jornales

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

the only star (haibun for Locating the Senses in Language and Place)

As if it is unusual, the way evening falls on our lives in the winter. The cold bars us in, our thoughts seemingly unto each own. Winter, I once said, drawing a long sigh, asks of us the wearying task of digging into our burrows alone and not together, like squirrels and hares and bears. As if I hardly change. As if the seasons pass me by and like a portrait on stone—my pose in reverie engraved the way I must look right now. No sound except Kat-kat sleeping, purring dreams.

I murmur. I know. Soon, the cold winds will curl up and roll into the hearts of seas. Heat will seep off iced waters and the dark earth. I know a clump of snowdrops by the gate will spawn again, shy as virgins who would never look up to their lovers’ eyes. In a while, crocuses will sprout buds like pursed lips, waiting for a kiss. Not filigreed lawns but mantled front gardens of Queen Anne’s lace will soon spark.

This morning, I glimpsed pregnant knuckles of hydrangea twigs, though the cherry trees remain dead in the cold sun. I know their blossoms, as well the white plums and magnolias, will huddle over skies in a night. But for now, deep in the quietness of snow

this longing

at moonrise

the only star

by Alegria Imperial posted for

Locating the Senses in Language and Place Edition #14,  Stella Pierides, editor

March 6, 2012 Posted by | haibun, poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

grey skies (and other grey/in the rain/and snow haiku)

1.
grey skies
still the heather blooms
and blooms

2.
hydrangeas
even in dryness
the same sighs

3.
willow tips
dripping with rain
but i’m not crying

4.
tangled vines in the snow–
our thoughts sometimes

5.
in the rain each stone a new face

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

After Melissa (Red Dragonfly)

After Melissa’s latest post: explaining why a haiku is written or what’s the story behind your haiku?

This haiku came out of the fragments of some days. Like coming in and out of the courtyard from the back door for me to go up the third floor to our condo apartment, I hardly ever miss to glance at the garden. Frostbitten now, ruined by the rains and so far, one snowfall, the day lilies have liquified into mush like some neglected salad greens in the fridge; the roses but a memory of silk petals, now all cracked petrified limbs. The bald red maple strung with rainbow bulbs hardly hints at the red dragonflies–its pod sacks–swinging on its twigs. Muddied mounds by a corner used to be azaleas burning in fuschia. The rest have shed their names with their flowers except for the hydrangeas as if preserved in stained sepia though utterly disheveled. Alana from penthouse #7, in whose hands these bloomed, passes by the garden unstopping unlike me. But I imagine her indifference as merely a masquerade for a broken heart. I imagined in a gesture of finality for her heart to let heal and begin again…

she uproots
her disheveled hydrangeas–
first day of the year

January 4, 2011 Posted by | haiku, poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

my first ever ginko walk/my 100th post

Still imitating Melissa’s ‘numbers’, I’m posting my 100th as a report and the haiku I wrote from my first ever ginko walk with the newly-formed Vancouver Haiku Group. Vicki McCullough of pacifi-kana has helped in its formation with Angela Naccarato as organizer and we’ve been meeting every 3rd Sunday since. Here is Vicki’s report on our first ginko walk in Vancouver:

“Alegria Imperial, Angela Naccarato, Carole MacRury and Vicki McCullough had a lovely wander through Strathcona and Cottonwood community gardens on October 3. The skies were grey, but not precipitating, and the temperature comfortably warm. We marvelled at the immense diversity of flora and of garden plot designs. A few hours later, tea/coffee and treats at an outdoor table a few blocks away in the heart of the Strathcona neighbourhood capped the afternoon. Everyone departed with a head—and in some instances, a camera—loaded with garden images.”

My take on the ginko:

“It was my first ginko walk. My senses had since been so awake and sharp I’ve been quite confident I’m finally writing haiku though some good some ‘yikes’. But not only the garden, I believe, worked like magic–mixed in the potion was Vicki, Angela and Carole. Like children, which I think, is the spirit of haiku with its constant wonder, we gushed at everything–the sound of wonder–such as the blush of huge blooms as well as the remains of the once-beautiful or the once-sweet. This must be how the haiku ‘haijin-s’ (I’ve ben using ‘sensei-s’ to mean master but I think it has something to do with music) drew out from the novices their ‘reflections on the moment’.

And two of my haiku Vicki included in her report:

grey skies
on opaque pool–
no secrets

hydrangeas–
the same whispers
the same sighs

November 8, 2010 Posted by | culturati news/views, haiku, poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment