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

The last of my haiku in DailyHaiku’s Cycle 14

February 23, 2013

palm reader’s eyelashes my fortune in a hat pin


February 22, 2013

wall portraits—

I begin my yoga count

from the top


February 21, 2013

turtle pond

a girl shares unshelled



February 20, 2013

first stanza . . .

the missing subject

is a snail


February 19, 2013


in a fishbowl . . .

stray moon


February 18, 2013

what if

beneath footfalls

an egg laid


February 17, 2013


a raindrop hangs on her gaze—

Black-eyed Susan

to read in succession the whole Cycle 14 click on DailyHaiku

on my blog roll and go to archives

Thank you for staying with me in this haiku journey

(artwork is mine from a doodle play on my iPod touch)


March 15, 2013 Posted by | haiku, poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Robert Frost’s stone house in Shaftsbury, Vermont


He had bought this house to try his hand at farming but quite unsuccessfully, yet he kept it, visiting it intermittently while he taught in and around the state. The house is now a modest museum with sparse furniture but paneled with text, chronicling his life and poetry. It’s here in a room facing south of what is now a field of wild flowers that he wrote his most anthologized and quoted poem, “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening” one June morning following the winter he went horse riding. The room is dedicated to the poem, including how he wrote it—as a whole in one sweep—controversies regarding a comma, discussions and debates on what he meant by his most quoted stanza, as well as critics’ attempts at drawing out from him more than what he wrote. They agree on the ‘ulteriority’ of his poetry as he insisted there is no hidden meaning in his lines. He simply meant ‘it was getting late and I had to go home.’ But debates rage on…


“…The woods are lovely, dark and deep.

But I have promises to keep

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.”

As a lover of his poetry, having been introduced to ‘his woods’ in my youth in a faraway tropical country, visiting his house has meant, for me, finding fulfillment of a yet another vague dream.

Alegria Imperialtxt/Eleanor Angelespix

September 17, 2012 Posted by | personal essay, poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment