jornales

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

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

red nose haiku–isn’t it past the season? No, according to Alan Summers’ prompt at NaHaiWriMo…so my take

It’s Red Nose Day today, according to Alan. There’s a link that came with the prompt at http://www.rednoseday.com. It’s a day to be funny, and earn for charity. A really wonderful idea to turn laughter into real joy for those who are in need of things others have taken for granted and from those who must have forgotten laughter is also a basic need. I thought the prompt was a real challenge. But I think these haiku work in a way. I focused on Santa’s Rudolph first and realized, a red nose is also a clown’s, indeed!

#18
clown
washes freckles off
and tattoed red nose

‎#18b
vampire–
makes the children laugh
with his red nose

‎#18c
class laughter–
he points to his red nose
on his forehead

‎#18d
little boy asks
clown with two red noses on ears,
“who are you?”

#18e
the mourners–
sniffling through and wiping
their red noses

March 18, 2011 Posted by | haiku, poetry, Uncategorized | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 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

meringue

meringue—
the children’s laughter
rise in the air

My sister’s first experiment on making a perfect meringue prompted this haiku.

I never knew she has always loved it until she told me so before Christmas. And what pushed her to study recipes for it is the price of meringue, which apalled her when she learned how little goes into its making. What she had discovered and which apparently makes meringue pricey is the technique in beating the egg whites, the kind of sugar to use and how much, and the size of the oven. I glimpsed her putting in a baking sheet with tiny blobs on them before I turned back to water the fragile rose–the pitimini she insisted on getting last summer about which I expressed loud dire forecasts and which I’m now nurturing because I feel rueful for its pale shoots like the frail babies in pediatric clinics moms hold like wilting leaves.

I can’t recall how long it took when I began to smell a faint vanilla scent that soon overpowered the apartment. Her meringue has started rising like bleached hills–not quite as perfect as the bake shop displays she has coveted. She offered me a bite when they had cooled. I almost demured having almost sworn off sugar from my diet but I gave in.

I felt like a child as the bite melted into nothing but air in my mouth. I had two more. From the courtyard, the handful of children who have since been cooped up in the winter, burst out laughing for the first time. The air laced with vanilla scent rose like meringue–for me, at least and wrote itself into a haiku!

February 5, 2011 Posted by | haiku, poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 7 Comments

passing breeze

passing breeze

ruffles the maple leaves–

tickled children

June 3, 2010 Posted by | haiku, poetry | , , | 2 Comments