jornales

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

closer to nothing (NaHaiWriMo prompt on natural disaster)

St. Andrew's Parish Church tower, Bacarra, Ilocos Norte, Philippines

closer to nothing
under its shrinking shadow–
Bacarra tower*

Ooops!! 5-7-5, sorry Michael! Didn’t mean to. But just to share for now…
*brick and mortar tower in my hometown where according to legend, a Spanish royal guard could ride on horseback through the stairs inside of it, bearing the red and gold colors to the third window. This baroque tower built on ‘obras pias’ (alternate tribute of hard labor by the natives) in the 1800s completed toward the end of that century, was known to be the tallest in the archipelago so much so that its domed tip could be seen towns away and the toll of its enormous bells could be heard amid the raging South China sea. Its top window broke during a massive earthquake in the 1930s (can’t recall the exact date) with its dome humbled onto the fracture. With each earthquake, quite frequent in the Philippines, the dome would be crunched lower and lower until another strong one pushed it off its precarious perch to fall on the ground. Ruins of its first window from its base of brick and mortar are all that remains.

August 25, 2011 Posted by | haiku, poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

the calm/rereading cards/round and round (3 tanka on the calm from the earthquake elsewhere)

Mie and me on her last visit to Vancouver

1.
the calm–
from Kyoto Mie writes
far from earthquake
the wedding garden today
light snow on cherry buds

2.
rereading cards–
from Michio in Saitama
her New year’s wishes
of Rabbit hopes and dreams
today mine for her in pray’r

3.
round and round
moon and earth mirror each other
chaos of winds
ruined faces blemished cheeks
to be cleansed over and over

March 22, 2011 Posted by | poetry, tanka | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

my haiku on Japan’s calamity at the NaHaiWriMo fb site

More than any of the recent and past images of earthquakes and tsunamis, that of Japan’s make of movies cardboard play. Perhaps because haiku is a Japanese art and as an art, it has as its heart, reality and Nature, postings in response to the disaster prompt at the still-on NaHaiWriMo fb site has been good with mostly exquisite haiku. I’ve posted these two so far:

#11c
tsunami–
swirling in the depths lives
and budding cherry trees

#11d
from haiku scribblings
to a prayer
on a giant wave

March 12, 2011 Posted by | haiku, poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

tsunami (a haibun draft)

What else but a surreal image? That’s how sizes and dimensions gape at us when Nature takes on our own nature of maniacal rage. An earthquake and a tsunami, for example, when men are turned into nothing but grit and as equally irritating to be winnowed out–if only Nature were like our eyes and hands that miss the tears along with the grit and spare some in prayer.

But sizes do not end where our span points midair or our eyes on walls of horizons. Dimensions spawn spaces blank beyond our knowing. What births in such depths and heights? Men have invented words to describe their fear. They brew these in inner cauldrons but fail to empty them out onto sand.

The steam scalds them at times, the overboil sometimes burns them. But dimensions distract them as they control what’s unseen, what heals, what’s scarred and soothed with words.

Beware do not build on an earthquake fault. As if the fissures may not crack elswhere. Leave the lush volcanic soil. As if men’s hankering for paradise can be tamped down. Live each day as if night were true death. As if, as if deafness can resist the moon’s whispers. Sizes and dimensions on sand only children can fathom turn out to be the truest picture. But even with a heart like a child’s men loses in his tangled thoughts a vision of sizes and dimensions, hence,

towers of sand
suspending stars and sky–
then come billows

March 11, 2011 Posted by | haibun, poetry, reflection | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment