jornales

for a moment of joy or moments no one pays for, i give myself a ‘jornal’. this makes me rich. try it.

the moon–a haibun perhaps?

The sun, today, quietly died in pastels. Past noon, when it sailed bleached white, it seemed to just wink; and then, it crept away trailing streaks of pink and blue gray, slipping into night. In the sky, a glow lingered: the sun’s remains perhaps? But it was only the rising moon. Full-faced, full-blossomed like a flower, it stared — a sun gone cold in its return.

white gold moon—
she arcs a bare arm
to bathe

March 10, 2011 Posted by | haibun, poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments