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


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

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



they say

mountain clouds

implode in a colic


a stare brings on



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




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






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

your lullaby evening star my heart for broken wings (sequence for Mama for One Stop Poetry Sunday)

To Mama, a bamboo orchid her favorite flower, courtesy of wikipedia

your lullaby
all i can remember–
roosting sparrow

evening star–
your fingers the comb
for my tangled mind

your eyes my sister’s
my heart for broken wings
from you

i say Mama
and the wind entwines me
to the moon

i call you
and the night hums

in three lines:

your lullaby evening star my heart for broken wings
and the wind entwines me to the moon
and the night hums

Coyright (c) by Alegria Imperial 2011

Posted for Mother’s Day at One Stop Poetry, winner of the 2011 Shorty Awards for the Arts, an inimitbale gathering of poets and artists who share their love for their art and nurture each other. Check us out.

May 8, 2011 Posted by | haiku, poetry, sequence | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 9 Comments

all i can see (sequence in black and white, take off from the NaHaiWriMo facebook site)

all i can see–
black and white
in your eyes

when the sun falls
on your lies

dregs settling
our arguments

our window blinds
turned down

on the burner your note
in black and white

Copyright (c) by Alegria Imperial 2011

(take off from Melissa Allen’s prompt, black and white, at the still-on NaHaiWriMo facebook site)

April 26, 2011 Posted by | haiku, poetry, sequence | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

haibun (rewrite with deletions)

More and more news on Japan. More and more images of movie-like devastation in Sendai. Lives and homes and things dissolved like play things, bouncing on waves cardboard-like–as well as plums and cherry trees perhaps, how would Sendai spring be like now? Where these haven’t been uprooted, here’s how my friend, mi hermana, Margaret Dornaus (haikudoodle) sees it in a haiku:

weeping cherry . . .
so many blossoms downcast
by spring’s heartbreak

What do you see? You may wish to share it here or simply write it for yourself. Let’s offer them like incense for Japan.

March 15, 2011 Posted by | haiku, poetry, sequence | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

melancholia (sequence) begins with my first ever haiku

in the haze,
crow circling bare trees
finally alights

while sun
tints bay, i dive skimming
crimson-bottomed boats

duck pairs braid
shadows on my back—
i slurp refuse

gulls overhead fight
over what’s left,
screaming mute—

the same scraps
i tossed in my daze
a moment earlier

before i plunged–

First published in LYNX XXIII:3 October 2008

in the haze, I found among my notes is the first ever haiku I wrote. The ‘haiku moment’? A drive to Aberdeen from the Federal Hill in Baltimore. Autumn had greyed on desolate trees. Crows in such skies even then had seemed to me both sinister and comforting–the first because of their eyes, the second, their astuteness.

Soon after more of my haiku ‘doodling’ (to borrow mi hermana’s blog title), I strung them into this sequence with ‘haze and the crow’ as the theme and sent it to Werner Reichold. The day LYNX came out with it and two more sequences, three tanka and a haibun, I found a biographical sketch on Hart Crane’s death; it was as if I knew it when I put together this sequence.

February 19, 2011 Posted by | haiku, poetry, reflection, sequence | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

winter moods (sequence that worked)

November sky
rains into stray runnels
into cesspools

drenched in the rain
city pavements let no step
leave a sign

on paved walls–
I trace the patchwork
by the moody rain

catching winter clouds
shielding for themselves alone
the marine blue sky

up frosty mountain peaks—
i wonder about the lily
in a summer pond

Published in LYNX XXVI:I, February 2011

A ‘sequence’ is another haiku-related form in English haiku where individual haiku along the same theme are put together. I seem to have better chances in getting accepted with it although most of my sequences have only been published in LYNX and The Cortland Review (Issue 39, ‘revenant’) not a haiku and its related forms but a poetry journal.

The form comes rather easily to me–I do it even here with my posts; when I start composing right here, one haiku often isn’t enough for an image/thought/moment that comes to mind. Sometimes I want to give up on writing haiku and perhaps just get on with my poetry, which seems to have given me a more distinctive voice but haiku whips me back to shape with its discipline and brevity. I look at it as a wisp of air, a mist, fog swarming over me so I may fade and be one with it.

And so, to add a haiku to this sequence

stepping into the fog
i, too, fade

January 31, 2011 Posted by | critique/self-critique, poetry, sequence | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

route (sequence with a lesson on how to breathe life to a ‘lifeless haiku’)

on a bench—
granny arching
to a waltz

on the ground
black-eyed posies,
but not for me

over head
a robin trills, i race
the train

pine strand
flailing in night sky—
the first low star

pasta bowl
and cranberry juice
with no one

Published in LYNX XXIII:3, October 2008

These were separate haiku I labored to make ‘perfect’ but hardly ever tried to submit, having at that time received one rejection after another. And so, I put them together as a titled sequence and got an acceptance from Werner Reichold, my first publication after my one and only haiku award from VCBF haiku invitational.

But as I’m won’t to do, two of the haiku have since danced on into a full poem in free verse: #3 became “first kiss” posted here for One Shoot Sunday, #4 out of the image ‘flailing in the night sky’, I wrote “revenant” published in The Cortland Review.

Lesson: on how to save one’s own self from ‘grief’ of a ‘lifeless haiku’ or how to breathe life on a ‘lifeless haiku’

Do not delete/discard/bury it. Instead, keep it wrapped in angels’ wings.

Let it sleep the sleep of bulbs of daffodils and star lilies.

Wait for spring in your spirit.

And then, unwrap them, buff them and watch the wings stir, flapping weakly at first.

And then, with your touch, watch the lines soar!

January 24, 2011 Posted by | haiku, sequence | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

canyon evening sequence (one shoot Sunday)

*inspired by a photograph of Trent Chau

rattling the air
the cawing of crows—
our flight hours more

breaches rain-swept horizon
where embers sizzle

clouds wash
the canyon fissures,
draining our fears

from dreams
shadows rise fracturing
evening fall

canyon evening—
wind tracks to follow
the shimmering light

I posted this poem for One Shoot Sunday at the One Stop Poetry blog.

Join us – throw in your verses. Here are the rules (taken directly off their blog):

1. Write a poetic piece & post it on your blog
2. Then let us know about your post. Link back to One Shot
3. Sign up in the Mr Linky list, linking directly to your post, AFTER you’ve posted it.
4. Go visit others who have signed up! Offer support & encouragement. Share your love of words and insight respectfully. Please try to visit as many participating poets as you can. We all could use and appreciate kind feedback.

November 21, 2010 Posted by | poetry, sequence | , , , , , , , , , , , | 14 Comments

how love is not spelled (two sequences)


on the wall—

scribbled notes

my bank of mementoes

on sand–

footmarks receding

let go of my shadow


prance a quatrain screaming

my loneliness

i step on

angels and unicorns

trapped in the snow

pigeons whoosh up

spray the sky, laughing

at my mud-soaked feet


my broken heart—

wilting like a cabbage rose

in a mulch bed

in the evening

dew on petals splatter

with my tears

under the moon

my fingers on keys–

a pulse


which letter comes first—

evening shower

on the window

a trickle

does not spell love

March 10, 2010 Posted by | haiku, poetry, sequence | , , , | Leave a comment