jornales

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

night hatching dawn (Merry Christmas)

sitting it out

with night hatching dawn

Merry Christmas

***

of the hundreds

in the forest, crow trims

a pine tip

***

twelfth day

my true love bakes for Christmas

a partridge in pear

Love, joy and peace to all of you dear jornales and wordpress friends.  We’re on to almost a whole year of sharing such message of the season with poetry. Blessed is how I consider myself having touched you all. This season as I’ve repeatedly said so, I’d like to thank you again. May the New Year find us even more deeply engaged in poetry, hence, in love, joy, and peace.

(Haiku are also posted at NaHaiWriMo  under the prompt ‘Christmas’. Image from my camera, one of my many shots–in the dark, literally–of the million lights spangled at Van Dusen Gardens in Vancouver every Christmas.)


December 24, 2011 Posted by | haiku, poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

transmutation (for One Shoot Sunday)

Photo prompt by Adam Romanowicz.

trapped in a shell
of dreams, the night careens
into an abyss–
the paradise of mollusks
unknown to stars

alien, Night
drowns in crystal tears
engorging shell hearts
layering an encrusted
stone

the sea lashes
the mollusks and turns
Night into strands
of sea spray
Night, the alien

grows eyes
globules of crystals
floating as froth
a veil to hide the birthing
mollusks

Night, the witness
in paradise becomes the sea
as heaving shells open
to let breathe the pearl
they birth

startled
in the blinding brightness
Night leaps and grows wings
springing off its eyes
jewels of sparks

an ocean breath
exhales Night back to dying stars
Night, the prodigal
now smithereens of tears
rain on cupped leaves

frozen as
bejeweled Dawn
on leaf strands
en-clasped like it were
its heart

a shell

Composed from a photo prompt by Adam Romanowicz and
posted for One Shoot Sunday at One Stop Poetry, the inimitable gathering place for poets and artists. Come immerse yourself, better yet share your work and your ideas about others’. Check us out!

June 26, 2011 Posted by | free verse, lyric poetry, poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

a romance diary (a haibun experiment) for One Shot Wednesday

…grey dense skies barring the sun again, chilly on bare skin, spring refusing to leave so much so that even the leafing maple shading the terrace has browned with curled edges in spots, mistaking the air has retracted to autumn, perhaps? Even Nature seems dazed but I’m clear about this memory

spring’s end–
the squirrel flies a trapeze
as we cuddle

…amazing how the sun weakens on spring air yet its sparks illumine all else as in this thought filled in

a weak sun
glitters on spider web–
vacant corners

…even main street breathing unevenly at night has ceased in its restlessness as if the air has suffused all else to a quiet that for me opens up to reach out if it were but a soft turn in sleep when

mute stars–
spaces in between them
open up for whispers

…the night has bounced back in restlessness from a momentary calm which lulled me earlier in a dreamless space but awake now, recalling nights when I would feel lost, feeling an empty space on your side of the bed, but only briefly as you slip back in to turn back

the night
but for the darkness
our roost

…perhaps because they have built their nests, the birds seem to sing a different tune, refrains that rise this morning over the distant grumbling of jets flying off as I compose our song for another day

waning spring–
the wind rearranges petals
tightening us together

An edited version of an earlier post for One Shot Wednesday at One Stop Poetry, the only gathering place that brings poets and artists to share their art freely, comfortably, and joyfully and nurture each other. Check us out!

June 7, 2011 Posted by | diary/memoir, haibun, poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

stars (in a series of 3 haiku each also posted at the NaHaiWriMo site)

field of galalxies taken by Hubble ultra deep field courtesy of wikicommons

1.
pine strands
holding up the night sky—
how low can stars fall?

2.
moonless night—
my sky more punctured
than the last

3.
morning after
on campfire embers
remnants of stars

4.
sky patterns
on nibbled leaves
the Milky Way

5.
stars
digging into sand dunes—
our secrets

6.
forecast—
in and out of clouds
the constellations

7.
stars
through budding oaks—
he counts his lies

8.
paper moon
adrift among stars—
lost in the past

9.
Venus—
her icy sparkle
night and day

…from a prompt by Cara Hollman at the NaHaiWriMo facebook site. I love stars. As a child it must have been all I did when I got weary-eyed reading under a gas lamp or struggling through arithmetic assignments.

Both houses of my grandmothers I grew up in in northermost region of the Philippine archipelago had balconies with a rocking chair–one was a huge Viennese wicker in what must have been white, the other some kind of hard wood with carved head rest and arms where my mother spent rocking through the night, cradling my sister who wouldn’t sleep otherwise. I used to scan the night sky on the top of the stairs on those balconies but my first shooting star I caught not on any of those nights but once on vacation at Angeles Estates that I had posted here as a haibun.

Here in Vancouver on my evening walks–I love the fading light and the shadows–I hardly look at my steps but instead, follow trails in the sky; if it’s cloudy, I search for breaks or imagine ‘chattering stars and recalcitrant stars’ behind the clouds.

This series does say of my preoccupation with stars I hope. Perhaps, too, one more reason why my deep connection with the stars is this: my other name is Aurora, another name for Venus waning or the Morning Star.

May 12, 2011 Posted by | haiku, poetry, reflection | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 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

Here (for One Shoot Sunday)

Haunted Grainery, a photo by Sean McCormick

Night dying can’t be quiet
here: the air sputters,
roars. Dogs cough
in their sleep. Water laps
edges of dreams.

Darkness bleeds, floods
the field. Wheat grain
swaying in crimson stun
the absent moon. The sky
spits stars.

Someone rises
in the dark, pattering feet
alone. Phantom paws
race the light, those
purple spears

leaving bruises
night inflicts on sleep. No one
waits for night dying
here: day isn’t
a likely light.

Posted at One Stop Poetry for One Shoot Sunday from a photo by Sean McCormick titled, “Haunted Grainery”. Join other poets and artists like me who have bonded as a community of lovers for their art.

February 6, 2011 Posted by | free verse, poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 15 Comments