jornales

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

nagging rain & wave lashings in THF’s Per Diem February feature

My two haiku in The Haiku Foundation’s ‘Haiku in the World’ February feature on the Philippines:

 

nagging rain

on the moon’s face…

a baby’s whimper

 

The Haiku Foundation Per Diem, February 9, 2015

‘Haiku in the World’ February feature: The Philippines

Per Diem Archive on The Haiku Foundation Website, and the Haiku App

 

wave lashings—

with every breath

the shore yields

 

The Haiku Foundation Per Diem, February 1, 2015

‘Haiku in the World’ February feature: The Philippines

Per Diem Archive on The Haiku Foundation Website, and the Haiku App

 

As you could surmise, both haiku rise from images of natural disasters which had wrought much havoc and suffering in the Philippines these recent years. In the distance, and the years I have lived in Canada, every face in each calamity transports me back home with the same intensity as if I were there and the same emotions and fears rise again as implied in these two haiku.

 

April 14, 2015 Posted by | haiku | , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

inner cities (a sort of versified haibun, an experiment)

 

draperies of wrinkled winds the affectations we traded for dawn kisses straining the moon

listen to the children beginning their climb on a spiral of electives we elders concocted out of broken yarn

they’ll string them together with knots we had thought as we waxed the yarn sliding them between our canines

a child bursts into a scream at birth shedding his mother’s blood-coating a slimy red he knew he did not need but by then gurgling through his veins

this evening of attrition it’s blood roiling unseen that drives him to untangle the net he knotted and wove from broken yarn those strands his mother also called blood

we watch out for when he and his siblings scramble up our limbs and bite our tongue and begin to scale the spiral to the moon

 

a tale of inner cities

…flat lining a wall

March 7, 2015 Posted by | haibun, poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Road Kill (a haibun)

“Big brown eyes”, I caught the driver gush. He and an off- duty driver have been trading road kill stories. I stop breathing over perhaps a girl stunned by his brake lights. Only to find relief from the next phrases dropped on my eaves; he talks of a Bambi like deer that appeared on his headlights. Now I want to intrude into their cove though I’m no driver–I’m just a thief. And so, while my bus mates recede into their inner ears, I rise and pick up the limp fawn, and squeeze my heat, my passions, rages, regrets, hungers. The sun bursts out of and back in on the wind shield, and on eyes turned to me as on four legs, I pause by the door to get off. Behind me the driver gushes, “Big brown eyes”.

 

map of the world

only on top soil

March 6, 2015 Posted by | haibun, poetry | , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

the Date (a haibun)

I haven’t posted a haibun in a long while. Here’s one I wrote yesterday:

the Date

I turn towards the brambles—there’s nothing but twig skeletons, and dumpsters waiting for the undertaker. The bus driver takes a minute to shake off the drizzle from his hair, another to brush his moustache, take his jacket off, fluff the cushion on his seat, wiggle for comfort, secure his belt in, fix the mirrors to his eye level, chipping off three hundred or so seconds, splintering my anxiety. The sun would have edged to its zenith by now, the moon fading in its rims, and the bay inhaling air globules soon to heave and ebb. I’ve distended into a thin membrane of capillaries throbbing with a star, waiting for his name to come up in my mind.

 

mnemonic drill

the trench deeper

in sand dunes

 

February 8, 2015 Posted by | haibun | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

questions, your answer…a haiku series

winter silhouettes—

if blackened do nails

retell stories?

***

spiced wind

do snow tracks carry

your voice?

***

when banana hearts

peel off a lover, is it

the solstice?

***

lotus shadow…

is that frog song

a dirge?

***

tattered waves

why must keening tears

leap as an arc?

***

roaring wind

from what stone pod

do you rise?

***

sun dial

in the dark toasting

minions?

***

his arrhythmic heart

on a treadle…
does the weaver

know?

***

wild wind

on dry sedge—

what more 
in her mind?

***

spiraling down

as fish…is the ocean

my soul?

 

January 11, 2015 Posted by | haiku, Uncategorized | , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

‘wondering’, a sequence (getting comfortable with four lines)

how heaven

tastes, news claim

froth balances

tart words

 

shapes

of names i’d say figure

behind frosted lids…

those hollows

 

when trains

hum between sleep

and whimpering

I feel… a heart crashes

 

biting

into egg rolls, do I tip

the axis of life

served on a platter?

 

orchids left to die

wrinkle with dogs

in darkened nooks

we carve for escape

 

do you think pavements

create screenshots of moods

our footwork leave

a thousand ways?

But the problem lies not in a form I seem to be in search of till now. Having tried this, I’m back to the standard 3 lines (haiku/senryu) and 5 lines (tanka). Also, often with quite a struggle, I try to pour in to accepted moulds what rises off invisibles in me. Meanwhile, I hope you enjoy reading these.

December 18, 2014 Posted by | Uncategorized | Leave a comment

‘the colour plum’ in a quartet of (non-haikai*) 3-line poems…and why

I think I’m veering farther and farther away from haiku, but the structure has stayed like a template in my being; hence, my lines insist on being ‘three’, of two parts often unrelated (juxtaposition). While I still draw the essence of my poems from Nature, what comes out no longer expands contemplation but rather, the lines focus often on painful truths. I know there’s enough pain swirling in the universe right now (as is perceived) and it’s what I can’t seem to whitewash with the beauty of virgin snow. I wish I could but in writing haiku, the practice of finding ‘two-sides’ in a whole, has stayed with me as a simultaneous numbra/penumbra, thus, these non-haikai* poems. Still, it could just be a phase that has slipped in with grey November, which spring will lift up.

 

the colour plum

hints of pay back

maneuvers

 

bramble flower

still not enough

prickly stares

 

isolation bars

no matter our fingers

in knots

 

speckled steps

dare you break

rain patterns

 

moon basket

in it I carry

a widow’s comb

 

*nod to Johannes S. H. Berg, who coined it

November 28, 2014 Posted by | comment, non-haikai, poetry | , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Window by window and We (two ‘tiny’ haibun at Prune Juice)

Window by window 

She peels her mornings.  A miser of darkness, she lets the sun in by strands. I saw her once. She is a flower.  

at the cusp 

of Cancer and Leo 

a fire wheel

 

We

We write our names together. It’s marriage says the book. Our meals apart. It’s work. We feed different nights. In different skies. What then is it?

cross wind—

cliffs echoing

wrong echoes 

 

prune juice November 2014

 

November 25, 2014 Posted by | haibun, poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

random seasons, a haiku/senryu series

stone wall

mottled hands escaping

through air

 

ham flavor

hangs about her sweater

hospice weekend

 

though touch-less

the intimate rustle of silk

 

fall

dog buries

bruises

 

hobbling out of my midnight winter moon

 

apple core

how to bottle

memories

 

a tiger

musing on my eye

autumn dusk

 

chopped beets

i wash the knife

of traces

 

open page

an opaque scent

in his bath water

 

oak stump–

i remember the hornets

last summer

 

shell shards

on a paint roller

a womb

 

November 25, 2014 Posted by | haiku, poetry, senryu | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

a simple test (a non-haikai play of verses)

 

what cranks the wheel

why we need to care

which way to hold an infant

how to wipe dry the tears

when to turn away an eye

 

whose hand to hold on a cliff

whatever happens in dreams

whichever flower to lay on a tomb

however a name sounds

whenever a manacle breaks

whosoever belongs to whom

where to bury endings

 

because wounds bleed

laughter crackles

smiles break walls

sobs thicken nights

giggles bring in the dawn

sighs stir cankered clouds

words breathe life to bones

wings shade a peregrine

ponds feed moonlight

 

I will brave the deep

vow on a mountain

promise with the galaxies

pledge on steel

believe moons stay

November 12, 2014 Posted by | free verse, poetry, reflection | , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments