jornales

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

another throwback post…a tanka ‘duet’ at LYNX journal

as the moon

transforms in sunlight

we shift roles

you into a clown, i

a hummingbird

 

in my palm

the fortune teller

traces lines

one slides off my destiny

away from yours

 

LYNX  XXVII:I February 2012

 

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October 6, 2014 Posted by | poetry, tanka | , , , , , | Leave a comment

a throwback post…3 tanka at GUSTS Winter 2013

should I

consider my missteps

to understand…

how the Milky Way ended

with me in this pond?

 

like layers

of sunlight among weeds

our words

thrive on silence…until gushing

we burst into flowers

 

the twisted twig

of an old cedar leans

Westward

as if the wind senses

my every longing

 

GUSTS Fall/Winter 2013 (Tanka Canada)

September 30, 2014 Posted by | poetry, tanka | , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

‘sunlight on the other side’ (a haiga)

Silk Bridge, Bennington, VT

sunlight on the other side
somehow louder                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      

ai, haiku/esa, photo

October 4, 2012 Posted by | haiga, poetry | , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

as the moon/in my palm (2 tanka at LYNX)

1. 

as the moon

transforms in sunlight

we shift roles

you into a clown, i

a hummingbird

2. 

in my palm

the fortune teller

traces lines

one slides off my destiny

away from yours

LYNX  XXVII:I February 2012

February 21, 2012 Posted by | poetry, tanka | , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

first smile (haiga8 for Rick Daddario’s challenge at19 Planets Art Blog)

haiga 8 composed on Microsoft Publisher with my sister's first baby picture at 5 mos old

first smile nothing else

I remember that early morning light, which illumines the bedroom. It could have poured in through a window facing east where deep dark leaves of a star apple tree soaked most of it, leaving a young mango sprout pale in its struggle to grow. Or perhaps it was just uncared for. And why do I now blame the more luxuriant star apple? No one could pay much attention to the mango seedling then, since the birth of my sister and only sibling.

It could have been a Saturday morning. My mother could have been home that late and didn’t leave for school across the stream a block away, a post-deduction I’m making from the angle of the light. If it were a weekend, I must have been sleeping late. It couldn’t but be a Saturday or this picture wouldn’t have been taken by an uncle who also taught at the parish school. So why am I making a fuss this late?

Because I wish I could relate a more credible story as to how that first smile was caught. I remember my sister more as fretful. She cried when she felt sleepy or couldn’t sleep. She cried when she woke up and felt hot. When I carried her, I could not hold her facing me for long; I would have to make her face outward with one arm supporting her butt as in a seat, her legs dangling, and my other arm, bracing her close to me so she would not fall forward. She hardly smiled. She seemed to size up people as if already making opinions as they talked though she still couldn’t except to say, ‘Mama’. Which is why this smile for me sparkles as a gem.

I know that hand carved wooden bed. On it, I nuzzled on my mother’s side under a crook of her arm as deep as my memory dips. I watched my sister suckled from my mother’s breast, perhaps like I did, on this bed. I remember bumping my head on the headboard against carvings of huge blooms, hearts of gardenias in a swirl of leaves leaning away as if blown by their redolence. Lying on it felt like easing into silken strands, the hand woven rattan strips, which stretched and retracted with each un-recalled movement in dreams. I know that slightly creased sheet, too, which is actually a native heavy woven cotton blanket I had dived into as a child myself. It must have been really a Saturday morning because I see no pillows, which my grandmother would have gathered to put out under the sun to disinfect and deodorize.

The story I recall of this morning has to do with impulses. An uncle who lived on the other corner of our street, apparently just happened to drop by with his camera. He just suddenly wanted to take a picture of my 5-month old sister. My sister just then was learning to turn on her side. That morning, she happened to do a full turn to lie on her belly. She just happened to smile. Or maybe I was there to clown around when my uncle clicked his Kodak Field camera. But the truth is, I remember nothing else but this first smile.

Fifty four years gape between that morning and me today. I am now an elderly woman hankering for details I missed. But then again because I have none except this moment caught, I can spin webs around it to catch any morning light, and perhaps one like that Saturday morning.

