jornales

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

a throwback post…3 tanka at GUSTS Winter 2013

should I

consider my missteps

to understand…

how the Milky Way ended

with me in this pond?

 

like layers

of sunlight among weeds

our words

thrive on silence…until gushing

we burst into flowers

 

the twisted twig

of an old cedar leans

Westward

as if the wind senses

my every longing

 

GUSTS Fall/Winter 2013 (Tanka Canada)

September 30, 2014 Posted by | poetry, tanka | , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

dust once, a haibun

 

Oh, the map I use? It’s uncharted and unnamed. It’s wild woods and volcanic rocks. There are lakes and rice field puddles but also marsh and hot spring pools, smoky from the depths. Unless ‘I find a flower I can name’, it’s hard even for me to find my way back. Birds sing and talk but mostly unseen except the owl. Sometimes, he reveals their name. I’ve taken notes but forget about them the moment I walk away. My map always seems new, uncharted and unnamed. I know it’s not good but maybe the owl will help someday somehow.

dust once…

somehow a chicken knows

some stones

 

Lakeview International Journal of Literature and the Arts August 2013

(a kind of short autobiography)

September 25, 2014 Posted by | haibun | , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Surrender (at “Many Windows” Magnapoets 2011 anthology series 4)


On her lens a pair of wild weeds
swayed from a rock by the edge of the lake
blooming tips brushing as if in light kisses
a moving oneness that flashed at me.
On the scrabble board back home
I set the letter “s” for “surrender”.
“Tell me how,” she had asked. My answer,
like waves folding onto each other these:
The way flowers let the wind play
on weakness touching but not breaking
a kind of touch that instructs bees on
gentleness—a kiss that leaves
no mark—that glues the heart, the way
the mind pulls threads off words
let gather from winds bowers of leaves
a nest for globules of light,
name the globules love the way wind
blows out the light the way
darkness kneads itself to make love real,
the way night lets the wind sough
a kind of song that shreds the light,
clouds the heart the way the wind
tempts the dawn.
Grit not tears fractures sight
the way the wind lets dust ride, whispering
words the way some words run into verses
to crack the bolts that quarantine
lovers, unleashing them to surrender
to flee to bloom, the way
the weed pair let the wind swing,
lash at them, the way they flex together
how like love could stay possible
where it isn’t, musn’t.

First published in “Many Windows”, 2011 Magnapoets Anthology Series 4, Edited by Aurora Antonovic

Thank you, Elle, for the inspiration. 

(photo: esangeles 2010, Harrison Springs, BC, Canada)


June 21, 2012 Posted by | free verse, poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

‘duayya’ (lullaby): taking a break from haiku to free verse

the birds will soon forget
how much the sun cradled the flowers
to bear the seeds
so easily borne
in the wind
so swift
to scatter to land
and bed and root
and be transformed

but for now the singing
heightens
each day as the sun begins
a lullaby
so unlike us
so unaware of our songs
we bloom and bed
and scour around
so we may seed
you and i
but fail to find a lullaby

so swift to turn away to forget
why we held hands in the moonlight

 Also posted at my other blog, inner spaces, at http://gimperial.wordpress.com

*duayya (lullaby in Iluko of the northernmost region of the Philippine archipelago, my native tongue)

May 1, 2012 Posted by | free verse, poetry | , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

…its burdens (excerpt from a haibun diary)

…it is the rhythm that’s constant it seems and not the stillness—the way the wind pulls and withdraws and the way the leaves sway and retract or how the clouds gather into masses and then dissipate into air or is it merely the eye that misses the jagged movements and edges and catches merely that moment when the rhythm shows and reassures us, as in the constancy of flowers even as petals begin to brown and curl in the edges and fall, because all we recall is their being there as in moments we have flowed into still flow into like on our early morning walks when

shifting tides–
the river unloads burdens
for us to decode

river bed, Lynne Canyon, Vancouver, BC

…and its burdens turn out to be what others fail to see as in the serene moments we share when as yet it is unruffled

(Excerpt from a haibun diary , a work-in-progress)

June 25, 2011 Posted by | diary/memoir, haiku, poetry, reflection | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

day in the park (for Friday Poetically with Brian at OSP)

Crow in Bowen Island, BC

a cat eats weed flowers
my dog sits on the bird bath
mom spreads a picnic basket
for baby’s feeding bottles

three crows swoop in
on my bag of popcorn,
a weed flower sticks
to my dress

baby drools
on her blue bib the sky turns
golden, i gather the crumbs
under the blooming junipers

i pull up a heather, a
squirrel flies over my head
on a twig chippers chatter—
my heather turns blue

baby picks a dandelion
the sun slides down, over skies
a swarm of snowbirds
fly home

Posted with other fun poems by and for children for Friday Poetically with Brian at One Stop Poetry. Check us out!

June 10, 2011 Posted by | free verse, poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments