In case you’ve noticed my absence from my blog, I’ve been working on a book of haibun stories and I am thrilled to report that I am near completing the first draft. Like my previous fiction books, this one is spun around the three poles of self, society, and politics. The emphasis though is different. More about this later. Unusually, for me, the title for this one has been elusive. In the past, I used to have the title before I wrote the book. Not so with this book.
I may be asking for your help to pick a title, though how this could be done without prior knowledge of the book is a good question.
And another thing! A translation into German of my book of short stories and haibun titled ‘Feeding the Doves’ (Fruit Dove Press, 2013) is being readied for printing as we speak. So that you know, dear reader, I haven’t been skiving!
echoes from the island belfry
reach the mainland
after all the trips silver shallows
Photo (reworked) from a walk in Faversham, earlier this summer.
Please don’t read beyond the title. This is not a poem, nor is it a haibun, short story, or flash.
It has no beginning, middle or end. No development of any sort. It is here as a no thing, and by reading it you gain nothing. Unless you make it into something.
petals or thorns
a scratch on the surface
Published at ‘the other bunny‘ August 3, 2015
a bar regular vents
the where, when, and how
in Sonic Boom
Delighted to have two of my one-line haiku published:
numerically speaking the soul sucks
blending spring with daisies you get a billboard
Bones – journal for contemporary haiku (in PDF)
no. 7, july 15, 2015
pushing all the wrong
Frogpond 2015, 38:2, p.11
my thin layer
Frogpond 2015, 38 : 2, p.11
deep blue skies
the dragonfly’s limpid
Sharing from last week’s excursion to Bad Bayersoien; a swimmer got into difficulties and the emergency doctor had to be called. He was there in a matter of minutes, by helicopter. Impressive! I hope the swimmer had a speedy recovery too.
how can silence be
Photo: From my walk in Bad Bayersoien
fardel of sticks
the apple tree’s fall
her hair caught
on a thorn
and the haiga I made using this poem is from a photo of a dark passage under a bridge in the old town of Guenzburg
sunlight through her black habit
the taxi driver’s
on the road—
the wounded deer’s
the splenetic kid stops
the rocket salad
enervated sun emits
a plasma flare
oppugning the calories
in the chocolate cake
in high spirits…
of the Mosel
Mosel wine region
the riverbank awash in
pressed between the pages
turbid veins of the heart
no smoke without fire
on swidden hills
blood red poppies
even the sun
a sea snail retreats
into its shell
Photo: Thames, in Gravesend, Kent.
listening to the tenor of
his Master’s voice
AWAD: Jerusalem Syndrome
the charlatan adjusts
A few days ago I subscribed to the daily email from Wordsmith.org, A.Word.A.Day: Discover the magic of words, and started responding with a haiku.
Today’s word: charlatan
. . . endolymph. . . endo . . . interior . . . dreams . . . inner voice . . . nymph . . . Rilke’s “a girl . . . made herself a bed inside my ear” . . . my ear . . . labyrinth . . . cochlea . . . conch . . . shell . . . sea . . . Aegean . . . crashing waves . . . stop! . . . waves lapping the shore . . . sails . . . seagulls . . . shrieks . . . my tinnitus . . . rushing water . . . endolymph . . .
wherever you go
the ship follows you . . .
In The other bunny
In our hands, you said, we hold
the shadow of our hands. I know
the cold absence of the marbles,
olives sprouting from the cracks.
The coffee grinder turns
slowly, gently. The moon
still kind, bathes our wrinkled
hearts in light. In silver. In sorrow.
Old souls sitting by the river
listening to the boat engine
starting, coughing, spitting,
dying. Starting again.
(to Yiannis Ritsos, in response to his poem “Absence”)
Poem written to the poetsonline prompt: Dear Poet: Epistles to the Poets. For the other poems on the poetsonline.org blog, please see Archive, ‘Dear Poet’ on their site.
Please note English spelling of the original Greek name varies (Yiannis [e.g. Wikipedia], Yannis [e.g. Poetry Foundation]). Wikipedia lists a number of variants: ‘Yannis or Yiannis or Giannis (Γιάννης) is a common Greek name, a variant of John (Hebrew) meaning “God is generous.” Variants include Ioannis (Ιωάννης), Yanni, Iannis, Yannakis; and the rare “Yannos”, usually found in the Peloponnese and Cyprus.’
Whenever I thought of the ravages time would inflict on me, I thought of wrinkles. I imagined myself slightly plump, with a few strategically placed wrinkles and a very respectable grey sheen in my hair. I also considered liver spots, imagining myself smiling benevolently behind a seemingly sun-blessed veil of freckles. Now that I’ve reached a point when time weighs on me… let’s say, there have been surprises, indiscretions, indignities. Take the slight pearl that sometimes appears and glistens on the side of my mouth.
a blush spreads over the edge
of the precipice
In KYSO Flash, May 2015