September 25, 2011 Posted by | haiga, poetry, reflection | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

haiku on the beach, tides, the sea (at NaHaiWriMo)

the sea in Ilocos Norte, the northermost province of the 7,100 islands of the Philippine archipelago, a scene I so miss. Photo by Raymond Ramos, a cousin in the 3rd degree,

a.
when shifting tides
shift the codes–
sunset

b.
secrets
digging into sand dunes–
a pale sunlight

c.
squalling seagulls–
scanning empty shorelines
for chances we’ve lost

d.
Cape Bojeador*–
we measure heights of billows
against our skies

*built by the Spaniards a lighthouse in Cape Bojeador in the northernmost tip of the Philippine archipelago juts out with a promontory as if into the sea where one may view giant waves crashing against each other and not only on high cliffs but mid-sea. On closer look at the waters, you may see a difference of hue—this is the point where the Pacific Ocean meets the China Sea, a truly stunning sight.

June 21, 2011 Posted by | haiku, poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

absolved (for One Shot Wednesday)

swallows burst into our crude mornings
their flight staggering on false winds
we gaze aghast

this fractured air birthed on false moonlight
unpredicted

our beggar voice fades into whimpers
fluttering splintered among fallen blossoms
the unabashed camellias bared

a scandal unmasked by a rude sunlight
our bleeding unabated

we slip into the brambles our sobs drowning
in the chatter of winds the river grumbles
about our tears

a sorrow tarnished by ageing stars
sputtering at dawn

a mourning heron ceases lending its grief
we recover our lips on pin drops of sky
the brambles open up for the wind

a chorus of ripples washes our bleeding
steps curl on our tears we rise

white among rhodoras
absolved

Copyright (c) by Alegria Imperial 2011

Posted for One Shot Wednesday at One Stop Poetry, winner of the 2011 Shorty Award for the Arts, the inimitable gathering place of poets and artists where they share their love for their art while nurturing each other. Come join us!

April 19, 2011 Posted by | free verse, poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 10 Comments

secrets #2 for day 21 of NaHaiWriMo

secrets—
burrowing in sand dunes
a pale sunlight

My haiku for days 19,20 and #1 for 21 are posted in the NaHaiWriMo facebook site.

February 21, 2011 Posted by | haiku, poetry | , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

first kiss (playing with images on haiku-like lines for One Shoot Sunday )

over head–
a robin trills, i race
the uptown train

to meet you

on elm street
my feet on clouds–
wind swept petals

i skid on my soles

under a lavender bush
such fragrance–
so like yours

still running

now through rain drops
i slip but land on begonia quilt–
i pick three dandelions

i race on

a pair of crows–
from juniper tops cawing a duet
swoops in on a picnic spread

i turn away

afternoon rain
coming harder i skid under a shade
of cherry blossoms

my heart thrums faster

singling on a wall
under weeping crab apple blooms–
the rain their tears and mine

am i crying?

my watch
eats up minutes–
you will be gone

i am sobbing

the rain stops–
sunlight ripples through the sky
falls on a lilac hedge i race on

to meet you

against a wall
the sun bursts on your smile
you sprint to meet me

under a rain-washed sky

eyes dripping
sweetened rain, petals on our lips
wet, soft, warm

we kiss our first

on the heart-shaped sky
we sign our names,
say our vows

on three dandelions

Phot by Katherine Forbes

Posted for One Shoot Sunday from a photo by Katherine Forbes. Join other poets at One Stop Poetry blog who write verses for love, read those of others, leave a word of encouragement and/or insight with the same love and respect. Post your piece on your blog and sign up in the Mr. Linky list

January 16, 2011 Posted by | free verse, haiku, poetry | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

sunlight

1.
sunlight swarms even on cesspools

2.
along some rivers only the pale sunlight

3.
after the sunlight fireflies

4.
tracking down a narrowed creak sunlight

5.
smiling in the sunlight she

January 7, 2011 Posted by | haiku, poetry | , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment