivot point that links to the emotional element
  • Don’t try to force the storyline. When writing a response to the previous poem, focus only on the last section of the tanka, not the whole poem.
  •  Think of each stanza as a springboard from which you are going to jump. The important thing to watch is what happens between the links. 



Petals, Minneapolis, Minnesota, July 2008, photo © 2008-2009 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.Petals, Minneapolis, Minnesota, July 2008, photo © 2008-2009 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.Petals, Minneapolis, Minnesota, July 2008, photo © 2008-2009 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.Petals, Minneapolis, Minnesota, July 2008, photo © 2008-2009 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.



haiku practice


Feel free to drop a haiku into this space anytime, day or night. Or join the word play and collaborative effort of tanka and renga. I’m a novice at the latter two; the first time I read about tanka and renga was when I started the research on this post. I thought it might be fun to explore these ancient forms of linked poetry, and see where the journey takes us.

Also, it’s okay to experiment, break form, and move out of the traditional structures. English syllables translate differently than onji. And according to Richard MacDonald (from his essay What is Tanka?), Japanese poetry is syllabic by nature and not metrical or rhymed, because like the French language, the Japanese language lacks stress accents.

There are different schools of thought about how rigid one should be in counting syllables. From what I have read, it is a matter of personal taste whether to stay close to the Japanese model, or stray from it for personal reasons or aesthetics in order to incorporate the heritage of the West into poetic work. The most important thing is to have fun with it. Last year’s practice was so enjoyable, I can’t wait to see the new collection we have by December!


Option 1 – haiku

  • Drop in a haiku or senryu, 17 syllables, 3 lines (with variations for language differences)

Option 2 – tanka

  • Grab another poet’s haiku, and write the 2 additional 7 syllable lines to create a tanka

Option 3 – renga

  • Grab a tanka created by 2 other poets, and, focusing on the last 2 lines, start the beginning of a new tanka (5-7-5) to be completed by the next poet


Petals, Minneapolis, Minnesota, July 2008, photo © 2008-2009 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.Petals, Minneapolis, Minnesota, July 2008, photo © 2008-2009 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.Petals, Minneapolis, Minnesota, July 2008, photo © 2008-2009 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.Petals, Minneapolis, Minnesota, July 2008, photo © 2008-2009 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.

 

DEFINITIONS:


bridgeword, or words leading the reader from the nature image to the statement of emotion

cutting (kireji) Punctuation mark or word that divides a haiku into two parts. A cutting can be a hyphen, ellipses, colon or a word.

kigoA seasonal reference in haiku. Usually a kigo has accumulated resonances and associations with earlier haiku and Japanese aesthetics about time.

onji Japanese syllables. The language differences between Japanese and English are vast and complex. Converting onji to syllables may not always be a one for one process.

pivot word A word in a haiku poem that changes, or turns the direction of the poem

rengaJapanese poetic form made up of linked tanka verse; the word renga means “linked elegance”

satori A moment of insight or reflection that emerges in a Haiku poem (usually around the cutting or pivot word)

tanka Japanese poetic form that is made up of 5 lines with a 5-7-5-7-7 syllable count. Haiku derives from tanka.

yugenJapanese term for beauty that suggests mystery, depth and a tinge of sadness


RESOURCES USED IN WRITING THIS PIECE:



-posted on red Ravine, Monday, February 9th, 2009

948 Responses

  1. Holy smokes, I’ve read it twice now and my brain is spinning.

    THAT is so much more information that I remember from college writing class more than 30 years ago. Thanks!

    Now to get to work on trying one…

    Like


  2. the fresh walking stick
    adds a beat to the rhythm
    of the mountain path

    Like


  3. Clark, what a pleasure. Thank you for stopping by. And for the inspiration of your book, Seeds from a Birch Tree. You made my day. Okay, taking a first stab at tanka. Got to jump off some time.

    ___________________

    the fresh walking stick
    adds a beat to the rhythm
    of the mountain path…
    gnarled hole in a yellow ash
    quells the newly broken heart

    Like


  4. Clark,

    I hadn’t thought about haiku for years (since grade school when we learned the strict 5-7-5 pattern). And then, at a Natalie Goldberg workshop two years ago, we read Seeds From a Birch Tree. You broke haiku open for me.

    Now it is another source of writing I use to listen. To quiet myself. To become grounded.

    Like


  5. I go to a community education exercise class at an elementary school every Monday. Last night I arrived early, and had time to read the writing projects on a bulletin board–all of the work haiku.

    I was mostly glad to see children writing in this ancient form– that someone is teaching it. There were even a few haiku that made the leap in the third line.

    Like


  6. WOW — THE Clark Strand?! My HERO. Thanks for starting me off on a life-long love affair with haiku. Really.

    looking parched and dry
    the sleepy brown grass lies still
    dreaming thunderstorms

    Like


  7. This a a lot to digest, but here goes….

    looking parched and dry
    the sleepy brown grass lies still
    dreaming thunderstorms
    waiting silently with hopes
    for what is beneath the clouds

    Like


  8. You continue to amaze me, QM, with the patient, well-researched posts you provide and how much light they shed. Thank you.

    I was struck by the definition for tanka and how haiku derived from it. Tanka seems like a conversation between two wise old friends. Interesting that the conversation between two came before the meditation of one.

    Like


  9. Let me reiterate what breathepeace wrote…WOW – The Clark Strand? I think reading that book started a whole bunch of us down the haiku path. Thanks for “Seeds From A Birch Tree.”

    I like the counting of syllables and the distillation of an scene into its essence.

    alittlediddy, great job. QuoinMonkey, the best distillation of haiku, renga, and tanka that I have ever read (and I just finished a book on the subject). You took the complexity and made it much simpler. Thanks.

    Like


  10. And I too was delighted to read Clark Strand’s haiku. Ah, that’s how it is done.

    I’d like to pick up a few more books of haiku. How silly of me to not do so yet try to write it myself. I’d never do that with other forms of writing.

    Like


  11. Like some of you here, my head is spinning. Lots of info!! I’m familiar with the haiku, senryu, and the tanka. However, the renga is more challenging as I’ve never written one before but have certainly contributed to one! lol

    And wonderful pieces, everyone! I like how we’re starting out!🙂

    Here’s my offering for the day:

    beneath silver skies
    trees embrace shyly, leaves brush
    aside their blushes

    Like


  12. Thanks so much for all the kind words. I still write haiku, though only as a practice, and I publish little poetry. I have a small discussion group that meets Thursday nights in Woodstock, New York, where I’ve lived since 1996. That group was the inspiration for my next book, which comes out from Doubleday at the end of next month. Called HOW TO BELIEVE IN GOD: Whether You Believe in Religion or Not, it offers a post-tribal, mostly Buddhist reading of 30 of the most famous Bible passages and stories. Like Seeds from a Birch Tree, it contains a lot of nature writing.

    I’m also starting a blog–WholeEarthGod.com–that’ll go online in a couple of weeks. It welcomes contributions from people of all faiths (or none at all). These days I spend the majority of my time writing or teaching about a subject I call “Green Meditation,” an environmental-based approach to spiritual practice which owes nearly everything to my years of haiku-writing practice. Great to see such wonderful things happening on this blog. Keep up the good work!

    Like


  13. Clark,

    I’m looking forward to your new book; the title alone has me hooked. I am already “off the hook” for not understanding who/what God is. After decades of church attendance, I still don’t get it.

    We have a wonderful bookstore in Minneapolis called Birchbark Books. It’s owned by the Ojibwe author, Louise Erdrich. I’ve called them, and have your book on pre-order. Thanks for mentioning to all your “Seeds” fans.

    Like


  14. QM, thank you so much for your article. Great information. I’m going to experiment with tanka.
    Clark, your book had a big impact on our writing intensive. I didn’t think I liked haiku so I didn’t think I’d like Seeds from a Birch. Ha. Surprise. I loved it. And I’ve been doing a daily haiku practice ever since, for over two years. What a delight to find you here on Red Ravine! And to have a chance to say thank you, thank you so much, for Seeds and for the gift of haiku.
    I love seeing the haikus in this conversation thread. Here’s my contribution.

    dead dog in water
    we walk by full of our lives
    this close to the edge

    Like


  15. dead dog in water
    we walk by full of our lives
    this close to the edge
    cautious tip-toe on tightrope
    discovering wings, we fly

    Like


  16. Clark, thanks so much for stopping by again. And for filling us in on your latest projects. We will definitely look for your book at the end of next month. And keep us posted on when your new blog goes live. ybonesy and I’d love to check it out and to keep our readers informed as well. I’m intrigued by the “Green Meditation” and how it sprang from your haiku practice. Again, thanks from ybonesy and I for your kinds words. I’m particularly heartened by seeing how a writer’s early work, such as your Seeds from a Birch Tree, continues to live on long after it is written. And how the early work informs the later work.

    I also want to take a moment to extend my gratitude to Natalie Goldberg who introduced us to Clark Strand’s book (and countless other writers, poets, and artists). Everything she has taught me about having a practice, not only Writing Practice, but haiku, meditation, mandalas, art…whatever we make a practice…has given me so much ground, structure, and inspiration in my life. Deep Bow. Thank you.

    Like


  17. I had to do some light research about who Clark Strand is. I mean, the name was so familiar to me, and what do you know? I now feel silly for being the last person to know know who Clark Strand is!!😛

    I am thrilled that you joined us in the ‘ku practice here on redRavine, Clark! And it’s nice meeting you!🙂

    Like


  18. Thanks, everyone, for embracing this new post. And thank you, yb and Bob, for your kind words about the distillation of centuries of history into this short blog post. I was telling yb yesterday what a difficult post it was to write. Partly because I am just getting familiar with these concepts myself. And partly, honing it down to one post. So I really appreciate that people are embracing trying the tanka, and, hopefully, moving on to the renga as we go along. It’s all new to me but I am having fun with it.

    Bob, what book did you just finish about haiku, renga, tanka? I wondered if it was one of the ones that breathepeace left in a comment in mid-January (LINK). I want to purchase the ones she mentioned on haiku and poetry. (Oh, and just as a sidenote, the Silko book is one of my faves, well-written and the structure is so different than anything else I’ve read.)

    From breathepeace’s comment:

    “Haiku” from the Everyman’s Library Pocket Poets. Natalie Goldberg tipped me off to this one. The Japanese haiku section of the book is translated by R.H. Blythe, who Nat thinks is THE best. The book also includes sections of both traditional and modern Western haiku.

    “The Triggering Town” by Richard Hugo. Subtitled “Lectures and Essays on Poetry and Writing, it is a small but mighty volume. Every writer should read this book. It’s that good.

    In January, I finished “Ballistics,” a good poetry book by Billy Collins and I’m now reading “Ceremony” by Leslie Marmon Silko, which is excellent fiction, written in an unconventional form without chapters.

    Like


  19. beneath silver skies
    trees embrace shyly, leaves brush
    aside their blushes
    rain drips off white wooden eaves
    a dark childhood memory

    Like


  20. QM, that is a beautiful completion to my ‘ku. And this is a fabulous post, albeit it does take a lot of time to digest!😛

    I can’t wait to see how this post will evolve throughout this year! I’m sure it will be lovely and fun.🙂

    Like


  21. Awesome post. I’ve read the Silko book, too, and it is an all time favorite. I just put breathepeace’s other recommendation into my library’s hold system. So it looks like I’ll have some yummy reading in a few days. Thanks.

    Like


  22. I wanted to come back to this post & I must say, this is so new to me. I’m really looking forward to this new feature!
    Thanks to QM & Clark Strand for introducing me to these practices! I have written many haiku, but now I want to do more & more!
    Love this! D

    Like


  23. early laughter-green
    grows between a warm change
    time never walks past love

    Like


  24. early laughter-green
    grows between a warm change
    time never walks past love
    it is written in the skies
    a heart shaped moon in your eyes

    ***

    QM, thank you for this course in ‘ku.
    You are distilling the wisdom for us.

    Clark, I am stunned to read your haiku and hear
    about your latest book. What a joyful surprise
    to learn about where you are in the world… right here on
    redRavine!

    Like


  25. a moment to write
    after tucking in three girls
    i choose sleep instead

    Like


  26. hiding in the news
    on poets and presidents
    poem for abe lincoln

    Like


  27. squirreled tree
    encases words of love
    down memory lane

    Like


  28. @Laura: Lovely completion to my senryu.🙂

    Like


  29. Last night our Poetry Group celebrated 1 year of reading poetry and sitting in silence together. The last poet to round out the year was Billy Collins. These 3 haiku sprang from the silence between poems. I scribbled them down with a Space Pen in a lime green SuperGirl notepad I borrowed from Liz. Gratitude to the lineage of poets and writers who came before us.

    _______________

    LINEAGE

    sitting on the couch
    minding my own business
    listening to a poem

    Billy Collins hums,
    “startling brevity of life,”
    streetlight shines like moon

    wandering poets
    silently walk the mountains
    all writers as one

    Like


  30. […] Gratitude to all who have loved. And Happy Valentine’s Day to our readers, straight from the heart. A few more related posts, and more thoughts on love:  Valentine (Nebraska), Goodnight Valentine’s, valentine haiku, WRITING TOPIC: KINDS OF LOVE, haiku 2 (one-a-day). […]

    Like


  31. Was terribly busy these past few days and didn’t get to a computer.

    Here’s mine for today:

    not yet sunrise
    lifting gray pages from clouds
    wind and blackbirds

    Like


  32. not yet sunrise
    lifting gray pages from clouds
    wind and blackbirds
    giving way to bright sunshine
    celebrate family, friends

    Sorry if I messed this up for you Lotus, I was going to change it some, but this just flowed out…D

    Like


  33. @alittlediddy: I really like the twist you got there, especially the thought of “giving way to bright sunshine.” I’m glad you caught that feeling I was hinting at!😀

    Here’s mine for today:

    jagged crevice
    seeks to be covered in mud
    cold shoulder

    Like


  34. diddy, I think you’re doing a great job on the tanka. It’s so much fun for me to read these. Thanks to all who are contributing to this post. I look forward to a great year.

    ________________

    jagged crevice
    seeks to be covered in mud
    cold shoulder
    wraps a veiled, shroud-like shadow;
    Monday’s blues turn to Tuesday

    Like


  35. a moment to write
    after tucking in three girls
    i choose sleep instead
    slip into the winter’s dark
    three girls grow up in my dream

    Like


  36. @QM: I too am having lots of fun with the tanka that we build upon the haiku/senryu. 🙂 It’s almost like freedom of association.

    mountain stands erect
    as landmark for fishermen
    through the claws of waves

    Like


  37. early laughter-green
    grows between a warm change
    time never walks past love
    it is written in the skies
    a heart shaped moon in your eyes

    I think of your eyes:
    like the winter sea, and shape
    my heart by the moon

    Like


  38. mountain stands erect
    as landmark for fishermen
    through the claws of waves
    man still strives for survival
    nature prevents the landslide

    Like


  39. staring at fire flames
    dancing to the harmony
    lost in the music

    Like


  40. stranger, so happy to see you here again. And wonderful that you moved into the linked poetry of renga. Thank you. I’m going to follow your lead.

    _____________

    early laughter-green
    grows between a warm change
    time never walks past love
    it is written in the skies
    a heart shaped moon in your eyes

    I think of your eyes:
    like the winter sea, and shape
    my heart by the moon…
    sirens wake to crashing waves,
    eerie melody haunts me.

    Like


  41. early laughter-green
    grows between a warm change
    time never walks past love
    it is written in the skies
    a heart shaped moon in your eyes

    I think of your eyes:
    like the winter sea, and shape
    my heart by the moon…
    sirens wake to crashing waves,
    eerie melody haunts me.

    heartstrings cut shorter
    the distance of your voice
    alluring in charm, bliss

    Like


  42. pug on a long leash
    lunges for horse pie morsels
    no, i yank her back

    Like


  43. february wind
    delivers whopping ear aches
    when i walk hatless

    Like


  44. I’m going to try tanka with ybonesy’s last entry. I apologize in advance.

    february wind
    delivers whopping ear aches
    when i walk hatless
    still, i reflect that it is
    better than going earless

    Like


  45. @Robert: Hehe, that made me laugh. Your sense of humor always leaks through in your senryu…and now with a tanka!😛

    balmy wind peels off
    honeysuckle petals–
    a butterfly

    Like


  46. pug on a long leash
    lunges for horse pie morsels
    no, I yank her back
    playing follow the leader
    in hopes of finding a cake

    Like


  47. diddy and Robert, both delightful tanka coming out of my original haiku.

    I love the humor, and yes Robert, it would be worse to walk earless, wouldn’t hear the birds and the horses, they always greet us with loud snorts. Although I felt a bit like I was resenting my ears by the end of the walk, they were hurting so much.

    diddy, Sony would love pie or cake made of digested grass. And my big dogs love to roll in it. What could be the appeal? I wonder.

    Like


  48. yb, because it is delicious (to them, of course) & full of nutrients. Trust me, been there with Abbey! D

    Like


  49. Robert Morse, so happy to see you. Your tanka does make me smile. Like Lotus mentions, your humor always shines through. 8)

    ______________-

    cold puffs of hot breath
    snowflake like a tumbleweed
    flies off the green hood

    Like


  50. lonely chirp
    disrupts the turquoise sky
    flight of mind

    Like


  51. sending messages
    colorful frayed prayer flags
    I hear only wind

    Like


  52. 6 inches of snow
    tufts of white blow off branches
    kindling spring fever

    Like


  53. [Hi all, nice to be here too.]

    early laughter-green
    grows between a warm change
    time never walks past love
    it is written in the skies
    a heart shaped moon in your eyes

    I think of your eyes:
    like the winter sea, and shape
    my heart by the moon…
    sirens wake to crashing waves,
    eerie melody haunts me.

    heartstrings cut shorter
    the distance of your voice
    alluring in charm, bliss
    will I know, upon some far,
    galactic shore, surfing still

    Like


  54. a~lotus, may I add a little?

    beneath silver skies
    trees embrace shyly, leaves brush
    aside their blushes;
    shyness disappears
    and color returns to cheek
    romance becomes bold

    Like


  55. Oops!

    I didn’t do that correctly…did a 5,7,5 instead of 7,7
    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    6 inches of snow
    tufts of white blow off branches
    kindling spring fever…
    longing to feel warmth again
    with eyes closed I picture you

    Like


  56. february wind
    delivers whopping ear aches
    when i walk hatless;
    why do i treat myself so?
    now i feel sorry for me

    Like


  57. […] -related to posts: Make Positive Effort For The Good, haiku 2 (one-a-day) […]

    Like


  58. oliverowl, so happy you are back! Liz was glad to talk to you today. How do you like the tanka and renga? I am finding it kind of fun.
    _________________

    6 inches of snow
    tufts of white blow off branches
    kindling spring fever…
    longing to feel warmth again
    with eyes closed I picture you

    hiking Midwest woods
    walking stick made of ironwood
    punches through the ice

    Like


  59. ybonesy and all, there’s a new comment thread feature from WordPress that I just turned on. It might help with the haiku, tanka, renga threads in this post. Let’s see how we like it. It does seem to confuse some of the old comments though. With the new feature, you have to reply to the post of the person you are speaking to in order to get the nest. Not sure if we’ll like it yet or not. I’m replying now to a haiku from diddy from a few days ago. Well, we’ll try it out! Our readers can let us know if they like the comment threading. I think it’s supposed to help with the fact that they took the numbered comments away.

    ——————

    staring at fire flames
    dancing to the harmony
    lost in the music
    chimney draft, a single spark
    escapes into the dark night

    Like


  60. ybonesy and readers, I just tried the new comment thread feature on a tanka reply to a haiku from diddy from the February 17, 2009 at 9:42 pm. It took the comment and moved it up about 5 days back. Not sure if I’m going to like that the comments are jumping around in time with the nesting. The time jumps are confusing. Seems like continuing linear commenting but adding the thread line might be more helpful. May turn the threading off again. We’ll see after today.

    Like


  61. […] Postscript: For those of you in Albuquerque, you can get Entenmann’s Donuts in chocolate, powdered sugar, or glazed at Keller’s Farm Stores. -related to posts WRITING TOPIC — VELVEETA CHEESE and haiku 2 (one-a-day). […]

    Like


  62. qm, I’m feeling challenged; and a good feeling of stretching to wrap my mind around these new (to me,) forms of poetry. Hope you approve of mey “add-ons.”

    hiking Midwest woods
    walking stick made of ironwood
    punches through the ice…
    piercing into a cold heart
    that will not accept my love

    Like


  63. @_@ <— My shocked expression, except that that this time, it’s a mild one. I thought something had happened to the comments section until QM explained what happened. Thanks for the heads up! To be perfectly honest, I like the comment feature before all of that. lol

    brain teaser
    like a child’s pinwheel
    hot day turns windy

    Like


  64. early laughter-green
    grows between a warm change
    time never walks past love
    it is written in the skies
    a heart shaped moon in your eyes

    I think of your eyes:
    like the winter sea, and shape
    my heart by the moon…
    sirens wake to crashing waves,
    eerie melody haunts me.

    heartstrings cut shorter
    the distance of your voice
    alluring in charm, bliss
    will I know, upon some far,
    galactic shore, surfing still

    nights I write away
    damp smudges sealed in bottles:
    puckered fish in nets

    Like


  65. A~Lotus, yes, I agree. So does ybonesy. We went back to our old comment thread. The nesting is too confusing because it jumps around in time. Too hard to follow once you get a number of comments going. It also looks a lot cleaner without the nesting. So it’s back to business as usual!

    oliverowl, yes! I’m keeping the renga going.
    _________________

    6 inches of snow
    tufts of white blow off branches
    kindling spring fever…
    longing to feel warmth again
    with eyes closed I picture you

    hiking Midwest woods
    walking stick made of ironwood
    punches through the ice…
    piercing into a cold heart
    that will not accept my love

    confused robins fly
    gray rabbit munches brown leaves
    nothing goes to waste

    Like


  66. early laughter-green
    grows between a warm change
    time never walks past love
    it is written in the skies
    a heart shaped moon in your eyes

    I think of your eyes:
    like the winter sea, and shape
    my heart by the moon…
    sirens wake to crashing waves,
    eerie melody haunts me.

    heartstrings cut shorter
    the distance of your voice
    alluring in charm, bliss
    will I know, upon some far,
    galactic shore, surfing still

    nights I write away
    damp smudges sealed in bottles:
    puckered fish in nets;
    the loss is too much to bear,
    floating behind hollow eyes.

    Like


  67. the darkening sky
    carries the promise of rain
    with each shade of gray

    Like


  68. early laughter-green
    grows between a warm change
    time never walks past love
    it is written in the skies
    a heart shaped moon in your eyes

    I think of your eyes:
    like the winter sea, and shape
    my heart by the moon…
    sirens wake to crashing waves,
    eerie melody haunts me.

    heartstrings cut shorter
    the distance of your voice
    alluring in charm, bliss
    will I know, upon some far,
    galactic shore, surfing still

    nights I write away
    damp smudges sealed in bottles:
    puckered fish in nets;
    the loss is too much to bear,
    floating behind hollow eyes.

    weaving from afar
    is how we travel through dreams–
    koi in silver lakes

    Like


  69. @oliverowl: Add away! 8) I’m glad and flattered that my haiku and senryu could be used as a creative springboard! I try to be subtle yet mysterious and open at the same time.🙂

    Like


  70. […] course would be to allow the Virgen to become the tree, as she is already. -related to posts haiku 2 (one-a-day), Mary In Minnesota (haiku for yb), Virgin Mary Sightings, and The Virgin Mary Appears On A […]

    Like


  71. the darkening sky
    carries the promise of rain
    with each shade of gray,
    the sun shines from the center
    of a wounded cottonwood

    Like


  72. Lovely.🙂

    finding my sea legs
    with simple five-seven-five
    then i’ll try tanka

    Like


  73. chasing jackrabbit
    tan mongrel trots through sagebrush
    following it’s scent

    Like


  74. the darkening sky
    carries the promise of rain
    with each shade of gray,
    the sun shines from the center
    of a wounded cottonwood

    wrapped around hands,
    one finds rings of promise
    broken tree bark

    Like


  75. @yb: I’m so happy that you’ve been joining us for all of this Japanese form challenge!🙂 I’ve been enjoying your haiku and senryu.

    Like


  76. 6 inches of snow
    tufts of white blow off branches
    kindling spring fever…
    longing to feel warmth again
    with eyes closed I picture you

    hiking Midwest woods
    walking stick made of ironwood
    punches through the ice…
    piercing into a cold heart
    that will not accept my love

    confused robins fly
    gray rabbit munches brown leaves
    nothing goes to waste
    as nature and emotions
    get recycled by seasons

    Like


  77. deoxygenated
    garbled messages inflate
    to sheep over fence

    Like


  78. the darkening sky
    carries the promise of rain
    with each shade of gray,
    the sun shines from the center
    of a wounded cottonwood

    wrapped around hands,
    one finds rings of promise
    broken tree bark;
    skin wrinkled and creased with age
    releases bountiful seeds

    Like


  79. chasing jackrabbit
    tan mongrel trots through sagebrush
    following it’s scent
    the seeking can offer more
    peace of mind than the finding

    Like


  80. red bird on thin wire
    freefloats above the flailing
    human suffering

    Like


  81. we rise from ashes
    gravity on crosses
    then return to ashes

    Like


  82. wind whips through bare elms
    storm brewing from Wyoming
    Heartland hunkers down

    Like


  83. chasing jackrabbit
    tan mongrel trots through sagebrush
    following its scent
    the seeking can offer more
    peace of mind than the finding

    cave bear hibernates
    two cubs spring from her loins
    February birth

    Like


  84. Winter taunts flowers
    With days like spring; early buds
    Struck down by new cold.

    Like


  85. the darkening sky
    carries the promise of rain
    with each shade of gray,
    the sun shines from the center
    of a wounded cottonwood

    wrapped around hands,
    one finds rings of promise
    broken tree bark;
    skin wrinkled and creased with age
    releases bountiful seeds

    buried deep,
    seeds take root and stretch,
    circling a pond

    Like


  86. the darkening sky
    carries the promise of rain
    with each shade of gray,
    the sun shines from the center
    of a wounded cottonwood

    wrapped around hands,
    one finds rings of promise
    broken tree bark;
    skin wrinkled and creased with age
    releases bountiful seeds

    buried deep,
    seeds take root and stretch,
    circling a pond
    February snowstorm drips
    concentric rings, wheel of life

    Like


  87. chasing jackrabbit
    tan mongrel trots through sagebrush
    following its scent
    the seeking can offer more
    peace of mind than the finding

    cave bear hibernates
    two cubs spring from her loins
    February birth
    cycle of life continues
    once again, all life reborn

    Like


  88. the darkening sky
    carries the promise of rain
    with each shade of gray,
    the sun shines from the center
    of a wounded cottonwood

    wrapped around hands,
    one finds rings of promise
    broken tree bark;
    skin wrinkled and creased with age
    releases bountiful seeds

    buried deep,
    seeds take root and stretch,
    circling a pond
    February snowstorm drips
    concentric rings, wheel of life

    lonely morning fish
    ripples the quiet pond,
    breaking sunlight

    Like


  89. […] One of my dearest friends is from Artesia, and I can tell you that there’s a lot of goodness in this place. Generosity is produced here. -related to posts PRACTICE: Roadside Attractions – 15min, WRITING TOPIC — ROADSIDE ATTRACTIONS , and haiku 2 (one-a-day). […]

    Like


  90. […] -related to post: haiku 2 (one-a-day) […]

    Like


  91. picking up speed
    the wind races with dark clouds
    moon sliver looks on

    Like


  92. snowpack covers roof
    reflections of winter sun
    long moonlight shadows

    Like


  93. Winter taunts flowers
    With days like spring; early buds
    Struck down by new cold.
    On the south embankment of
    the railway, first daffs shout SPRING!

    Like


  94. […] to post: haiku 2 (one-a-day), PRACTICE – Roadside Attractions — 15min, What Is Your Totem […]

    Like


  95. on March 1, 2009 at 10:16 pm alittlediddy

    heavy snow, strong winds
    just last week the smell of spring
    winter packs a punch

    Like


  96. in the wind
    leaves from trees flutter on edge
    sudden flap of wings

    Like


  97. on March 2, 2009 at 7:56 pm breathepeace

    sunrise crows calling
    mild weather hints of springtime
    life begins to boil

    Like


  98. past midnight
    dust steals away eyes;
    sudden awakening

    Like


  99. chasing jackrabbit
    tan mongrel trots through sagebrush
    following its scent
    the seeking can offer more
    peace of mind than the finding

    cave bear hibernates
    two cubs spring from her loins
    February birth
    cycle of life continues
    once again, all life reborn

    fresh perspective
    between gnarls of trees, sieves of leaves
    sunrise meets the lake

    Like


  100. Winter taunts flowers
    With days like spring; early buds
    Struck down by new cold.
    On the south embankment of
    the railway, first daffs shout SPRING!

    hybrid tea roses
    topped with bucketed snow hats
    curse lingering frost

    Like


  101. heavy snow, strong winds
    just last week the smell of spring
    winter packs a punch;
    thawed dreams of black-eyed susans,
    restless thoughts of wanting more.

    Like


  102. heavy snow, strong winds
    just last week the smell of spring
    winter packs a punch;
    thawed dreams of black-eyed susans,
    restless thoughts of wanting more.

    dreams of longing
    tucked under lashes and lips–
    words run towards margins

    Like


  103. I’m sharing two today:

    feathers in the air,
    distance makes trees soft to land
    feet first then head

    past sunset
    from foliage top to root,
    wings become earthbound

    Like


  104. on March 5, 2009 at 10:54 am breathepeace

    green tips of iris
    poke up from winter garden
    testing for spring air

    Like


  105. […] -related to post: haiku 2 (one-a-day) […]

    Like


  106. arch over table
    angel wings holding my heart
    wild orchid dreams

    Like


  107. on March 6, 2009 at 3:06 pm breathepeace

    sunny warm morning
    practice flexibility
    snow for tomorrow

    Like


  108. on a cloudy day
    parabolic smiles intersect
    line of gaze

    Like


  109. heavy snow, strong winds
    just last week the smell of spring
    winter packs a punch;
    thawed dreams of black-eyed susans,
    restless thoughts of wanting more.

    dreams of longing
    tucked under lashes and lips–
    words run towards margins,
    black and white letters jump off,
    mind stops — scrambles to make sense.

    Like


  110. woodpecker awake
    morning doves sing on branches
    sun salutations

    two tall red roses
    side by side in a wall vase
    waiting for water

    Like


  111. look out the window
    juniper bush bobs and weaves
    darn! a windy day

    Like


  112. on March 7, 2009 at 9:50 am breathepeace

    small breeze waves spruce limbs
    grey morning sky holds promise:
    afternoon flurries

    Like


  113. sunshine through slits
    the eyes flicker and hold peace
    like unwritten notes

    Like


  114. heavy snow, strong winds
    just last week the smell of spring
    winter packs a punch;
    thawed dreams of black-eyed susans,
    restless thoughts of wanting more.

    dreams of longing
    tucked under lashes and lips–
    words run towards margins,
    black and white letters jump off,
    mind stops — scrambles to make sense.

    following signs (blindly),
    racing around cul-de-sacs
    the mind, unnerved

    Like


  115. heavy snow, strong winds
    just last week the smell of spring
    winter packs a punch;
    thawed dreams of black-eyed susans,
    restless thoughts of wanting more.

    dreams of longing
    tucked under lashes and lips–
    words run towards margins,
    black and white letters jump off,
    mind stops — scrambles to make sense.

    following signs (blindly),
    racing around cul-de-sacs
    the mind, unnerved
    reaches for a sense of peace,
    silent shelter from the storm.

    Like


  116. tinge of sunlight
    branches heavy with leaves
    sky and earth synthesize

    Like


  117. on March 9, 2009 at 4:01 pm breathepeace

    grey foggy morning
    cottonwood branches reaching
    through haze like blind men

    Like


  118. […] Red Ravine (recommended) […]

    Like


  119. penetrating fog
    icy sleet pings the window
    where I sit and write

    Like


  120. breathepeace & QM: Wow, both of your haiku/senryu about the fog are lovely and deep. I enjoyed reading them!!

    It’s funny as I too have a fog senryu:

    before sunrise
    fog clings to trees like cobwebs
    joggers break through

    Like


  121. on March 10, 2009 at 2:43 pm breathepeace

    blown from shingled roofs
    on windy walk to mailbox
    snow flurries swirling

    Like


  122. on March 10, 2009 at 9:51 pm Robert Morse

    Don’t say ‘bursting out’
    Spring busts out! A jailbreak from
    Old winter’s slammer.

    Like


  123. Robert Morse — Love your exuberant description of spring! Oh, how I wish that it was bustin’ out here!

    We’re still in winter’s slammer …

    Like


  124. @breathepeace: Wow, really? You should deliver a package of snow to me!! I wouldn’t mind some!!😛

    @Robert: Lovin’ the humor! An unexpected twist, I like it! 8)

    on the windshield
    raindrops collide, weave around
    legs of ladybug

    Like


  125. Oh, boy, Robert, we are still in winter’s slammer, too! It’s -2, icy and slick and snowy, and the wind howled all night long. It’s good to imagine that it’s Spring in another part of this country and the world.

    Thanks to all who visit here. I so enjoy waking up every morning and reading new haiku, tanka, renga. It’s a great gift that you keep coming back!

    ________________________

    crystals of cracked ice
    sitting between two windows
    contemplating Spring

    Like


  126. blown from shingled roofs
    on windy walk to mailbox
    snow flurries swirling,
    black metal door frozen shut,
    how will I read my letters?

    Like


  127. […] to posts WRITING TOPIC – WINDOW, haiku 2 (one-a-day), late winter haiku, and WRITING TOPIC – NAMES OF […]

    Like


  128. dangling tree swing rope
    long shadows across snow lawn
    sun obscures full moon

    Like


  129. on March 11, 2009 at 6:24 pm breathepeace

    two bright full moons shine
    from dark sky and calm water
    only one ripples

    Like


  130. QM and breathepeace: Beautiful haiku! I think we all got the haiku/senryu fever going on as we are all walking in the same universe! Once again, I wrote a haiku that has the “moon” in it, just like the both of you!! I wrote it while playing with my magnetic words on my board a few minutes before I left work to go home. How cool is that?

    a little storm
    why night amuses the moon
    open hope, little faith

    Like


  131. A~Lotus, it’s true, isn’t it? How we often write about the same things in nature, from opposite ends of the world, because nature works the same everywhere, bless her heart. Thank goodness for something that consistent and grounding around us. 8)

    ________________

    winter storm over
    temps 3 degrees and rising
    moon sets in the west

    writer at her desk
    pondering the Universe
    forgetting cold feet

    Like


  132. 8) QM, I love feeling grounded. In a sense, I’m sure the use of nature in haiku is the “ground” for all kinds of life. I mean, if you look at the bible, God created the land to ground things on something that is fluid (sea). So, if the Japanese wrote haiku for hundreds of years, it is the ground for equilibrium, balance, and things that are not chaotic. It nurtures a sense of peace(fulness) and unity.

    I hope that made sense to you! I just happen to get those Eureka moments where everything just clicks and fits together like a puzzle! lol😛

    —————————————————

    chilly day in March
    flip-flops back to the closet
    sweaters go out

    Like


  133. on March 12, 2009 at 2:18 pm breathepeace

    use shovel or rake
    winter-spring tug-o’-war game
    caught in the middle

    Like


  134. cold rain, thick fog
    edgy trees become softer
    against passing firetruck

    Like


  135. The moon/June lovers
    Falling from their lofty perch
    Yelled ‘May day! May day!’

    Like


  136. rain showers
    chaotic world becomes mute
    under their songs

    Like


  137. I wrote 2 today! 8)

    ———————————–

    smell of wet and cold
    brushstrokes across the Orient
    the heart cartwheels

    gentle spring rain
    voice accented with earth
    a balm for heartache

    Like


  138. heavy snow, strong winds
    just last week the smell of spring
    winter packs a punch;
    thawed dreams of black-eyed susans,
    restless thoughts of wanting more.

    dreams of longing
    tucked under lashes and lips–
    words run towards margins,
    black and white letters jump off,
    mind stops — scrambles to make sense.

    following signs (blindly),
    racing around cul-de-sacs
    the mind, unnerved
    reaches for a sense of peace,
    silent shelter from the storm.

    faint rainbow
    storm leaves the sun in its wake
    upon the relieved brow

    Like


  139. heavy snow, strong winds
    just last week the smell of spring
    winter packs a punch;
    thawed dreams of black-eyed susans,
    restless thoughts of wanting more.

    dreams of longing
    tucked under lashes and lips–
    words run towards margins,
    black and white letters jump off,
    mind stops — scrambles to make sense.

    following signs (blindly),
    racing around cul-de-sacs
    the mind, unnerved
    reaches for a sense of peace,
    silent shelter from the storm.

    faint rainbow
    storm leaves the sun in its wake
    upon the relieved brow;
    blue sky streaked with rainwater
    prism changes everything.

    Like


  140. thief in the night
    coats dust on doors of dreams
    morning gives fresh view

    Like


  141. gray skies again
    open rain curtains for rainbows
    with a pinch of luck

    P.S. Happy St. Patty’s Day, red Raviners!!🙂 8)

    Like


  142. steam rising from cup
    sleeping in leaves me groggy
    got the morning blues

    afternoon pulses
    beginning of something new
    worn thoughts letting go

    Like


  143. Happy St. Patty’s to you, too, lotus!

    _______________________

    gray skies again
    open rain curtains for rainbows
    with a pinch of luck
    and a bucket of hard work,
    we’ll all share the pot of gold!

    Like


  144. water beads on skin
    out the window two leaves swirl
    in the bone dry wind

    Like


  145. The moon/June lovers
    Falling from their lofty perch
    Yelled ‘May day! May day!’
    Yet later that December,
    set the Winter nights on fire.

    Like


  146. brighter days
    trees never looked so greener
    and fuller with nests

    filled with aqua light,
    the world in tie-dyed softness
    adieu to rain

    Like


  147. @QM: That is a beautiful haiku: “water beads on skin”. 8)

    Like


  148. a thousand miles
    walk by faith, nature, and art
    beauty transcends human

    Like


  149. vernal equinox
    morning freshness through the soul
    sunburst in our eyes

    Like


  150. brevity
    fantasies capture more meaning
    than a poet’s pen

    femininity
    crescents on nails gone
    pink flush

    Like


  151. P.S. Happy World Poetry Day!🙂 What I wrote below is not a renga, haiku, or senryu. I was just doing 9-8-7 syllable count.😀

    World Poetry Day

    science is logical common sense
    poetry makes self more human
    art is nature on canvas

    Like


  152. on March 22, 2009 at 2:34 am Robert Morse

    During these hard times
    Why lean and mean? How about
    Slender and tender?

    Like


  153. Wonderful, Robert. I’m going to try that!

    A~Lotus, Happy World Poetry Day to you. And thanks for the commemorative poem. Gearing up for National Poetry Month coming up!

    It’s been a great weekend here. Cool but sunny.

    ______________

    finch feeder hopping,
    two young squirrels take flying leaps —
    oaks form Grand Canyon

    Like


  154. vernal equinox
    morning freshness through the soul
    sunburst in our eyes;
    New Moon, stars out of hiding
    blink across the Milky Way.

    Like


  155. three swans float on Sound
    white moons, blue water, iced toes
    stars bright in your eyes

    Like


  156. I think Robert owns the art of senryu with his sense of humor in the human condition and human nature. 8)

    @QM: I am soooo ready for NaPoWriMo (for National Poetry Writing Month) myself! This will be my second time doing this challenge–a poem a day! Woohoo! 🙂 And plus, I’ll still be doing this haiku/senryu/renga challenge as well!

    —————————————-

    vernal equinox
    morning freshness through the soul
    sunburst in our eyes;
    New Moon, stars out of hiding
    blink across the Milky Way.

    tangible yet far,
    fantasies pinned on a star
    like spilt milk

    Like


  157. @QM: For the last photo of the previous Haiku Daily Challenge, what is that tree called, if you don’t mind me asking? I’m trying to write a poem and it is somewhat significant as I dreamt about a tree like that during my nap today. I’d like to know! Thank you! 8) Once I finish with this poem, I’ll share it with you and yb.🙂

    Like


  158. A~Lotus, the tree in red Ravine’s Haiku (one-a-day) (LINK) from last year is a river birch or water birch. There are several kinds of birches and this one likes to be in swampy areas or near water. I love the scaly, papery bark on the river birches. It’s in sharp contrast to some of the smoother bark on the white birch. I read you can make syrup from the insides of the river birch. And I’ve written poetry on some of the bark that has peeled off. It makes good paper in a pinch! Look forward to your poem when you complete it. Dreaming of the river birch sounds like a good way to spend a nap. 8)

    ____________

    clouds melt into fog
    another gray rainy day
    Minnesota weeps

    Like


  159. Beautiful, Laura.

    A~Lotus, I admire that you are tackling NaPoWriMo for the second year in a row. What a great poetry practice. You go!

    __________________

    vernal equinox
    morning freshness through the soul
    sunburst in our eyes;
    New Moon, stars out of hiding
    blink across the Milky Way.

    tangible yet far,
    fantasies pinned on a star
    like spilt milk…
    crying for what has been lost,
    yearning for that yet to come.

    Like


  160. skies heavy with thought
    yet sunlight pours through in halos
    around birch trees

    Like


  161. @QM: Yes, I had a dream of a birch tree while I was sleeping. I would say that it was an interesting, yet surreal experience. More details to follow once I tidy up my poem so that it could make some sense!😉 It’s kind of hard to find the right words though, so I’m still playing around with this particular poem. Thank you so much for the link to the previous ‘ku challenge and the info about birch trees! Interestingly enough, I have a river birch at the hospital where I work at. I’d always wondered what it was called! Now I know. 8)

    Also, I love the new renga we have going on. 8)

    Like


  162. on March 24, 2009 at 8:00 am breathepeace

    belated fury
    snow predicted yesterday
    comes with howling wind

    Like


  163. Thanks, lotus. I really enjoy the tanka and renga, too. It stretches me into new territory. Love the birch tree dream. Will look forward to your poem. Beautiful birch haiku.

    breathepeace, I think that same storm hit here in the form of gray wind and rain.

    ______________

    belated fury
    snow predicted yesterday
    comes with howling wind,
    knocking cobwebs from the brain
    where I obsess on writing.

    Like


  164. blows of the wind
    knock over hopeful heart once
    again, edge of seat

    Like


  165. on March 24, 2009 at 9:42 pm alittlediddy

    blows of the wind
    knock over hopeful heart once
    again, edge of seat
    giving in, I forge ahead
    reality takes me there

    Like


  166. […] I start to feel crazy, my practices help sustain me: red Ravine, Writing Practice, mandalas, haiku. It’s helpful to get up at the same time, shower, get dressed, and eat lunch at noon. I do […]

    Like


  167. blows of the wind
    knock over hopeful heart once
    again, edge of seat
    giving in, I forge ahead
    reality takes me there

    squall howls through door cracks
    flakes of snow dot the brown grass
    roar of March madness

    Like


  168. blows of the wind
    knock over hopeful heart once
    again, edge of seat
    giving in, I forge ahead
    reality takes me there

    squall howls through door cracks
    flakes of snow dot the brown grass
    roar of March madness
    describes basketball play-offs
    and unpredictable spring

    Like


  169. lol. lovely renga, breathepeace.

    _________________

    warm hands and cold feet
    going to dinner with friends
    does a body good

    Like


  170. cool, mellow day
    seeing things in yellow-green,
    contrast to dull skies

    Like


  171. […] -related to posts: haiku for the live oak, St. Simons Island haiku, black-eyed susan haiku, Georgia’s Scottish Highlanders (On Tartan & Targe), haiku 2 (one-a-day) […]

    Like


  172. on March 26, 2009 at 1:54 pm breathepeace

    braving a blizzard
    to feast on sunflower seeds
    house finch on feeder

    Like


  173. lightning pendulum
    air molecules dance in rhythm,
    send down raindrops

    Like


  174. Sharing a tanka today, which is written for the NAMI Walk I’m participating in May.

    Many people say the mind is a dangerous thing, but I fully believe that it is ALWAYS A VALUABLE thing.

    If you would like to donate on my behalf, please follow the link below:

    http://www.nami.org/namiwalks09/HOU/kathyun

    Thank you for the support!

    —————————————————-

    Like dandelions,
    neurons nourish our senses,
    dreams disperse to stars,
    but until they gray with age,
    nothing after that matters.

    Like


  175. It should have said “Some people” not “Many people” in the above comment.

    “Some people say that the mind is a dangerous thing, but I fully believe that it is ALWAYS A VALUABLE thing.”

    Oy, I feel silly when I make generalization mistakes like this.

    Like


  176. lifting veils of dew
    winds must have blown away the clouds
    clear blue skies

    Like


  177. […] to posts: haiku 2 (one-a-day), susquehanna haiku, savannah river […]

    Like


  178. A~Lotus, I really like that last tanka written for the NAMI Walk in May. What a worthy cause. There is so much stigma connected to all forms of mental illness. I didn’t know the National Alliance on Mental Illness sponsored walks like that. I wish you well toward reaching your goal.

    ______________

    blows of the wind
    knock over hopeful heart once
    again, edge of seat
    giving in, I forge ahead
    reality takes me there

    squall howls through door cracks
    flakes of snow dot the brown grass
    roar of March madness
    describes basketball play-offs
    and unpredictable spring

    sunny Sunday skies
    splash blue calm before the storm
    Red River holds still

    Like


  179. […] -related to post: haiku 2 (one-a-day) […]

    Like


  180. hopeful April dreams
    bring showers of comfort
    under the foliage

    Like


  181. bound in stilettos
    tired tiny feet draws purpose
    on seizing chances

    Like


  182. @QM: Yes, there is so much more to mental illness. It’s only that I started working at a psychiatric hospital that I realize the sad reality of mental illnesses and disorders. And yes, I’m so excited about this event!

    Like


  183. take music through time
    as you dream of gentle hands
    blind to the ugly

    Like


  184. A~Lotus, I admire that you are doing that kind of work. I’ve been researching a little of the history of psychiatric hospitals and we have come a long way from the past. You are walking for a good cause.

    ____________

    wind whips oak branches
    snow flakes fly past the window
    Spring as April Fool

    Like


  185. take music through time
    as you dream of gentle hands
    blind to the ugly;
    out of dark cracks and crannies,
    beauty reaches for the light

    Like


  186. your face wilts so soon
    with dark ink against sunlight
    pansies for your thoughts

    Like


  187. A~Lotus, that last haiku is especially lovely.

    _____________

    kissed by the Sun’s breath
    hovering around freezing
    Winter’s last hurrah

    Like


  188. on April 2, 2009 at 11:30 am breathepeace

    constant low rumble
    noisy invisible wind
    swishes through spruce trees

    Like


  189. sudden downpour
    vision sinks below horizon
    but flowers look up

    Like


  190. @QM: Thank you! I didn’t realize what an effect it has until I read it again today. I sort of forgot that I’ve written it!!😛

    Anyway, I’ve noticed that you have gotten stronger with tanka!!🙂 You have such interesting “endings” to the haiku/senryu when completing the tanka. I hope that made sense.

    Like


  191. I just picked up Clark Strand’s new book at Birchbark Books: How To Believe in God, Whether You Believe in Religion Or Not. The Ralph Waldo Emerson quote on the first page:

    “God builds his temple in the heart on the ruins of churches and religions.”

    Like


  192. morning wind dance
    elegant scent attracts a heart,
    melts lips and toes

    Like


  193. Teri, that’s exciting about the new Clark Strand book. I will look forward to hearing more as you get more into it. Wonderful.

    Like


  194. A~Lotus, yep, makes sense. And thanks!

    ___________

    birds swing on black wire
    fresh air through open window
    dog barking below

    Like


  195. black sky out windows
    darkness engulfs city lights
    twinkling like rogue stars

    Like


  196. quiet morning
    how golden hoa mai* looks
    as sun peeks through curtains

    *”Hoa mai” is a yellow apricot flowering plant in Vietnamese.

    Like


  197. my complete person
    more than the sum of my scars
    not whole without them

    Like


  198. on April 4, 2009 at 5:49 pm breathepeace

    white fantasy world
    snow drift blankets garden bed
    in Wyoming spring

    Like


  199. Patty welcome! Hoa mai sounds wonderful lotus. breathepeace, your storm must have blown our way. 8)

    _____________________

    oak trees wear a coat
    3 inches of sticky snow
    squirrel tracks dot the deck

    Like


  200. under the sun
    ferns and palms dance with delight
    aloe holds them steady

    spring afternoon
    tidal waves through rooftops
    wind orchestra

    Like


  201. death knocks at the door
    April sun peers through clear glass
    I’m chilled to the bone

    Like


  202. dark Death came and went
    leaving Sun and Wind behind;
    Kaia, rest in peace

    Like


  203. @QM: Sounds like a beloved passed away. Not sure if it’s a person or a pet. Either way, giving my sympathies. *hugs*

    Like


  204. dipped in navy ink,
    the moon is almost too full
    of poetic howls

    Like


  205. newspaper woman
    in dirty T-shirt and shorts
    her home at crossroads

    at noon rest
    voice huddles of nostalgia
    life on pause

    Like


  206. generosity
    smiles color in someone’s day
    mirror of yourself

    Like


  207. snow pocket lingers
    full moon reflects off branches
    of long oak shadows

    Like


  208. A~Lotus, thank you. A friend’s cat lost to the call of Spirit; and ours is not feeling well. Been a long week!

    __________

    dipped in navy ink,
    the moon is almost too full
    of poetic howls,
    dripping with rolling thunder,
    skipping beats behind the stars

    Like


  209. childlike delight
    among perforated palm trees
    fluttering colors

    Like


  210. @QM: Get some rest! I can imagine what a week it must have been for you! *hugs* By the way, lovely tanka! Lovely ending! Now I’m going to see a way if I can continue it so it could be a renga. We’ll see as I find it sometimes it’s too beautiful without continuation!😀 8)

    Like


  211. between words
    awkward spaces buffer silence
    glimpses of undertones

    Like


  212. Thanks, lotus. I did rest yesterday after taking Chaco to the U of M for more tests. Took a well-needed break. You are rocking with the poetry!

    ______________

    Midwest Spring unfolds
    sun peeks around the corner,
    birdfeeders empty

    oiled sunflower seeds
    and two dancing cardinals
    waiting in the wings

    Like


  213. It’s beautiful here today. Feels like Spring. Here’s a Spring haiku by Issa from Haiku — Everyman’s Library Pocket Poets translated by R.H. Blyth:

    This ramshackle house,
    And me just the same as ever —
    The first day of spring.

    — ISSA

    Like


  214. @QM: Issa’s work is wonderful! I’m glad you posted one for our reading pleasure.

    On a much heavier note, this is the second time that this has happened to me this month. Today has been a frustrating day, but I am very fortunate to have it happen at the right time, right place, and there’s the right kind of people helping me change my tire!!

    Hope you notice my pun in this Easter season! 8) And happy Easter to all!

    pain in the rear (tire)
    collecting second nail
    in time for Easter

    Like


  215. at the gazebo
    rain sheets interrupt chi flow
    (brain)storm strikes

    Like


  216. sounds of rebirth
    morning poet’s solo
    after weekend thunderstorm

    Like


  217. A~Lotus, I hope it worked out with your flat tire! I had one about a month ago. I seem to run over a nail ever once in a while. But I have that Emergency Roadside Service so that really helps in those situations. BTW, I did get your Easter pun. Pretty clever with the nail.

    _____________________________

    sounds of rebirth
    morning poet’s solo
    after weekend thunderstorm;
    gray skies follow muted sun
    writer’s got the Monday blues

    Like


  218. light breeze
    birch leaves bend
    around the road

    Like


  219. in spring rain
    shrubs appear greener than
    in sunny days

    Like


  220. I really don’t know where to post this, but this was one of the birch tree poems I’ve written for NaPoWriMo:

    http://alotus-poetry.livejournal.com/71659.html

    And I still need to go back to the other birch tree poem I was working on (the one I discussed somewhere in here)…😛

    Like


  221. dry leaves
    kicked to the curb
    leaf blower

    Like


  222. Nice work on the birch tree poem A~Lotus. I checked out your link. Origami trees. 8)

    I’ve been so behind in reading and commenting this week. I did walk the labyrinth Tuesday though. So refreshing. It was 63 degrees and sunny. Here are a couple of haiku from that walk.

    ______________

    lying dead center
    staring up at midday sun
    red Converse All-Stars

    warm tax day breezes
    lift Spring buds off cherry tree
    blowing cares away

    sleeper or writer?
    inquiring minds want to know —
    masterful silence

    Like


  223. across a median
    catching eyes and subtlety
    earthquake meets the sea

    Like


  224. @QM: I’m glad you enjoyed the birch tree poem! Lately, I’ve been so fascinated with it as I always see it outside my window at work. And yes, I did have my tire fixed and all. Here’s to knocking on wood that I won’t get another flat!

    I really like the third senryu. It is so peaceful. I need to take a labyrinth walk. I haven’t done so since I graduated from uni 2 years ago! And now, you’ve inspired me to reflect on my experiences with the labyrinth at my uni. I may write a haiku/senryu on it and post it on Twitter or something…😉

    Like


  225. journey through rosettes
    the troubled mind
    centers its balance

    Like


  226. incoming rain
    flower in her hair
    awaits kisses from clouds

    Like


  227. THREE HAIKU CELEBRATING SPRING IN WYOMING

    cottonwood tree creaks
    under coat of icy sleet
    buds, a tight fist, wait

    next week trees will bloom
    today shoveling deep snow
    finches swarm feeder

    “yippee — a snow day!”
    hearing my children’s voices
    call across decades

    Like


  228. dreams walk her
    to the image of blue space
    sip of jasmine tea

    Like


  229. @breathepeace: I love the energy vibrating through your haiku and senryu! 8)

    Like


  230. on April 19, 2009 at 9:26 am breathepeace

    Thank you, A~Lotus. It’s a pleasure to jump back into the haiku stream with you!

    renewed with sunshine
    spring awakens under snow
    tiny baby cries

    Like


  231. lotus, hope you get to walk the labyrinth there. It changes a person. 8)

    breathepeace, I saw all that snow on the news last week. Could not believe it. Much warmer here but rainy today.

    ___________

    cool inside the house
    cats curled into little balls
    sprinkles of rain shine

    remembering hawk
    standing tall on the deck rail
    sky high point of view

    Like


  232. clarity
    as if the storm never happened
    sunny skies

    Like


  233. […] -related to posts This, That & The Other, The Making Of A Painting Painter, and haiku 2 (one-a-day) […]

    Like


  234. @breathepeace: I surely hope you come back often! I was wondering where you are. I hope life is treating you well!

    @QM: If I happen to go back and visit, I’ll write another senryu to commemorate it!🙂 After all, haiku and senryu embody life’s wonderful moments.

    Like


  235. between the flesh
    purple flowers bloom
    a painful bump

    Like


  236. Artifice, layer
    Atop layer. Pull them back!
    There stands Susan Boyle.

    Like


  237. from neighbor’s backyard
    the loudest midnight bark jolts
    outcome of nightmare

    Like


  238. Robert Morse, you’re back! I was just thinking about you the other day and wondering if you were still writing the haiku.

    A great statement about recent developments in popular culture with Idol and Susan Boyle. I was listening to an NPR show at noon yesterday about her appearance and how some want to make her over. I think she is fine the way she is. No artifice, no layers — she stands exactly as she is.

    A~Lotus, that last one is dark. Was it really a nightmare?

    _______________

    wind no longer blows
    the lone rustle of tree tops
    to my waiting ears

    calm April morning
    two squirrels chatter in the oaks —
    me, clacking the keys

    Like


  239. from neighbor’s backyard
    the loudest midnight bark jolts
    outcome of nightmare;
    sleep deprived, I toss and turn
    morning brings sweet dreams.

    Like


  240. @QM: No, I didn’t have a nightmare, but goodness, you should’ve heard the commotion in the neighbor’s backyard! I think there were several dogs fighting–very ferociously in fact! I don’t know if any other neighbors heard it! I mean, here I was happily sitting enjoying the silence while reading my book, when everything erupted! That sure gave me the jolt! I like the tanka completion. 8)

    —————————————-

    RSVP to Earth
    recycling
    saves valuable pieces

    Like


  241. on April 22, 2009 at 4:14 pm breathepeace

    sunny warm Earth Day
    grackles empty four feeders
    spring arrives hungry

    Like


  242. spring chase
    nibbling on pigeon’s feathers
    the barrel-chested bird

    Like


  243. back from U of M
    nibbling on red seedless grapes
    Chaco rests on couch

    Like


  244. on April 23, 2009 at 5:48 pm breathepeace

    having discipline
    is highly over-rated
    by those who have none

    Like


  245. field of daffodils
    hidden behind cedar hedge
    who is my neighbor?

    ***

    Love it breathepeace!

    Like


  246. soft sunset brushstrokes
    of linelines in rocks
    one falls through golden cracks

    Like


  247. EDIT
    soft sunset brushstrokes
    of LIFELINES in rocks
    one falls through golden cracks

    Like


  248. Flood Aftermath

    at the creek
    gone fishing
    tow truck reeling in white truck

    Like


  249. so cool to rest
    spilling out thoughts and dreams
    to a pillow that listens

    Like


  250. on April 27, 2009 at 9:25 am breathepeace

    May four days away
    still snow falls instead of rain
    dreaming daffodils

    Like


  251. like ikebana
    bamboo spirals towards the heavens
    from pebbled water

    Like


  252. Hmm, I think it sounds better without the “like.”

    EDIT:
    ikebana
    bamboo spirals towards the heavens
    from pebbled water

    Like


  253. baring all within hands
    succulent as your lips
    flesh of a grapefruit

    Like


  254. A~Lotus, thanks for holding down the haiku post. 8) So great to see all your haiku. Tough call on the edited ikebana. Different lines change the meaning slightly. It’s fun to mess around with the editing. That last one is great — flesh of grapefruit.

    breathepeace and laura, great to see your haiku here. Love it when you stop by.

    I was out of town at a short writing retreat last weekend. Took a break from electronics. Am not quite back in the flow of life yet. It’s so jarring to come home sometimes. I’ve got some clear goals. Now to get going on them.

    Here are a couple I wrote in Kansas City, Missouri last weekend:

    _________________

    white petals in creek
    native plants of Missouri
    red-winged blackbird twill

    wind in sycamores
    silver green tree trunk spirals
    reaching for the sky

    common spiderwort
    red buckeye of the Midwest
    greets spotted bee-balm

    stiff wind blows through hair
    swallows page of black notebook
    redbuds hold their own

    Like


  255. @QM: Welcome back! And of course, writing a haiku/senryu daily has become a meditative ritual for me, so of course, I’ll be lurking around here at least once at day.😉

    Fabulous series of haiku there! It sounds like a relaxing retreat!

    ———————————

    some days
    between the white noise
    cranes unfold to blank pages

    Like


  256. plucked from the tree
    juice dribbling off lips
    poem-granates: words, words, words

    Like


  257. on May 1, 2009 at 11:34 am Robert Morse

    This sounds like something that someone somewhere must have said before. Maybe it was in a fortune cookie.

    Apology: Not
    A saving grace when you are
    Only saving face.

    Like


  258. across the table
    ping pong ball bounces and clicks
    there’s no place like love

    @Robert: I think you’re right. I think I may have encountered it on a fortune cookie, too.😀 But hey, it’s still a good one!🙂

    Like


  259. in the mountains
    flaming rocks sweep me off my feet
    portage to divine kiss

    Like


  260. afternoon tea cups
    petals of hoa hue* glisten
    against the gray skies

    (Note: “Hoa hue” is tuberoses in Vietnamese.)

    Like


  261. Robert Morse, I like that one! You have such a distinct style with your haiku.

    A~Lotus, I didn’t know what a tuberose was so had to look it up. The tuberose (Polianthes tuberosa) is a perennial plant of the agave family Agavaceae, extracts of which are used as a middle note in perfumery. I love how it sounds in Vietnamese.

    We did a bunch of yard work yesterday and it felt so good to be out in the yard. We are both quite sore today though. Used muscles I didn’t know I had. 8)

    ____________

    winged friends abound
    wasp lingers near the window
    itching for a sting

    Like


  262. @QM: Every now and then I slip in bits of my language. It is a way to get connected to my language and culture. I’m glad you like it! 8)

    I can imagine all the gardening must be really tiring!! I once did yard work with my family clearing out stuff from the garage and throwing away branches from the backyard from our old house. Now THAT was hard work!! So I can imagine!

    Loving your ‘ku.🙂

    Like


  263. capturing eloquence
    love penned on pixels and space
    no tea(rdrop) stains

    Like


  264. world in seesaw
    carrying bags
    under the eyes

    Like


  265. afternoon tea cups
    petals of hoa hue* glisten
    against the gray skies;
    ants picnic on tight pink buds,
    opening Spring peonies.

    Like


  266. break away shy ice
    barriers bent and borrowed
    misty kisses descend

    Like


  267. @QM: Lovely tanka! 8)

    Like


  268. I wrote lots today!!

    sunset begins
    a cheek curls up
    into a gentle palm

    year of the ox
    father’s callous hands covered
    in grimy tears

    calculus
    graphing inflection of words
    in seventeen points

    belly up
    angular legs cut out shapes from clouds
    ladybug on a rose

    Like


  269. starless night
    sipping cup of full moon
    in strong black coffee

    Like


  270. […] -related to posts:  WRITING TOPIC — NAMES OF FLOWERS, day after mother’s day haiku, haiku 2 (one-a-day) […]

    Like


  271. For Mother’s Day tribute:

    smell of (c)love
    twirls from the ruffles of your dress
    pink carnations from my heart

    Like


  272. A~Lotus, I love the “sipping cup of full moon” haiku. Your Mother’s Day tribute is wonderful as well.

    BTW, I plan to keep up the haiku practice during the short vacation ybonesy and I are taking. So I will be dropping them in here. It’s a good way to stay connected. I really appreciate that you stop by and look forward to your practice. 8)

    _____________

    Spring is in the air
    red Ravine on vacation
    haiku writes itself

    Like


  273. I hope you and Yb have a wonderful time on your vacation! 8) I’ll be enjoying my break from school! I sooo need a mental vacation. Looking forward to both of your frequent drop-ins!🙂 I’ll still be leaving little treasures here.🙂 I sort of adopted this place as my sanctuary. I love writing with you and Yb!! It’s been a wonderful journey!! Take care!

    ———————————-
    For my brother today:

    simply organized
    in a box of chocolates
    birthday wishes

    Like


  274. on May 12, 2009 at 8:45 am breathepeace

    hum of lawnmowers
    travels from all directions
    to my writing desk

    Like


  275. depth of songs in knots
    changes along with the currents
    summer silhouettes

    Like


  276. gale force winds whistling
    air cracks between glass and wood
    Casket Arts Building

    Like


  277. my uncut lawn grows
    tall, white-haired dandelions
    waiting for the wind

    Like


  278. on May 13, 2009 at 9:47 pm alittlediddy

    warm Spring day awaits
    the arrival of Summer
    time to get away

    working in the yard
    good for the heart and the soul
    dreams of toes in sand

    Like


  279. joining the pigeons
    the toddler flaps her wings
    but not toward the skies

    Like


  280. mourning dove’s low call
    drowns out squeal of garbage truck
    leaves a touch of Zen

    Like


  281. frosty midnight drive
    fresh buds bow shivering heads
    wind unrepentant

    Like


  282. I’ve been busy these past several days and did not get a chance to post in here, but I did write at least a haiku/senryu every day. I’m just glad that today is one of those lazy Sundays when I could just do things at my own pace! 8) Hope everyone is having a good weekend!

    ————-

    like peppermint
    accidental crack on the wall
    jade bracelet splinters

    Like


  283. summer
    clinging onto her Hawaiian hair
    petals ride with the wind

    Like


  284. in the mountains
    rain-beads drip off a branch
    pressing prints in the still lake

    Like


  285. seed puffs fill the air
    Minnesota in full green
    cherry blooms vanish

    Like


  286. earthy bowls
    collecting fuschia clusters
    during the park trail

    Like


  287. black clouds approaching
    wind sweeping spiderwort leaves
    cold front running hot

    Like


  288. clouds break
    into showers filling in holes
    of unspoken contract

    Like


  289. Spring wind slowly fades
    hostas stand at attention
    listening to the rain

    Like


  290. fairy dust, pollen
    queen bee rests on snapdragon
    sneezing royally

    Like


  291. on May 21, 2009 at 10:47 pm Robert Morse

    NOTE: This is autobiographical, but it is also ancient history.

    She said, “I need space”
    And then she proceeded to
    Remove all of mine.

    Like


  292. @Robert: Wow, such poignant senryu (also sad, yet funny). You are truly a master of senryu.

    Like


  293. burnt grass, fried earthworms
    kids tag clouds from trampoline
    water war erupts

    Like


  294. I’m sharing a tanka today:

    trees are parachutes
    to summer thunderstorms–
    each drop from a leaf,
    a jewel landing gracefully
    and captured in a puddle

    Like


  295. Happy Memorial Day

    countless yet profound
    like strewn poppies on graves
    actions of heroes

    Like


  296. From a patient’s perspective:

    from my hospital window
    a blackbird sings
    with the summer rain
    my thoughts still chase after my home
    only fortune can send me there

    Like


  297. That was a tanka I just submitted! 8)

    Like


  298. A~Lotus, agreed about Robert Morse. He is the master of senryu. Robert Morse, I always have a smile after reading your work.

    _______________

    burnt grass, fried earthworms
    kids tag clouds from trampoline
    water war erupts;
    crystalline drops fly sky high
    below frosty innocence

    Like


  299. Or maybe it reads better with drops flying “over.” Below is so strange to read. But that’s what came out:

    burnt grass, fried earthworms
    kids tag clouds from trampoline
    water war erupts;
    crystalline drops fly sky high
    above frosty innocence

    Like


  300. on May 28, 2009 at 11:08 pm Robert Morse

    Normal won’t stay still
    It’s a jittery Dow Jones
    It’s a limbo stick.

    Like


  301. Normal won’t stay still
    It’s a jittery Dow Jones
    It’s a limbo stick.
    Hoping for bend before break
    or crashing to the hard floor!

    Like


  302. young cardinals swoop
    canvassing the neighborhood
    for signs of bright red

    Like


  303. a kiss stops
    a teardrop mid-cheek
    but draws an ocean upon the lips

    Like


  304. on May 30, 2009 at 3:15 am Robert Morse

    a kiss stops
    a teardrop mid-cheek
    but draws an ocean upon the lips
    and when you come up for air
    the current draws you away

    Like


  305. I wrote a tanka today!

    ———————

    phoenix feathers
    send maple leaves rising
    from earth and ashes,
    spiraling in the wind–a breath
    of wisdom ripens with time

    Like


  306. @Robert: That is an absolutely beautiful completion to my senryu! 8)

    Like


  307. on May 31, 2009 at 1:18 am Robert Morse

    A~Lotus,

    Thanks. Tanka is a good prescription for writers, i.e. almost all of us, who suffer from time to time from “blank page” or “blank screen” syndrome. If you write tanka, there is already something ON the page. Of course, it helps to have something well-written to work from which I certainly did in this case. I’ve only tried two so far. I may try more in the future.

    QuoinMonkey,

    I just reread the lines you added to create the tanka I started. Great word play!

    Like


  308. center of being
    soft colors of mauve, beige, and rose
    lift the mind each sunrise

    Like


  309. @Robert: So true indeed regarding tanka when it comes to “blank page” syndrome! LOL.

    At any rate, please keep trying the tanka!🙂 I look forward to reading your completions.

    Like


  310. laced with dew
    maple tree adorned with strands of silk
    spider’s gift of dawn

    Like


  311. And a tanka:

    balance–
    letting unanswered questions
    go unanswered
    between spaces of engagement
    like lingering notes of mutual silence

    Like


  312. Ash tree says her Prayers
    potent medicine against
    Emerald Ash Borer

    Like


  313. on June 3, 2009 at 6:10 pm Robert Morse

    Blackberries vibrate
    And twitter tweets. The whole world
    Has gone haywireless.

    Like


  314. folded words
    tucked away in the desk drawer
    you never returned my heart

    Like


  315. Tanka:

    greetings
    at a restaurant entrance
    a smiling Buddha
    sitting atop a hill of coins
    my belly will too be full

    Like


  316. on June 5, 2009 at 1:16 am Robert Morse

    folded words
    tucked away in the desk drawer
    you never returned my heart
    if not Special Deliv’ry
    why not, at least, C.O.D.?

    Like


  317. Blackberries vibrate
    And twitter tweets. The whole world
    Has gone haywireless.
    Social networks span the globe,
    friending people with no face.

    Like


  318. Another tanka!

    underneath shifting leaves
    ants build an empire of secrets
    trailed by scents
    of nectar dripping like rain
    from petals of scarlet cannas

    Like


  319. Wow, QM and Robert!! You both completed 2 wonderful tanka!! 8) 8) That really makes my day!

    Like


  320. city moon
    i ride the train whistle
    back to my birthplace

    Happy moon gazing!

    Like


  321. Thanks, lotus. So happy you visit here! Willie, welcome aboard. Thanks for writing haiku with us!

    _________________

    blessed rain drops fall
    splashing purple finches play
    manna from heaven

    Like


  322. all you can eat
    before the picnic basket
    summer lineup of ants

    Like


  323. Tanka today!

    on its shoulder
    the weight of its home
    on unsteady ground
    yet the turtle walks with time
    in each reflective step

    Like


  324. Another tanka!

    sitting
    by the window
    sunflowers tap the glass,
    their eyes and stems longing for
    the world on the other side

    Like


  325. body muscles sink
    underneath the shade of palm trees
    gray sand imprints

    Like


  326. I’m cross-commenting here. There’s a cool page at PBS about Frank Lloyd Wright and haiku. Go to the following link, then Haiku Gallery, and check out the PBS: The Poetry of Form: Frank Lloyd Wright & Haiku (LINK).

    It’s FL Wright’s birthday; Liz and I visited Fallingwater a few years ago in PA (LINK).

    We asked young writers around the country to submit haiku connected to the work of Frank Lloyd Wright. Haiku, like Wright’s work, is a poetic expression of our relationship to nature and the seasonal cycles of life.

    “What Wright does in his architecture is make poetry. He makes images that people can relate to and he makes buildings that celebrate the various purposes for which they were designed.”—Neil Levine

    Like


  327. ant walks a tightrope;
    broken strand of spaghetti,
    waiting to be cooked

    Like


  328. sidewalk feast
    ants swarm around carcass
    of earthworm

    classical conditioning
    when the dryer beeps
    I get up to fold away the day

    Like


  329. A~Lotus, I like that last one — folding away the day. Seems I’m always in the mood for haiku as I leave the Casket Arts Studio. I think this space is inspiring. 8)

    _______________

    cottonwood seed floats
    along frayed telephone wire
    talking to the wind

    Like


  330. Tanka!

    stagnant
    summer heat slivers energy
    little by little
    like how a snake’s venom
    sinks a prey into stupor

    Like


  331. scaling the brick walls
    dragonfly echoes the drones
    of the mosquito

    Like


  332. catching breaths
    and writing them in the skies
    exclamation of awe

    golden trees caught between
    the folds of sky and water
    lapis blue mirrors

    Both ‘ku are inspired by this wonderful photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/chris_gin/3619040444/

    Like


  333. peonies’ scent
    a little girl becomes
    the butterfly

    Like


  334. folding paper
    against the setting sun
    egret taking off

    next to a park bench
    man at rest
    with his bicycle

    Like


  335. the heron’s wing
    brushes the morning moon
    spring’s passing

    Like


  336. […] has officially launched. This is a call for entries to share your essays, short stories, poems, haiku, watercolors, oils, photographs, and music about envy. One of you will win a new Amazon Kindle. And […]

    Like


  337. traveling among
    street lights at night
    summer smog

    Like


  338. bandit, thanks for posting with us. lovely.

    A~Lotus, and I look forward to your haiku visits. Nothing like haiku and photographs, too. I kind of miss posting those. I can feel a few garden haiku/photos coming on. 8)

    _________________

    mud dry summer bogs;
    frogs, croakless and abandoned
    cry out in silence

    Like


  339. the heron’s wing
    brushes the morning moon
    spring’s passing
    summer vacation
    stretching legs out to land

    I happened to click over to the haiku page today and was so happy for the reminder about Clark Strand’s book which has been sitting on my shelf, largely unread for too long now. Time to pick it up! Time to write more haiku!

    Like


  340. I wrote a tanka today:

    water fountain
    wishes afloat on copper and silver
    capturing light rays
    sending poetry to the lips
    once the soul dips in water

    Like


  341. throaty tremors
    from cicadas and crickets
    summer love songs

    Like


  342. humidity sags
    quiet rain tumbles past leaves
    graceful skydiving

    Like


  343. […] daily haiku Post Yours Here […]

    Like


  344. lost
    on wildwood road
    water lilies directionless

    Like


  345. […] daily haiku Post Yours Here […]

    Like


  346. pandora1022, thanks for joining us here. Hope you enjoy Clark Strand’s book that you plan to pull off the shelf. It was a thrill to have him comment here at the beginning of this post. Hope you’ll keep visiting here and leaving your haiku!

    __________

    long hours of light
    Summer Solstice winding down
    tunneling to dark

    Like


  347. night clouds unveil
    the morning sun trailing
    after the passing train

    one more summer battle
    mother bird flaps away crow
    over egg shards

    Like


  348. first try…

    long hours of light
    Summer Solstice winding down
    tunneling to dark
    Thunderstorms arise o’erhead
    bringing momentary night

    Like


  349. Terri, great tanka. Thanks for joining us here. I think I’ll add on to your tanka and get a renga going. I like expanding my practice. 8)

    ____________________

    long hours of light
    Summer Solstice winding down
    tunneling to dark
    Thunderstorms arise o’erhead
    bringing momentary night

    wilting heat index
    sucks steam from sizzling pavement
    cooling beads of sweat

    Like


  350. walking alone
    in the woods again
    choir of crickets
    increases their tempo
    around each bend

    Like


  351. scaling the brick walls
    dragonfly echoes the drones
    of the mosquito;
    dry summer leaves no puddles
    of standing water to breed.

    Like


  352. a brush on the cheek
    as he turns away
    not looking back
    towards the sunset
    his shadow leaning against her

    Like


  353. the wind
    tap dancing on laundry lines
    sun-dried tennis shoes

    the trail after the rain
    jogger’s leg up to wipe off mud
    I follow suit

    ear pressed to pillow
    sounds of galloping horses
    one hundred years of dreams
    perhaps one day granted
    by a prince of/or peace

    Like


  354. tangerine ice pop
    bittersweet on my warm tongue
    while rain spatters down

    Like


  355. Michelle F, thanks for visiting and dropping your haiku here. Much appreciated.

    ____________________–

    wherever I walk
    laundry room, kitchen, dining —
    grief seems to follow

    Like


  356. on June 27, 2009 at 8:18 am breathepeace

    bald eagle parents
    would kill to protect their young
    I know the feeling

    Like


  357. @breathepeace: That’s a good one–about parents in general!

    @QM: I too know the feeling.

    @Michelle F: Welcome aboard to red Ravine’s Haiku Home!🙂

    ——————————-

    disheartened
    part of the time
    I’m barely there

    past 1 a.m.
    my pen stops
    when the crickets pause in mid-song

    scorching heat
    when skin makes contact with the wheel
    hissing sounds (of pain)

    Like


  358. An overcast day
    Thrashing at unwanted green
    Beauty can prevail

    Like


  359. Aristotelean contract
    sealed through email between friends
    the world hushes
    untangling clouds
    revealing hearts of gold

    Like


  360. on June 29, 2009 at 9:15 am breathepeace

    grey windy morning
    read Vietnam War stories
    inside, outside fog

    Like


  361. on June 29, 2009 at 2:10 pm breathepeace

    With thanks to Patricia Hampl and “The Florist’s Daughter” for the inspiration for this one:

    perfect achievement
    wasting time under rated
    hot lake afternoon

    Like


  362. on some days
    a foot massage is a luxury
    tired of walking
    in too many shoes
    as some are steel-toed

    Like


  363. watching the ocean from a window:

    the surf

    white ponies gallop
    through a broad expanse of blue
    water to fine sand

    Like


  364. on June 30, 2009 at 1:58 pm breathepeace

    young doe on lakeshore
    eating tender watercress
    I was never wild

    Like


  365. on June 30, 2009 at 4:20 pm breathepeace

    version 2:

    young doe on lakeshore
    eating tender watercress
    was I ever wild?

    Like


  366. @breathepeace: Sometimes I too explore the different versions when writing haiku. Each version is a different facet.

    ———————–

    blushing
    a shade darker
    behind her shades
    with a summer kiss
    underneath the maple shade

    time
    in the American mind
    use it or lose it

    time
    in Eastern philosophy
    mind in the moment

    if my pillow
    were a storybook
    I would catch dreams
    spilling some as coins
    into a wishing well

    Like


  367. […] -related to posts: WRITING TOPIC – TOADS & FROGS, A Celebration Of GREEN On red Ravine…, What Is Your Totem Animal?, Cracking Envy (Or How I Learned To Stop Romancing A Deadly Sin), haiku 2 (one-a-day) […]

    Like


  368. on July 2, 2009 at 11:11 am breathepeace

    cold July morning
    day dream of waterskiing
    sitting by hot fire

    Like


  369. breathepeace, oliverowl, lotus, Michelle F,so good to read your haiku, senryu, tanka. Like old friends to me.

    breathepeace, today I like the question version. Was I ever wild?

    _______________

    tall daylilies bloom
    on a low hill far away
    right in front of me

    Like


  370. young doe on lakeshore
    eating tender watercress
    was I ever wild?
    I can’t remember a time
    my Spirit knew to let go

    Like


  371. the surf

    white ponies gallop
    through a broad expanse of blue
    water to fine sand;
    I hid behind blue seashells,
    spirals of hollowed out bone

    Like


  372. on July 2, 2009 at 9:15 pm Robert Morse

    Oscar has three chins
    And is working on a fourth.
    A man with a goal.

    Like


  373. It feels good to rest here.🙂

    ———————

    gift of self
    when one pauses a life
    trading breaths
    so that trust melts passion
    in the other’s eyes and heart
    (tanka)

    Like


  374. dark and overcast
    day before the holiday
    a lawnmower growls

    Like


  375. ybonesy, just checking in and saw the July 4th post. So fun to see it. Am heading out shortly to meet some friends for lunch. Back later to comment to all!

    ___________________________

    dark and overcast
    day before the holiday
    a lawnmower growls;
    clouds perch on the horizon
    wanting nothing more than rain

    Like


  376. on July 5, 2009 at 2:22 pm Robert Morse

    Trust your voice. Don’t let
    Your diff’rent drummer become
    A distant drummer.

    Like


  377. dark and overcast
    day before the holiday
    a lawnmower growls;
    clouds perch on the horizon
    wanting nothing more than rain

    storm clouds tease us
    passing through the jeweled trees
    on this side of life

    Like


  378. A living poem —
    A golden leaf on the breeze
    Flows to life’s four winds.

    Surveyor of breath
    Healing to mind and body —
    Artist soul released.

    First warm ray of sun
    Plants seeds of infinity,
    The journey maker.

    Harvest life’s garden —
    Dismantler of time breathes
    Eternal moments.

    Like


  379. @A. Hoyt: Those are lovely pieces. Thank you for sharing them with us.🙂

    —————————-

    soft touch of focus
    your eyes kiss my body
    ever so slowly
    I become undone
    no words to fill the page (tanka)

    tight finances
    cupping my appetite
    in the bowl of my hands

    rainy days
    search for warm invitations
    but too many closed doors

    Like


  380. So happy to see your posts. Welcome A. Hoyt. Welcome back A~Lotus and Robert Morse. Always a pleasure. Continuing the renga.

    ________________

    dark and overcast
    day before the holiday
    a lawnmower growls;
    clouds perch on the horizon
    wanting nothing more than rain

    storm clouds tease us
    passing through the jeweled trees
    on this side of life —
    nothing taken for granted
    will stay with us very long

    Like


  381. Tanka from A. Hoyt’s haiku:
    _______________

    A living poem –
    A golden leaf on the breeze
    Flows to life’s four winds.
    Scattered in all directions,
    She lands safely on the ground.

    Like


  382. Tanka from Robert Morse’s haiku:
    ________________

    Trust your voice. Don’t let
    Your diff’rent drummer become
    A distant drummer.
    Walk in another’s footsteps,
    The path will lead you back Home.

    Like


  383. @QM: Nice renga completions!🙂

    —————————

    when alone
    I read your e-love letters
    more than three times
    so that I could still capture
    the missed cadence of your heart
    (version 2 – tanka)

    many paths
    as how a diamond is cleaved
    so could love

    Like


  384. dark and overcast
    day before the holiday
    a lawnmower growls;
    clouds perch on the horizon
    wanting nothing more than rain

    storm clouds tease us
    passing through the jeweled trees
    on this side of life –
    nothing taken for granted
    will stay with us very long

    cool sun at midday
    life is full of suffering —
    followed by moonlight

    Like


  385. on July 11, 2009 at 10:36 pm Robert Morse

    Tanka from A~Lotus’s haiku

    *****

    cool sun at midday
    life is full of suffering –
    followed by moonlight
    but then comes the promised dawn
    when life is full of wonder

    Like


  386. on July 11, 2009 at 10:39 pm Robert Morse

    My memory’s good
    I recall the first time I
    Was absent-minded.

    Like


  387. Robert Morse, great way to end that renga. I’m going to repost the whole renga chain here.

    _______________

    dark and overcast
    day before the holiday
    a lawnmower growls;
    clouds perch on the horizon
    wanting nothing more than rain

    storm clouds tease us
    passing through the jeweled trees
    on this side of life –
    nothing taken for granted
    will stay with us very long

    cool sun at midday
    life is full of suffering –
    followed by moonlight
    but then comes the promised dawn
    when life is full of wonder

    Like


  388. Tanka from Robert Morse’s senryu:
    _______________

    My memory’s good
    I recall the first time I
    Was absent-minded.
    Last moments are forgotten —
    Decades long past, cut in stone.

    Like


  389. […] Time) I was wide awake. So wide awake, I even broke the 5-7-5 structure on the Sleeplessness senryu (not typical of my […]

    Like


  390. […] add your own. Or, write a haiku inspired by these taters. Heck, how about a Writing Practice on Everything I know about […]

    Like


  391. on July 19, 2009 at 11:56 pm Robert Morse

    PINE TREE HAIKU BLUES

    I’m called evergreen
    Bu I’m feelin’ everblue
    Cue them dogwood days.

    Snow-heavy branches
    Droop down–no weepin’ willow
    Ever been so low.

    JUST PLAIN OL’ HAIKU BLUES

    I keep screwin’ up
    I just can’t win. I once lost
    An Easter-Egg Hunt.

    Like


  392. on July 20, 2009 at 3:10 pm manoj saranathan

    spring noon;
    outblued by the sky-
    the blue bird.

    Like


  393. Robert Morse, love the Pine Tree Haiku Blues! Welcome manoj saranathan. Thanks for leaving your haiku.

    _____________

    skipped eating breakfast —
    old leftover spaghetti
    lunch swallows me whole

    Like


  394. stacking thoughts
    around your face
    falling for you
    our footprints become a collage
    the soft sand untouched by waves
    (tanka)

    without forgiveness
    love stops short
    of intertwined dreams
    like wall-climbing vines
    unable to cling onto passing clouds
    (tanka)

    counting down days
    like haiku syllables
    no ease for a lover’s heart

    Like


  395. on July 24, 2009 at 11:24 am manoj saranathan

    cloudy morning;
    they face every direction-
    sunflowers !

    Like


  396. coneflowers ripen;
    white butterflies, red willow —
    Summer slow walking

    Like


  397. It was a two haiku day:

    saltwater reeds dance
    sweat dripping down my forehead
    breathing in a breeze

    chocolate heads, cattails
    twisted spine of willowbark
    branches bow to river

    Like


  398. on July 28, 2009 at 11:06 pm Robert Morse

    “You couldn’t ask for
    A better day”. Well, you could
    But why push your luck?

    Like


  399. Liz and her mother
    eating waffles in the sun,
    off to pick raspberries

    Like


  400. proof-
    reading your lips
    sealed in saliva
    I find that waiting
    leaves more room for errors
    (tanka)

    Like


  401. sipping Chardonnay
    peering into the future
    after Camelot


    Thanks for the comment Robert!
    How lucky are we?

    Like


  402. heart sinks in sadness
    while happiness for youth
    adventures abounds

    Like


  403. Family Tree Haiku
    __________________

    searching for the past —
    ancestors frozen in time
    have digital names

    great, great grandmother
    stern face, wearing long black dress
    stands in the garden

    those who came before
    happy to be remembered
    will not forget us

    Like


  404. Tanka for Michelle:

    heart sinks in sadness
    while happiness for youth
    adventures abounds
    a mother’s mixed emotions
    her son a continent away

    Like


  405. Thanks Roma, that was perfect!

    Like


  406. […] -related to posts toenail art haiku, WRITING TOPIC – FEET & TOES and haiku 2 (one-a-day). […]

    Like


  407. night rain, thunder rolls
    Ethel Freeman’s Sestina
    the poet’s lightning

    Like


  408. sad trip back to camp
    neighbors came to visit us
    hugs & sun made day

    Raining here now at home, the visit to camp (We sold it, knowing health issues no longer made it our retirement dream. But, we sold to an awesome man that has become a great friend). Our neighbors there all got together & we are going back next week-end after I return from another visit to see my family. We had a great time! The man who bought our place has also made us an extra key, as we had turned ours over to him. What a good day we had! Very relaxing & probably too much info in the haiku post. D

    Like


  409. on August 3, 2009 at 1:40 am alittlediddy

    Thyme grows day by day
    parsley, sage, rosemary, and
    wish I had more time

    Like


  410. @alittlediddy: Glad you had a great time at camp! And it’s okay, sometimes I do little updates like that too. 8) It’s refreshing to come back to this Haiku post and just pop in for a hello!

    ————–

    a week later
    you still haven’t changed
    your mind
    your thoughts still collect dust
    on our unfinished poem (tanka)

    Like


  411. A~Lotus, you are so right. Nice to slow down sometimes and catch up.

    diddy, sad news and so sorry for the loss of your camp. What nice people you have sold it to though. Maybe that’s the best of both worlds. Glad you got to go back and visit.

    ___________________

    ghosts rise to surface
    objects of the Titanic
    cling tight to the past

    Like


  412. running
    through the snaky path
    a Zen moment
    lost with incense sticks
    falling from pine trees
    (tanka)

    Like


  413. passing time
    she combs away thoughts
    of her lover
    each strand of hair
    falls to the ground like a dying leaf
    (tanka)

    Like


  414. haiku for deep summer
    ____________

    water drops glisten
    on a single blade of grass
    while sprinkling the lawn

    spritzing and spraying
    robin lands atop lilac,
    a makeshift birdbath

    oily seeds, millet
    cardinals empty feeders
    filled two days ago

    Like


  415. Some tanka for thought:

    broken cap
    a fallen acorn
    from its sea foam sky
    I fold away origami
    mums for the autumn festival (tanka)

    my belly
    spilling over the top
    of my jeans
    I need to stop being
    and eating a cupcake (tanka)

    on some days
    I need an impulse
    to not think
    see how different I’d be
    if I had someone else’s thinking cap (tanka)

    splitting money
    our differences lay on the table
    I miss the warmth
    of each coin you toss
    in our backyard birdbath (tanka)

    Like


  416. A~Lotus, like your tanka. Always happy when you visit. 8)

    ____________

    thunder and gray rain
    ping the AC — tempered glass
    window of silence

    Like


  417. on August 8, 2009 at 9:08 am breathepeace

    A~Lotus, splitting money is my favorite, both sad and lovely.

    full moon at midnight
    illuminates cloudy sky
    dark water journey

    Like


  418. @QM and breathepeace: Thank you both! I’m glad you liked “splitting money”! That tanka in particular was somewhat difficult to write, but in the end, it was worth it. 8) I too enjoy both of your haiku.

    Like


  419. mindful
    of each other’s inner circle
    the sun
    like a dart slides through
    termite holes of an old tree stump (tanka)

    Like


  420. the hot summer days
    reminders of what awaits
    deck gets final stain

    Mary returns but
    this year there is no Harry
    call without any reply

    Like


  421. on August 9, 2009 at 3:39 pm breathepeace

    Three haiku from today’s kayak ride:

    summer’s great surprise
    eaglet sits on white pine nest
    steps from edge to fly!

    loons call through forest
    echoing from lake to lake
    three note “where are you?”

    at a loss for words
    what does this lake mean to me?
    fifty-four summers

    Like


  422. life’s great mysteries
    revealed here every day
    sit still and notice

    Like


  423. diddy, what happened to Harry?😦 Glad you stopped by.

    breathepeace, always a pleasure when you drop by. Makes me smile. Wish I knew how to kayak. Liz and I talk about taking a short class but haven’t done it yet.

    ______________

    raw contemplation
    sitting in endless silence
    searching for wild mind

    Like


  424. QM, not sure what happened to Harry, but Mary must miss him. They were here when we moved into this house. I remember their baby catbirds, who perched in one of our hemlock trees last year. I would imagine they have returned as well. D

    Like


  425. QM — no lessons needed. Just rent a kayak like I did and jump in on a calm lake. That’s all you need for a lesson … unless you’re trying Lake Superior, the ocean or a raging river, in which case you’d want to know how to roll the thing. The only caution is, once you try it, you may want to own a kayak.

    rhythm of paddle,
    soft breeze, bird song, eaglet cries:
    morning symphony

    Like


  426. QM: ‘searching for wild mind’ is wonderful.
    Hi everyone, I see you’ve all kept creatively busy. As for me:

    On cyber-ocean
    sometimes make landfall only
    once in a long while.

    Have been on my travels, through other syllables and spaces. But just wanted to let you know that the Red Ravine Haiku Ripple continues to spread. I have some pre-intermediate (and that is LOW level English) Japanese students this week, so I threw them into English haiku (Japanese version optional) to see what would happen. The URL for the results follows – I think they’d be chuffed as anything if one or two of you could find it in your hearts to comment on anything they wrote – comments in pre-intermediate English of course [or Japanese], and preferably in the form of haiku! – they are all about 18 or so (except one Italian lady), and who knows if one of them might at that tender age be precipitated into the arms of poetry for a lifetime!

    http://94stranger.wordpress.com/2009/08/12/haiku-from-students/
    Peace!

    Like


  427. stranger, so great to hear from you. And what a fantastic job you have. I just stopped by your blog and left a few comments. Some really wonderful haiku there. I hope other red Ravine readers who write haiku with us here will check them out. I’m curious how the experience was for the Japanese students (and one Italian!) to write haiku in English, since, of course, the art form has been alive in their country for thousands of years. Would love to hear more about it. Maybe I’ll stop by your site at a later time and turn one of their haiku into a tanka (though I’m pretty new at tanka).

    ybonesy is out of the country in Vietnam. I’ll be sure to make sure she sees this when she gets back. (Or she might on her check-in but her time logged in is limited.) I’m so appreciative that you stopped by, stranger, on a haiku ripple. 8)

    Like


  428. […] -related to posts: WRITING TOPIC – TOOLS OF THE TRADE, haiku 2 (one-a-day) […]

    Like


  429. It’s almost 1:30am where I am. I am indeed exhausted, but thrilled to know that I have finally finished summer school! However, I am awake and extremely thirsty for poetry or anything creative and artistic!😛 I have missed this place and can finally return! However, in my absence from here, I am still practicing my Daily Haiku Challenge. However, I have stretched it to include tanka, senryu, six-word stories, American sentences, and micropoetry. The process of writing short forms of poetry is fascinating since I tend to be rather wordy and hence, write rather lengthy poems. Nevertheless, this haiku journey is so fruitful, and I am happy to say how we collaborate and share our work on here–it’s magnificent and profound. I am learning so much from all of you and look forward to spend a few minutes on here everyday if I can.

    @94stranger: I have visited your site and am pleased to read your students’ haiku. I love the simplicity of them; for some, I like their keen observation. Thank you so much for sharing the haiku experience with us. 8)

    And now for a few of my haiku, senryu, and tanka since I haven’t posted here for a while now. Please enjoy!

    ———————————

    in sepia photos
    I still think of you
    wrapped in honeybee scents
    humming over the river
    lost in your apostrophes (tanka)

    sky parenthesis
    a flock of black wings through silver
    streams of clouds

    falling down in
    exclamation points
    only the rain
    can demand such attention
    before getting lost in puddles (tanka)

    on my chest
    a blank journal counts my breaths
    during my sleep

    summer playtime
    I find myself
    among matted wings of bats
    the tree and I
    play shadow puppets (tanka)

    More of my work can be found at Twitter: http://twitter.com/alotus_poetry. I also do a monthly compilation of all of this work over at http://alotus-poetry.livejournal.com.

    Like


  430. 3 Haiku

    In the Season of Dragon Fruits

    Magenta dragon fruits blossom
    on the side
    of tropical cacti
    rain drizzles
    to twelve inches
    Hurricane season

    Seasons

    In the tropics
    they measure seasons
    thus:
    Lychee season
    Mango season
    Dragon fruit season
    Slipper Orchid season

    Hurricane Season

    The black seeds that spot
    the deep magenta of
    soft,sweet dragon fruits
    tropical nopalitos
    contain hurricanes
    jewelled with
    rainbows

    Like


  431. late summer evening
    rubbery smell
    of tires
    skidding along my side
    the biker boy trying to catch my eye (tanka)

    Like


  432. Thanks QM and others who’ve dropped by – I really appreciate. Don’t know exactly what the Japanese hieroglyphics are – a ‘free translation’ of the English, as far as I know.

    I was re-reading QM’s preface to the original haiku launch last year, and I think it’s true and very strange how this focus on the outer in some bizarre way becomes an activator of the inner – I don’t pretend to understand it, but I feel it.
    I’m writing a little poetry, not haiku by and large, and again it’s intriguing how the effort of conforming to a strict rhythm and rhyme scheme, which ought to be purely a constraint, can nevertheless be a liberation. Anyone know why?

    Like


  433. To 94stranger,

    I think the liberation comes from knowing the structure. Once Natalie decided what the structure for “Bones” was, to paraphrase her liberally, she was able to let it rip. Knowing the structure, rather than being a limitation, can open things up.

    Like


  434. stranger, thanks for stopping by again. It was a pleasure to visit your site and see all the haiku from your Japanese students. Thanks for bringing it to our attention.

    About your question, Robert Morse is exactly right. The liberation comes from the actual structure. The concept seems at odds but that’s what works.

    I learned about structure in two places: one was from Natalie Goldberg (as Robert Morse mentions) around my writing. The other was in art school at MCAD and with my professors there. They taught me that in order to deviate and break structure in my art, I first needed to learn how the masters did it. Once I learned the history of art and photography, the structure of the way others created, I was free to break it.

    Of course there are tons self-taught artists who go about learning about art differently and do brilliant work. There are many ways to learn and that was just the way I was taught.

    With the writing, it was Natalie who really drove it home for me. I learn the structure of Writing Practice, or haiku, slow walking or meditation, work within those structures for a long time (even though I want to rebel against them), then I get to break them and make them my own.

    The truth is I always go back to the structure when I get stuck, am feeling down, or like my writing or art isn’t worth a darn. The structure keeps me going through hard times. The structure frees me up to work within it. Odd but true.

    Sorry to go on so long about it but it reminded me that this blog that ybonesy and I created all these years ago now was created around a structure we learned about writing. One that we learned, believed in, and wanted to pass on to others. And now we break it in all kinds of ways. But usually always go back.

    I’m grateful to all who visit and participate on red Ravine. I learn so much from all of you. Deep gratitude.

    _____________

    balanced on a pin
    within or out of structure
    community holds

    Like


  435. morning glory
    the butterfly’s wings
    catches silk
    and wet drops of sunlight
    underneath the spider’s walk (tanka)

    Like


  436. balanced on a pin
    within or out of structure
    community holds
    a meditative journey
    the power of one collective voice

    Like


  437. Thanks Robert and QM – it’s a rare treat to have you guys reflect deeply on something which, by and large, is a doing here on RR – which I’m sure is the way it should be.

    Pigeons peck up crumbs
    so small I can’t even see.
    Stay close to the ground!

    And there’s a strange thing – a piece of writing (i.e. this above) which goes from thought to haiku with no doctoring, manipulation, syllable searching etc… a rare thing for me – almost a first.

    And I learn from you too – this is why I take off sometimes – paradox only apparent.

    Like


  438. I really have some catching up to do! So much travel this summer…all enjoyable. Thanks, QM, for your haiku written after my trip to yours and Liz’s home…made me smile. I drove home this Saturday from Cheyenne, in rain showers, inspiring this haiku:

    driving, dodging drops
    wipers keep time to bluegrass
    rain, road and rhythm

    Like


  439. I’ve been writing a lot of tanka lately (posted on Twitter). Here are a few:

    Chinese buffet
    sparrows line up
    at the entrance
    pecking on
    scattered fried rice and sesame seeds

    a bruised sky
    on a Friday
    my thoughts flicker
    like SOS signals
    only you can decipher

    the scrape
    of your nails
    across the chalkboard
    makes my knees buckle
    and my eyes water

    Like


  440. lotus, so glad summer school is over for you. Will you be starting a new semester in the Fall? Or are you done? I also appreciate when you stop by here and leave your poetry. It’s a gift. I’ve seen your work on Twitter as well and know your poetry practice is going strong! [BTW, like how you completed the tanka on community.]

    Feroza, so great to see you on red Ravine. And thanks for leaving your haiku here. Hope you stop by again.

    breathepeace, no kayak lessons needed, eh? That is good to know. I guess we’ll just have to take a chance and dive into one of the lakes here like you have done. May not happen this summer. But maybe next.

    stranger, thanks for stopping by again. One other thing about practice and structure — it can be anything. It can be haiku, writing practice, mandalas, painting. Anything we practice regularly takes us new places, helps us through when times get lean. And something like haiku or writing practice can enrich our art practices. It’s so great how it works that way. It’s all a cycle.

    _____________

    out to the garden
    summer in her last hurrah
    has a gift for me

    Like


  441. […] -related to too many posts to mention them all, but here are few: Birthday Of Mabel Dodge Luhan, Sunrise On Taos Mountain (Reflections On Writing Retreats), Sitting in Solidarity, A Taste Of Ghost Ranch, and haiku 2 (one-a-day). […]

    Like


  442. @QM: It was a short break. I am now starting school again this week (for the fall)! LOL. Looks like I may be in school for years to come. I’m glad you like the community tanka; that’s how I feel whenever I come to visit you and everyone else here on red Ravine. 8) It’s become one of my favorite homes online. I’m glad you say my poetry is a gift. It is something I have learned to accept because I want to be able to write poetry for the mental health/psychiatric field because for them words and emotions go so strongly together, and I hope the words I write will heal those who are in pain.

    Here are a few psychologically charged ones I’ve written:

    brushing over
    these thorny bushes
    my hands
    now remember how they felt
    when you abused me (tanka)

    couple arguing
    in the distance
    thunder claps

    with strong hands
    grandfather used to chop sugarcane
    into toothbrushes
    but now his hands are too stiff
    to mime how tall I’ve grown (tanka)

    And to lighten the heavy atmosphere a bit:

    in our front yard
    a splendid thousand suns
    the orange tree

    from the bird bath
    taking a little sip
    a stray dog

    Chinese buffet
    sparrows line up
    at the entrance
    pecking on
    scattered fried rice and sesame seeds (tanka)

    Like


  443. Nice work, A~Lotus. I’m drawn to the grandfather and sugar cane one. And the Chinese buffet. I’m glad you are broaching painful subjects in your work. Poetry seems a good place to do that. I have no doubt your work will be healing for others.

    Can not believe you are back in school already. Is it daunting to know you’ll be in school for some time to come? I remember when Liz was back in school for 2 years and working full-time. She felt like it took her a long time to complete her classes but she stuck with it and graduated. What a joyful day that was.

    I’m glad this is one of your homes away from home on the electronic page. Remember to keep breathing when you’re rushing from class to work to class!

    ____________

    green berries, red stems
    monarch brushes blackened screen
    bumping against wind

    Like


  444. Hi QM, yb, a~ lotus, et al,
    It was nice to visit Red Ravine and then see your VERY informative piece on Haiku,QM. Next time I teach poetry, I’ll send students to the site… It was good to see Clark on there too.. “Seeds” really taught me a lot about practice and sitting. I’m supposed to revise a “feminist” article I wrote about silence, into one about the strengths of silence… And I will draw on our intensive to write about that– but alas, I think they want me to make it scholarly… so I’ll send the meditative piece to you all, if you’ll consider it… well, first of all it is nice to still be alive after the scare the doc gave me in the Spring.. I’m taking my chemo in Hawaii and there is something about Hawaii that inspires Haiku. So I wanted to add a few more after today’s gorgeous sunset. When I was “diagnosed” for the second time this past spring, I wanted to change my spiritual memoir to”Prayers and Practices for survival,” to “Bad God: Loving God for Better or for Worse.” Maybe I’ll get on Clark’s site and put some of my thoughts down. And just after QM’s comment I happened to drive past a Kayak store! I thought one only kayaked on the Rio Grande… And as we speak, write, our colleagues are sitting in Maybel’s zendo.. send some love for us to Georgia’s blue flowers:

    Anyway,

    my dancing orchids
    each day, twist and turn to face
    the shifting sun

    the august sun
    hits the water while i chase
    the elusive green flash

    (QM, someday you have to photograph that– if you can actually catch it– in its split second)

    the water kisses the sky
    on the distant southern horizon
    in a jealous green flash

    I have a vast expanse of ocean outside my window, a view I’m likely to loose again, like I lost the one of the watermelon Sandias, because someone is building a many million dollar house with an elevator. But on one side the view from Pearl Harbor and the airport towards Waikiki will stay and I can watch the cruise ships go by.

    mock orange fragrances
    the night time drizzle
    aromatherapy for a summer evening

    Goodnight

    Like


  445. @QM: I am glad you are enjoying my work just as I’m enjoying yours. 8) It is an interesting journey to be able to write what is painful although sometimes the pain (of whatever that may be) has never been my personal experience. For example, if the pain is about cancer, I would like to write about that even if I have not experienced it myself. It is my hope to reach out to others that way.🙂

    It is sometimes daunting to think about how many more years I’ll be in school. But since I already have a degree in psych, I’m only going forward to pursue nursing school. After that, I want to be done BEING in school, but not necessarily be done with education itself. After all, education is a lifelong process. I think some people forget about that fact. And yes, sometimes we have to stick to things in order to see the end of the tunnel! lol

    @Feroza Jussawalla: Thank you for continuing to join us in this writing journey. Your writing is lovely. I will pray for your speedy and comforting recovery and rest. I am glad that you are finding writing and teaching something wonderful in your life. I think in the human experience, these two things are the oldest forms of human connection and strength. God bless.

    Like


  446. looking into puddles
    my cheeks dimpled
    with raindrops

    Like


  447. driving home
    through the night
    I lost your pearly smile
    in the midst
    of pine trees (tanka)

    Like


  448. umbrellas open
    wet, lacy pines blow raindrops
    tall dignitaries

    Like


  449. TEACHER-FROM-HELL HAIKU

    “Don’t play with your words.
    –Look! You just spilled some of them!
    Have you no manners?”

    Like


  450. reading your poems
    I count the times you make me smile
    this morning glory

    flying south
    our love
    growing further apart
    like bird specks
    in the marbled skies (tanka)

    not alone
    I wake up smiling
    to the sun
    sharing
    my pillow (tanka)

    picking seeds
    from the pomegranate
    I taste the deepest red
    of our lovemaking
    humming along with cicadas (tanka)

    Like


  451. holding
    a tiny heart
    within my hands
    this hummingbird has already seen
    the entire world with its wings (tanka)

    Like


  452. Feroza, sending prayers and good energy to you in Hawaii. Thank you for leaving your beautiful poetry here. I imagine the ocean is a good muse. I think the strengths of silence are many, though silence seems harder and harder to come by in our world today. Sounds like a great topic. BTW, sun on water is indeed hard to photograph.

    Laura, A~Lotus, Robert Morse, I continue to enjoy your haiku and look forward to your visits here!

    _____________

    mid-September blooms
    small frog near a toad lily
    fading summer dreams

    Like


  453. QM, we must be thinking along the same lines. I wrote this one yesterday. D

    Sun bursts through the clouds
    autumn attempts sneak preview
    lonely rosebud blooms

    Like


  454. […] Mister Potato hero among veggies Here to save the day -Related to topic post I Found Potatoes In My Pantry (& They Scared The Hell Out Of Me) and haiku 2 (one-a-day) […]

    Like


  455. […] -related to post: haiku 2 (one-a-day) […]

    Like


  456. purple Rebel waits
    noisy fan sprays me with air
    tailwind drives me home

    Like


  457. somehow
    this late summer winds
    through my chest
    and I am left shivering
    with a cold and a dull heartache (tanka)

    Like


  458. head bobbing, weaving
    robin sits on roof gutter
    slow to catch my eye

    Like


  459. […] -related to post: haiku 2 (one-a-day) […]

    Like


  460. White clouds hovering
    Rorschach Tests up in the sky.
    “I swear that’s a swan.”

    Like


  461. cerulean sky
    over green cottonwood leaves
    fading to yellow

    Like


  462. […] to posts: haiku 2 (one-a-day), Are You River, Desert, Mountains, Ocean, Lake, City, Or None Of The […]

    Like


  463. sin weighs heavily
    across my shoulders a robe
    difficult to wear

    Like


  464. just like pirate’s map
    contrails form white vapor X
    over precious Earth

    Like


  465. brutal autumn wind
    rips limb from old cottonwood —
    I stand as witness

    Like


  466. Wonderful to see all of your haiku here. I feel like I am among friends after writing haiku, senryu, tanka, renga with you for several years. Thanks breathepeace, oliverowl, Robert Morse, A~Lotus, diddy.

    _______

    finally, the rain
    hot, humid, dry September
    proves to be a tease

    Like


  467. Stumbled upon this site while searching out Haiku examples, really do like what I see here.

    I don’t consider myself a very good Haiku writer, but would appreciate any advice on these attempts of mine;

    a subtle sunset
    succumbs to autumn’s eve –
    ‘I wish you were here’

    …………………………………..

    quarter light shadows
    dull clarity to a haze –
    ant hills are mountains

    …………………………………..

    chaos on the battle field
    helmets strewn in autumn dusk –
    harvest time again

    …………………………………..

    fireflies flicker
    within autumns sunset –
    slowly my plane lands

    ………………………………….

    sprinklers whispering
    shimmering ‘cross summer lawns –
    house burning brightly

    ………………………………….

    grey-red mosaic
    drying below the May sun
    a recent roadkill

    ………………………………….

    opaque midday moon
    creates halo above earth
    yet darkness falls fast

    monsoon hides stars
    as day becomes dusky
    man is colourless

    ………………………………….

    stood on broken snow
    deer smoulder silently –
    caught in cross-hairs

    …………………………………

    And my fav of all i’ve ever written

    sunbathing wet stones
    beneath waterfalls cascade –
    dog with cocked leg

    ………………………………….

    Hope this post isn’t too long, would really like honest comments.

    Take care

    Fug

    Like


  468. for you, Littlebit
    and those that loved you so much
    may you rest in peace

    Like


  469. @QM and yb: Has it really been over a year since I’ve taken this writing journey with the both of you? Wow! Along the way, I’m learning so much from you both! It is amazing and never cease to be boring! I love how we share all our artwork within our writings too. The creative spirit is always nurtured that way–like how stories are nurtured and become more exciting around a bonfire or a campfire! That’s why I’ve adopted this place as my writing home as well. 8) It’s a way to rest from the stresses in life. I too am thankful and glad to join you ladies in this writing adventure/journey.

    @Fug: Thank you for sharing your work with us. They all have lovely images, and some are profound. I enjoyed them immensely.🙂

    ——————————-
    My tanka for today:

    riding a raft
    out of a dead leaf
    a caterpillar
    swims upstream
    towards a drainage pipe

    Like


  470. A~Lotus, yes, can you believe it? Almost one full year has passed again. I’m glad you feel at home here. Because I’d sure miss you if you didn’t stop by. I appreciate your haiku and positive comments. Thank you.

    Fug-azi, I enjoyed the haiku you left and hope you’re still writing. I like the “quarter light shadows” haiku. Hope you stop by again.

    ________

    black cat sleeps on couch
    shadows fall near the full moon
    eyes droop with the weight

    Like


  471. fug, “grey red mosaic” is haunting … a powerful haiku.

    fierce wind starts and stops
    returns cold and leaves no doubt:
    summer is over

    Like


  472. Fug,

    I enjoyed your work. My favorite, if I must choose, is the first, “a subtle sunset.” There is a definite leap that the reader must make from the second to the third lines.

    Like


  473. Thank you all for your comments, gives me hope that perhaps I can, after all, write something close to a Haiku.

    ………………………..

    early april showers
    timber shudders –
    chainsaw cuts deep

    Like


  474. Lovely senryu and haiku I’m reading today. Thought I can get us back on track with a renga again hopefully?

    black cat sleeps on couch
    shadows fall near the full moon
    eyes droop with the weight–
    these heavy bags
    that the heart carries

    Like


  475. Fug-azi, I’m so glad you came back to add your haiku. And thanks to all who gave feedback. So wonderful to visit this thread of haiku writers. It has a calming influence on me.

    A~Lotus, THANK YOU for getting the renga going again. It was what I had hoped to learn this year on this haiku post – the fine art of linking haiku and senryu with other haiku writers. And it’s only October, plenty of time to explore renga a little more.

    Adding on to your tanka to keep renga going:

    ________________

    black cat sleeps on couch
    shadows fall near the full moon
    eyes droop with the weight–
    these heavy bags
    that the heart carries

    sun hides behind gray
    burdens are what we make them
    dark hinges on light

    Like


  476. black cat sleeps on couch
    shadows fall near the full moon
    eyes droop with the weight–
    these heavy bags
    that the heart carries

    sun hides behind gray
    burdens are what we make them
    dark hinges on light

    a forty watt sun
    brings only hues of comfort –
    false hope arises

    Like


  477. black cat sleeps on couch
    shadows fall near the full moon
    eyes droop with the weight–
    these heavy bags
    that the heart carries

    sun hides behind gray
    burdens are what we make them
    dark hinges on light

    a forty watt sun
    brings only hues of comfort –
    false hope arises;
    100 ways of seeing
    the unpaved roads less traveled

    Like


  478. after the rain
    feet-deep in mud
    white ducks
    sloshing
    towards a sunlit ground

    Like


  479. black cat sleeps on couch
    shadows fall near the full moon
    eyes droop with the weight–
    these heavy bags
    that the heart carries

    sun hides behind gray
    burdens are what we make them
    dark hinges on light

    a forty watt sun
    brings only hues of comfort –
    false hope arises;
    100 ways of seeing
    the unpaved roads less traveled

    on this journey
    I collect many sticks and stones–
    all for a bonfire

    Like


  480. black cat sleeps on couch
    shadows fall near the full moon
    eyes droop with the weight–
    these heavy bags
    that the heart carries

    sun hides behind gray
    burdens are what we make them
    dark hinges on light

    a forty watt sun
    brings only hues of comfort –
    false hope arises;
    100 ways of seeing
    the unpaved roads less traveled

    on this journey
    I collect many sticks and stones–
    all for a bonfire
    trailing in the wake of stars
    yet untouched by human hands

    Like


  481. black cat sleeps on couch
    shadows fall near the full moon
    eyes droop with the weight–
    these heavy bags
    that the heart carries

    sun hides behind gray
    burdens are what we make them
    dark hinges on light

    a forty watt sun
    brings only hues of comfort –
    false hope arises;
    100 ways of seeing
    the unpaved roads less traveled

    on this journey
    I collect many sticks and stones–
    all for a bonfire
    trailing in the wake of stars
    yet untouched by human hands

    on a stargazer lily–
    a mantis praying
    to the sun

    Like


  482. black cat sleeps on couch
    shadows fall near the full moon
    eyes droop with the weight–
    these heavy bags
    that the heart carries

    sun hides behind gray
    burdens are what we make them
    dark hinges on light

    a forty watt sun
    brings only hues of comfort –
    false hope arises;
    100 ways of seeing
    the unpaved roads less traveled

    on this journey
    I collect many sticks and stones–
    all for a bonfire
    trailing in the wake of stars
    yet untouched by human hands

    on a stargazer lily–
    a mantis praying
    to the sun…
    is it that I am not worthy
    enough to touch the heavens?

    Like


  483. black cat sleeps on couch
    shadows fall near the full moon
    eyes droop with the weight–
    these heavy bags
    that the heart carries

    sun hides behind gray
    burdens are what we make them
    dark hinges on light

    a forty watt sun
    brings only hues of comfort –
    false hope arises;
    100 ways of seeing
    the unpaved roads less traveled

    on this journey
    I collect many sticks and stones–
    all for a bonfire
    trailing in the wake of stars
    yet untouched by human hands

    on a stargazer lily–
    a mantis praying
    to the sun…
    is it that I am not worthy
    enough to touch the heavens?

    winter sun–
    snow angels catching
    the snowman’s tears

    Like


  484. black cat sleeps on couch
    shadows fall near the full moon
    eyes droop with the weight–
    these heavy bags
    that the heart carries

    sun hides behind gray
    burdens are what we make them
    dark hinges on light

    a forty watt sun
    brings only hues of comfort –
    false hope arises;
    100 ways of seeing
    the unpaved roads less traveled

    on this journey
    I collect many sticks and stones–
    all for a bonfire
    trailing in the wake of stars
    yet untouched by human hands

    on a stargazer lily–
    a mantis praying
    to the sun…
    is it that I am not worthy
    enough to touch the heavens?

    winter sun–
    snow angels catching
    the snowman’s tears;
    drops glisten, Icarus wings
    doused by the cries of children

    Like


  485. […] to posts This Time Of Year, Irrigation Day In The Rio Grande Valley and haiku 2 (one-a-day). Possibly related posts: (automatically generated)lifeline — rio grande haikucold haikuThe Mighty […]

    Like


  486. Winter makes debut
    sparrows huddled at feeders
    snow dust on their wings

    Like


  487. Building on the haiku of breathepeace & Fuz-azi to create tanka, and the start of a new renga.

    ___________________

    opaque midday moon
    creates halo above earth
    yet darkness falls fast —
    what’s lurking in the shadows?
    Fear numbs, leaves no time to dwell.

    fierce wind starts and stops
    returns cold and leaves no doubt:
    summer is over;
    biting frost wilts the Spirit,
    reflection ignites new spark.

    Like


  488. opaque midday moon
    creates halo above earth
    yet darkness falls fast –
    what’s lurking in the shadows?
    Fear numbs, leaves no time to dwell.

    fierce wind starts and stops
    returns cold and leaves no doubt:
    summer is over;
    biting frost wilts the Spirit,
    reflection ignites new spark.

    by the fireplace,
    the candle and I
    dance to pages in my notebook

    Like


  489. opaque midday moon
    creates halo above earth
    yet darkness falls fast –
    what’s lurking in the shadows?
    Fear numbs, leaves no time to dwell.

    fierce wind starts and stops
    returns cold and leaves no doubt:
    summer is over;
    biting frost wilts the Spirit,
    reflection ignites new spark.

    by the fireplace,
    the candle and I
    dance to pages in my notebook —
    letters expose obscure words,
    teach me to read between lines

    Like


  490. […] -related to post: haiku 2 (one-a-day) […]

    Like


  491. One seagull feather
    hairy sculptures of seagrass
    piled up on the dunes

    Like


  492. […] All is well on my travels. Wrote these haiku on the plane yesterday morning. So much has happened since I arrived in Pennsylvania. Feels like I’ve been […]

    Like


  493. morning in Georgia
    dense fog over Clarks Hill Lake
    clarity of mind

    Like


  494. One seagull feather
    hairy sculptures of seagrass
    piled up on the dunes;
    lady bugs and beetles land,
    shelter from the cold, coarse sand

    Like


  495. Hello from Taos … and a couple haiku:

    room full of sniffles
    outside chamisa blooming
    neither one will stop

    church bells chiming noon
    faithful rush to attend mass
    God is sitting here

    Like


  496. Wonderful to hear from you in Taos, breathepeace. Greetings from morning in Georgia:

    family pillars
    Aunt Cassie and Uncle Claude
    live on through stories

    Clarks Hill Lake at dawn
    pulling me into the fog
    a woodpecker drums

    grazing middle age
    amazed by what I don’t know
    I wouldn’t go back

    Like


  497. FOR NATALIE

    keep your hand moving
    worst shit in America
    even with haiku

    Like


  498. the leaf would not leave

    persistent, stubborn, clinging

    to frosted windshield

    Boy, have I missed writing haiku! Hope my life gets back to normal, soon, so I can do more!

    Like


  499. Ha! oo, you should come to our house!

    Like


  500. […] to posts: haiku 2 (one-a-day), WRITING TOPIC — MEMORIES OF CARS, WRITING TOPIC– ROADSIDE ATTRACTIONS, you can’t […]

    Like


  501. I sing the joys of
    Physical therapy. Where
    New aches meet old ones.

    Like


  502. Hello everyone! I’ve been gone for quite a while! Whew! It’s good to sit a while and write haiku.

    Please enjoy!

    ellipses–
    cloud puffs arrange and rearrange
    my list of worries

    Like


  503. Bitter persimmons replace
    Sweet mangoes on steamy afternoons
    October vog in Hawaii
    (Snow in Albuquerque)

    Like


  504. One seagull feather
    hairy sculptures of seagrass
    piled up on the dunes;
    lady bugs and beetles land,
    shelter from the cold, coarse sand

    found in the sand
    someone lost a loved one–
    this wedding band

    Like


  505. Great to see you all here — Robert Morse, A~Lotus, oliverowl, Feroza, breathpeace, diddy. Adding on to the last renga:

    One seagull feather
    hairy sculptures of seagrass
    piled up on the dunes;
    lady bugs and beetles land,
    shelter from the cold, coarse sand

    found in the sand
    someone lost a loved one–
    this wedding band,
    years of what could and could not
    happen in a span of life

    Like


  506. TO ALL: just found this site and I really like it! I wanted to try I’m guessing what would be called “tanka” style!

    One seagull feather
    hairy sculptures of seagrass
    piled up on the dunes;
    lady bugs and beetles land,
    shelter from the cold, coarse sand

    found in the sand
    someone lost a loved one–
    this wedding band,
    years of what could and could not
    happen in a span of life

    lifes changing seasons
    happy, sad, up, down, laugh, cry-
    stay or go away

    Like


  507. Seraph, thanks for stopping by and adding your poetry. Hope you’ll come back. Adding to the renga:

    ____________

    One seagull feather
    hairy sculptures of seagrass
    piled up on the dunes;
    lady bugs and beetles land,
    shelter from the cold, coarse sand

    found in the sand
    someone lost a loved one–
    this wedding band,
    years of what could and could not
    happen in a span of life

    lifes changing seasons
    happy, sad, up, down, laugh, cry-
    stay or go away;
    underneath the roiling waves
    calm moonlight draws me back in

    Like


  508. @QM: It’s wonderful to start writing more renga. After all, instead of NaNoWriMo this month, I’m doing a solo renga, which will have its own complete post on my poetry website. 8) I want to see how far I can go with the verses.

    —————————————————–

    One seagull feather
    hairy sculptures of seagrass
    piled up on the dunes;
    lady bugs and beetles land,
    shelter from the cold, coarse sand

    found in the sand
    someone lost a loved one–
    this wedding band,
    years of what could and could not
    happen in a span of life

    lifes changing seasons
    happy, sad, up, down, laugh, cry-
    stay or go away;
    underneath the roiling waves
    calm moonlight draws me back in

    breathing in bath salts,
    I think of the tears I tasted
    when you said goodbye

    Like


  509. Thank you QM…I really enjoy this site and junction of everyones creative thoughts!!! Lotus—what is your poetry site address? I’d like to check it out!

    ************************************************

    One seagull feather
    hairy sculptures of seagrass
    piled up on the dunes;
    lady bugs and beetles land,
    shelter from the cold, coarse sand

    found in the sand
    someone lost a loved one–
    this wedding band,
    years of what could and could not
    happen in a span of life

    lifes changing seasons
    happy, sad, up, down, laugh, cry-
    stay or go away;
    underneath the roiling waves
    calm moonlight draws me back in

    breathing in bath salts,
    I think of the tears I tasted
    when you said goodbye
    bitter wind off oceans spray
    turns my heart cold like that day

    Like


  510. wind floats leaves to sky
    dried foilage touches blue and white-
    looking out front door
    sun shines between leaf bared limbs
    smile-turn to go start my day

    WOW! That felt really good to try! my first tanka..i think? This would be a fun job!! LOL!!!!

    Like


  511. A~Lotus, the solo renga sounds challenging. What a great exercise and practice. Hope you’ll drop the link in for us.

    Seraph, I always love it when new people join in the tanka and renga. It’s been fun this year to see what’s happened with this post. I’ve been churning over the new post for next year. We’ll see where it goes.

    Keeping the renga going:

    ____________

    One seagull feather
    hairy sculptures of seagrass
    piled up on the dunes;
    lady bugs and beetles land,
    shelter from the cold, coarse sand

    found in the sand
    someone lost a loved one–
    this wedding band,
    years of what could and could not
    happen in a span of life

    lifes changing seasons
    happy, sad, up, down, laugh, cry-
    stay or go away;
    underneath the roiling waves
    calm moonlight draws me back in

    breathing in bath salts,
    I think of the tears I tasted
    when you said goodbye
    bitter wind off oceans spray
    turns my heart cold like that day

    bare truth, baldfaced lie,
    why does nothing satisfy?
    how fickle my heart

    Like


  512. @Seraph: Here’s my link: http://alotus-poetry.livejournal.com. Scroll down to about 4 posts, and you can read a whole bunch of Japanese poetry and other short form poetry that I’ve been writing this year. As of now, I have over 500. Enjoy!

    @QM: Will post the solo renga when November is over.🙂

    Like


  513. @QM: P.S. I can’t wait to see what’s in store for the new year’s post! 8)

    —————————————

    One seagull feather
    hairy sculptures of seagrass
    piled up on the dunes;
    lady bugs and beetles land,
    shelter from the cold, coarse sand

    found in the sand
    someone lost a loved one–
    this wedding band,
    years of what could and could not
    happen in a span of life

    lifes changing seasons
    happy, sad, up, down, laugh, cry-
    stay or go away;
    underneath the roiling waves
    calm moonlight draws me back in

    breathing in bath salts,
    I think of the tears I tasted
    when you said goodbye
    bitter wind off oceans spray
    turns my heart cold like that day

    bare truth, baldfaced lie,
    why does nothing satisfy?
    how fickle my heart
    swinging between trees
    like a hammock

    Like


  514. Thanks A~Lotus!!!!

    One seagull feather
    hairy sculptures of seagrass
    piled up on the dunes;
    lady bugs and beetles land,
    shelter from the cold, coarse sand

    found in the sand
    someone lost a loved one–
    this wedding band,
    years of what could and could not
    happen in a span of life

    lifes changing seasons
    happy, sad, up, down, laugh, cry-
    stay or go away;
    underneath the roiling waves
    calm moonlight draws me back in

    breathing in bath salts,
    I think of the tears I tasted
    when you said goodbye
    bitter wind off oceans spray
    turns my heart cold like that day

    bare truth, baldfaced lie,
    why does nothing satisfy?
    how fickle my heart
    swinging between trees
    like a hammock

    creaking bending trees
    crying out pains agony-
    red eyes of griefs lava tears

    Like


  515. Wow, this is so fun to watch. I want to play:

    _______________________

    One seagull feather
    hairy sculptures of seagrass
    piled up on the dunes;
    lady bugs and beetles land,
    shelter from the cold, coarse sand

    found in the sand
    someone lost a loved one–
    this wedding band,
    years of what could and could not
    happen in a span of life

    lifes changing seasons
    happy, sad, up, down, laugh, cry-
    stay or go away;
    underneath the roiling waves
    calm moonlight draws me back in

    breathing in bath salts,
    I think of the tears I tasted
    when you said goodbye
    bitter wind off oceans spray
    turns my heart cold like that day

    bare truth, baldfaced lie,
    why does nothing satisfy?
    how fickle my heart
    swinging between trees
    like a hammock

    creaking bending trees
    crying out pains agony-
    red eyes of griefs lava tears
    into the wind I let it go
    a feather across the sand

    Like


  516. @yb: Lovely addition to the renga!! 8) Thanks for joining us!🙂

    ——————————–

    One seagull feather
    hairy sculptures of seagrass
    piled up on the dunes;
    lady bugs and beetles land,
    shelter from the cold, coarse sand

    found in the sand
    someone lost a loved one–
    this wedding band,
    years of what could and could not
    happen in a span of life

    lifes changing seasons
    happy, sad, up, down, laugh, cry-
    stay or go away;
    underneath the roiling waves
    calm moonlight draws me back in

    breathing in bath salts,
    I think of the tears I tasted
    when you said goodbye
    bitter wind off oceans spray
    turns my heart cold like that day

    bare truth, baldfaced lie,
    why does nothing satisfy?
    how fickle my heart
    swinging between trees
    like a hammock

    creaking bending trees
    crying out pains agony-
    red eyes of griefs lava tears
    into the wind I let it go
    a feather across the sand

    between power lines
    the crows can’t decide whether
    to leave or stay

    Like


  517. Continue. Continue. Continue. More renga.

    ——————————–

    One seagull feather
    hairy sculptures of seagrass
    piled up on the dunes;
    lady bugs and beetles land,
    shelter from the cold, coarse sand

    found in the sand
    someone lost a loved one–
    this wedding band,
    years of what could and could not
    happen in a span of life

    lifes changing seasons
    happy, sad, up, down, laugh, cry-
    stay or go away;
    underneath the roiling waves
    calm moonlight draws me back in

    breathing in bath salts,
    I think of the tears I tasted
    when you said goodbye
    bitter wind off oceans spray
    turns my heart cold like that day

    bare truth, baldfaced lie,
    why does nothing satisfy?
    how fickle my heart
    swinging between trees
    like a hammock

    creaking bending trees
    crying out pains agony-
    red eyes of griefs lava tears
    into the wind I let it go
    a feather across the sand

    between power lines
    the crows can’t decide whether
    to leave or stay
    feet hold fast to shifting ground
    head says run through whir of wire

    Like


  518. Maybe I like this ending better. A little shift between feet and head:

    ——————————–

    One seagull feather
    hairy sculptures of seagrass
    piled up on the dunes;
    lady bugs and beetles land,
    shelter from the cold, coarse sand

    found in the sand
    someone lost a loved one–
    this wedding band,
    years of what could and could not
    happen in a span of life

    lifes changing seasons
    happy, sad, up, down, laugh, cry-
    stay or go away;
    underneath the roiling waves
    calm moonlight draws me back in

    breathing in bath salts,
    I think of the tears I tasted
    when you said goodbye
    bitter wind off oceans spray
    turns my heart cold like that day

    bare truth, baldfaced lie,
    why does nothing satisfy?
    how fickle my heart
    swinging between trees
    like a hammock

    creaking bending trees
    crying out pains agony-
    red eyes of griefs lava tears
    into the wind I let it go
    a feather across the sand

    between power lines
    the crows can’t decide whether
    to leave or stay
    feet hold fast to whir of wire
    head says run to shifting ground

    Like


  519. bare oak branches hide
    behind the dancing Fall skies
    drawing down the Moon

    Like


  520. One seagull feather
    hairy sculptures of seagrass
    piled up on the dunes;
    lady bugs and beetles land,
    shelter from the cold, coarse sand

    found in the sand
    someone lost a loved one–
    this wedding band,
    years of what could and could not
    happen in a span of life

    lifes changing seasons
    happy, sad, up, down, laugh, cry-
    stay or go away;
    underneath the roiling waves
    calm moonlight draws me back in

    breathing in bath salts,
    I think of the tears I tasted
    when you said goodbye
    bitter wind off oceans spray
    turns my heart cold like that day

    bare truth, baldfaced lie,
    why does nothing satisfy?
    how fickle my heart
    swinging between trees
    like a hammock

    creaking bending trees
    crying out pains agony-
    red eyes of griefs lava tears
    into the wind I let it go
    a feather across the sand

    between power lines
    the crows can’t decide whether
    to leave or stay
    feet hold fast to whir of wire
    head says run to shifting ground

    from the earth
    a crack
    of fresh earthworms

    Like


  521. A~Lotus, this might be the longest renga we’ve all kept going yet. Rewarding.

    _________

    One seagull feather
    hairy sculptures of seagrass
    piled up on the dunes;
    lady bugs and beetles land,
    shelter from the cold, coarse sand

    found in the sand
    someone lost a loved one–
    this wedding band,
    years of what could and could not
    happen in a span of life

    lifes changing seasons
    happy, sad, up, down, laugh, cry-
    stay or go away;
    underneath the roiling waves
    calm moonlight draws me back in

    breathing in bath salts,
    I think of the tears I tasted
    when you said goodbye
    bitter wind off oceans spray
    turns my heart cold like that day

    bare truth, baldfaced lie,
    why does nothing satisfy?
    how fickle my heart
    swinging between trees
    like a hammock

    creaking bending trees
    crying out pains agony-
    red eyes of griefs lava tears
    into the wind I let it go
    a feather across the sand

    between power lines
    the crows can’t decide whether
    to leave or stay
    feet hold fast to whir of wire
    head says run to shifting ground

    from the earth
    a crack
    of fresh earthworms
    slither through the pouring rain
    clinging to last bits of life

    Like


  522. Winter Approaches haiku trilogy
    ___________________

    dark when I arise
    a day’s work and darker yet
    where is the sunlight?

    Earth plays close to vest
    Solstice hides in the shadows
    seasonal secrets

    Winter searches skies
    looking for the Northern Star
    to find her way home

    Like


  523. @QM: Indeed. I love to see how there are so many people jumping in with the renga! 8)

    ———————————

    One seagull feather
    hairy sculptures of seagrass
    piled up on the dunes;
    lady bugs and beetles land,
    shelter from the cold, coarse sand

    found in the sand
    someone lost a loved one–
    this wedding band,
    years of what could and could not
    happen in a span of life

    lifes changing seasons
    happy, sad, up, down, laugh, cry-
    stay or go away;
    underneath the roiling waves
    calm moonlight draws me back in

    breathing in bath salts,
    I think of the tears I tasted
    when you said goodbye
    bitter wind off oceans spray
    turns my heart cold like that day

    bare truth, baldfaced lie,
    why does nothing satisfy?
    how fickle my heart
    swinging between trees
    like a hammock

    creaking bending trees
    crying out pains agony-
    red eyes of griefs lava tears
    into the wind I let it go
    a feather across the sand

    between power lines
    the crows can’t decide whether
    to leave or stay
    feet hold fast to whir of wire
    head says run to shifting ground

    from the earth
    a crack
    of fresh earthworms
    slither through the pouring rain
    clinging to last bits of life

    the soccer field–
    a marshland for herons
    after the rain

    Like


  524. […] to posts: haiku 2 (one-a-day), haiku for Kohler Arts Possibly related posts: (automatically generated)My YarnAwakening the Dragon […]

    Like


  525. […] ybonesy takes off her mask to unveil her Etsy store, featuring these new items: daily haiku Post Yours Here guest writers & featured artists Michelle McCaulley – October 2009 Bob Chrisman – October […]

    Like


  526. Happy Sunday, A~Lotus.

    ———————————

    One seagull feather
    hairy sculptures of seagrass
    piled up on the dunes;
    lady bugs and beetles land,
    shelter from the cold, coarse sand

    found in the sand
    someone lost a loved one–
    this wedding band,
    years of what could and could not
    happen in a span of life

    lifes changing seasons
    happy, sad, up, down, laugh, cry-
    stay or go away;
    underneath the roiling waves
    calm moonlight draws me back in

    breathing in bath salts,
    I think of the tears I tasted
    when you said goodbye
    bitter wind off oceans spray
    turns my heart cold like that day

    bare truth, baldfaced lie,
    why does nothing satisfy?
    how fickle my heart
    swinging between trees
    like a hammock

    creaking bending trees
    crying out pains agony-
    red eyes of griefs lava tears
    into the wind I let it go
    a feather across the sand

    between power lines
    the crows can’t decide whether
    to leave or stay
    feet hold fast to whir of wire
    head says run to shifting ground

    from the earth
    a crack
    of fresh earthworms
    slither through the pouring rain
    clinging to last bits of life

    the soccer field–
    a marshland for herons
    after the rain
    reminds me of Nebraska
    slow drum of Janis Ian

    naked oak and birch
    still in the November wind
    haiku for the sky

    Like


  527. @QM: Thank you so much! Happy Sunday to you, too! I enjoyed my day today as it is my birthday (AND I don’t have work!)! 8)

    ———————–
    One seagull feather
    hairy sculptures of seagrass
    piled up on the dunes;
    lady bugs and beetles land,
    shelter from the cold, coarse sand

    found in the sand
    someone lost a loved one–
    this wedding band,
    years of what could and could not
    happen in a span of life

    lifes changing seasons
    happy, sad, up, down, laugh, cry-
    stay or go away;
    underneath the roiling waves
    calm moonlight draws me back in

    breathing in bath salts,
    I think of the tears I tasted
    when you said goodbye
    bitter wind off oceans spray
    turns my heart cold like that day

    bare truth, baldfaced lie,
    why does nothing satisfy?
    how fickle my heart
    swinging between trees
    like a hammock

    creaking bending trees
    crying out pains agony-
    red eyes of griefs lava tears
    into the wind I let it go
    a feather across the sand

    between power lines
    the crows can’t decide whether
    to leave or stay
    feet hold fast to whir of wire
    head says run to shifting ground

    from the earth
    a crack
    of fresh earthworms
    slither through the pouring rain
    clinging to last bits of life

    the soccer field–
    a marshland for herons
    after the rain
    reminds me of Nebraska
    slow drum of Janis Ian

    naked oak and birch
    still in the November wind
    haiku for the sky
    only my breath caught
    in the branches

    Like


  528. One seagull feather
    hairy sculptures of seagrass
    piled up on the dunes;
    lady bugs and beetles land,
    shelter from the cold, coarse sand

    found in the sand
    someone lost a loved one–
    this wedding band,
    years of what could and could not
    happen in a span of life

    lifes changing seasons
    happy, sad, up, down, laugh, cry-
    stay or go away;
    underneath the roiling waves
    calm moonlight draws me back in

    breathing in bath salts,
    I think of the tears I tasted
    when you said goodbye
    bitter wind off oceans spray
    turns my heart cold like that day

    bare truth, baldfaced lie,
    why does nothing satisfy?
    how fickle my heart
    swinging between trees
    like a hammock

    creaking bending trees
    crying out pains agony-
    red eyes of griefs lava tears
    into the wind I let it go
    a feather across the sand

    between power lines
    the crows can’t decide whether
    to leave or stay
    feet hold fast to whir of wire
    head says run to shifting ground

    from the earth
    a crack
    of fresh earthworms
    slither through the pouring rain
    clinging to last bits of life

    the soccer field–
    a marshland for herons
    after the rain
    reminds me of Nebraska
    slow drum of Janis Ian

    naked oak and birch
    still in the November wind
    haiku for the sky
    only my breath caught
    in the branches

    birdsong–
    my dog echoes the warbler
    with her sore throat

    Like


  529. A~Lotus, so December 15th is your birthday? Happy belated birthday!

    ___________________

    One seagull feather
    hairy sculptures of seagrass
    piled up on the dunes;
    lady bugs and beetles land,
    shelter from the cold, coarse sand

    found in the sand
    someone lost a loved one–
    this wedding band,
    years of what could and could not
    happen in a span of life

    lifes changing seasons
    happy, sad, up, down, laugh, cry-
    stay or go away;
    underneath the roiling waves
    calm moonlight draws me back in

    breathing in bath salts,
    I think of the tears I tasted
    when you said goodbye
    bitter wind off oceans spray
    turns my heart cold like that day

    bare truth, baldfaced lie,
    why does nothing satisfy?
    how fickle my heart
    swinging between trees
    like a hammock

    creaking bending trees
    crying out pains agony-
    red eyes of griefs lava tears
    into the wind I let it go
    a feather across the sand

    between power lines
    the crows can’t decide whether
    to leave or stay
    feet hold fast to whir of wire
    head says run to shifting ground

    from the earth
    a crack
    of fresh earthworms
    slither through the pouring rain
    clinging to last bits of life

    the soccer field–
    a marshland for herons
    after the rain
    reminds me of Nebraska
    slow drum of Janis Ian

    naked oak and birch
    still in the November wind
    haiku for the sky
    only my breath caught
    in the branches

    birdsong–
    my dog echoes the warbler
    with her sore throat;
    the trill can be heard for miles,
    is the bark worse than the bite?

    Like


  530. @QM: Thank you! It was a wonderful Sunday!🙂

    ——————————————-

    One seagull feather
    hairy sculptures of seagrass
    piled up on the dunes;
    lady bugs and beetles land,
    shelter from the cold, coarse sand

    found in the sand
    someone lost a loved one–
    this wedding band,
    years of what could and could not
    happen in a span of life

    lifes changing seasons
    happy, sad, up, down, laugh, cry-
    stay or go away;
    underneath the roiling waves
    calm moonlight draws me back in

    breathing in bath salts,
    I think of the tears I tasted
    when you said goodbye
    bitter wind off oceans spray
    turns my heart cold like that day

    bare truth, baldfaced lie,
    why does nothing satisfy?
    how fickle my heart
    swinging between trees
    like a hammock

    creaking bending trees
    crying out pains agony-
    red eyes of griefs lava tears
    into the wind I let it go
    a feather across the sand

    between power lines
    the crows can’t decide whether
    to leave or stay
    feet hold fast to whir of wire
    head says run to shifting ground

    from the earth
    a crack
    of fresh earthworms
    slither through the pouring rain
    clinging to last bits of life

    the soccer field–
    a marshland for herons
    after the rain
    reminds me of Nebraska
    slow drum of Janis Ian

    naked oak and birch
    still in the November wind
    haiku for the sky
    only my breath caught
    in the branches

    birdsong–
    my dog echoes the warbler
    with her sore throat;
    the trill can be heard for miles,
    is the bark worse than the bite?

    from the birch tree
    I peel away the bark
    and write this haiku

    Like


  531. 532.

    One seagull feather
    hairy sculptures of seagrass
    piled up on the dunes;
    lady bugs and beetles land,
    shelter from the cold, coarse sand

    found in the sand
    someone lost a loved one–
    this wedding band,
    years of what could and could not
    happen in a span of life

    lifes changing seasons
    happy, sad, up, down, laugh, cry-
    stay or go away;
    underneath the roiling waves
    calm moonlight draws me back in

    breathing in bath salts,
    I think of the tears I tasted
    when you said goodbye
    bitter wind off oceans spray
    turns my heart cold like that day

    bare truth, baldfaced lie,
    why does nothing satisfy?
    how fickle my heart
    swinging between trees
    like a hammock

    creaking bending trees
    crying out pains agony-
    red eyes of griefs lava tears
    into the wind I let it go
    a feather across the sand

    between power lines
    the crows can’t decide whether
    to leave or stay
    feet hold fast to whir of wire
    head says run to shifting ground

    from the earth
    a crack
    of fresh earthworms
    slither through the pouring rain
    clinging to last bits of life

    the soccer field–
    a marshland for herons
    after the rain
    reminds me of Nebraska
    slow drum of Janis Ian

    naked oak and birch
    still in the November wind
    haiku for the sky
    only my breath caught
    in the branches

    birdsong–
    my dog echoes the warbler
    with her sore throat;
    the trill can be heard for miles,
    is the bark worse than the bite?

    from the birch tree
    I peel away the bark
    and write this haiku
    I find the sap sweet, congealed
    While my tears remain bitter

    The backyard rubble
    Holds wisps of waylaid dreams It’s
    Slim pickings for birds.

    Like


  532. @Robert: Wonderful addition to our renga! 8)

    ——————————————

    One seagull feather
    hairy sculptures of seagrass
    piled up on the dunes;
    lady bugs and beetles land,
    shelter from the cold, coarse sand

    found in the sand
    someone lost a loved one–
    this wedding band,
    years of what could and could not
    happen in a span of life

    lifes changing seasons
    happy, sad, up, down, laugh, cry-
    stay or go away;
    underneath the roiling waves
    calm moonlight draws me back in

    breathing in bath salts,
    I think of the tears I tasted
    when you said goodbye
    bitter wind off oceans spray
    turns my heart cold like that day

    bare truth, baldfaced lie,
    why does nothing satisfy?
    how fickle my heart
    swinging between trees
    like a hammock

    creaking bending trees
    crying out pains agony-
    red eyes of griefs lava tears
    into the wind I let it go
    a feather across the sand

    between power lines
    the crows can’t decide whether
    to leave or stay
    feet hold fast to whir of wire
    head says run to shifting ground

    from the earth
    a crack
    of fresh earthworms
    slither through the pouring rain
    clinging to last bits of life

    the soccer field–
    a marshland for herons
    after the rain
    reminds me of Nebraska
    slow drum of Janis Ian

    naked oak and birch
    still in the November wind
    haiku for the sky
    only my breath caught
    in the branches

    birdsong–
    my dog echoes the warbler
    with her sore throat;
    the trill can be heard for miles,
    is the bark worse than the bite?

    from the birch tree
    I peel away the bark
    and write this haiku
    I find the sap sweet, congealed
    While my tears remain bitter

    The backyard rubble
    Holds wisps of waylaid dreams It’s
    Slim pickings for birds;
    they are dreamcatchers
    tying each nightmare to the bare branches.

    Like


  533. One seagull feather
    hairy sculptures of seagrass
    piled up on the dunes;
    lady bugs and beetles land,
    shelter from the cold, coarse sand

    found in the sand
    someone lost a loved one–
    this wedding band,
    years of what could and could not
    happen in a span of life

    lifes changing seasons
    happy, sad, up, down, laugh, cry-
    stay or go away;
    underneath the roiling waves
    calm moonlight draws me back in

    breathing in bath salts,
    I think of the tears I tasted
    when you said goodbye
    bitter wind off oceans spray
    turns my heart cold like that day

    bare truth, baldfaced lie,
    why does nothing satisfy?
    how fickle my heart
    swinging between trees
    like a hammock

    creaking bending trees
    crying out pains agony-
    red eyes of griefs lava tears
    into the wind I let it go
    a feather across the sand

    between power lines
    the crows can’t decide whether
    to leave or stay
    feet hold fast to whir of wire
    head says run to shifting ground

    from the earth
    a crack
    of fresh earthworms
    slither through the pouring rain
    clinging to last bits of life

    the soccer field–
    a marshland for herons
    after the rain
    reminds me of Nebraska
    slow drum of Janis Ian

    naked oak and birch
    still in the November wind
    haiku for the sky
    only my breath caught
    in the branches

    birdsong–
    my dog echoes the warbler
    with her sore throat;
    the trill can be heard for miles,
    is the bark worse than the bite?

    from the birch tree
    I peel away the bark
    and write this haiku
    I find the sap sweet, congealed
    While my tears remain bitter

    The backyard rubble
    Holds wisps of waylaid dreams It’s
    Slim pickings for birds;
    they are dreamcatchers
    tying each nightmare to bare branches.

    (Actually, I like this one better without the extra “the”.)

    Like


  534. A~Lotus & Robert Morse, really nice. Lotus, I do that, too, reworking sometimes. I like it without the “the,” too.

    _____________-

    One seagull feather
    hairy sculptures of seagrass
    piled up on the dunes;
    lady bugs and beetles land,
    shelter from the cold, coarse sand

    found in the sand
    someone lost a loved one–
    this wedding band,
    years of what could and could not
    happen in a span of life

    lifes changing seasons
    happy, sad, up, down, laugh, cry-
    stay or go away;
    underneath the roiling waves
    calm moonlight draws me back in

    breathing in bath salts,
    I think of the tears I tasted
    when you said goodbye
    bitter wind off oceans spray
    turns my heart cold like that day

    bare truth, baldfaced lie,
    why does nothing satisfy?
    how fickle my heart
    swinging between trees
    like a hammock

    creaking bending trees
    crying out pains agony-
    red eyes of griefs lava tears
    into the wind I let it go
    a feather across the sand

    between power lines
    the crows can’t decide whether
    to leave or stay
    feet hold fast to whir of wire
    head says run to shifting ground

    from the earth
    a crack
    of fresh earthworms
    slither through the pouring rain
    clinging to last bits of life

    the soccer field–
    a marshland for herons
    after the rain
    reminds me of Nebraska
    slow drum of Janis Ian

    naked oak and birch
    still in the November wind
    haiku for the sky
    only my breath caught
    in the branches

    birdsong–
    my dog echoes the warbler
    with her sore throat;
    the trill can be heard for miles,
    is the bark worse than the bite?

    from the birch tree
    I peel away the bark
    and write this haiku
    I find the sap sweet, congealed
    While my tears remain bitter

    The backyard rubble
    Holds wisps of waylaid dreams It’s
    Slim pickings for birds;
    they are dreamcatchers
    tying each nightmare to bare branches.

    crows light on the wing
    Raven holds November court
    while hummers fly South

    Like


  535. One seagull feather
    hairy sculptures of seagrass
    piled up on the dunes;
    lady bugs and beetles land,
    shelter from the cold, coarse sand

    found in the sand
    someone lost a loved one–
    this wedding band,
    years of what could and could not
    happen in a span of life

    lifes changing seasons
    happy, sad, up, down, laugh, cry-
    stay or go away;
    underneath the roiling waves
    calm moonlight draws me back in

    breathing in bath salts,
    I think of the tears I tasted
    when you said goodbye
    bitter wind off oceans spray
    turns my heart cold like that day

    bare truth, baldfaced lie,
    why does nothing satisfy?
    how fickle my heart
    swinging between trees
    like a hammock

    creaking bending trees
    crying out pains agony-
    red eyes of griefs lava tears
    into the wind I let it go
    a feather across the sand

    between power lines
    the crows can’t decide whether
    to leave or stay
    feet hold fast to whir of wire
    head says run to shifting ground

    from the earth
    a crack
    of fresh earthworms
    slither through the pouring rain
    clinging to last bits of life

    the soccer field–
    a marshland for herons
    after the rain
    reminds me of Nebraska
    slow drum of Janis Ian

    naked oak and birch
    still in the November wind
    haiku for the sky
    only my breath caught
    in the branches

    birdsong–
    my dog echoes the warbler
    with her sore throat;
    the trill can be heard for miles,
    is the bark worse than the bite?

    from the birch tree
    I peel away the bark
    and write this haiku
    I find the sap sweet, congealed
    While my tears remain bitter

    The backyard rubble
    Holds wisps of waylaid dreams It’s
    Slim pickings for birds;
    they are dreamcatchers
    tying each nightmare to bare branches.

    crows light on the wing
    Raven holds November court
    while hummers fly South
    dipping in the sunlight
    they pull away the clouds

    Like


  536. One seagull feather
    hairy sculptures of seagrass
    piled up on the dunes;
    lady bugs and beetles land,
    shelter from the cold, coarse sand

    found in the sand
    someone lost a loved one–
    this wedding band,
    years of what could and could not
    happen in a span of life

    lifes changing seasons
    happy, sad, up, down, laugh, cry-
    stay or go away;
    underneath the roiling waves
    calm moonlight draws me back in

    breathing in bath salts,
    I think of the tears I tasted
    when you said goodbye
    bitter wind off oceans spray
    turns my heart cold like that day

    bare truth, baldfaced lie,
    why does nothing satisfy?
    how fickle my heart
    swinging between trees
    like a hammock

    creaking bending trees
    crying out pains agony-
    red eyes of griefs lava tears
    into the wind I let it go
    a feather across the sand

    between power lines
    the crows can’t decide whether
    to leave or stay
    feet hold fast to whir of wire
    head says run to shifting ground

    from the earth
    a crack
    of fresh earthworms
    slither through the pouring rain
    clinging to last bits of life

    the soccer field–
    a marshland for herons
    after the rain
    reminds me of Nebraska
    slow drum of Janis Ian

    naked oak and birch
    still in the November wind
    haiku for the sky
    only my breath caught
    in the branches

    birdsong–
    my dog echoes the warbler
    with her sore throat;
    the trill can be heard for miles,
    is the bark worse than the bite?

    from the birch tree
    I peel away the bark
    and write this haiku
    I find the sap sweet, congealed
    While my tears remain bitter

    The backyard rubble
    Holds wisps of waylaid dreams It’s
    Slim pickings for birds;
    they are dreamcatchers
    tying each nightmare to bare branches.

    crows light on the wing
    Raven holds November court
    while hummers fly South
    dipping in the sunlight
    they pull away the clouds

    Sun sextile Saturn
    Thanksgiving relationships
    may take a quick turn

    Like


  537. […] to post: haiku 2 (one-a-day) Possibly related posts: (automatically generated)Tuesday’s Blog Hop– Sweet Georgia […]

    Like


  538. Thanksgiving already?
    The turkey gets the hatchet
    Then here comes Santa.

    A surprise attack,
    Neighbor’s Xmas lights are on,
    Pre-emptive bastard.

    And so it begins,
    the big Thanksgiving countdown,
    5-4-3-2-feast!

    No-guilt Thanksgiving,
    any ‘li’l orphan turkeys,
    go to Foster Farms.

    The counterattack!
    Bandoliers of xmas lights,
    staple gun in-hand.

    Swaying on ladder,
    A sly smile creeps over me,
    Christmas Shock & Awe.

    Donner and Blitzen,
    are Lightening and Thunder,
    What about Rudolph?

    Its a Noble Fir
    until day after Christmas,
    then its a dead tree.

    Then comes New Years eve,
    Banging, tooting and blowing,
    1 & 2 sound good.

    Like


  539. “Gobble-gobble-gob…”
    (hatchet sound, the line moves up)
    “Gobble-gobble-gob…”

    Like


  540. Staple, then plug in,
    lest Edison’s Medicine,
    be sampled first-hand.

    (re: hanging the Christmas lights)

    Like


  541. Consummatum est,
    ab inconvenienti,
    Omnibus lucet.

    (re: hanging the Christmas lights)

    Like


  542. Walljasper, you’ve got some rockin’ poetry there. Your sense of humor comes out in the poetry. It reminds me of Robert Morse’s style. I like it. Welcome to red Ravine.

    A~Lotus, did I read on Twitter that you’re taking a hiatus from poetry until the beginning of December? Will miss you. Can you believe another year has flown by. Whoa.

    ________

    Thanksgiving’s over
    Midwest darkness comes early
    full stomach, light heart

    Like


  543. Adding a few lines to make a tanka from Walljasper’s haiku:

    Staple, then plug in,
    lest Edison’s Medicine,
    be sampled first-hand.
    And the Ghost of Christmas past
    glows wildly across the land.

    Like


  544. Ah – QuinMonkey – I like the calm resolve of your poetry re: Thanksgiving.

    Your tanka addtion made me smile. ‘Really like the tanka tradition – it’s wonderful.

    And thank you for your kind welcome. Happy Thanksgiving.

    Walljasper

    Like


  545. Adding a few lines to make a tanka from QuinMonkey haiku:

    Thanksgiving’s over
    Midwest darkness comes early
    full stomach, light heart
    The sky fades to black sable,
    My joys, the glimmer of stars.

    Like


  546. Revision already. 😉 Adding a few lines to make a tanka from QuinMonkey haiku:

    Thanksgiving’s over
    Midwest darkness comes early
    full stomach, light heart
    Skies fade, dark sea of sable,
    My joys, the glimmer of stars.

    Like


  547. Walljasper, thank you. Hope your Holiday was wonderful as well. Really fun to have you here on the haiku post. It’s a joy for me when new people drop in. Adds so much to the practice. Moving into renga with your last tanka. Happy Friday.

    __________

    Thanksgiving’s over
    Midwest darkness comes early
    full stomach, light heart
    Skies fade, dark sea of sable,
    My joys, the glimmer of stars.

    Black Friday glows red
    dewy frost on window panes
    grounds the scattered mind

    Like


  548. […] -related to post: haiku 2 (one-a-day) […]

    Like


  549. Oh no! Just got a haiku from a friend and turned him on to tanka, adding 2 7-syllable lines to his haiku.

    Happiness with friends
    Turkey, Stuffing, Wine and laughs
    Nap on the sofa
    Stomach growls, its time to eat.
    Hey, it’s been fifteen minutes.

    I blame QuoinMonkey. Heheh. 😉

    Like


  550. Walljasper, fun tanka. I’d love to take the blame! It’s fun to turn others on to tanka and renga. To expand the practice. Still pondering the new haiku post for 2010. Hope your friend likes the tanka!

    I’m going to keep going with this older renga, see what happens. It’s the longest one we’ve had going in this post this year. All are free to join in!

    ____________

    One seagull feather
    hairy sculptures of seagrass
    piled up on the dunes;
    lady bugs and beetles land,
    shelter from the cold, coarse sand

    found in the sand
    someone lost a loved one–
    this wedding band,
    years of what could and could not
    happen in a span of life

    lifes changing seasons
    happy, sad, up, down, laugh, cry-
    stay or go away;
    underneath the roiling waves
    calm moonlight draws me back in

    breathing in bath salts,
    I think of the tears I tasted
    when you said goodbye
    bitter wind off oceans spray
    turns my heart cold like that day

    bare truth, baldfaced lie,
    why does nothing satisfy?
    how fickle my heart
    swinging between trees
    like a hammock

    creaking bending trees
    crying out pains agony-
    red eyes of griefs lava tears
    into the wind I let it go
    a feather across the sand

    between power lines
    the crows can’t decide whether
    to leave or stay
    feet hold fast to whir of wire
    head says run to shifting ground

    from the earth
    a crack
    of fresh earthworms
    slither through the pouring rain
    clinging to last bits of life

    the soccer field–
    a marshland for herons
    after the rain
    reminds me of Nebraska
    slow drum of Janis Ian

    naked oak and birch
    still in the November wind
    haiku for the sky
    only my breath caught
    in the branches

    birdsong–
    my dog echoes the warbler
    with her sore throat;
    the trill can be heard for miles,
    is the bark worse than the bite?

    from the birch tree
    I peel away the bark
    and write this haiku
    I find the sap sweet, congealed
    While my tears remain bitter

    The backyard rubble
    Holds wisps of waylaid dreams It’s
    Slim pickings for birds;
    they are dreamcatchers
    tying each nightmare to bare branches.

    crows light on the wing
    Raven holds November court
    while hummers fly South
    dipping in the sunlight
    they pull away the clouds

    Sun sextile Saturn
    Thanksgiving relationships
    may take a quick turn
    family feuds holding still —
    peace returns, if just one day

    on the corner, the Raven
    returning for a quick meal
    dissolves into night

    Like


  551. Adding to your haiku to create a tanka:

    ———————————

    on the corner, the Raven
    returning for a quick meal
    dissolves into night

    The autumn also takes wing,
    A snowflake heralds winter.

    Like


  552. Thanks, Walljasper! I’m going to add it into the renga and keep going.

    ____________

    One seagull feather
    hairy sculptures of seagrass
    piled up on the dunes;
    lady bugs and beetles land,
    shelter from the cold, coarse sand

    found in the sand
    someone lost a loved one–
    this wedding band,
    years of what could and could not
    happen in a span of life

    lifes changing seasons
    happy, sad, up, down, laugh, cry-
    stay or go away;
    underneath the roiling waves
    calm moonlight draws me back in

    breathing in bath salts,
    I think of the tears I tasted
    when you said goodbye
    bitter wind off oceans spray
    turns my heart cold like that day

    bare truth, baldfaced lie,
    why does nothing satisfy?
    how fickle my heart
    swinging between trees
    like a hammock

    creaking bending trees
    crying out pains agony-
    red eyes of griefs lava tears
    into the wind I let it go
    a feather across the sand

    between power lines
    the crows can’t decide whether
    to leave or stay
    feet hold fast to whir of wire
    head says run to shifting ground

    from the earth
    a crack
    of fresh earthworms
    slither through the pouring rain
    clinging to last bits of life

    the soccer field–
    a marshland for herons
    after the rain
    reminds me of Nebraska
    slow drum of Janis Ian

    naked oak and birch
    still in the November wind
    haiku for the sky
    only my breath caught
    in the branches

    birdsong–
    my dog echoes the warbler
    with her sore throat;
    the trill can be heard for miles,
    is the bark worse than the bite?

    from the birch tree
    I peel away the bark
    and write this haiku
    I find the sap sweet, congealed
    While my tears remain bitter

    The backyard rubble
    Holds wisps of waylaid dreams It’s
    Slim pickings for birds;
    they are dreamcatchers
    tying each nightmare to bare branches.

    crows light on the wing
    Raven holds November court
    while hummers fly South
    dipping in the sunlight
    they pull away the clouds

    Sun sextile Saturn
    Thanksgiving relationships
    may take a quick turn
    family feuds holding still –
    peace returns, if just one day

    on the corner, the Raven
    returning for a quick meal
    dissolves into night
    The autumn also takes wing,
    A snowflake heralds winter.

    trees crawl toward the sky
    ochre moonlight silhouettes
    dreaming of Solstice

    Like


  553. One seagull feather
    hairy sculptures of seagrass
    piled up on the dunes;
    lady bugs and beetles land,
    shelter from the cold, coarse sand

    found in the sand
    someone lost a loved one–
    this wedding band,
    years of what could and could not
    happen in a span of life

    lifes changing seasons
    happy, sad, up, down, laugh, cry-
    stay or go away;
    underneath the roiling waves
    calm moonlight draws me back in

    breathing in bath salts,
    I think of the tears I tasted
    when you said goodbye
    bitter wind off oceans spray
    turns my heart cold like that day

    bare truth, baldfaced lie,
    why does nothing satisfy?
    how fickle my heart
    swinging between trees
    like a hammock

    creaking bending trees
    crying out pains agony-
    red eyes of griefs lava tears
    into the wind I let it go
    a feather across the sand

    between power lines
    the crows can’t decide whether
    to leave or stay
    feet hold fast to whir of wire
    head says run to shifting ground

    from the earth
    a crack
    of fresh earthworms
    slither through the pouring rain
    clinging to last bits of life

    the soccer field–
    a marshland for herons
    after the rain
    reminds me of Nebraska
    slow drum of Janis Ian

    naked oak and birch
    still in the November wind
    haiku for the sky
    only my breath caught
    in the branches

    birdsong–
    my dog echoes the warbler
    with her sore throat;
    the trill can be heard for miles,
    is the bark worse than the bite?

    from the birch tree
    I peel away the bark
    and write this haiku
    I find the sap sweet, congealed
    While my tears remain bitter

    The backyard rubble
    Holds wisps of waylaid dreams It’s
    Slim pickings for birds;
    they are dreamcatchers
    tying each nightmare to bare branches.

    crows light on the wing
    Raven holds November court
    while hummers fly South
    dipping in the sunlight
    they pull away the clouds

    Sun sextile Saturn
    Thanksgiving relationships
    may take a quick turn
    family feuds holding still –
    peace returns, if just one day

    on the corner, the Raven
    returning for a quick meal
    dissolves into night
    The autumn also takes wing,
    A snowflake heralds winter.

    trees crawl toward the sky
    ochre moonlight silhouettes
    dreaming of Solstice
    The nights are long and heavy
    but soon the light will lift us.

    Like


  554. Nice, ybonesy.

    ___________

    One seagull feather
    hairy sculptures of seagrass
    piled up on the dunes;
    lady bugs and beetles land,
    shelter from the cold, coarse sand

    found in the sand
    someone lost a loved one–
    this wedding band,
    years of what could and could not
    happen in a span of life

    lifes changing seasons
    happy, sad, up, down, laugh, cry-
    stay or go away;
    underneath the roiling waves
    calm moonlight draws me back in

    breathing in bath salts,
    I think of the tears I tasted
    when you said goodbye
    bitter wind off oceans spray
    turns my heart cold like that day

    bare truth, baldfaced lie,
    why does nothing satisfy?
    how fickle my heart
    swinging between trees
    like a hammock

    creaking bending trees
    crying out pains agony-
    red eyes of griefs lava tears
    into the wind I let it go
    a feather across the sand

    between power lines
    the crows can’t decide whether
    to leave or stay
    feet hold fast to whir of wire
    head says run to shifting ground

    from the earth
    a crack
    of fresh earthworms
    slither through the pouring rain
    clinging to last bits of life

    the soccer field–
    a marshland for herons
    after the rain
    reminds me of Nebraska
    slow drum of Janis Ian

    naked oak and birch
    still in the November wind
    haiku for the sky
    only my breath caught
    in the branches

    birdsong–
    my dog echoes the warbler
    with her sore throat;
    the trill can be heard for miles,
    is the bark worse than the bite?

    from the birch tree
    I peel away the bark
    and write this haiku
    I find the sap sweet, congealed
    While my tears remain bitter

    The backyard rubble
    Holds wisps of waylaid dreams It’s
    Slim pickings for birds;
    they are dreamcatchers
    tying each nightmare to bare branches.

    crows light on the wing
    Raven holds November court
    while hummers fly South
    dipping in the sunlight
    they pull away the clouds

    Sun sextile Saturn
    Thanksgiving relationships
    may take a quick turn
    family feuds holding still –
    peace returns, if just one day

    on the corner, the Raven
    returning for a quick meal
    dissolves into night
    The autumn also takes wing,
    A snowflake heralds winter.

    trees crawl toward the sky
    ochre moonlight silhouettes
    dreaming of Solstice
    The nights are long and heavy
    but soon the light will lift us.

    trenches around fire
    reflected deep in your eyes
    labyrinthine pools

    Like


  555. Wow… I’m impressed how long this renga is going! 8)

    ——————————-

    One seagull feather
    hairy sculptures of seagrass
    piled up on the dunes;
    lady bugs and beetles land,
    shelter from the cold, coarse sand

    found in the sand
    someone lost a loved one–
    this wedding band,
    years of what could and could not
    happen in a span of life

    lifes changing seasons
    happy, sad, up, down, laugh, cry-
    stay or go away;
    underneath the roiling waves
    calm moonlight draws me back in

    breathing in bath salts,
    I think of the tears I tasted
    when you said goodbye
    bitter wind off oceans spray
    turns my heart cold like that day

    bare truth, baldfaced lie,
    why does nothing satisfy?
    how fickle my heart
    swinging between trees
    like a hammock

    creaking bending trees
    crying out pains agony-
    red eyes of griefs lava tears
    into the wind I let it go
    a feather across the sand

    between power lines
    the crows can’t decide whether
    to leave or stay
    feet hold fast to whir of wire
    head says run to shifting ground

    from the earth
    a crack
    of fresh earthworms
    slither through the pouring rain
    clinging to last bits of life

    the soccer field–
    a marshland for herons
    after the rain
    reminds me of Nebraska
    slow drum of Janis Ian

    naked oak and birch
    still in the November wind
    haiku for the sky
    only my breath caught
    in the branches

    birdsong–
    my dog echoes the warbler
    with her sore throat;
    the trill can be heard for miles,
    is the bark worse than the bite?

    from the birch tree
    I peel away the bark
    and write this haiku
    I find the sap sweet, congealed
    While my tears remain bitter

    The backyard rubble
    Holds wisps of waylaid dreams It’s
    Slim pickings for birds;
    they are dreamcatchers
    tying each nightmare to bare branches.

    crows light on the wing
    Raven holds November court
    while hummers fly South
    dipping in the sunlight
    they pull away the clouds

    Sun sextile Saturn
    Thanksgiving relationships
    may take a quick turn
    family feuds holding still –
    peace returns, if just one day

    on the corner, the Raven
    returning for a quick meal
    dissolves into night
    The autumn also takes wing,
    A snowflake heralds winter.

    trees crawl toward the sky
    ochre moonlight silhouettes
    dreaming of Solstice
    The nights are long and heavy
    but soon the light will lift us.

    trenches around fire
    reflected deep in your eyes
    labyrinthine pools…
    I think of the night we held
    each other from our own shadows

    Like


  556. One seagull feather
    hairy sculptures of seagrass
    piled up on the dunes;
    lady bugs and beetles land,
    shelter from the cold, coarse sand

    found in the sand
    someone lost a loved one–
    this wedding band,
    years of what could and could not
    happen in a span of life

    lifes changing seasons
    happy, sad, up, down, laugh, cry-
    stay or go away;
    underneath the roiling waves
    calm moonlight draws me back in

    breathing in bath salts,
    I think of the tears I tasted
    when you said goodbye
    bitter wind off oceans spray
    turns my heart cold like that day

    bare truth, baldfaced lie,
    why does nothing satisfy?
    how fickle my heart
    swinging between trees
    like a hammock

    creaking bending trees
    crying out pains agony-
    red eyes of griefs lava tears
    into the wind I let it go
    a feather across the sand

    between power lines
    the crows can’t decide whether
    to leave or stay
    feet hold fast to whir of wire
    head says run to shifting ground

    from the earth
    a crack
    of fresh earthworms
    slither through the pouring rain
    clinging to last bits of life

    the soccer field–
    a marshland for herons
    after the rain
    reminds me of Nebraska
    slow drum of Janis Ian

    naked oak and birch
    still in the November wind
    haiku for the sky
    only my breath caught
    in the branches

    birdsong–
    my dog echoes the warbler
    with her sore throat;
    the trill can be heard for miles,
    is the bark worse than the bite?

    from the birch tree
    I peel away the bark
    and write this haiku
    I find the sap sweet, congealed
    While my tears remain bitter

    The backyard rubble
    Holds wisps of waylaid dreams It’s
    Slim pickings for birds;
    they are dreamcatchers
    tying each nightmare to bare branches.

    crows light on the wing
    Raven holds November court
    while hummers fly South
    dipping in the sunlight
    they pull away the clouds

    Sun sextile Saturn
    Thanksgiving relationships
    may take a quick turn
    family feuds holding still –
    peace returns, if just one day

    on the corner, the Raven
    returning for a quick meal
    dissolves into night
    The autumn also takes wing,
    A snowflake heralds winter.

    trees crawl toward the sky
    ochre moonlight silhouettes
    dreaming of Solstice
    The nights are long and heavy
    but soon the light will lift us.

    trenches around fire
    reflected deep in your eyes
    labyrinthine pools…
    I think of the night we held
    each other from our own shadows

    Your softest caress,
    each tremble and kiss of tress,
    a single raindrop.

    Like


  557. So sorry to intrude on the flow , however, tonight I must add a very simple one of my own, though it might be a bummer to some. It comes from my heart.

    for every life
    there is a reason to live
    and there is an end

    Rest in peace, Uncle Francis. Rest in peace. You went hunting today & found peace. I loved you so much!

    Like


  558. Hello everyone! Here was my solo renga I wrote for November, although I wished I had more time to finish it. Ah well. I can always start on another solo renga. 8)

    http://alotus-poetry.livejournal.com/82425.html

    Like


  559. It has come to this:
    An ad on a vomit bag.
    Is nothing sacred?

    Like


  560. Added two line to Robert Morses haiku to create a tanka.

    It has come to this:
    An ad on a vomit bag.
    Is nothing sacred?
    Sacred cow branding?
    Or designer-stigmatas?

    Open your hands and hearts,
    Brand all with love and kindness,
    lest they wander lost.

    Like


  561. It has come to this:
    An ad on a vomit bag.
    Is nothing sacred?
    Sacred cow branding?
    Or designer-stigmatas?

    Open your hands and hearts,
    Brand all with love and kindness,
    lest they wander lost.
    Besides, emetophobes won’t…
    I repeat, won’t read puke bags.

    Like


  562. It has come to this:
    An ad on a vomit bag.
    Is nothing sacred?
    Sacred cow branding?
    Or designer-stigmatas?

    Open your hands and hearts,
    Brand all with love and kindness,
    lest they wander lost.
    Besides, emetophobes won’t…
    I repeat, won’t read puke bags.

    Offer them ideas.
    A greasy pork chop and fried octopus,
    from dirty ashtray.
    These are mental images,
    to cure one of mal de mer.

    Like


  563. It has come to this:
    An ad on a vomit bag.
    Is nothing sacred?
    Sacred cow branding?
    Or designer-stigmatas?

    Open your hands and hearts,
    Brand all with love and kindness,
    lest they wander lost.
    Besides, emetophobes won’t…
    I repeat, won’t read puke bags.

    Offer them ideas.
    A greasy pork chop and fried octopus,
    from dirty ashtray.
    These are mental images,
    to cure one of mal de mer.

    Yet, on second thought
    one might not regain sea legs
    while eating frog’s legs

    Like


  564. It has come to this:
    An ad on a vomit bag.
    Is nothing sacred?
    Sacred cow branding?
    Or designer-stigmatas?

    Open your hands and hearts,
    Brand all with love and kindness,
    lest they wander lost.
    Besides, emetophobes won’t…
    I repeat, won’t read puke bags.

    Offer them ideas.
    A greasy pork chop and fried octopus,
    from dirty ashtray.
    These are mental images,
    to cure one of mal de mer.

    Yet, on second thought
    one might not regain sea legs
    while eating frog’s legs.
    Probing the divine flower,
    calms and flattens stomachs.

    Like


  565. alittlediddy

    So sorry to hear of the passing of your Uncle Francis. I hope that it be ok to build a tanka upon your kind haiku..

    for every life
    there is a reason to live
    and there is an end
    And in this divine resort,
    God grant us late, quick checkout.

    Like


  566. Continuing the diddy/Walljasper tanka:

    ________

    for every life
    there is a reason to live
    and there is an end
    And in this divine resort,
    God grant us late, quick checkout.

    soulful salvation
    a rest of quiet peace; not
    exasperation

    Like


  567. Continuing the Robert Morse/yb/Walljasper renga:

    _____________

    It has come to this:
    An ad on a vomit bag.
    Is nothing sacred?
    Sacred cow branding?
    Or designer-stigmatas?

    Open your hands and hearts,
    Brand all with love and kindness,
    lest they wander lost.
    Besides, emetophobes won’t…
    I repeat, won’t read puke bags.

    Offer them ideas.
    A greasy pork chop and fried octopus,
    from dirty ashtray.
    These are mental images,
    to cure one of mal de mer.

    Yet, on second thought
    one might not regain sea legs
    while eating frog’s legs.
    Probing the divine flower,
    calms and flattens stomachs.

    jumping through mind hoops
    e.e. cummings comes to mind;
    humor of Mark Twain

    Like


  568. Continuing the group renga:

    _________________

    One seagull feather
    hairy sculptures of seagrass
    piled up on the dunes;
    lady bugs and beetles land,
    shelter from the cold, coarse sand

    found in the sand
    someone lost a loved one–
    this wedding band,
    years of what could and could not
    happen in a span of life

    lifes changing seasons
    happy, sad, up, down, laugh, cry-
    stay or go away;
    underneath the roiling waves
    calm moonlight draws me back in

    breathing in bath salts,
    I think of the tears I tasted
    when you said goodbye
    bitter wind off oceans spray
    turns my heart cold like that day

    bare truth, baldfaced lie,
    why does nothing satisfy?
    how fickle my heart
    swinging between trees
    like a hammock

    creaking bending trees
    crying out pains agony-
    red eyes of griefs lava tears
    into the wind I let it go
    a feather across the sand

    between power lines
    the crows can’t decide whether
    to leave or stay
    feet hold fast to whir of wire
    head says run to shifting ground

    from the earth
    a crack
    of fresh earthworms
    slither through the pouring rain
    clinging to last bits of life

    the soccer field–
    a marshland for herons
    after the rain
    reminds me of Nebraska
    slow drum of Janis Ian

    naked oak and birch
    still in the November wind
    haiku for the sky
    only my breath caught
    in the branches

    birdsong–
    my dog echoes the warbler
    with her sore throat;
    the trill can be heard for miles,
    is the bark worse than the bite?

    from the birch tree
    I peel away the bark
    and write this haiku
    I find the sap sweet, congealed
    While my tears remain bitter

    The backyard rubble
    Holds wisps of waylaid dreams It’s
    Slim pickings for birds;
    they are dreamcatchers
    tying each nightmare to bare branches.

    crows light on the wing
    Raven holds November court
    while hummers fly South
    dipping in the sunlight
    they pull away the clouds

    Sun sextile Saturn
    Thanksgiving relationships
    may take a quick turn
    family feuds holding still –
    peace returns, if just one day

    on the corner, the Raven
    returning for a quick meal
    dissolves into night
    The autumn also takes wing,
    A snowflake heralds winter.

    trees crawl toward the sky
    ochre moonlight silhouettes
    dreaming of Solstice
    The nights are long and heavy
    but soon the light will lift us.

    trenches around fire
    reflected deep in your eyes
    labyrinthine pools…
    I think of the night we held
    each other from our own shadows

    Your softest caress,
    each tremble and kiss of tress,
    a single raindrop,
    creating dry dust devils
    littered with blurred distinctions.

    Like


  569. #

    Continuing the Robert Morse/yb/Walljasper renga:

    _____________

    It has come to this:
    An ad on a vomit bag.
    Is nothing sacred?
    Sacred cow branding?
    Or designer-stigmatas?

    Open your hands and hearts,
    Brand all with love and kindness,
    lest they wander lost.
    Besides, emetophobes won’t…
    I repeat, won’t read puke bags.

    Offer them ideas.
    A greasy pork chop and fried octopus,
    from dirty ashtray.
    These are mental images,
    to cure one of mal de mer.

    Yet, on second thought
    one might not regain sea legs
    while eating frog’s legs.
    Probing the divine flower,
    calms and flattens stomachs.

    jumping through mind hoops
    e.e. cummings comes to mind;
    humor of Mark Twain
    Whole lotta jumpin’ go’n on
    In Calaveras County.

    Sliding through worm holes
    Ol’ H. G. Wells comes to mind;
    Brakes would be handy.

    Like


  570. […] ybonesy wrote about art as play, community art, something dear to our hearts on red Ravine. The renga has heated up in the Daily Haiku. And we made plans to go to Lake Pepin in the Midwest writing group I am a part […]

    Like


  571. Continuing the Robert Morse/yb/Walljasper renga:

    _____________

    It has come to this:
    An ad on a vomit bag.
    Is nothing sacred?
    Sacred cow branding?
    Or designer-stigmatas?

    Open your hands and hearts,
    Brand all with love and kindness,
    lest they wander lost.
    Besides, emetophobes won’t…
    I repeat, won’t read puke bags.

    Offer them ideas.
    A greasy pork chop and fried octopus,
    from dirty ashtray.
    These are mental images,
    to cure one of mal de mer.

    Yet, on second thought
    one might not regain sea legs
    while eating frog’s legs.
    Probing the divine flower,
    calms and flattens stomachs.

    jumping through mind hoops
    e.e. cummings comes to mind;
    humor of Mark Twain
    Whole lotta jumpin’ go’n on
    In Calaveras County.

    Sliding through worm holes
    Ol’ H. G. Wells comes to mind;
    Brakes would be handy.
    Invisible man flees scene,
    hoping someone will see him.

    Like


  572. Or Aldous Huxley,
    Seer of socialist folly,
    Eyeless In Gaza.
    A voice for Albert Hoffman
    or at least his Problem Child.

    Like


  573. Continuing the Robert Morse/yb/Walljasper renga:

    _____________

    It has come to this:
    An ad on a vomit bag.
    Is nothing sacred?
    Sacred cow branding?
    Or designer-stigmatas?

    Open your hands and hearts,
    Brand all with love and kindness,
    lest they wander lost.
    Besides, emetophobes won’t…
    I repeat, won’t read puke bags.

    Offer them ideas.
    A greasy pork chop and fried octopus,
    from dirty ashtray.
    These are mental images,
    to cure one of mal de mer.

    Yet, on second thought
    one might not regain sea legs
    while eating frog’s legs.
    Probing the divine flower,
    calms and flattens stomachs.

    jumping through mind hoops
    e.e. cummings comes to mind;
    humor of Mark Twain
    Whole lotta jumpin’ go’n on
    In Calaveras County.

    Sliding through worm holes
    Ol’ H. G. Wells comes to mind;
    Brakes would be handy.
    Invisible man flees scene,
    hoping someone will see him.

    Or Aldous Huxley,
    Seer of socialist folly,
    Eyeless In Gaza.
    A voice for Albert Hoffman
    or at least his Problem Child.

    Aldous knew O’Keeffe
    typed books at Kiowa Ranch
    under Lawrence Tree

    Like


  574. And more on the Robert Morse/yb/Walljasper renga:

    _____________

    It has come to this:
    An ad on a vomit bag.
    Is nothing sacred?
    Sacred cow branding?
    Or designer-stigmatas?

    Open your hands and hearts,
    Brand all with love and kindness,
    lest they wander lost.
    Besides, emetophobes won’t…
    I repeat, won’t read puke bags.

    Offer them ideas.
    A greasy pork chop and fried octopus,
    from dirty ashtray.
    These are mental images,
    to cure one of mal de mer.

    Yet, on second thought
    one might not regain sea legs
    while eating frog’s legs.
    Probing the divine flower,
    calms and flattens stomachs.

    jumping through mind hoops
    e.e. cummings comes to mind;
    humor of Mark Twain
    Whole lotta jumpin’ go’n on
    In Calaveras County.

    Sliding through worm holes
    Ol’ H. G. Wells comes to mind;
    Brakes would be handy.
    Invisible man flees scene,
    hoping someone will see him.

    Or Aldous Huxley,
    Seer of socialist folly,
    Eyeless In Gaza.
    A voice for Albert Hoffman
    or at least his Problem Child.

    Aldous knew O’Keeffe
    typed books at Kiowa Ranch
    under Lawrence Tree
    Look up! Reach toward the tree top
    but don’t forget the journey.

    Like


  575. Such happy rascality…a few more lines.

    ————————————————

    It has come to this:
    An ad on a vomit bag.
    Is nothing sacred?
    Sacred cow branding?
    Or designer-stigmatas?

    Open your hands and hearts,
    Brand all with love and kindness,
    lest they wander lost.
    Besides, emetophobes won’t…
    I repeat, won’t read puke bags.

    Suggestive power,
    A greasy pork chop and fried octopus,
    from dirty ashtray.
    These are mental images,
    to cure one of mal de mer.

    Yet, on second thought
    one might not regain sea legs
    while eating frog’s legs.
    Probing the divine flower,
    calms and flattens stomachs.

    jumping through mind hoops
    e.e. cummings comes to mind;
    humor of Mark Twain
    Whole lotta jumpin’ go’n on
    In Calaveras County.

    Sliding through worm holes
    Ol’ H. G. Wells comes to mind;
    Brakes would be handy.
    Invisible man flees scene,
    hoping someone will see him.

    Or Aldous Huxley,
    Seer of socialist folly,
    Eyeless In Gaza.
    A voice for Albert Hoffman
    or at least his Problem Child.

    Aldous knew O’Keeffe
    typed books at Kiowa Ranch
    under Lawrence Tree
    Look up! Reach toward the tree top
    but don’t forget the journey.

    A naughty dream date,
    Aimee Semple McPherson,
    and Sinclair Lewis.
    Lewis wrote about her
    as Sharon Falconer.

    Another Sinclair
    was also interested,
    He was an Upton.
    But it was Pete Seeger who
    sang of McPherson’s virtue.

    ‘Twas Seeger’s refrain,
    that “the dents in the mattress
    fit Aimee’s caboose.”
    ‘that bared the dented psyche,
    of our “modern” pop culture.

    Like


  576. Ach, just found an extra syllable in the last post – corrected.

    Such happy rascality…a few more lines.

    ————————————————

    It has come to this:
    An ad on a vomit bag.
    Is nothing sacred?
    Sacred cow branding?
    Or designer-stigmatas?

    Open your hands and hearts,
    Brand all with love and kindness,
    lest they wander lost.
    Besides, emetophobes won’t…
    I repeat, won’t read puke bags.

    Suggestive powers,
    A greasy pork chop and fried octopus,
    from dirty ashtray.
    These are mental images,
    to cure one of mal de mer.

    Yet, on second thought
    one might not regain sea legs
    while eating frog’s legs.
    Speaking of matters of legs,
    we’re covering quite a spread.

    jumping through mind hoops
    e.e. cummings comes to mind;
    humor of Mark Twain
    Whole lotta jumpin’ go’n on
    In Calaveras County.

    Sliding through worm holes
    Ol’ H. G. Wells comes to mind;
    Brakes would be handy.
    Invisible man flees scene,
    hoping someone will see him.

    Or Aldous Huxley,
    Seer of socialist folly,
    Eyeless In Gaza.
    A voice for Albert Hoffman
    or at least his Problem Child.

    Aldous knew O’Keeffe
    typed books at Kiowa Ranch
    under Lawrence Tree
    Look up! Reach toward the tree top
    but don’t forget the journey.

    A naughty dream date,
    Aimee Semple McPherson,
    and Sinclair Lewis.
    Lewis wrote about her
    ‘Elmer Gantry” gal.

    Another Sinclair
    was also interested,
    He was an Upton.
    But it was Pete Seeger who
    sang of McPherson’s virtue.

    ‘Twas Seeger’s refrain,
    that “the dents in the mattress
    fit Aimee’s caboose.”
    ‘that bared the dented psyche,
    of our “modern” pop culture.

    Like


  577. Twain is consarned wry,
    “Such happy rascality”,
    is his catchphrase child.

    Like


  578. It has come to this:
    An ad on a vomit bag.
    Is nothing sacred?
    Sacred cow branding?
    Or designer-stigmatas?

    Open your hands and hearts,
    Brand all with love and kindness,
    lest they wander lost.
    Besides, emetophobes won’t…
    I repeat, won’t read puke bags.

    Suggestive powers,
    A greasy pork chop and fried octopus,
    from dirty ashtray.
    These are mental images,
    to cure one of mal de mer.

    Yet, on second thought
    one might not regain sea legs
    while eating frog’s legs.
    And speaking of splayed legs,
    we’re covering quite a spread.

    jumping through mind hoops
    e.e. cummings comes to mind;
    humor of Mark Twain
    Whole lotta jumpin’ go’n on
    In Calaveras County.

    Sliding through worm holes
    Ol’ H. G. Wells comes to mind;
    Brakes would be handy.
    Invisible man flees scene,
    hoping someone will see him.

    Twain is consarned wry,
    “Such happy rascality”,
    is his catchphrase child.
    Left to fend laughs for itself,
    in his novel “Roughing It”.

    Or Aldous Huxley,
    Seer of socialist folly,
    Eyeless In Gaza.
    A voice for Albert Hoffman
    or at least his Problem Child.

    Aldous knew O’Keeffe
    typed books at Kiowa Ranch
    under Lawrence Tree
    Look up! Reach toward the tree top
    but don’t forget the journey.

    A naughty dream date,
    Aimee Semple McPherson,
    and Sinclair Lewis.
    She was Sharon Falconer,
    penned in “Elmer Gantry”.

    Another Sinclair
    was also interested,
    He was an Upton.
    Then there was Pete Seeger whose
    ballad belied her scandal.

    ‘Twas Seeger’s refrain,
    that “the dents in the mattress
    fit Aimee’s caboose.”
    and bared the dented psyche,
    of our “modern” pop culture.

    Like


  579. […] — 15 min (by QuoinMonkey), Berth Of The Nightowl haiku, Memorial — Day & Night, haiku 2 (one-a-day), 40 Days, 8 Flags, & 1 Mennonite […]

    Like


  580. Continuing our group renga:

    ————————————————

    One seagull feather
    hairy sculptures of seagrass
    piled up on the dunes;
    lady bugs and beetles land,
    shelter from the cold, coarse sand

    found in the sand
    someone lost a loved one–
    this wedding band,
    years of what could and could not
    happen in a span of life

    lifes changing seasons
    happy, sad, up, down, laugh, cry-
    stay or go away;
    underneath the roiling waves
    calm moonlight draws me back in

    breathing in bath salts,
    I think of the tears I tasted
    when you said goodbye
    bitter wind off oceans spray
    turns my heart cold like that day

    bare truth, baldfaced lie,
    why does nothing satisfy?
    how fickle my heart
    swinging between trees
    like a hammock

    creaking bending trees
    crying out pains agony-
    red eyes of griefs lava tears
    into the wind I let it go
    a feather across the sand

    between power lines
    the crows can’t decide whether
    to leave or stay
    feet hold fast to whir of wire
    head says run to shifting ground

    from the earth
    a crack
    of fresh earthworms
    slither through the pouring rain
    clinging to last bits of life

    the soccer field–
    a marshland for herons
    after the rain
    reminds me of Nebraska
    slow drum of Janis Ian

    naked oak and birch
    still in the November wind
    haiku for the sky
    only my breath caught
    in the branches

    birdsong–
    my dog echoes the warbler
    with her sore throat;
    the trill can be heard for miles,
    is the bark worse than the bite?

    from the birch tree
    I peel away the bark
    and write this haiku
    I find the sap sweet, congealed
    While my tears remain bitter

    The backyard rubble
    Holds wisps of waylaid dreams It’s
    Slim pickings for birds;
    they are dreamcatchers
    tying each nightmare to bare branches.

    crows light on the wing
    Raven holds November court
    while hummers fly South
    dipping in the sunlight
    they pull away the clouds

    Sun sextile Saturn
    Thanksgiving relationships
    may take a quick turn
    family feuds holding still –
    peace returns, if just one day

    on the corner, the Raven
    returning for a quick meal
    dissolves into night
    The autumn also takes wing,
    A snowflake heralds winter.

    trees crawl toward the sky
    ochre moonlight silhouettes
    dreaming of Solstice
    The nights are long and heavy
    but soon the light will lift us.

    trenches around fire
    reflected deep in your eyes
    labyrinthine pools…
    I think of the night we held
    each other from our own shadows

    Your softest caress,
    each tremble and kiss of tress,
    a single raindrop,
    creating dry dust devils
    littered with blurred distinctions.

    on the windshield
    cracks become softer
    in the fog

    Like


  581. […] -Related to post haiku 2 (one-a-day) […]

    Like


  582. Lotus, I’ve fallen behind this week on the renga! Continuing our group renga:

    ————————————————

    One seagull feather
    hairy sculptures of seagrass
    piled up on the dunes;
    lady bugs and beetles land,
    shelter from the cold, coarse sand

    found in the sand
    someone lost a loved one–
    this wedding band,
    years of what could and could not
    happen in a span of life

    lifes changing seasons
    happy, sad, up, down, laugh, cry-
    stay or go away;
    underneath the roiling waves
    calm moonlight draws me back in

    breathing in bath salts,
    I think of the tears I tasted
    when you said goodbye
    bitter wind off oceans spray
    turns my heart cold like that day

    bare truth, baldfaced lie,
    why does nothing satisfy?
    how fickle my heart
    swinging between trees
    like a hammock

    creaking bending trees
    crying out pains agony-
    red eyes of griefs lava tears
    into the wind I let it go
    a feather across the sand

    between power lines
    the crows can’t decide whether
    to leave or stay
    feet hold fast to whir of wire
    head says run to shifting ground

    from the earth
    a crack
    of fresh earthworms
    slither through the pouring rain
    clinging to last bits of life

    the soccer field–
    a marshland for herons
    after the rain
    reminds me of Nebraska
    slow drum of Janis Ian

    naked oak and birch
    still in the November wind
    haiku for the sky
    only my breath caught
    in the branches

    birdsong–
    my dog echoes the warbler
    with her sore throat;
    the trill can be heard for miles,
    is the bark worse than the bite?

    from the birch tree
    I peel away the bark
    and write this haiku
    I find the sap sweet, congealed
    While my tears remain bitter

    The backyard rubble
    Holds wisps of waylaid dreams It’s
    Slim pickings for birds;
    they are dreamcatchers
    tying each nightmare to bare branches.

    crows light on the wing
    Raven holds November court
    while hummers fly South
    dipping in the sunlight
    they pull away the clouds

    Sun sextile Saturn
    Thanksgiving relationships
    may take a quick turn
    family feuds holding still –
    peace returns, if just one day

    on the corner, the Raven
    returning for a quick meal
    dissolves into night
    The autumn also takes wing,
    A snowflake heralds winter.

    trees crawl toward the sky
    ochre moonlight silhouettes
    dreaming of Solstice
    The nights are long and heavy
    but soon the light will lift us.

    trenches around fire
    reflected deep in your eyes
    labyrinthine pools…
    I think of the night we held
    each other from our own shadows

    Your softest caress,
    each tremble and kiss of tress,
    a single raindrop,
    creating dry dust devils
    littered with blurred distinctions.

    on the windshield
    cracks become softer
    in the fog —
    -1 freezes in place,
    fingers draw cold words–your name.

    Like


  583. Walljasper, this one’s turned quite literary. Adding on:

    _________

    It has come to this:
    An ad on a vomit bag.
    Is nothing sacred?
    Sacred cow branding?
    Or designer-stigmatas?

    Open your hands and hearts,
    Brand all with love and kindness,
    lest they wander lost.
    Besides, emetophobes won’t…
    I repeat, won’t read puke bags.

    Suggestive powers,
    A greasy pork chop and fried octopus,
    from dirty ashtray.
    These are mental images,
    to cure one of mal de mer.

    Yet, on second thought
    one might not regain sea legs
    while eating frog’s legs.
    And speaking of splayed legs,
    we’re covering quite a spread.

    jumping through mind hoops
    e.e. cummings comes to mind;
    humor of Mark Twain
    Whole lotta jumpin’ go’n on
    In Calaveras County.

    Sliding through worm holes
    Ol’ H. G. Wells comes to mind;
    Brakes would be handy.
    Invisible man flees scene,
    hoping someone will see him.

    Twain is consarned wry,
    “Such happy rascality”,
    is his catchphrase child.
    Left to fend laughs for itself,
    in his novel “Roughing It”.

    Or Aldous Huxley,
    Seer of socialist folly,
    Eyeless In Gaza.
    A voice for Albert Hoffman
    or at least his Problem Child.

    Aldous knew O’Keeffe
    typed books at Kiowa Ranch
    under Lawrence Tree
    Look up! Reach toward the tree top
    but don’t forget the journey.

    A naughty dream date,
    Aimee Semple McPherson,
    and Sinclair Lewis.
    She was Sharon Falconer,
    penned in “Elmer Gantry”.

    Another Sinclair
    was also interested,
    He was an Upton.
    Then there was Pete Seeger whose
    ballad belied her scandal.

    ‘Twas Seeger’s refrain,
    that “the dents in the mattress
    fit Aimee’s caboose.”
    and bared the dented psyche,
    of our “modern” pop culture.

    they’re turning in graves
    What’s with Dylan sings Christmas?
    he does what he wants

    Like


  584. @QM: Lovely completion, I must say. 8)

    ——————————————–

    One seagull feather
    hairy sculptures of seagrass
    piled up on the dunes;
    lady bugs and beetles land,
    shelter from the cold, coarse sand

    found in the sand
    someone lost a loved one–
    this wedding band,
    years of what could and could not
    happen in a span of life

    lifes changing seasons
    happy, sad, up, down, laugh, cry-
    stay or go away;
    underneath the roiling waves
    calm moonlight draws me back in

    breathing in bath salts,
    I think of the tears I tasted
    when you said goodbye
    bitter wind off oceans spray
    turns my heart cold like that day

    bare truth, baldfaced lie,
    why does nothing satisfy?
    how fickle my heart
    swinging between trees
    like a hammock

    creaking bending trees
    crying out pains agony-
    red eyes of griefs lava tears
    into the wind I let it go
    a feather across the sand

    between power lines
    the crows can’t decide whether
    to leave or stay
    feet hold fast to whir of wire
    head says run to shifting ground

    from the earth
    a crack
    of fresh earthworms
    slither through the pouring rain
    clinging to last bits of life

    the soccer field–
    a marshland for herons
    after the rain
    reminds me of Nebraska
    slow drum of Janis Ian

    naked oak and birch
    still in the November wind
    haiku for the sky
    only my breath caught
    in the branches

    birdsong–
    my dog echoes the warbler
    with her sore throat;
    the trill can be heard for miles,
    is the bark worse than the bite?

    from the birch tree
    I peel away the bark
    and write this haiku
    I find the sap sweet, congealed
    While my tears remain bitter

    The backyard rubble
    Holds wisps of waylaid dreams It’s
    Slim pickings for birds;
    they are dreamcatchers
    tying each nightmare to bare branches.

    crows light on the wing
    Raven holds November court
    while hummers fly South
    dipping in the sunlight
    they pull away the clouds

    Sun sextile Saturn
    Thanksgiving relationships
    may take a quick turn
    family feuds holding still –
    peace returns, if just one day

    on the corner, the Raven
    returning for a quick meal
    dissolves into night
    The autumn also takes wing,
    A snowflake heralds winter.

    trees crawl toward the sky
    ochre moonlight silhouettes
    dreaming of Solstice
    The nights are long and heavy
    but soon the light will lift us.

    trenches around fire
    reflected deep in your eyes
    labyrinthine pools…
    I think of the night we held
    each other from our own shadows

    Your softest caress,
    each tremble and kiss of tress,
    a single raindrop,
    creating dry dust devils
    littered with blurred distinctions.

    on the windshield
    cracks become softer
    in the fog —
    -1 freezes in place,
    fingers draw cold words–your name.

    linked crescents–
    I fitted your faded last name
    around my lip print

    Like


  585. Continuing the diddy/Walljasper renga:

    ________

    for every life
    there is a reason to live
    and there is an end
    And in this divine resort,
    God grant us late, quick checkout.

    soulful salvation
    a rest of quiet peace; not
    exasperation.
    Still, I wonder what happens
    to our dreams after we die?

    Like


  586. Lotus, thank you! I’m really enjoying the three renga we’ve got going near the end of the year here. I enjoy writing with others in community. The poems go directions I would never otherwise think of. Hope you are well.

    ——————————————–

    One seagull feather
    hairy sculptures of seagrass
    piled up on the dunes;
    lady bugs and beetles land,
    shelter from the cold, coarse sand

    found in the sand
    someone lost a loved one–
    this wedding band,
    years of what could and could not
    happen in a span of life

    lifes changing seasons
    happy, sad, up, down, laugh, cry-
    stay or go away;
    underneath the roiling waves
    calm moonlight draws me back in

    breathing in bath salts,
    I think of the tears I tasted
    when you said goodbye
    bitter wind off oceans spray
    turns my heart cold like that day

    bare truth, baldfaced lie,
    why does nothing satisfy?
    how fickle my heart
    swinging between trees
    like a hammock

    creaking bending trees
    crying out pains agony-
    red eyes of griefs lava tears
    into the wind I let it go
    a feather across the sand

    between power lines
    the crows can’t decide whether
    to leave or stay
    feet hold fast to whir of wire
    head says run to shifting ground

    from the earth
    a crack
    of fresh earthworms
    slither through the pouring rain
    clinging to last bits of life

    the soccer field–
    a marshland for herons
    after the rain
    reminds me of Nebraska
    slow drum of Janis Ian

    naked oak and birch
    still in the November wind
    haiku for the sky
    only my breath caught
    in the branches

    birdsong–
    my dog echoes the warbler
    with her sore throat;
    the trill can be heard for miles,
    is the bark worse than the bite?

    from the birch tree
    I peel away the bark
    and write this haiku
    I find the sap sweet, congealed
    While my tears remain bitter

    The backyard rubble
    Holds wisps of waylaid dreams It’s
    Slim pickings for birds;
    they are dreamcatchers
    tying each nightmare to bare branches.

    crows light on the wing
    Raven holds November court
    while hummers fly South
    dipping in the sunlight
    they pull away the clouds

    Sun sextile Saturn
    Thanksgiving relationships
    may take a quick turn
    family feuds holding still –
    peace returns, if just one day

    on the corner, the Raven
    returning for a quick meal
    dissolves into night
    The autumn also takes wing,
    A snowflake heralds winter.

    trees crawl toward the sky
    ochre moonlight silhouettes
    dreaming of Solstice
    The nights are long and heavy
    but soon the light will lift us.

    trenches around fire
    reflected deep in your eyes
    labyrinthine pools…
    I think of the night we held
    each other from our own shadows

    Your softest caress,
    each tremble and kiss of tress,
    a single raindrop,
    creating dry dust devils
    littered with blurred distinctions.

    on the windshield
    cracks become softer
    in the fog —
    -1 freezes in place,
    fingers draw cold words–your name.

    linked crescents–
    I fitted your faded last name
    around my lip print —
    morning sun, and it’s still there,
    remnants of what used to be.

    Like


  587. Walljasper, this one’s turned quite literary. Adding on:

    _________

    It has come to this:
    An ad on a vomit bag.
    Is nothing sacred?
    Sacred cow branding?
    Or designer-stigmatas?

    Open your hands and hearts,
    Brand all with love and kindness,
    lest they wander lost.
    Besides, emetophobes won’t…
    I repeat, won’t read puke bags.

    Suggestive powers,
    A greasy pork chop and fried octopus,
    from dirty ashtray.
    These are mental images,
    to cure one of mal de mer.

    Yet, on second thought
    one might not regain sea legs
    while eating frog’s legs.
    And speaking of splayed legs,
    we’re covering quite a spread.

    jumping through mind hoops
    e.e. cummings comes to mind;
    humor of Mark Twain
    Whole lotta jumpin’ go’n on
    In Calaveras County.

    Sliding through worm holes
    Ol’ H. G. Wells comes to mind;
    Brakes would be handy.
    Invisible man flees scene,
    hoping someone will see him.

    Twain is consarned wry,
    “Such happy rascality”,
    is his catchphrase child.
    Left to fend laughs for itself,
    in his novel “Roughing It”.

    Or Aldous Huxley,
    Seer of socialist folly,
    Eyeless In Gaza.
    A voice for Albert Hoffman
    or at least his Problem Child.

    Aldous knew O’Keeffe
    typed books at Kiowa Ranch
    under Lawrence Tree
    Look up! Reach toward the tree top
    but don’t forget the journey.

    A naughty dream date,
    Aimee Semple McPherson,
    and Sinclair Lewis.
    She was Sharon Falconer,
    penned in “Elmer Gantry”.

    Another Sinclair
    was also interested,
    He was an Upton.
    Then there was Pete Seeger whose
    ballad belied her scandal.

    ‘Twas Seeger’s refrain,
    that “the dents in the mattress
    fit Aimee’s caboose.”
    and bared the dented psyche,
    of our “modern” pop culture.

    they’re turning in graves
    What’s with Dylan sings Christmas?
    he does what he wants.
    And much like a rolling stone,
    ‘becomes a complete unknown.

    Like


  588. Continuing the renga with diddy & QuoinMonkey

    for every life
    there is a reason to live
    and there is an end
    And in this divine resort,
    God grant us late, quick checkout.

    soulful salvation
    a rest of quiet peace; not
    exasperation.
    Still, I wonder what happens
    to our dreams after we die?

    Perhaps they live on,
    in the hearts and minds we touch,
    then eternity.

    Like


  589. @QM and everyone: I am doing well. I’m so glad that the academic semester is over, and now I have more time to enjoy and do things I WANT to do! 8) Then, there is Christmas! I can’t wait.

    Yes, I too am enjoying this renga as it is coming to the end of the year. That is the beauty of it; you never know what to expect!
    —————————————-
    One seagull feather
    hairy sculptures of seagrass
    piled up on the dunes;
    lady bugs and beetles land,
    shelter from the cold, coarse sand

    found in the sand
    someone lost a loved one–
    this wedding band,
    years of what could and could not
    happen in a span of life

    lifes changing seasons
    happy, sad, up, down, laugh, cry-
    stay or go away;
    underneath the roiling waves
    calm moonlight draws me back in

    breathing in bath salts,
    I think of the tears I tasted
    when you said goodbye
    bitter wind off oceans spray
    turns my heart cold like that day

    bare truth, baldfaced lie,
    why does nothing satisfy?
    how fickle my heart
    swinging between trees
    like a hammock

    creaking bending trees
    crying out pains agony-
    red eyes of griefs lava tears
    into the wind I let it go
    a feather across the sand

    between power lines
    the crows can’t decide whether
    to leave or stay
    feet hold fast to whir of wire
    head says run to shifting ground

    from the earth
    a crack
    of fresh earthworms
    slither through the pouring rain
    clinging to last bits of life

    the soccer field–
    a marshland for herons
    after the rain
    reminds me of Nebraska
    slow drum of Janis Ian

    naked oak and birch
    still in the November wind
    haiku for the sky
    only my breath caught
    in the branches

    birdsong–
    my dog echoes the warbler
    with her sore throat;
    the trill can be heard for miles,
    is the bark worse than the bite?

    from the birch tree
    I peel away the bark
    and write this haiku
    I find the sap sweet, congealed
    While my tears remain bitter

    The backyard rubble
    Holds wisps of waylaid dreams It’s
    Slim pickings for birds;
    they are dreamcatchers
    tying each nightmare to bare branches.

    crows light on the wing
    Raven holds November court
    while hummers fly South
    dipping in the sunlight
    they pull away the clouds

    Sun sextile Saturn
    Thanksgiving relationships
    may take a quick turn
    family feuds holding still –
    peace returns, if just one day

    on the corner, the Raven
    returning for a quick meal
    dissolves into night
    The autumn also takes wing,
    A snowflake heralds winter.

    trees crawl toward the sky
    ochre moonlight silhouettes
    dreaming of Solstice
    The nights are long and heavy
    but soon the light will lift us.

    trenches around fire
    reflected deep in your eyes
    labyrinthine pools…
    I think of the night we held
    each other from our own shadows

    Your softest caress,
    each tremble and kiss of tress,
    a single raindrop,
    creating dry dust devils
    littered with blurred distinctions.

    on the windshield
    cracks become softer
    in the fog —
    -1 freezes in place,
    fingers draw cold words–your name.

    linked crescents–
    I fitted your faded last name
    around my lip print –
    morning sun, and it’s still there,
    remnants of what used to be.

    the future so uncertain
    as I drive through
    the Monday car wash

    Like


  590. lotus, I like the mystery of it, too. Bet you are so happy for the seasonal break from school. Rest well! (BTW, it’s true about the parrot at our car wash.)

    _____________

    One seagull feather
    hairy sculptures of seagrass
    piled up on the dunes;
    lady bugs and beetles land,
    shelter from the cold, coarse sand

    found in the sand
    someone lost a loved one–
    this wedding band,
    years of what could and could not
    happen in a span of life

    lifes changing seasons
    happy, sad, up, down, laugh, cry-
    stay or go away;
    underneath the roiling waves
    calm moonlight draws me back in

    breathing in bath salts,
    I think of the tears I tasted
    when you said goodbye
    bitter wind off oceans spray
    turns my heart cold like that day

    bare truth, baldfaced lie,
    why does nothing satisfy?
    how fickle my heart
    swinging between trees
    like a hammock

    creaking bending trees
    crying out pains agony-
    red eyes of griefs lava tears
    into the wind I let it go
    a feather across the sand

    between power lines
    the crows can’t decide whether
    to leave or stay
    feet hold fast to whir of wire
    head says run to shifting ground

    from the earth
    a crack
    of fresh earthworms
    slither through the pouring rain
    clinging to last bits of life

    the soccer field–
    a marshland for herons
    after the rain
    reminds me of Nebraska
    slow drum of Janis Ian

    naked oak and birch
    still in the November wind
    haiku for the sky
    only my breath caught
    in the branches

    birdsong–
    my dog echoes the warbler
    with her sore throat;
    the trill can be heard for miles,
    is the bark worse than the bite?

    from the birch tree
    I peel away the bark
    and write this haiku
    I find the sap sweet, congealed
    While my tears remain bitter

    The backyard rubble
    Holds wisps of waylaid dreams It’s
    Slim pickings for birds;
    they are dreamcatchers
    tying each nightmare to bare branches.

    crows light on the wing
    Raven holds November court
    while hummers fly South
    dipping in the sunlight
    they pull away the clouds

    Sun sextile Saturn
    Thanksgiving relationships
    may take a quick turn
    family feuds holding still –
    peace returns, if just one day

    on the corner, the Raven
    returning for a quick meal
    dissolves into night
    The autumn also takes wing,
    A snowflake heralds winter.

    trees crawl toward the sky
    ochre moonlight silhouettes
    dreaming of Solstice
    The nights are long and heavy
    but soon the light will lift us.

    trenches around fire
    reflected deep in your eyes
    labyrinthine pools…
    I think of the night we held
    each other from our own shadows

    Your softest caress,
    each tremble and kiss of tress,
    a single raindrop,
    creating dry dust devils
    littered with blurred distinctions.

    on the windshield
    cracks become softer
    in the fog —
    -1 freezes in place,
    fingers draw cold words–your name.

    linked crescents–
    I fitted your faded last name
    around my lip print –
    morning sun, and it’s still there,
    remnants of what used to be.

    the future so uncertain
    as I drive through
    the Monday car wash —
    when I pay, their parrot talks,
    Cackles “I love you” out loud.

    Like


  591. Continuing the renga with diddy & Walljasper:

    _____________

    for every life
    there is a reason to live
    and there is an end
    And in this divine resort,
    God grant us late, quick checkout.

    soulful salvation
    a rest of quiet peace; not
    exasperation.
    Still, I wonder what happens
    to our dreams after we die?

    Perhaps they live on,
    in the hearts and minds we touch,
    then eternity.
    Or disappear like the wind,
    ideas whose time never came.

    Like


  592. Rolling on with Walljasper, yb, Robert Morse, and all:
    _______

    It has come to this:
    An ad on a vomit bag.
    Is nothing sacred?
    Sacred cow branding?
    Or designer-stigmatas?

    Open your hands and hearts,
    Brand all with love and kindness,
    lest they wander lost.
    Besides, emetophobes won’t…
    I repeat, won’t read puke bags.

    Suggestive powers,
    A greasy pork chop and fried octopus,
    from dirty ashtray.
    These are mental images,
    to cure one of mal de mer.

    Yet, on second thought
    one might not regain sea legs
    while eating frog’s legs.
    And speaking of splayed legs,
    we’re covering quite a spread.

    jumping through mind hoops
    e.e. cummings comes to mind;
    humor of Mark Twain
    Whole lotta jumpin’ go’n on
    In Calaveras County.

    Sliding through worm holes
    Ol’ H. G. Wells comes to mind;
    Brakes would be handy.
    Invisible man flees scene,
    hoping someone will see him.

    Twain is consarned wry,
    “Such happy rascality”,
    is his catchphrase child.
    Left to fend laughs for itself,
    in his novel “Roughing It”.

    Or Aldous Huxley,
    Seer of socialist folly,
    Eyeless In Gaza.
    A voice for Albert Hoffman
    or at least his Problem Child.

    Aldous knew O’Keeffe
    typed books at Kiowa Ranch
    under Lawrence Tree
    Look up! Reach toward the tree top
    but don’t forget the journey.

    A naughty dream date,
    Aimee Semple McPherson,
    and Sinclair Lewis.
    She was Sharon Falconer,
    penned in “Elmer Gantry”.

    Another Sinclair
    was also interested,
    He was an Upton.
    Then there was Pete Seeger whose
    ballad belied her scandal.

    ‘Twas Seeger’s refrain,
    that “the dents in the mattress
    fit Aimee’s caboose.”
    and bared the dented psyche,
    of our “modern” pop culture.

    they’re turning in graves
    What’s with Dylan sings Christmas?
    he does what he wants.
    And much like a rolling stone,
    ‘becomes a complete unknown.

    disjointed puzzle
    Springsteen’s Santa comes to town
    all dressed in bright red

    Like


  593. It has come to this:
    An ad on a vomit bag.
    Is nothing sacred?
    Sacred cow branding?
    Or designer-stigmatas?

    Open your hands and hearts,
    Brand all with love and kindness,
    lest they wander lost.
    Besides, emetophobes won’t…
    I repeat, won’t read puke bags.

    Suggestive powers,
    A greasy pork chop and fried octopus,
    from dirty ashtray.
    These are mental images,
    to cure one of mal de mer.

    Yet, on second thought
    one might not regain sea legs
    while eating frog’s legs.
    And speaking of splayed legs,
    we’re covering quite a spread.

    jumping through mind hoops
    e.e. cummings comes to mind;
    humor of Mark Twain
    Whole lotta jumpin’ go’n on
    In Calaveras County.

    Sliding through worm holes
    Ol’ H. G. Wells comes to mind;
    Brakes would be handy.
    Invisible man flees scene,
    hoping someone will see him.

    Twain is consarned wry,
    “Such happy rascality”,
    is his catchphrase child.
    Left to fend laughs for itself,
    in his novel “Roughing It”.

    Or Aldous Huxley,
    Seer of socialist folly,
    Eyeless In Gaza.
    A voice for Albert Hoffman
    or at least his Problem Child.

    Aldous knew O’Keeffe
    typed books at Kiowa Ranch
    under Lawrence Tree
    Look up! Reach toward the tree top
    but don’t forget the journey.

    A naughty dream date,
    Aimee Semple McPherson,
    and Sinclair Lewis.
    She was Sharon Falconer,
    penned in “Elmer Gantry”.

    Another Sinclair
    was also interested,
    He was an Upton.
    Then there was Pete Seeger whose
    ballad belied her scandal.

    ‘Twas Seeger’s refrain,
    that “the dents in the mattress
    fit Aimee’s caboose.”
    and bared the dented psyche,
    of our “modern” pop culture.

    they’re turning in graves
    What’s with Dylan sings Christmas?
    he does what he wants.
    And much like a rolling stone,
    ‘becomes a complete unknown.

    disjointed puzzle
    Springsteen’s Santa comes to town
    all dressed in bright red
    Hark! The Big Man’s ho-ho-ho’s
    Crack The Boss up near the close.

    Like


  594. Continuing the renga with diddy & QuoinMonkey:

    _____________

    for every life
    there is a reason to live
    and there is an end
    And in this divine resort,
    God grant us late, quick checkout.

    soulful salvation
    a rest of quiet peace; not
    exasperation.
    Still, I wonder what happens
    to our dreams after we die?

    Perhaps they live on,
    in the hearts and minds we touch,
    then eternity.
    Or disappear like the wind,
    ideas whose time never came.

    All is illusion.
    so say the masters of Zen,
    and the winds of time.

    Like


  595. Ach, just posted and now have to make a quick last-line revision.

    Continuing the renga with diddy & QuoinMonkey:

    _____________

    for every life
    there is a reason to live
    and there is an end
    And in this divine resort,
    God grant us late, quick checkout.

    soulful salvation
    a rest of quiet peace; not
    exasperation.
    Still, I wonder what happens
    to our dreams after we die?

    Perhaps they live on,
    in the hearts and minds we touch,
    then eternity.
    Or disappear like the wind,
    ideas whose time never came.

    All is illusion.
    so say the masters of Zen,
    and whispers the wind.

    Like


  596. Continuing the renga with diddy & QuoinMonkey:

    _____________

    for every life
    there is a reason to live
    and there is an end
    And in this divine resort,
    God grant us late, quick checkout.

    soulful salvation
    a rest of quiet peace; not
    exasperation.
    Still, I wonder what happens
    to our dreams after we die?

    Perhaps they live on,
    in the hearts and minds we touch,
    then eternity.
    Or disappear like the wind,
    ideas whose time never came.

    All is illusion.
    so say the masters of Zen,
    and whispers the wind.
    Monkey Mind clings to what’s “real”
    while life passes by in zeal.

    Like


  597. Continuing the renga with diddy & QuoinMonkey:

    _____________

    for every life
    there is a reason to live
    and there is an end
    And in this divine resort,
    God grant us late, quick checkout.

    soulful salvation
    a rest of quiet peace; not
    exasperation.
    Still, I wonder what happens
    to our dreams after we die?

    Perhaps they live on,
    in the hearts and minds we touch,
    then eternity.
    Or disappear like the wind,
    ideas whose time never came.

    All is illusion.
    so say the masters of Zen,
    and whispers the wind.
    Monkey Mind clings to what’s “real”
    while life passes by in zeal.

    Our earthly moment,
    gestation for mind and soul,
    to transcend mere time.

    Like


  598. Hearing snores of spouse,
    stirs murderous rage with joy
    that they are alive.

    Like


  599. Christmas Mocha?
    Out comes holiday brandy,
    Oh joy to the world.

    Like


  600. Walljasper, your place sounds fun today. In the Holiday Spirit! We just discovered that our cat Mr. Stripeypants loves homemade shortbread cookies. 8)

    ____

    packages arrive
    Mr. Pants loves fresh shortbread
    sent from his Nana

    Like


  601. So cute. 😉

    What a great pen name
    Mister Shortbread Stripeypants,
    perfect for renga writer.

    Like


  602. Walljasper, love your Stripeypants haiku. Just read it to Liz and she loved it, too. Mr. Pants was just eating one of our cookbooks. More Stripeypants haiku:

    ____________

    Mr. Stripeypants
    bites holes out of Chapter 10
    he loves challah bread!

    Like


  603. […] -related to posts: Virgin Mary Sightings, Winter Solstice — Making Light Of The Dark, “K” Is For Kramarczuk’s, Runes, Oracles, & Alphabets, voyeur haiku, haiku 2 (one-a-day) […]

    Like


  604. Mr. Stripeypants
    bites holes out of Chapter 10
    he loves challah bread!
    Kiddush kittycat chutzpah,
    Kenahora, Stripeypants!

    Like


  605. Galaxy Dog

    consciousness eternally
    makes use of
    available resources
    to value itself
    imagining light refracted
    jagged mountains
    gentle streams
    blue skies

    and bright yellow
    baby chickens

    *

    Short Zen Poems – Mindfulness, Meditation – Unique collection of over 200 zen poems. Original, insightful, enlightening, full of paradox, wisdom and humor. Subjects include mindfulness, meditation, waking up, realization, etc.

    Like


  606. Walljasper, another great Stripeypants haiku/tanka! I expect to be writing a few more over the Holidays. He’s quite a character. 8)

    This morning I’m thinking about work, making money, time. And the blessed 4 days off I get after today to do whatever I want creatively.

    ___________

    devouring time
    underneath the work ethic
    wolf in sheep’s clothing

    Like


  607. Continuing QuoinMonkey’s haiku to a tanka.

    devouring time
    underneath the work ethic
    wolf in sheep’s clothing.
    Toss a coin into a pond,
    the ripples subside quickly.

    That which glimmers so,
    quietly fades from sight and
    we race the sunset.

    ___________

    We love our little critters too – Lately, ‘am owned and pawned by an 8.5 lb. tyrant, also know as a Yorkshire Terrier.

    ‘Hope you, Liz and Mr. Stripeypants have a lovely holiday.

    Thanks always for the warm welcome and hospitality.

    Walljasper

    Like


  608. the old cottage felt
    so sad; fading snow, seen from
    an empty window.

    seasons’ greetings to everyone I know, especially QM and yb.

    Like


  609. Ach, revision to recent tanka addition to QuoinMonkey’s haiku.

    devouring time
    underneath the work ethic
    wolf in sheep’s clothing.
    Toss a coin into a pond,
    the ripples subside quickly.

    That which glimmers bright
    quietly fades from our sight,
    we race the sunset.

    ___________

    Like


  610. […] to posts: haiku 2 (one-a-day), Poem For The Trees (Keepers Of The Light), A Few Of My Favorite Things, On Eating December […]

    Like


  611. Walljasper, it’s been a pleasure to meet you via red Ravine. I feel happy when others stop by this space and leave their poetry. Much gratitude. Sounds wonderful to have a Yorkshire Terrier. Sometimes we talk about getting a dog. But we’d need so much more space than this little cottage!

    stranger, so happy to hear from you. Hope all is well! Thank you for stopping by!

    Continuing renga with Walljasper:

    ___________

    devouring time
    underneath the work ethic
    wolf in sheep’s clothing.
    Toss a coin into a pond,
    the ripples subside quickly.

    That which glimmers bright
    quietly fades from our sight,
    we race the sunset.
    Full throttle, going nowhere —
    What remains? An empty shell.

    Like


  612. It has come to this:
    An ad on a vomit bag.
    Is nothing sacred?
    Sacred cow branding?
    Or designer-stigmatas?

    Open your hands and hearts,
    Brand all with love and kindness,
    lest they wander lost.
    Besides, emetophobes won’t…
    I repeat, won’t read puke bags.

    Suggestive powers,
    A greasy pork chop and fried octopus,
    from dirty ashtray.
    These are mental images,
    to cure one of mal de mer.

    Yet, on second thought
    one might not regain sea legs
    while eating frog’s legs.
    And speaking of splayed legs,
    we’re covering quite a spread.

    jumping through mind hoops
    e.e. cummings comes to mind;
    humor of Mark Twain
    Whole lotta jumpin’ go’n on
    In Calaveras County.

    Sliding through worm holes
    Ol’ H. G. Wells comes to mind;
    Brakes would be handy.
    Invisible man flees scene,
    hoping someone will see him.

    Twain is consarned wry,
    “Such happy rascality”,
    is his catchphrase child.
    Left to fend laughs for itself,
    in his novel “Roughing It”.

    Or Aldous Huxley,
    Seer of socialist folly,
    Eyeless In Gaza.
    A voice for Albert Hoffman
    or at least his Problem Child.

    Aldous knew O’Keeffe
    typed books at Kiowa Ranch
    under Lawrence Tree
    Look up! Reach toward the tree top
    but don’t forget the journey.

    A naughty dream date,
    Aimee Semple McPherson,
    and Sinclair Lewis.
    She was Sharon Falconer,
    penned in “Elmer Gantry”.

    Another Sinclair
    was also interested,
    He was an Upton.
    Then there was Pete Seeger whose
    ballad belied her scandal.

    ‘Twas Seeger’s refrain,
    that “the dents in the mattress
    fit Aimee’s caboose.”
    and bared the dented psyche,
    of our “modern” pop culture.

    they’re turning in graves
    What’s with Dylan sings Christmas?
    he does what he wants.
    And much like a rolling stone,
    ‘becomes a complete unknown.

    disjointed puzzle
    Springsteen’s Santa comes to town
    all dressed in bright red
    Hark! The Big Man’s ho-ho-ho’s
    Crack The Boss up near the close.

    Lady Greensleeves sings
    ‘Twas the night before Christmas —
    hot broadside ballad

    Like


  613. white on white on white
    moon and cloud and snow reflect
    in a darkened space

    Like


  614. butter sugar love
    a little flour power
    Pants must have more

    Like


  615. Oops! Just realized I’m one syllable short in my last line above. Let’s makd\e that

    butter sugar love
    a little flour power
    Pants must have shortbread

    Like


  616. oliverowl, you’re back! And with a Mr. Stripeypants haiku. I noticed your moon haiku, too. Yesterday the moon was glowing in a crystal blue winter sky. I think it’s near full at the New Year. It’s the time of year when light plays a huge role in health and making it through the dark winters here. Every day gets a little brighter. Wrote this one leaving work last night in the dark and walking the glassy parking lot to my car.

    _____________

    frozen winter sky
    slow walking the parking lot
    moonlight on black ice

    Like


  617. Happy New Year, red Raviners!🙂 8) Here’s to another new year on this haiku/tanka/senryu, etc. journey!

    ———————————————-

    New Year’s Eve
    all the skyscrapers eclipsed
    by the fog

    New Year’s Eve
    the explosions in your eyes
    before our kiss

    sharing my secrets
    to the Virgin Mother
    my future less dark

    at the shrine
    sharing resolutions with the Buddha
    a homeless man

    Like


  618. Happy New Year, lotus! And to all of our other haiku/tanka/renga writers. It’s sure been a fun year on this post. I’m chewing on the haiku post for 2010. I’m looking forward to the New Year. Hope it’s a little less stressful than last. Happy New Year!

    ____________

    New Year’s Eve Blue Moon
    cookin’ up the black-eyed peas
    always takes me back

    Like


  619. Continuing QuoinMonkey’s New Year dish!
    ———————–

    New Year’s Eve Blue Moon
    cookin’ up the black-eyed peas
    always takes me back
    Lawd, thas’ whole lottah peppah,
    this etouffee gonna hurt.

    Like


  620. Walljasper, we’ll be eating more black-eyed peas today with a little cornbread. Yummm. More food traditions renga:

    ________________________________

    New Year’s Eve Blue Moon
    cookin’ up the black-eyed peas
    always takes me back
    Lawd, thas’ whole lottah peppah,
    this etouffee gonna hurt.

    need that New Year’s luck —
    in the North, it’s pork loin
    sauerkraut in tow

    Like


  621. Now I am hungry too. 😉

    New Year’s Eve Blue Moon
    cookin’ up the black-eyed peas
    always takes me back
    Lawd, thas’ whole lottah peppah,
    this etouffee gonna hurt.

    need that New Year’s luck –
    in the North, it’s pork loin
    sauerkraut in tow.
    Comfort food takes time and love,
    so keep stirring and we’ll drink.

    Oh tiny bubbles,
    like the kiss of a hot fist,
    you knock me out cold.
    Milk goes with chocolate cake,
    champagne, with everything.

    Like


  622. […] Script: I wanted to combine several of my yearly practices in this post on looking back. Above is a tanka I wrote on the trip to Georgia this year, the Reflection part of my Writing Practice on WRITING […]

    Like


  623. New Year’s Eve Blue Moon
    cookin’ up the black-eyed peas
    always takes me back
    Lawd, thas’ whole lottah peppah,
    this etouffee gonna hurt.

    need that New Year’s luck –
    in the North, it’s pork loin
    sauerkraut in tow.
    Comfort food takes time and love,
    so keep stirring and we’ll drink.

    Oh tiny bubbles,
    like the kiss of a hot fist,
    you knock me out cold.
    Milk goes with chocolate cake,
    champagne, with everything.

    Milk lovers unite!
    milk fluffs the mashed potatoes
    wraps the egg in nog

    Like


  624. New Year’s Eve Blue Moon
    cookin’ up the black-eyed peas
    always takes me back
    Lawd, thas’ whole lottah peppah,
    this etouffee gonna hurt.

    need that New Year’s luck –
    in the North, it’s pork loin
    sauerkraut in tow.
    Comfort food takes time and love,
    so keep stirring and we’ll drink.

    Oh tiny bubbles,
    like the kiss of a hot fist,
    you knock me out cold.
    Milk goes with chocolate cake,
    champagne, with everything.

    Milk lovers unite!
    milk fluffs the mashed potatoes
    wraps the egg in nog.
    Howabout slow-cooked grits?
    A hominy homily.

    Like


  625. Walljasper, fun. Adding the next few lines — GRITS are Girls Raised In The South.

    _________________________

    New Year’s Eve Blue Moon
    cookin’ up the black-eyed peas
    always takes me back
    Lawd, thas’ whole lottah peppah,
    this etouffee gonna hurt.

    need that New Year’s luck –
    in the North, it’s pork loin
    sauerkraut in tow.
    Comfort food takes time and love,
    so keep stirring and we’ll drink.

    Oh tiny bubbles,
    like the kiss of a hot fist,
    you knock me out cold.
    Milk goes with chocolate cake,
    champagne, with everything.

    Milk lovers unite!
    milk fluffs the mashed potatoes
    wraps the egg in nog.
    Howabout slow-cooked grits?
    A hominy homily.

    All GRITS learn to love
    hushpuppies fried in hot grease
    not a dog in sight

    Like


  626. QuoinMonkey, fun + making me hongry.

    _________________________

    New Year’s Eve Blue Moon
    cookin’ up the black-eyed peas
    always takes me back
    Lawd, thas’ whole lottah peppah,
    this etouffee gonna hurt.

    need that New Year’s luck –
    in the North, it’s pork loin
    sauerkraut in tow.
    Comfort food takes time and love,
    so keep stirring and we’ll drink.

    Oh tiny bubbles,
    like the kiss of a hot fist,
    you knock me out cold.
    Milk goes with chocolate cake,
    champagne, with everything.

    Milk lovers unite!
    milk fluffs the mashed potatoes
    wraps the egg in nog.
    Howabout slow-cooked grits?
    A hominy homily.

    All GRITS learn to love
    hushpuppies fried in hot grease
    not a dog in sight
    “What are grits?” asks a Yankee.
    Honey, it’s like hot ice cream.

    Like


  627. Walljasper, you crack me up. I smile when I read your continuing renga. I’m so happy you’ve joined us on this yearly haiku post. A real treat.

    _________________________

    New Year’s Eve Blue Moon
    cookin’ up the black-eyed peas
    always takes me back
    Lawd, thas’ whole lottah peppah,
    this etouffee gonna hurt.

    need that New Year’s luck –
    in the North, it’s pork loin
    sauerkraut in tow.
    Comfort food takes time and love,
    so keep stirring and we’ll drink.

    Oh tiny bubbles,
    like the kiss of a hot fist,
    you knock me out cold.
    Milk goes with chocolate cake,
    champagne, with everything.

    Milk lovers unite!
    milk fluffs the mashed potatoes
    wraps the egg in nog.
    Howabout slow-cooked grits?
    A hominy homily.

    All GRITS learn to love
    hushpuppies fried in hot grease
    not a dog in sight
    “What are grits?” asks a Yankee.
    Honey, it’s like hot ice cream.

    Southern scratch biscuits,
    then, there’s the red-eye gravy
    smothering the plate

    Like


  628. Dear QuoinMonkey – thank you for your kindness and smiles.
    ——————————

    New Year’s Eve Blue Moon
    cookin’ up the black-eyed peas
    always takes me back
    Lawd, thas’ whole lottah peppah,
    this etouffee gonna hurt.

    need that New Year’s luck –
    in the North, it’s pork loin
    sauerkraut in tow.
    Comfort food takes time and love,
    so keep stirring and we’ll drink.

    Oh tiny bubbles,
    like the kiss of a hot fist,
    you knock me out cold.
    Milk goes with chocolate cake,
    champagne, with everything.

    Milk lovers unite!
    milk fluffs the mashed potatoes
    wraps the egg in nog.
    Howabout slow-cooked grits?
    A hominy homily.

    All GRITS learn to love
    hushpuppies fried in hot grease
    not a dog in sight
    “What are grits?” asks a Yankee.
    Honey, it’s like hot ice cream.

    Southern scratch biscuits,
    then, there’s the red-eye gravy
    smothering the plate
    ‘Jes add a chonk of cornbread,
    and a ‘lil “Who Shot Sally”. 😉

    Lawd I am hongry,
    ‘Looks like the rooster dies tonight,
    Chicken on Sunday.

    Like


  629. Walljasper, my pleashah!
    ——————————

    New Year’s Eve Blue Moon
    cookin’ up the black-eyed peas
    always takes me back
    Lawd, thas’ whole lottah peppah,
    this etouffee gonna hurt.

    need that New Year’s luck –
    in the North, it’s pork loin
    sauerkraut in tow.
    Comfort food takes time and love,
    so keep stirring and we’ll drink.

    Oh tiny bubbles,
    like the kiss of a hot fist,
    you knock me out cold.
    Milk goes with chocolate cake,
    champagne, with everything.

    Milk lovers unite!
    milk fluffs the mashed potatoes
    wraps the egg in nog.
    Howabout slow-cooked grits?
    A hominy homily.

    All GRITS learn to love
    hushpuppies fried in hot grease
    not a dog in sight
    “What are grits?” asks a Yankee.
    Honey, it’s like hot ice cream.

    Southern scratch biscuits,
    then, there’s the red-eye gravy
    smothering the plate
    ‘Jes add a chonk of cornbread,
    and a ‘lil “Who Shot Sally”.😉

    Lawd I am hongry,
    ‘Looks like the rooster dies tonight,
    Chicken on Sunday.
    Not if Foghorn Leghorn crows,
    Or Looney Tunes Barnyard Dawg!

    Like


  630. New Year’s Eve Blue Moon
    cookin’ up the black-eyed peas
    always takes me back
    Lawd, thas’ whole lottah peppah,
    this etouffee gonna hurt.

    need that New Year’s luck –
    in the North, it’s pork loin
    sauerkraut in tow.
    Comfort food takes time and love,
    so keep stirring and we’ll drink.

    Oh tiny bubbles,
    like the kiss of a hot fist,
    you knock me out cold.
    Milk goes with chocolate cake,
    champagne, with everything.

    Milk lovers unite!
    milk fluffs the mashed potatoes
    wraps the egg in nog.
    Howabout slow-cooked grits?
    A hominy homily.

    All GRITS learn to love
    hushpuppies fried in hot grease
    not a dog in sight
    “What are grits?” asks a Yankee.
    Honey, it’s like hot ice cream.

    Southern scratch biscuits,
    then, there’s the red-eye gravy
    smothering the plate
    ‘Jes add a chonk of cornbread,
    and a ‘lil “Who Shot Sally”.

    Lawd I am hongry,
    ‘Looks like the rooster dies tonight,
    Chicken on Sunday.
    Not if Foghorn Leghorn crows,
    Or Looney Tunes Barnyard Dawg!

    Creme Brulee,
    Immortalized in menus,
    struck down by the spoon.
    How fallen are the mighty,
    The weapons of chefs perish.

    Like


  631. Oh mah my, ‘clipped a word – fixed it. 😉

    ——————–

    New Year’s Eve Blue Moon
    cookin’ up the black-eyed peas
    always takes me back
    Lawd, thas’ whole lottah peppah,
    this etouffee gonna hurt.

    need that New Year’s luck –
    in the North, it’s pork loin
    sauerkraut in tow.
    Comfort food takes time and love,
    so keep stirring and we’ll drink.

    Oh tiny bubbles,
    like the kiss of a hot fist,
    you knock me out cold.
    Milk goes with chocolate cake,
    champagne, with everything.

    Milk lovers unite!
    milk fluffs the mashed potatoes
    wraps the egg in nog.
    Howabout slow-cooked grits?
    A hominy homily.

    All GRITS learn to love
    hushpuppies fried in hot grease
    not a dog in sight
    “What are grits?” asks a Yankee.
    Honey, it’s like hot ice cream.

    Southern scratch biscuits,
    then, there’s the red-eye gravy
    smothering the plate
    ‘Jes add a chonk of cornbread,
    and a ‘lil “Who Shot Sally”.

    Lawd I am hongry,
    ‘Looks like the rooster dies tonight,
    Chicken on Sunday.
    Not if Foghorn Leghorn crows,
    Or Looney Tunes Barnyard Dawg!

    Oh Creme Brulee,
    Immortalized in menus,
    struck down by the spoon.
    How fallen are the mighty,
    The weapons of chefs perish.

    Like


  632. my feet are frozen
    icy earthquakes with each step
    no renga, haiku

    Like


  633. No past and no future,
    Winter paints my every breath,
    Alive in the now.

    Like


  634. lacy ice patterns
    mixing grime, grit, and road salt
    slide through the Stop sign

    Like


  635. “A dragnet for lost feelings”
    Carson McCullers

    ‘Dust for broken hearts!
    Roadblocks at main arteries!
    Let no tear escape!’

    Like


  636. cocooned in plastic bags
    against tonight’s bitter wind
    sidewalk trees

    Like


  637. Robert Morse, love the Carson McCullers. Fantastic.

    A~Lotus, I’ve missed you! I’m working on the 2010 haiku post for red Ravine. I usually don’t get it out until February. I’ll try to make it earlier.

    In the meantime, I’d like to post some of our community poetry (renga) from 2009 on red Ravine. I’m taking a look at that this weekend. I sure appreciate all who stop by and leave their poetry here.

    _________

    gray squirrels leaping
    snowdust flying off the roof
    landing in potholes

    Like


  638. […] can find helpful links, definitions, and read more about the relationship between the forms in haiku 2 (one-a-day). Deep bows to Natalie and Clark. And to the poets who visit red Ravine, and help keep poetry […]

    Like


  639. Hey QM & yb! I’ve missed you both! Yeah, I know I haven’t been around much! Work and life have gotten me busy–but in a good-busy-kind of way, you know. And next week, school starts (AGAIN!) for me! I can’t believe it. The time goes by so quickly! It feels like my vacation from school wasn’t long enough. Also, I have been working on applications to nursing school. Geez, it’s a long and tedious process (somewhat nerve-wrecking if you will), but I just really want to get in and get started already! I have 2+ years of experience with patients, and I’m more than ready!! It’s like I’m saying, “Pick me! Pick me! Pick me!” Here’s to hoping that I get in to at least ONE nursing school this year! Wish me luck!!

    —————————————-

    late winter ginger skies–
    two early blue jays
    picking up sticks

    Like


  640. For QuoinMonkey,

    Thanks for your response, re: Carson McCullers. It makes me wonder if I created some confusion with my haiku. The initial quote is from THE HEART IS A LONELY HUNTER. I had that quote in mind when I wrote my haiku. I put single quote marks around it because I imagined the words being spoken by a police dispatcher, kind of an all-points bulletin.

    Like


  641. Robert Morse, it’s a complex haiku. I know a little about Carson McCullers but haven’t read all of her work. I pulled off of that knowledge when I read it. But your explanation helps to gain more clarity. What do you think of her as an author? Just curious. I’d like to read more of her work.

    _________

    living in the North,
    I’m drawn to Southern writers —
    region of my birth

    Like


  642. QM

    I have only read two of McCuller’s books, “HEART” and THE MEMBER OF THE WEDDING. I know that Natalie is very fond of her writing. She read from “The Ballad of the Sad Cafe” at the workshp of her that I attended. I saw the film of THIALH with Alan arkin and Sondra Locke. It deals with far fewer characters and incidents than the book.

    She creates characters who linger in the mind after the book is finished. The ordinary is made extraordinary.

    Like


  643. […] find helpful links, definitions, and read more about the relationship between the poetry forms in haiku 2 (one-a-day). Deep bows to Natalie and Clark. And to the poets who visit red Ravine, and help keep poetry […]

    Like


  644. Robert Morse, I remember that about Natalie. She loves Carson McCuller’s Ballad of the Sad Cafe and read to us from the book, too, when I first took workshops with her.

    I had to look up THIALH as I didn’t know about it. Now I want to see the film. I agree with your assessment of her characters — they stick with you long after you put the book down. I find Flannery O’Connor to be that way, too. That’s a good writer, isn’t it?

    I need to get going on the new haiku post for 2010. Still have not pulled it together yet, though I am still writing haiku. It grounds me. Always a pleasure when you stop by Robert Morse.

    A~Lotus, wow, nursing school! You are ambitious. From what I know of you, you will be great at it. I have a friend who was a nurse but is now studying to be a doctor in Grenada. I’m always amazed at the great lengths our healthcare practitioners go to when becoming doctors and nurses. I admire and respect the work.

    __________

    black cat sleeps nearby
    naked oaks drenched in white rain
    January thaw

    Like


  645. Hey, QM, yb & all redRaviners! 8)

    Today has been a beautiful, breezy day. It was a bit humid for the past couple of days. I was so sad about that, but waking up this morning with the wind howling through the house, I was skipping around like a kid! lol. It doesn’t get too wintry down here in Texas, so I love every moment of it when it IS cold and chilly!

    Anyway, haiku has also been grounding me for the past 1 1/2 years, and I’m now renewing my practice for 2010, too! Another journey indeed! Can’t wait to see your 2010 haiku post, QM! Look forward to it actually!

    Yes, I want to be a nurse, but ultimately, I want to have a doctorate in nursing. That way, I can contribute sound research and practice to the field and at the same time, helping people! Deep down, I still want to be a doctor (MD), but it’s going to take me too many years, and I do not have the finances to go to med school, so nursing is a great and FLEXIBLE field for me to be in the medical/healthcare field. Plus, I realize that I want to live my life–travel to places (since I haven’t gone anywhere outside the U.S.), do medical missions, publish a book, etc. So really, I am still learning how to live a good life!

    ———————————————————-

    black cat sleeps nearby
    naked oaks drenched in white rain
    January thaw

    wrapped around potted plants
    old and new puddles

    Like


  646. Who needs heart-to-hearts?
    For real results, have yourself
    A head-to-heart chat.

    Like


  647. A friend – born in Hawaii – is cooking for the needy next Sunday in Minneapolis. Here’s to him.

    It may not be kosher,
    but roasting up that pulled pork,
    that is a mitzvah.

    Like


  648. A~Lotus, you have a great set of life goals there. I can see you accomplishing them all. I’m not fond of the humidity either. Don’t mind the heat. Just the wet humidity. I think it’s true what you say — we often have to learn, to teach ourselves, how to live a good life. And that looks different, depending on who we are.

    ________________

    black cat sleeps nearby
    naked oaks drenched in white rain
    January thaw
    wrapped around potted plants
    old and new puddles

    February rolls
    Lioness over landscape
    4 inches of snow

    Like


  649. Robert Morse, ain’t it the truth? Head to heart, so much more logical and down to earth. 8)

    Walljasper, welcome back. So that’s Superbowl Sunday, your friend will be cooking for the needy? Kind of cool. A giving thing to do.

    Robert Morse, along the head/heart thread:

    ____________

    watching from sidelines
    when the Saints go marching in —
    heart? Vikings purple

    Like


  650. Continuing QuoinMonkey’s Renga
    —————————————

    black cat sleeps nearby
    naked oaks drenched in white rain
    January thaw
    wrapped around potted plants
    old and new puddles

    February rolls
    Lioness over landscape
    4 inches of snow
    White blanket and wool blanket,
    draped across our shoulders.

    Like


  651. black cat sleeps nearby
    naked oaks drenched in white rain
    January thaw
    wrapped around potted plants
    old and new puddles

    February rolls
    Lioness over landscape
    4 inches of snow
    White blanket and wool blanket,
    draped across our shoulders.

    curled by the fireplace
    old love letters
    as an offering to cupid

    Like


  652. black cat sleeps nearby
    naked oaks drenched in white rain
    January thaw
    wrapped around potted plants
    old and new puddles

    February rolls
    Lioness over landscape
    4 inches of snow
    White blanket and wool blanket,
    draped across our shoulders.

    curled by the fireplace
    old love letters
    as an offering to cupid —
    arrows ping across the room
    piercing a red box of hearts

    Like


  653. black cat sleeps nearby
    naked oaks drenched in white rain
    January thaw
    wrapped around potted plants
    old and new puddles

    February rolls
    Lioness over landscape
    4 inches of snow
    White blanket and wool blanket,
    draped across our shoulders.

    curled by the fireplace
    old love letters
    as an offering to cupid –
    arrows ping across the room
    piercing a red box of hearts

    Like a fireplace screen
    our shy and breathless restraint,
    spare the heart’s tinder.
    Lest sparks glow too hot, too fast
    reduced to passion’s cinder.

    Like


  654. Just for fun…

    A little over a week ago, you had the Oracle/Sun press conference, , the iPad announcement and The State of the Union address, all on one momentous day. ;-}

    Oracle Sunrise,
    A tablet from Mac Sinai,
    Wind from Washington.

    _________

    This past Friday, the CEO of Sun Micro resigned via a haiku posted on Twitter! Here’s mine, dedicated to his ritual departure.

    Not just haiku.
    A sepaku haiku!
    That’s real leadership.

    Like


  655. […] around the edges. One of the cranes is hard to see; it’s behind branches. I wanted to write a haiku but didn’t have time. I invite anyone else out there to write a haiku, or a caption, or […]

    Like


  656. White as the snow,
    stilt-like legs, tall, majestic.
    Crane your neck to see.

    Like


  657. grey trees touch grey sky
    grey concrete banked with grey snow
    red station wagon

    Like


  658. From consideration,
    we are borne to gratitude,
    and are awakened.

    Like


  659. For my wife Ann (posted with her approval)

    Our moments in time
    Strung together over years
    A priceless necklace.

    Like


  660. Very nice, Robert.
    And thank you to Mrs. Morse,
    for her kindest nod.

    Like


  661. Walljasper,

    Thank you. I have been enjoying your work the last few months. The one that made me laugh out loud was the haiku concerning the Thanksgiving turkeys.

    In commenting on my haiku in haiku-form yourself, it crossed my mind that all comments on this post, for a designated period of time could be via haiku. It would be a challenge. Any opinions?

    Like


  662. I like the idea Robert Morse, comments via haiku. Let’s try it. Great to see you breathepeace. Walljasper, I loved the Oracle/Sun/Micro haiku. And a Valentine from Robert Morse to Ann. Some great haiku.

    ________

    under the weather;
    Walljasper and Robert Morse,
    thank you for the lift

    Like


  663. setting into
    the folds of a lotus
    a dazed bee

    Like


  664. Haiku comments?
    ‘Really like the idea,
    Thank you to Robert.
    —————————————-

    You have to wonder,
    if Larson of “The Far Side”
    ever wrote haikus?

    Like


  665. ‘Hope you feel better,
    and your spirits rise higher
    each day, QuoinMonkey!

    Like


  666. dangling until spring
    deep snow blanketed maple
    before red leaves fell

    Like


  667. inside looking out
    snow falls like rain but silent
    filling bird feeder

    Like


  668. winter dazed spring thaw
    can’t crack the frozen tundra
    ice dams on the roof

    Like


  669. clearing snow from walk
    shovel after shovel full
    mind as still and white

    Like


  670. thick and groggy head
    virus mutant on the run
    swimming in the cold

    Like


  671. Snow piled atop snow
    Where’s my winter wonderland?
    In my mind, of course.

    Like


  672. What of history
    if Rome had deployed nail guns
    for crucifixions.

    Like


  673. […] like I’ve accomplished a great deal. I know from past practices of writing, mandalas, and haiku, that yearly dedication to a craft can take you a long way. It can also drive you crazy! I thought […]

    Like


  674. Response to an unsuspecting FB friend who posted “Oh… for a simpler time. ( a You Tube clip of Ford singing to a child). “I don’t suppose this would be on TV today for several reasons. Still, I’d love to have been the kid on Tennessee Ernie Ford’s lap!”

    Fair game I say. ;-}

    “Come sit on my lap
    like Tennessee Ernie Ford”
    says your weird Uncle.

    Like


  675. Dried, even splitting,
    purse your lips to a kind smile,
    lest the heart grow hard.

    Like


  676. A FB friend just posted that he is on crutches for 2 weeks with a stress fracture. Fair game, eh?

    And so here I am,
    claiming a fractured lifestyle,
    with stress as my crutch.

    Like


  677. FB firend writes “Do we really need a chocolate cross for Easter this year (now available at Walmart)?”. Fair game again.

    My genuflexion,
    to a chocolate confection,
    requires confession.

    Like


  678. ‘Read your snowbound post,
    and wish you a springtime toast,
    “May all snowmen roast”.

    Like


  679. For our Robert Morse,
    and all who long for the spring,
    “Hang-on” haiku:

    ‘Read your snowbound post,
    and wish you a springtime toast,
    “May all snowmen roast”.

    Like


  680. […] -related to post: haiku 2 (one-a-day) […]

    Like


  681. reading Walljasper
    Tennessee Ernie, roast, toast —
    all life is Fair Game!

    Like


  682. on March 9, 2010 at 12:02 am Robert Morse

    Tennessee Ernie
    Reminded me of Kovacs
    Minus 16 tons.

    Like


  683. Robert, you devil.
    You made me spit out coffee,
    Laughing ’bout Kovacs.

    Like


  684. Awaken each day,
    grateful for the smallest joy
    consigned to kindness
    a joyful participant
    in the sorrows of the world.

    Like


  685. hmmm – revision 1 – less evangelical, perchance a hint of Zen?

    A moment awake,
    grateful in the smallest joy
    consigned to kindness
    a joyful participant
    in the sorrows of the world.

    Like


  686. Walljasper, yes, a hint of Zen in that last one. Like it.

    _________

    crackling cellophane
    coconut chocolate blend
    rattles my taste buds

    Like


  687. Adding to Ms. de QuoinMonkey’s haiku

    crackling cellophane
    coconut chocolate blend
    rattles my taste buds
    suddenly the tongue shivers,
    secret sour gummi worm.

    Like


  688. Some dirty laundry
    requires a heavy sudsing
    and cold Guinness rinse.

    Like


  689. (advice to a FB Friend, fretting about not wearing green on St Patrick Day)

    Buy a green Sharpie,
    give to friend, drink up, pass out.
    Wake up wearing green.

    Like


  690. on March 19, 2010 at 9:24 pm Robert Morse

    (The “I” below is a fictional one)

    Stride for stride with Jones
    And all the greener grass mine
    I’m happy!…I think.

    Like


  691. on March 20, 2010 at 8:29 am breathepeace

    sit by warm oven
    sun shines on mid-March snowfall
    eating a brownie

    Like


  692. on March 25, 2010 at 9:46 am Robert Morse

    Certain: Death, taxes
    And yet, it’s spring that brings us
    Tax time and Easter.

    Like


  693. A slight improvement of the above:

    Certain: Death, taxes
    And yet, it’s spring that welcomes
    Tax time and Easter.

    Like


  694. In Roman custom,
    a tax fully paid was stamped
    “Consummatum es”.

    A joyous Easter to all.

    Like


  695. Ack, ‘left off the “t” in “est”

    In Roman custom,
    a tax fully paid was stamped
    “Consummatum est”.

    A joyous Easter to all.

    Like


  696. Oh, my haiku friends! I hope you don’t think I’ve forgotten about you. I’ve been distracted with photography lately but am still writing haiku. I so appreciate your haiku and am reading every day.

    Happy Easter, walljasper. And Happy Tax Day to all. I’m going to be meeting with the accountant this Tuesday. I can’t wait to get them done.

    ______________

    blustery Spring day
    whacks snow shovel across porch
    lands on Easter grass

    Like


  697. Happy Easter, QuoinMonkey – glad to hear you are well and enjoying photography.

    Now, not too many jelly beans, ok? 😉
    —————————————————

    Easter heralds spring,
    Fuzzy ducklings flutter wings,
    Chocolate eggs hatch.

    Like


  698. Deal! I’m trying to stay away from the candy. Love those Easter Eggs though. We turned them into deviled eggs. Hmmmm.

    ___________

    Easter heralds spring,
    Fuzzy ducklings flutter wings,
    Chocolate eggs hatch.
    Spring makes a raucous debut,
    Blowing Easter eggs to town!

    Like


  699. […] to posts: haiku 2 (one-a-day) and Watch Me Pull A Rabbit Out Of My Hat — last year’s Easter post with info on the […]

    Like


  700. late night escapade
    the practice of stealing time
    lurks in the shadows

    Like


  701. on April 10, 2010 at 8:24 am breathepeace

    snow melts from shadows
    nature’s cycle continues
    winter yields to spring

    Like


  702. Words of comfort to a returning friend:

    Farewell, vacation.
    Parting is such sweet sorrow.
    Now to get some rest.

    Like


  703. Stripeypants mischief?
    Inquiring minds need to know.
    Let cat out of bag.

    Like


  704. Other friend is considering melatonin for a Zurich flight in the a.m.

    ————————-
    That melatonin,
    always works wonders for me,
    with a vodka rinse.
    ————————-
    ‘Have no airline perks
    so for long flights it’s strictly
    Chemical Upgrade.

    Like


  705. At ‘table of life,
    there’s room for all of God’s creatures,
    next to the ‘taters.

    Like


  706. Walljasper, you make me smile.

    ________________

    Stripeypants mischief?
    Inquiring minds need to know.
    Let cat out of bag.
    Stripey’s full of surprises,
    no telling what he’ll do next!

    Like


  707. PINE TREE HAIKU BLUES (continued)

    My sap and needles
    Say that I’m pine through and through
    Still I can’t please yew.

    Like


  708. they looked like branches

    antlers in back of pick-up

    sad, I look away

    Like


  709. chartreuse lace covers

    branches lifted to the sky

    welcoming Spring sun

    Like


  710. left, right, or center?
    standing still at the crossroads
    change is in the wind

    Like


  711. rain goes with the flow
    puddle on the blue table
    makes firm foundation

    Like


  712. on April 25, 2010 at 6:27 pm breathepeace

    spring in tug-o’-war
    with late April snow showers
    winter will not quit

    Like


  713. Dancing Haiku,
    leads to the Tanka Tango.
    “Shall we Renga, dear?”
    ——————————-
    continuing QuoinMonkey’s haiku

    left, right, or center?
    standing still at the crossroads
    change is in the wind
    climb higher, the winds soften.
    we soar in all directions.

    Like


  714. Re: PINE TREE HAIKU BLUES (continued)

    Robert Morse,
    such happy rascality,
    I just laughed out loud.

    Like


  715. continuing QuoinMonkey’s Tanka de StripeyPants

    Stripeypants mischief?
    Inquiring minds need to know.
    Let cat out of bag.
    Stripey’s full of surprises,
    no telling what he’ll do next!

    Nine lives, more talents.
    ‘Pants is the baker’s helper
    and a magician.

    Like


  716. continuing Tanka de StripeyPants

    Stripeypants mischief?
    Inquiring minds need to know.
    Let cat out of bag.
    Stripey’s full of surprises,
    no telling what he’ll do next!

    Nine lives, more talents.
    ‘Pants is the baker’s helper
    and a magician.
    Disappearing, appearing
    in only this one moment.

    Like


  717. continuing Tanka de StripeyPants

    Stripeypants mischief?
    Inquiring minds need to know.
    Let cat out of bag.
    Stripey’s full of surprises,
    no telling what he’ll do next!

    Nine lives, more talents.
    ‘Pants is the baker’s helper
    and a magician.
    Disappearing, appearing
    in only this one moment.

    “Here, kitty, kitty…”
    Stripeypants will not be moved.
    Challah bread Buddha.

    Like


  718. Re: Celeb Adultery

    To err is human,
    and to forgive is divine,
    and then there’s rehab.

    Like


  719. walljasper, this made me chuckle:

    Dancing Haiku,
    leads to the Tanka Tango.
    “Shall we Renga, dear?”
    ——————————-
    continuing….

    left, right, or center?
    standing still at the crossroads
    change is in the wind
    climb higher, the winds soften.
    we soar in all directions.

    restless sandbagging
    searching for inner compass
    wandering True North

    Like


  720. continuing….

    left, right, or center?
    standing still at the crossroads
    change is in the wind
    climb higher, the winds soften.
    we soar in all directions.

    restless sandbagging
    searching for inner compass
    wandering True North
    A quest to live in the now.
    A moment of contentment.

    Like


  721. was compelled to make a slight revision to last night’s addition to the renga.
    ————————

    left, right, or center?
    standing still at the crossroads
    change is in the wind
    climb higher, the winds soften.
    we soar in all directions.

    restless sandbagging
    searching for inner compass
    wandering True North
    to know where you are going
    you must know where you come from.

    grasp the mirror,
    dare to be who you are and
    become who you see.
    joyous, alive in the now,
    a new horizon appears.

    Like


  722. Renga B (A different branch?)

    left, right, or center?
    standing still at the crossroads
    change is in the wind
    climb higher, the winds soften.
    we soar in all directions.

    restless sandbagging
    searching for inner compass
    wandering True North
    Onward beyond the Dew line
    Passing my inner Don’t line.

    To walljasper and QuoinMonkey,

    I apologize, but I also woke up with an idea for continuing this renga. Is it okay if this renga sprouted another branch? Is it okay to have both branches available to build upon?

    p.s. ‘Celeb Adultery’ and “Dancin haiku” are great!

    Like


  723. tomorrow is May

    bouncing between bare branches

    snow does not tell time

    (you can tell breathepeace & I live in the time warp of Wyoming, where the weather is very confused)

    Like


  724. on May 1, 2010 at 1:14 am walljasper

    Hi Robert – no worries from me – perfectly fine – the more, the merrier and creative….plus I am giggling about those dew and don’t dew lines already. heheheh. Love it.

    ‘Glad you got a smile from
    ‘Celeb Adultery’ and “Dancin haiku” too.

    Go ahead and let’s spin offf two versions – it will be fun.

    Quoinmokey? Is that ok with you?

    Like


  725. Walljasper and Robert Morse, I am totally on board! I love my haiku friends. And love keeping these renga going. It’s fun for me and grounding. I’ll be back later to add to the renga. Heading out soon to walk the labyrinth. Marylin and breathepeace, what’s going on with the snow in Wyoming? Though it is blustery, windy, and cool here. Last night there was thunder and hail when I was up late working on photos!

    _____________

    In Honor of Beltane & World Labyrinth Day

    Build Beltane bonfires,
    Or go walk the Labyrinth —
    It will free your soul.

    Like


  726. huaraches in snow?
    no, no, tell me ’tis not so
    I would dance on grass

    Like


  727. on May 4, 2010 at 7:45 pm walljasper

    The Verdict
    ————–

    “The jury votes ‘death'”!
    “Uh, sir, this is traffic court.”
    Murderous traffic.

    Like


  728. spring chatter
    a mother’s offering of worms
    to her nest

    Like


  729. How silent the spring,
    How quiet in Red Ravine.
    “Look Ma, no headphones!”

    Like


  730. Hot Death Valley daze,
    thirsting for some haiku,
    but the well seems dry.

    Like


  731. on May 20, 2010 at 6:47 pm breathepeace

    rowing with mother
    two loons dive to mud bottom
    we skim the surface

    Like


  732. on May 21, 2010 at 11:20 pm Robert Morse

    Hot Death Valley daze,
    thirsting for some haiku,
    but the well seems dry.
    Up ahead there’s a mirage–
    It’s Reagan pitching Borax!

    Like


  733. lol, Robert – continuing…
    ——————————

    Hot Death Valley daze,
    thirsting for some haiku,
    but the well seems dry.
    Up ahead there’s a mirage–
    It’s Reagan pitching Borax!

    Crack that there whip, Clem.
    Get them forty mules movin’
    Let’s get out of here!

    Like


  734. lol, Robert – continuing…
    ——————————

    Hot Death Valley daze,
    thirsting for some haiku,
    but the well seems dry.
    Up ahead there’s a mirage–
    It’s Reagan pitching Borax!

    Crack that there whip, Clem.
    Get them forty mules movin’
    Let’s get out of here!
    “We only got twenty mules…
    you must be seein’ double”.

    Like


  735. on May 23, 2010 at 2:33 pm Robert Morse

    (Note to Walljasper: Great addition. Also, I’m running out of “Death Valley Days” points of reference.)

    736.

    Hot Death Valley daze,
    thirsting for some haiku,
    but the well seems dry.
    Up ahead there’s a mirage–
    It’s Reagan pitching Borax!

    Crack that there whip, Clem.
    Get them forty mules movin’
    Let’s get out of here!
    “We only got twenty mules…
    you must be seein’ double”.

    Clem says to the mules:
    “You’s a team! Dasher! Dancer!…
    Um, let’s try again.”

    Like


  736. Heeheh! I can still hear the faint echos of the ’50s t.v. theme song and even hum it. But I can’t find my car keys at any given time.
    ———————————————–

    Hot Death Valley daze,
    thirsting for some haiku,
    but the well seems dry.
    Up ahead there’s a mirage–
    It’s Reagan pitching Borax!

    Crack that there whip, Clem.
    Get them forty mules movin’
    Let’s get out of here!
    “We only got twenty mules…
    you must be seein’ double”.

    Clem says to the mules:
    “You’s a team! Dasher! Dancer!…
    Um, let’s try again.”
    Boraxo, oh Boraxo?
    Where art thou, oh Boraxo?

    Like


  737. lol. Looks like you all are having fun. It’s starting to sound like a song now! 🙂

    —————————————

    on our checkered picnic blanket
    playing chess
    all the birds and squirrels

    Like


  738. continuing on the theme de Mdm. Lotus:

    on our checkered picnic blanket
    playing chess
    all the birds and squirrels
    Chipmunks fuss on the sidelines,
    They loathe chess, prefer crackers.

    Like


  739. Still loving my red Ravine haiku friends. In Pennsylvania, back home to Minnesota tomorrow. And all the places in between.

    _____________

    bonds, rippling rings
    the kinship of family
    both stretches and sings

    Like


  740. on May 25, 2010 at 12:58 pm Robert Morse

    Hot Death Valley daze,
    thirsting for some haiku,
    but the well seems dry.
    Up ahead there’s a mirage–
    It’s Reagan pitching Borax!

    Crack that there whip, Clem.
    Get them forty mules movin’
    Let’s get out of here!
    “We only got twenty mules…
    you must be seein’ double”.

    Clem says to the mules:
    “You’s a team! Dasher! Dancer!…
    Um, let’s try again.”
    Boraxo, oh Boraxo?
    Where art thou, oh Boraxo?

    Alas! Clem went mad.
    He sold the Team for only
    “A Horse with No Name.”

    Like


  741. Robert – you crack me up. 😉
    ——————————

    Hot Death Valley daze,
    thirsting for some haiku,
    but the well seems dry.
    Up ahead there’s a mirage–
    It’s Reagan pitching Borax!

    Crack that there whip, Clem.
    Get them forty mules movin’
    Let’s get out of here!
    “We only got twenty mules…
    you must be seein’ double”.

    Clem says to the mules:
    “You’s a team! Dasher! Dancer!…
    Um, let’s try again.”
    Boraxo, oh Boraxo?
    Where art thou, oh Boraxo?

    Alas! Clem went mad.
    He sold the Team for only
    “A Horse with No Name.”
    Jorgensen’s surgeon bought them,
    made them all Lipizzaners.

    Good bye to borax,
    no more hauling and draying,
    just lots of rearing up.

    Like


  742. Ah, so good to hear from you, Ms. de QuoinMonkey – I loved your haiku describing family and kinship – very finely wrought and he concluding word truly sings with a bell-like quality.

    Travel happily and safely, ok?

    Like


  743. walljasper, thank you so much. I have made it home to MN safely and am mostly resting this weekend. Hard visit home but also a very good one. Grateful for the opportunity.

    ________

    gates open and close
    and some of us use doorstops
    to sweeten the odds

    Like


  744. continuing Ms. de QuoinMonkey’s haiku
    ———————————————-

    gates open and close
    and some of us use doorstops
    to sweeten the odds
    Soft glimmers of light beckon
    when doors and hearts are open.

    Like


  745. continuing with Walljasper
    ———————————————-

    gates open and close
    and some of us use doorstops
    to sweeten the odds
    Soft glimmers of light beckon
    when doors and hearts are open.

    hiding in shadows
    darkened relics of the past
    are slowly exposed

    Like


  746. continuing the Ballroom Renga with Ms. de QuoinMonkey
    —————————————gates open and close

    gates open and close
    and some of us use doorstops
    to sweeten the odds
    Soft glimmers of light beckon
    when doors and hearts are open.

    hiding in shadows
    darkened relics of the past
    are slowly exposed
    like old photos brought to light,
    glories and tears fade as one.

    Like


  747. ach – ‘must do a quick Revisione de Renga with Ms. de QuoinMonkey
    —————————————gates open and close

    gates open and close
    and some of us use doorstops
    to sweeten the odds
    soft glimmers of light beckon
    through doors and hearts left ajar.

    hiding in shadows
    darkened relics of the past
    are slowly exposed
    Like old photos brought to light,
    glories and tears fade as one.

    Like


  748. ach!

    sorry, one more slight rev, Ms de QuoinMonkey.
    ——————————————–

    gates open and close
    and some of us use doorstops
    to sweeten the odds
    soft glimmers of light beckon
    through doors and souls left ajar.

    hiding in shadows
    darkened relics of the past
    are slowly exposed
    Like old photos brought to light,
    glories and tears fade as one.

    Like


  749. I like it Walljasper. Continuing…

    ——————————————–

    gates open and close

    gates open and close
    and some of us use doorstops
    to sweeten the odds
    soft glimmers of light beckon
    through doors and souls left ajar.

    hiding in shadows
    darkened relics of the past
    are slowly exposed
    Like old photos brought to light,
    glories and tears fade as one

    blended shades of gr