jornales

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

under moody rains

The Golden Gate Bridge refracted in raindrops acting as lenses by Mila Zinkova courtesy of wikicommons

on paved walks

tracing the patchwork i lost

under moody rains

(posted on NaHaiWriMo under ‘loss’ prompt by Carlos Colon)

November 30, 2011 Posted by | haiku, poetry, reflection | , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

rehearsal break (haiku on dance at NaHaiWriMo)

sea otters holding hands by Joe Robertson, Austin, TX courtesy of wikicommons

rehearsal break

catching some sea breeze

in dreams

posted for NaHaiWrimo under ‘dance’ prompt by Carlos Colon

November 28, 2011 Posted by | haiku, poetry | , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

doves/winter dawn/eyes (haiku on relationships at NaHaiWriMo)

Inca doves nesting courtesy of wikicommons

1.

 cooing

we slip past

the brambles

3.

winter dawn

grayer than her tresses

on his chest

3.

eyes

locked in adoration

my cat and i

Nov 25th prompt by Carlos Colon at the still ongoing National Haiku Writing Month (NaHaWriMo facebook site) with slight editing of #1.

November 28, 2011 Posted by | haiku, poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

begonias once

autumn rain

pooling on window pots

begonias once

 

 

November 27, 2011 Posted by | haiku, poetry | , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

secrets

secrets

finding my unheard voices

in you

alegria imperial/eleanor angles

November 26, 2011 Posted by | haiga, poetry, reflection | , , , , , , | Leave a comment

rejection notes (sharing a personal essay with Sanjukta)

I’d like to share this personal essay I once wrote after receiving yet another rejection note; more had come and I expect nine out of ten submissions will keep coming. You would understand why it’s melodramatic. But that feeling has not swept me over since. When I do receive one these days, I simply put away the poem, haiku or tanka, rewrite and submit to another editor. A few of these have been accepted and published. Here’s the essay:

Why must rejection wring the mind so?

These words marching onto this blank screen leaked off a bottle of emotions I had dammed. It’s been a week ago since a rejection note sneaked into my inbox—a single line in bold letters; it’s not the first, but the latest of ten I have received so far. Reading the note then, I felt sand in my eyes, pain that brings on tears. First, they stung and then creeping down my cheeks, they felt cold as a blade. I could be bleeding, I thought, but not from an invisible cut on my cheeks–it must be in my shattered heart.

Why must words of rejection wring the mind so? I had long struggled to understand. No matter how cavalier I talk of my writing, rejection feels like death for me at times. It must be during those times when I wrote too hard and too long so much so that an illusion of perfection shrouded me and darkened that fragile cave—my heart—from which I always imagine I write.

From what do words get birthed anyway? This has always been a mystery to me akin to my search for God. But this I believe in, the universe came to be out of nothing because God so decreed it with words.

I am a being out of nothing. Hence, my words leap onto a screen from the void. Why then must rejection affect me so? I and what words I string together as soon as they slip into some kind of form should turn into objects like asteroids, for one, flinging through the universe. I, who worked on it and that which they have birthed into, should no longer bear any of me.

And yet, complex as is my tiny mind, it also bloats with greed and feels as if words it has put into shape become the universe. How dare then, does anyone reject them?

But in the end, I am grateful for each rejection; it shoves me back into place. The eye does not see the self in whole, only in parts; rejection really hurts only in part. As in every object in the universe, other parts of me that have been spared soon take over and begin to birth again.

November 25, 2011 Posted by | personal essay, poetry, reflection | , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

reggae (haibun)

So, why reggae when I could or must dwell on variations of winter? Even the sun has withdrawn to cuddle up with hibernating thoughts and fur-thickened limbs. It’s cold and damp and gray in my city everyday. Which is why perhaps, this morning I woke up with the sound of reggae on a basin in my mind, the kind you hear on Times Square in New York from the subway station on 42nd and Broadway to the corners of that triangle where Tickits booths stand.

reggae–
the sun dripping
on his basin

Always, a robust sun streams no end on the basin from which reggae artists coax notes to rise  like it were a constant season. But we don’t return after the summer or late spring.

catching a breath
his notes leave for the moon–
reggae

Or under a November sky, without the sun and the reggae artist, we would ourselves be lamenting.

reggae  the sun we can’t find

November 24, 2011 Posted by | haibun, poetry, reflection | , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

winter trees (haiga)

winter trees

waiting on the silence

our breaths

 

(with my snap shot of Grouse Mountain, Vancouver from the lift last spring)

November 23, 2011 Posted by | haiga, poetry, reflection | , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

sea foam (haiku)

sea foam
remnants of our resistance
drowning on sand

November 22, 2011 Posted by | haiku, poetry, reflection | , , , , , | Leave a comment

November sky haiga (Manhattan skyline from the Hudson at Riverbank State Park)

November sky
we fling our shadows
among clouds

haiku: alegria imperial
photo: eleanor angeles

November 21, 2011 Posted by | haiga, poetry, Uncategorized | , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment