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

the only sound (Happy New Year)

the only sound

a lamb’s ‘beeehhh’

first adoration

Happy New Year! Wishing you all dear friends, subscribers, followers and readers  the best of your wishes for the coming year. And thanking you for your kind, generous and wonderful support of this blog, your encouraging ‘likes’ and your uplifting comments. May we all find the new year a yet another fertile ground for being together in the spirit and joy of poetry

especially of haiku. 

Heart-fully yours,

Alegria

December 29, 2011 Posted by | haiga, poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

solstice (a tanka*-ish reflection for One Shot Wednesday)

only in fullness
am I still–
i cast no shadow
as a rendezvous
dissipates into a sob

the wind flails
hapless
in the gingko twigs–
where perfection
encases feelings

if punctured
fibres
of wombs burst
water before blood
into birthing

a cry of rage
flags what a heart
hoards–
peace when it settles
lines its chambers

nothing like a Nautilus
the heart is but a pump
the fist opening
and closing
for fluids to flow

red colors
a river the heart
conjures–
layers of molecules
veil its nature

until the solstice
skids past its point
of stillness
wholeness is truth
until

a heart breaks
until a birthing point
reverts
to that first sound
that cry of rage


*tanka, sometimes known to be the precursor of haiku, is a 5-line Japanese poetic form used by court poets of ancient Japan. Scroll down for my post on this form in February.

Posted for One Shot Wednesday at On Stop Poetry where poets and artists of the most inimitable talents gather to share and support each other. Check it out!

June 21, 2011 Posted by | free verse, poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 12 Comments

under a wilting sky (for One Shoot Sunday)

'he never calls' photo prompt by Rob Hanson

notes you left on a wrinkled sky
that’s never blue always a heartless hue bruises
no sun can stand

shifts eternity imposes: no mere pauses—
your convenient absence these slashes
on tender paper you tore off the back of my palm

excuses I proffer—my veins throb so
in your presence—you deride lips smacking
on listless air my shroud

under a waiting sky, wilting
no one knows why

who but the heart
that knows knows when a smile
alights on a voice

who among the spaces senses
a smile as it wings its path to the heart
that knows

a flight quite swift aboard a voice still quite
mute its ring a sound only when it alights
on the heart that knows knows

what that smile knows knows its birth in the heart
only the heart that knows knows
why waiting

wilts the sky

Posted for One Shoot Sunday at One Stop Poetry from an image prompt by Rob Hanson in this inimitbale gathering place of poets and artists.Cenck us out. Better yet, hop in!

June 12, 2011 Posted by | free verse, 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

romance in haiku (with prompted items from NaHaiWriMo wall)

#16
packing for one
except
our toothbrushes

#16b
morning waves
lapping on our toes—
in a wink sunset

#16c
the lake
ahhh—
a hand clasp

#16d
arrival gate
blur of a hundred faces
except yours

end of winter clouds–
their heartbeats the only sound
between them

spring–
between patches of night sky
a pregnant moon

Numbered items from NaHaiWriMo wall. Romance in haiku because of its compact, disciplined form reads more intense for me, more compelling from what’s unsaid. What do you think?

March 17, 2011 Posted by | haiku, poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments