jornales

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

random haiku (and by the way, check out haikuverse)

it’s over
the singing in the twigs–
leafing maples

***

as if not enough
to bloom skin to skin–
Rhodoras

***

from such a tangle
such primness in pink–
clematis

***

Queen Anne’s lace
on dog run’s collar
endangered

***

crow on cawing:
why grate
on each phrase?

This season just keeps bursting at me at each turn though I hardly stray from runnels of my days–same route to the bus stop, same side of the sidewalk, same crescent turn to the skytrain escalator. I even peek at the same display window, pass under the same now budding maples–the gingko flails its wavy twigs in the breeze already knobbed. I’ve counted tens of the dandelions from open-faced mini suns to those fearsome globes of hairy seeds, aha more threats to ruin seeded grass lawns. And yet and yet, without me looking up for stars, divining paths I may one day skid on, I do leap and be lifted often unaware by random gifts that turn into haiku.

This art certainly turns anyone who gives in to it into an “addict”, that is, if as defined by Webster not “one dependent on drugs” but one who “devotes or gives in” or in a ‘pejorative’ but to me, more truthful sense, one who “practices sedulously”. Once I woke up literally one day on lines burning into haiku that could work, some kind of a template engraved itself in my brain. The amazing nature of haiku is that once written, the template clears and the poet hardly recalls it. I used to wonder about this when meeting a poet I’ve read whose haiku I memorized and when I’d cite it to him would hang his head to scour what where when he wrote it, unless it won a grand prize. Not that I’ve attained any of that stature but perhaps because of my “sedulous-ness”–I must have written a couple of hundreds mostly “yikes haiku” by now–I’m beginning to forget what got published where or what has been written about this on this or that flower, bee, bird, star, moon.

It’s so easy to conclude that the universe is infinite because in the vastness, we turn into less than grit. In haiku, this truth is its essence. No wonder the ‘template’ self-erases like a magic slate because another truth soon has to imprint itself on it. What’s even more magical is how such truth reveals itself–no, not precisely at that moment when my feet, for instance, brush by the transmogrified dandelions but when in the dark I sink into space. Or like right now as I “sedulously” write into this void of a screen.

And voila some truths that ring in a greater haiku poet’s mind who picks it up multiply. Take my haiku “it has to end…” Friend Melissa Allen, truly turning out to be a haiku master who also diligently shares endless knowledge about the art and its many forms, has included that haiku in her latest edition of haikuverse! I’m thrilled no end. Check out Red Dragonly in my blogroll now!

May 19, 2011 Posted by | haiku, poetry, reflection | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

all i can see (sequence in black and white, take off from the NaHaiWriMo facebook site)

all i can see–
black and white
in your eyes

gray–
when the sun falls
on your lies

black–
dregs settling
our arguments

white–
our window blinds
turned down

ashes
on the burner your note
in black and white

Copyright (c) by Alegria Imperial 2011

(take off from Melissa Allen’s prompt, black and white, at the still-on NaHaiWriMo facebook site)

April 26, 2011 Posted by | haiku, poetry, sequence | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

believing/faces i miss (haiku on NaHaiWriMo facebook wall)

believing
we’re walled in–
my goldfish and i

faces i miss–
some rain-washed stones
on neighbor’s wall

(re-worked haiku I posted on the still-on NaHaiWriMo facebook wall from a prompt by my friend, Melissa Allen: walls)

April 21, 2011 Posted by | haiku, poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 6 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

‘deception’ prompt by Melissa Allen at NaHaiWriMo (yes, it’s still on!)

chameleon–
wondering who you are
now

eclipse–she changes her alias

in the morning
her puppet voice

in person his voice thinner

The National Writing Month (NaHaiWriMo) continues on the facebook site. Causing such frenzy among haiku writers of all stages–the masters and beginners encouraging and liking each other–its admin decided to keep it going. Michael Dylan Welch created the magnificant site in February. Alan Summers took over last month (March) to give the daily prompts, perks with great uplifiting words on the haiku and the poet, and some instant workshop with lessons. Melissa Allen (note my badge: ‘She, Red Dragonly, is my friend’) tackles this month’s prompts, as well as the rest, and I’m sure more of what often made the postings rather ‘wild’. Go get a facebook account and join in!

April 1, 2011 Posted by | haiku, poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

dawn/lost (zero votes in Shiki kukai)-dawn/lost on bare trees (belated but could be better)

Shiki Jan 2011
kigo (dawn)


dawn–
in same sky but a memory
at winter twilight

free format

him I lost once
comes back a new smile
a changed country

Both haiku got zero votes in the kukai for obvious reasons–these are not haiku at all! I wrote them in a wrong state of mind, of this I’m certain. It was a blind space. But having sent them, which qualified me to vote, I got to read exquisite haiku like those of friends Melissa Allen and Margaret Dornaus both of whom got votes in both categories, and those of many other members of haikuworld most of whom are well published and multi-awarded. Congratulations, again!

And mine, belatedly written and could be better

kigo

dawn—
ripples on the water
as we speak

free format

lost on bare trees–
his promises

January 29, 2011 Posted by | critique/self-critique, haiku, poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

pine tips (a haiku rewritten from a non-haiku)

pine tips holding up
to the winter sky–
how low can stars fall?

the non-haiku

Pine strands
flailing: how low can stars fall?

Why I think it’s not haiku:

1. it doesn’t have the two parts of a haiku
2. the first part is an incomplete thought, also, wrong word usage–strands don’t quite describe pine branches and flailing suggests something like strips or threads or strands like hair which could describe willow branches–hence,
3. the second part is meaningless or
4. the juxtaposition does not work
5. therefore, it’s not a haiku moment

Perhaps the rewritten version works better though I’m still uncertain about it. The second part might be, as Patrick G would describe, ‘author-driven’. But I’m quite content that I’m seeing batches of non-haiku I’ve written more clearly, and writing haiku that work sometimes.

What had helped? Reading a lot, interacting with haiku lovers-writers who have turned friends-who-care like Patrick Gillespie at poemshape and Margaret Dornaus at haikudoodle, but reading especially Melissa Allen’s haikuverse at red dragonfly. And there’s the monthly meeting with my Haiku Vancouver Group!

January 27, 2011 Posted by | haiku, poetry, Uncategorized | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

five rabbits from Snow Country chasing a red dragonfly

Or my title should be

five rabbits from Snow Country got lost in Madison chasing a red dragonfly and flew and flew to Vancouver

My friend, Melissa Allen’s prize of a book finally arrived yesterday, the bubble envelop dented, its edges wavy–signs of that long flight from the opposite side of North America! I fought to disentagle the two-inch tape that secured a package which when I pulled out glowed as the sheer treasures that they are.

Melissa did not only give away her second copy of the more exquisite UNESCO edition of Yasunari Kawabata’s “Snow Country”, she also enclosed two hand-crafted rabbit new year greeting cards, one of them a rabbit origami, the other a cut-out rabbit coated with tiny blossoms and butterflies on hand-made paper; and three creatively picked cards–one of them a cut-out from something like a children’s book, and another a 1909 cottontail rabbit postcard hazed by the sepia of years ( I now have in my possession a 102 year-old postcard!). I regressed, as childlike I held them close, peering into the rabbits’ eyes.

And oh, she lovingly wrapped the book in blue pastel petal prints and tied it with a matching blue string. Her dedication wasn’t written plainly on the title page but on a cutout of yes, an unusual breed of brown rabbit.

Here they are in the order Melissa arranged them so I could unfold the haiku messages on friendship she had handwritten :

card no. 1

greeting and haiku

new year
a new friend becomes
an old friend
–MLA

rabbit #2 folding away/the year/paper rabbit

rabbit caught among my winter roses

haiku and quote of a dialogue between two rabbits

new year
opening the door
for a friend
–MLA

“Can I come in?”
said the bunny.
“Yes,” said the bunny.
And so he did.

rabbit #4

rabbit #5

postmark and clipping on the cottontail rabbits-

Year of the rabbit
I give away
the litter
–MLA

The Cottontail Rabbits (Sylvilagus floridaus and relatives)
Several kinds of cottontail rabbits, and their allies the brush and swamp rabbits which lack the conspicuous “cotton tail” range collectively from the Atlantic to the Pacific Ocean. These denizens of the briar and brush patch afford pleasure to those who love to watch them when at rest, or their headlong dash for cover at the least alarm.

"Snow Country" unwrapped

title page

New Year–
last year’s mistakes mended
with snow patches
–Melissa Allen (“red dragonfly”)

If this is not a shower of all the blossoms I can’t name that rabbits brush in their search for carrot patches, tell me how less lucky I am–more so with “red dragonfly” friends

winning the race
rabbit number six switches tag
with number one

For me from hereon on every…

first snow–
the rabbits’ fur
whiter

January 20, 2011 Posted by | culturati news/views, haiku | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 13 Comments

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