jornales

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

post-perspectives on (that night)

The first poem (versified haibun) to which I wrote a sequel posted earlier below this: also published at otata, January 2018, of which the editor said, “a masterwork, a splendid piece”. Verses in parenthesis read as haiku…

post-perspectives on (that night)

Alegria Imperial

1.

been told where midnight birthed the Child, a goat bleated and a lamb stared away

to count adorers, i was told, beyond three said to be kings,

in fact, a throng—could they have been cloned?

no heralds really and only the soundless rise and fall

of wondering eyes moved

 

on the one hand

stars (might have) abandoned

the stable for hillocks

 

2.

but said of the gifts laid down on hay, gold singeing the silence for one,

incense and myrrh rising as acrid mist—all unfit for dancing around the manger—

no eye winced, not the mother’s veiled though lit like a crescent moon

or the father’s side-glance, bent and weighed down, it had seemed,

braced by a cane possibly de-limbed from a comet-burst,

so i caught from word that came around

silenced (no trace)

boom of horns

3.

deeper into that night, the telling somehow tangles—a wild moon, i was told,

that the star outshone, hence, grown bereft flailed, and in shreds

fell on shepherds the heralds missed, as the camels drunk on light crossed over

from a universe of desert breasts coming to, centuries since,

a seething patchwork of wheeled-what nots, and men—the narrator opined—

pining to be kings scissor-ed streets, where spires of gothic cathedrals taunt the skies,

finding in a huddle of felled pines,

and plastic star-garlands,

their own stable-born

 

morning ruckus

(balled-up) winds hang

on sand-rimmed clouds

 

4.

but said of the adoration:

a stream of footfalls—human-forms spiffed up

in business suits and woolen coats,

the unclean eaten by greed, the twisted of bone,

the mummied-up with melting flesh,

the widow but her husband’s ghost,

though not a whiff of malodorous wounds—

inundated the aisle to the crèche as brass handles

of candelabras shed their sheen, and soon, on a parade of hands

a litany of rants rumbled like bamboo clappers,

breaths rising as

petulant wing shapes (or shapeless)

fog the rose windows

 

5.

one story teller, un-glued, swears he did catch

the plaster of Paris baby’s lids flutter, as lambs peered

at the adorers, and the child’s mother blowing praises into her infant’s

folded ears, while the father leaned back, perhaps deciphering a dream, while

late-coming adorers crept in, rustling

with agonies reprised over and over in a rhythmic ejaculation

of supplication for mercies, so the story

rambles on

 

corner knot (finger-frayed)

the pain of denial

leaves a wound

 

6.

this renegade tells

how he, too, waded

his way in, palms damp

from doubt, teary from wafts of incense,

lisping as he counted nights lost on fingers,

confounded by shifting

animal sounds,

and the

leaps and

swirls of

limbs

where

on a cross (hung from a concrete sky)

the midnight Star

https://otatablog.files.wordpress.com/2018/01/otata-feb-2018.pdf

 

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December 2, 2018 Posted by | poetry, reflection, versified haibun | , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

reconfiguring: if that night comes again

Just published at otata #36, December 2018 (p. 55), like a sequel to the same theme I wrote this month also last year…(verses in parenthesis can be read as one poem, as well). I hope you like it

reconfiguring
if that night comes again

(will it be…)

on desert stillness
lamb eyes on a Child’s cheeks
a Star’s piercing shafts

(likely the same)

a gentled flock coating the ground
the shepherds’ mottled hands cupped for night dew
the mother’s breath a mist
(sense of truth)

a donkey braying from the myrrh-scented hay
gold glinting between sleep and dreams
the swaying wisps of frankincense

(or will it be…)
on sky cracks far off
hurtling open vowels spewing hurts
an ire-driven snapping king
(dripping vitriol)
fear-coated tongue brandishing
word-swords but where’s the manger
in baffling infinity?

 

in buff dunes burrows
and lopsided mountain hips
(perhaps)
swept in bursts of rancour
roaring off smeuse-d hedge-walls
(maybe)
buried with wounds
cankered from hollow praises
(probably)

 

still I was told
(that night will come again)
flailing wing tips
a wind-brushed sky flung open
humming in cotton-soft air
(a smile)
the sphere balanced as it rolls
on the Child’s upraised hand
darkness shorn of weight

draped with piercing shafts
(the Star’s)

December 1, 2018 Posted by | poetry, reflection | , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

cackling

the measured widths we shrink into

talking in the darkness like late crickets heaving up a molehill

a cackle of office meniscus

summer drizzle a wet stone growing an ear

in a sonogram frog song

lollipops in the basket some promises un-swapped

war of the fishes stilled in a pitted clam shell

 

otata November 2017

February 28, 2018 Posted by | haiku, poetry, sequence, Uncategorized | , , , , , | Leave a comment

too late

too late

“dead cells”, they say of hair, same thing about nails, skin, too, that                                         sloughs off tempers, hurts, lusts, and regrets, which send the heart hurtling in Hades

caterwauling

flailing braided hair of nymphs, could they have been instruments of  execution? and the mane of golden boys, pennants in the eyes of virgins… unbeknownst dripping of night

a prolonged moon

on hair that has found its own rights and freedom, denuded by tectonic eruptions spewing inner fire, deluded by the burst of spring that by the time it booms, a live head

thuds on a stone grate

 

otata November, 2017

February 28, 2018 Posted by | free verse, poetry, Uncategorized | , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

three works (they say/about the spheres/interpretentions)

 

1.

they say

mountain clouds

implode in a colic

 

a stare brings on

revolts

 

snow buntings invite

green eyes

 

fibrous bones

roll down a mulch hill

 

a rasp in his caws

one catches

 

wild weeds

pierce fresh wombs

 

in a clam shell

of not-thereness

 

2.

 

about the spheres

 

a wink enough
to lift
the moon’s hem

a slivered blue
licks paradise

part grit part
fluff the foaming universe

constellations stringing rocks into falsies

concoctions a boom of moon craters

 

3.

 

interpretentions

 

with my lips, I accept the many ways grass wears dew that Van Gogh kept secret

 

I agonize so much so that my stomach contracts regurgitating Dali’s white lies

 

a valley of lilies I hurtle into with eyes closed on Monet skinny dipping

 

the spastic leg throws of marionettes as Picasso dreamt I can

 

together shedding barnacles from cliffs chipped clean in cubes Mondrian says his own

 

thieves inhabit the hippocampus of dawn beetles scaling the spirals of Gaudi’s nights

 

my singed heart hurts so the onyx solitaire Klee entraps with dancing threads

 

 

otata April 2017

February 15, 2018 Posted by | fragments, haiku, poetry, sequence | , , , , , , | Leave a comment

book spine haiku…

1.

then and now…

the little prince

under the sea wind

 

2.

far to go–

the concubine

when the wells run dry

 

3.

the piano–

basil and the pygmy cats

joy luck club

 

4.

the republic–

postcards

of mice and men

 

5.

war and peace

as I lay dying…

metamorphosis

 

6.

grapes of wrath

the god of small things

barn burning

 

7.

no exit

love in the time of cholera

a midsummer night’s dream

 

8.

swamp angel

death of a salesman

paradise lost

 

9.

steppenwolf

the unbearable lightness of being–

leaf storm

 

10.

talking horse–

the importance of being earnest

a new life

 

11.

demian–

strange news from another star

beneath the wheel

 

12.

wind in the willows

crisis pages in a diary–

if the war goes on

 

  • somerset maugham/antoine de saint-exupery/rachel carson 2) alison pick/norah lofts/thomas h. greene, s.j. 3) jane campion/eve titus/amy tan 4) plato/annie proulx/john steinbeck 5) leo tolstoy/william faulkner/franz kafka 6) john steinbeck/arhundhati roy/william faulkner 7) jean paul sartre/gabriel garcia marquez/william shakespeare 8) ethel wilson/arthur miller/john milton 9) hermann hesse/milan kundera/gabriel garcia marquez 10) bernard malamud/oscar wilde/bernard malamud 11)hermann hesse/hermann hesse/hermann hesse 12) kenneth grahame/hermann hesse/herman hesse

June 8, 2016 Posted by | haiku, poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

shortened hem/through her eyelet wrap/cross legged

shortened hem a spillover of stargazers

through her eyelet wrap his sins for a year

cross legged

her bare knees attract

a flock of gulls

 

otata wordpress.com June 2016

 

June 7, 2016 Posted by | haiku, poetry, Uncategorized | , , , , , | Leave a comment

New works at Under the Basho: early darkness, winter dusk, on the verge, pale sunset, word storm,

early darkness —

the dough yields its breast

to my hands

 

cattails, January 2015

Under the Basho my personal best 2015

 

winter dusk—

we scoot over 

for shadows

 

Under the Basho Stand-Alone hokku 2015

 

on the verge

of rocketing–

scent of silence

 

pale sunset 

the blue heron’s

midlife

 

word storm 

turning shadows

into a burden

 

Under the Basho modern haiku 2015

 

December 26, 2015 Posted by | haiku | , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

A haiku trio on the sky

forlorn sky
a kitten’s inaudible
mewling

fog horn
across the beach
injured clouds

dream catcher
the shifting colours
of rain

August 27, 2015 Posted by | haiku, poetry | , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Just a heart (a haibun)

I honor the Force who/that sowed the seed who became me. In degrees though often unaware, I grew a heart.

from rumblings a sprout answers to a name

Lashed by winds, bathed by rains, kissed by moonrise, swaddled by fog, cradled by dawns, how can I be less than a song

neither eye nor lips the knowing sky

They say I leave footprints, scents, echoes, a ghost prowling with the fox for a lair, yet no one says my name

far off foghorns for every one

(My response, originally posted as a comment, to Dan Hasse’s powerful haibun at Facebook: thank you, Dan!!)

April 20, 2015 Posted by | haibun, poetry | , , , , , , , | Leave a comment