jornales

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

‘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

butterfly/and hummingbird–/after the same flower (and my other flower haiku at Sketchbook)

monarch butterfly courtesy of wikicommons

butterfly
and hummingbird—
after the same flower

snowdrop–
will I ever see
your face?

magnolias–
the longing begins
at moonrise

cherry blossoms
shedding in the moonlight—
the Milky Way

tulips—
recalling
my first kiss

salmon berry blossom:
how deep is your heart
for a hummingbird?

Published in haiku thread,Sketchbook April-May 2011 (kigo: flower)

June 3, 2011 Posted by | haiku, poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

zenith at noon (for One Shoot Sunday)

Photo prompt by Fee Easton

rain combs the strands
of our adagios:

expanse of thoughts
farther than the ends of flights
wings aching for home
a sight among stars

we tread the waves
sink in whirlpools deeper
than the heart of the flower
a hummingbird chooses

lighter
than marrow-less limbs
skimming skies
bending the spheres

constellations pirouette
on mid-strains cresting to slope
to skid onto silken lilies
our bed of seasons

in our clasped hands
the sea regurgitates the sun
froth fizzes a tickle
on our kissing toes

the sea breeze binds horizons
our eyes delude a sunset
our dawns begin
the night

the zenith at noon
the depth of our dreaming

Copyright (c) by Alegria Imperial 2011

From a photo prompt by Fee Easton this poem is posted for One Shoot Sunday yet another challenge at One Stop Poetry, the inimitable gathering place of poets and artists, winner of the 2011 Shorty Awards for the Arts. Come join us. Share your love for your art. Be thrilled over what others say and what you discover of others’ works.

May 15, 2011 Posted by | free verse, lyric poetry, poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 8 Comments

you and i in seven pieces (for One Shot Wednesday)

1.
a flower basket moon—
tilting from a swing of arms
in revolving doors
our sighs uncompleted in the eaves
a storm hanging by a cloud

2.
squalling gulls
rip our day in shreds–
the only sound
between us and the stones
and the dying flowers

3.
why the mimosa
shrinks in pain at our steps–
i search for your scent
you squint from its thorns
i sip drops of night dew

4.
darkness leaves us blind
we grope for our eyes but find
our lips like embers
on a bed of pebbles left to die–
we thrum like restless stars

5.
we reap our moaning
gather folds of reticent dawn
into my breast–
you slice away your pain
my flesh thins out in your hands

6.
i beg for the sun
lodged in the cleavage of morning–
you toss it flaming
your destiny line singed
the line of your heart scarred

7.
i lie in wait–
the next moon comes astride
the east wind raging
washing away whirlpools of dust
baring the sun i conceived

soleil levant by Claude Monet 1872 courtesy of wikipedia

March 16, 2011 Posted by | poetry, tanka, Uncategorized | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 16 Comments

the moon–a haibun perhaps?

The sun, today, quietly died in pastels. Past noon, when it sailed bleached white, it seemed to just wink; and then, it crept away trailing streaks of pink and blue gray, slipping into night. In the sky, a glow lingered: the sun’s remains perhaps? But it was only the rising moon. Full-faced, full-blossomed like a flower, it stared — a sun gone cold in its return.

white gold moon—
she arcs a bare arm
to bathe

March 10, 2011 Posted by | haibun, poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

squabbling crows/sunny day at Zoo/the drum beat of rain NaHaiWriMo prompts turned tanka!

1. Prompt #24 flower
squabbling crows
scream into my thoughts–
at dawn how you left
hollow imprints of sleep
scented dreams of jasmine blooms

2. prompt #25–zoo
sunny day at Zoo
lioness searches for my eyes
behind my black shades–
the way we hold our hearts
as we speak of fears and wants

3. prompt #26–drum
the drum beat of rain
on window pane imprints tears
a flood breaking hearts
in loneliness gray rain sneaks
into wells to fill the dryness

Tanka drafts I should call these because I’m certain that when I read them tomorrow, they will sound bad. These came as spontaneously as the haiku I’ve been posting on the NaHaiWriMo wall. There’s an energy that takes over at the site like a hand that holds my wrist as I pause or pose to let the first word dance on the screen. It’s the presence of so many other haiku writers– whose names I recognize from the Shiki kukai and haiku journals even some haijin–that I think itself serves as the prompt and the word, a prop. The experience, though I hopped in only on Day 19, has been exhilarating.

February 26, 2011 Posted by | haiku, poetry, tanka | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment