dew on pine tips

dew on pine tips

splinters

in my eye

A jornal that came at dusk just in time to wrap up my day.

evening

evening–

murmurs sink deeper

into the hedge

A jornal just to survive–for now.

strands of willow

close to the ground

strands of bare willow–

a stone bed

A haiku? I’m not sure. A jornal, yes. When I saw them today, I thought they appeared so drained and dried up, they could break any moment.

thunderstorm/bumayakabak

bumayakabak

iti sirok ti rukbos

ruros ti langit

–haiku in Iluko, my dialect, as one born in the archipelago’s northernmost tip  with which I rarely speak and have been learning to write only two years ago.

Iluko is of Austro-Polynesian and Malay roots, one of 87 dialects in the Philippines. Syllables are read as written, no dipthongs–u’s are pronnounced as long o’s and o’s as short; all a’s are short and the ng as in ung. Pilipino, mainly from dialects spoken in the lowlands that has integrated languages from migrations and colonizations, is the national language of the Filipinos.

thunderstorm–

in the grove

shreds of sky

A priceless jornal for me.

my sighs

on upraised branches 

of the pine tree–I leave 

my sighs

–a  jornal I so need!

willow trees

against the sky–

the bare willow trees sag 

under a full moon

Pickings do come rare now but still, here’s a surprise last evening–a priceless jornal.

weight of air

through a glass window

peonies! –the weight of air

on a solo night

What this haiku gave me was a jornal of upliftment, having seen peonies as glassed-in as I feel I am.

chill wind

chill wind

the leaves rattle nameless now–

who will bury them?

Where jornales come scarce, I pick a sound–enough for the eternity of a day.

bare trees

on a street

lined by bare cherry trees–

nothing but grey skies

Each haiku–its own jornal.

winter3

honking overhead

a flock of geese crossing the moon

for the last mile back?

Can’t figure out a jornal for this picking.