jornales

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

‘each fallen leaf’ (a haiga)

each fallen leaf

               a flame

image/haiku: aimperial, 2012

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November 19, 2012 Posted by | haiga, poetry | , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

my haiku on Japan’s calamity at the NaHaiWriMo fb site

More than any of the recent and past images of earthquakes and tsunamis, that of Japan’s make of movies cardboard play. Perhaps because haiku is a Japanese art and as an art, it has as its heart, reality and Nature, postings in response to the disaster prompt at the still-on NaHaiWriMo fb site has been good with mostly exquisite haiku. I’ve posted these two so far:

#11c
tsunami–
swirling in the depths lives
and budding cherry trees

#11d
from haiku scribblings
to a prayer
on a giant wave

March 12, 2011 Posted by | haiku, poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

tsunami (a haibun draft)

What else but a surreal image? That’s how sizes and dimensions gape at us when Nature takes on our own nature of maniacal rage. An earthquake and a tsunami, for example, when men are turned into nothing but grit and as equally irritating to be winnowed out–if only Nature were like our eyes and hands that miss the tears along with the grit and spare some in prayer.

But sizes do not end where our span points midair or our eyes on walls of horizons. Dimensions spawn spaces blank beyond our knowing. What births in such depths and heights? Men have invented words to describe their fear. They brew these in inner cauldrons but fail to empty them out onto sand.

The steam scalds them at times, the overboil sometimes burns them. But dimensions distract them as they control what’s unseen, what heals, what’s scarred and soothed with words.

Beware do not build on an earthquake fault. As if the fissures may not crack elswhere. Leave the lush volcanic soil. As if men’s hankering for paradise can be tamped down. Live each day as if night were true death. As if, as if deafness can resist the moon’s whispers. Sizes and dimensions on sand only children can fathom turn out to be the truest picture. But even with a heart like a child’s men loses in his tangled thoughts a vision of sizes and dimensions, hence,

towers of sand
suspending stars and sky–
then come billows

March 11, 2011 Posted by | haibun, poetry, reflection | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

who can believe (one Shoot Sunday)

the glitz, but a masquerade
a sheer veil behind the haze
for all I hear

slush scrunched underfoot–
what pain in my heart a thousand
baubles thrown on ground

dripping rain slowing down
to creep on eaves so agonizingly glassy–
the dirt shows

heaving trains on stops rumbling as herds
stomping into dreams of slumbering
seeds, mine

how to halt
some hundred puffs of violins ascending
infinity cannot but be an illusion of hearing

a whimper skittering on air, mine
crinkling the silence no one hears–
beneath the blinders

the blinding lights–
who can save me disbelieving
I in masquerade

am searching for a prayer

Photo by Mike Roemer

Posted for One Shoot Sunday at One Stop Poetry blog from a photograph of Mike Roemer. Join other poets and artists who love what they do.

January 23, 2011 Posted by | free verse, poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 19 Comments