jornales

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

here there where (at qarrtsiluni’s ‘fragments’ issue)

day in the park

a cat eats weed flowers. my dog sits on the bird bath. a mom spreads a picnic blanket for baby’s feeding bottles. three crows swoop in on my bag of popcorn. a weed flower sticks to my dress.

the baby drools. on her blue bib. the sky turns golden.

i gather my 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. the baby picks a dandelion. the sun slides down. over skies a swarm of snowbirds fly home. i have no wings.

silence

silence is not the absence of sound. a sheer wall in the mind perhaps. a blockade for the heart. one cannot hear a heartbeat. the whooshing of blood in and out of ventricles. blubbering air in the lungs. a grumbling emptiness in guts. random complaints from muscles trapped in passions.

silence as gaping space traps what fills air waves. winds that fissures slurp. secrets blossoms share. coughing of uncouth machines. grating wheels those dumpsters edging out magpies. the cawing of crows to be understood. marble chirps colliding with fresh acorns among the pines. sonatas on toes around the rim of dreams.

births are seeded in silence. in secret. the first cry is a child of silence. wakefulness its gender.

new calendar

first day of the year. just another grey day. a pall on the new calendar. as if what makes a difference really doesn’t.

the ticking clock. a distant squawking of a crow or better yet, complaint. deep sigh of engines passing by. the trudge goes on.
i look on the cypress with a creeping sense of sorrow. the deep cold dark in its twigs. holiday gifts piled beside it now debris.
a black garbage bag rests folded in the bin.

i gather the cards. wishes slide off my fingers. a bag of pebbles waits to be planted in the vase. like wishes that might take root, i would have to water them each day.

blue notes waver in the light. as if there’s something i should know.

death still

death still on the shore. no breath lapping sand. the bay water clear as eyes. a selvage edge of secrets. a quiet suspiration under a translucent film of air. a shimmer that wavers underneath over shell shards.

emptied mollusks. spawning stones. furry algae. fibrous weeds.

dead still but not sealed. only walled in. like your eyes, when you stare within. an absent look. a vacant thought. like i’m not there.

http://qarrtsiluni.com/2012/08/21/here-there-where/

A special piece for me. All four reveal how I really write. Most of it have somehow strayed to a few of my haiku or tanka or even haibun. But this is me. I thank qarrtsiluni for this 2nd acceptance and publication.

I’m sorry for the vacant days. I’ve just been so busy with projects and the writing of a Sunday column for a broadsheet, Business Mirror Philippines. I’ll strive to catch up soon. Thanks for your continued support!

August 22, 2012 Posted by | fragments, poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Silence (perhaps a haibun inspired by Red Dragonfly)

Silence is not the absence of sound. A sheer wall in the mind perhaps. A blockade for the heart. One cannot hear a heartbeat. The whoozing of blood in and out of ventricles. Blubbering air in the lungs. A grumbling emptiness in guts. Random complaints from muscles trapped in passions.

Silence is a gaping space. Traps what fills air waves. Winds fissures of earth slurp. Secrets blossoms share. Coughing of uncouth machines. Grating wheels those dumpsters edging out magpies. The cawing of crows to be understood. Marble chirps colliding with fresh acorns among the pines. Sonatas on toes around the rim of dreams.

Births are seeded in silence. In secret. The first cry is a child of silence. Wakefulness its gender. Words its ears. And eyes.

morning glow
she watches tea leaves swirl
in the cup a bird
a quiver on an oak branch
a flight in the silence

(c) Alegria Imperial 2011

A morning exercise inspired by Melissa Allen’s sharing of her haiku and haibun in the current issue of Chrysanthemum. (Click on my blogroll for Red Dragonfly’s post today.) But for me, this is only an attempt at haibun. I think it’s more poetry outside of the genre and needs more work. I’m sharing it though as an example of how an inspiration springs and just flows or billows in.

April 12, 2011 Posted by | haibun, poetry, reflection, tanka | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

the bride (for One Shoot Sunday)

dawn
settles on her barefeet
a starling craving to
flex wings

the ground quivers
from her tender steps unease
spreads
among wet stones

she wiggles
off her restless sighs
to undo her veil of wind
her hair loosens

strands of singing
rise over the heartbeat
of sparrows
she becomes a pair of wings

shirred skirt
the feathers she preens
to a sheen that stuns
a hesitant sun

the day flexes
on her limbs a thrumming
wakens the tender
lilies she stalked in her dreams

she steps into
her gaping red shoes
the brooding crows
scatter

a ruckus spreads
among the dandelions
the seagulls catch in fevered
pitch

she walks
parting the congregation
in blindness deaf
to the grumbling

over the rise
among the pines she raises
her arms an arc
to the sky

a swallow
skimming the meadow
where heads limp in the breeze
but balloons from her wedding

the gulls shriek
it pierces her flight
she careens
down the hill snags

a thread of her dream
first a thump
of the wearied balloon
that pumped her wings

next her toes
like a bird poised to fly
in a fall

(c) by Alegria Imperial 2011

Photo prompt by Lauren Randolph

For One Shoot Sunday at One Shot Poetry, winner of the 2011 Shorty Award for the Arts. Come check us out and share your art and poetry–it’s what we do her, share and nurture each other.

April 10, 2011 Posted by | free verse, poetry, Uncategorized | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 14 Comments

my ‘heart haiku’ (published in Sketchbook’s haiku thread Jan-Feb Vol 6 issue)

My choices

hearts of romaine—
between them candles flit
in the silence

she finds the embryo
of the seed–
not his heart

monitor—
his heart’s dips and coasts
but where is love?

losing a heartbeat–
on the hollow of her neck
and on her wrist

Editor’s choice included under ‘maternal love’

heartbeat—
her hand on her belly
searching for it

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

stealing an ‘aha’ moment

I pulled this reply out to a comment of poet upinvermont, Patrick G, to sort of give a glimpse as to how a haiku moment comes or what an ‘aha’ (thanks to Jane and Werner) moment is for me.

“For my haiku to meld in the gentle sway of grasses as your thoughts quiet down is for me an honor as well as a confirmation that I’ve ‘stolen’ yet another ‘aha moment’ from an absolutely ‘silent’ world.

Isn’t it baffling that we, as supposed dwellers and masters of this universe that quietly, silently births, grows, dies, and rebirths again, strive so hard to find that which should come to us as naturally as a rose buds and blooms and then, painlessly sheds its petals and dissipates its fragrance yet wait to die and be born again?

Agony seems innate in us, isn’t it? Even our heartbeat or its dual action is called ‘agonist’(contracting) and ‘antagonist’(relaxing). Stretching the nuance of these terms, then, we seem to tread a path to bliss that is littered with globules of pain. But as we are more than our bodies and our senses, we, too, often grow wings and silently fly.

Winging off that’s what we are, I guess, in a haiku or poetic moment or in a moment that has quieted down as you have described that in which you are as you wrote the above comment. Take heart, dear friend. As the lake mirrors the sky with its myriad moods, so does it reflect your spirit.

The key to understanding this fleeting nature we perceive, I guess, is in our constant desire to find the lake serene. Or in our acceptance that we are hopelessly wandering like bedouins of the spirit who often turn into thieves of ‘aha moments.’ And haven’t we, don’t we?

on the lake

the geese float toward the sun

leaving the sun on the lake

May 30, 2010 Posted by | haiku, poetry | , , , | Leave a comment