the weight of this heat
the wounded doe runs
Pleased to see my haiku in issue 127 of ‘Hedgerow’ edited by Caroline Skanne! Thank you Caroline!
for your journey …
we fold your dreams
under your pillow
city lights …
after a while
the moon behind
the meaning of words
I do not know
the town crier’s
Image: nuno felted neck warmer
felt flowers —
searching for my
‘Felt flowers’ is wet-felted twice, dimensions: 22 x 27 cm
all you need
my digital legacy
in the cloud
Gratitude! Originally included in Robert Epstein’s Beyond The Grave: Contemporary Afterlife Haiku, 2015, this haiku
has been translated into Chinese by Chen-ou Liu, 劉鎮歐 and included in Butterfly Dream!
Chinese Translation (Traditional)
Chinese Translation (Simplified)
by the sweat
of their brow—
27/100 #The100DayProject #100daysnewthings
Artwork by Ralph Murre, after a photo by (or of?) Giorgos Seferis
Little Eagle Press presents poems previously published. Well worth another look, we think
Paying homage to Seferis, the poem directly refers to Seferis’ ‘Thrush’, a poem he wrote in 1946. You can read the poem on the Poetry Foundation site.
For information about Giorgos Seferis, see the Wikipedia entry.
You may also want to take a look at this longer, Princeton Uni. entry with photos, or at Edmund Keeley’s interview with Seferis in the Paris Review.
for a moment the door
I took this photo on a walk round Lake Schliersee, in the Bavarian Alps. Beautiful lake!
taste of summer
in the fruit bowl
Blithe Spirit Vol 23 No. 4, p. 41
why must I write
#NaHaiWriMo prompt: sprinkle
sharing her cherry poem
on home turf-
feeding watermelon seeds
to the hens
“On Home Turf,” Haiga, in “A Baker’s Dozen,” issue 4, 15 December 2012
a fig is not a fig without your mouth
a pyromaniac’s dream on top of the world
In “Bones: Journal for Contemporary Haiku,” No 1, 15 December 2012
at the bottom of the sea the bottom of the sea
how the begging tin
in “Presence” #47, December 2012
past her nails
a truth worth
holding on to
in Notes From The Gean, #14, p. 28, December 2012
shooting star –
a baby slithers out
of the womb
the winter bares its teeth
In “A Blackbird Sings: a small stone anthology”
edited by Fiona Robyn & Kaspalita Thompson, 2012
wordless poem sharing the silence of fallen leaves
NaHaiWriMo prompt: seeking solace
quill scratching a poem where it hurts
NaHaiWriMo prompt: feather
Here is my own ‘smallstone’ of the day!
here is the now —
this smalls stone I hold
in my hand
This is the first ever Mindful Writing Day; it is organised by Kaspa & Fiona at their blog ‘Writing Our Way Home‘.
Visit them to read what the other ‘stoners’ are writing, and better still, email them your own stone!
Today, 29 September 2012, is the day when 100 Thousand Poets for Change gather online, in person, and in print to celebrate poetry, art and music, and to promote social, environmental, and political change.
If you happen to be in Munich today, drop by the Munich Readery, the largest and friendliest secondhand bookstore in Germany. They will be hosting an evening of readings and performances from 19:00 – 22:00.
In observance of today’s 100 Thousand Poets for Change, I offer the following prose poem: The Beach at Blakeney Point, first published in the North London Writers and Poets Anthology Gathering Diamonds from the Well, 2007.
The Beach at Blakeney Point
Hard as I try, I can’t recall the beach at Blakeney Point. Images blend and memories merge – this beach with that at Holkham, with Morston, Burnham Overy and Brancaster Staith.
I only see an expanse in my mental map, the horizon shimmer, Old Lifeboat House looking stern from afar. The salt marsh carpet, creeks, dunes and samphire. Now it is summer. Blue above and below, and the sharp pinpricks of the flying sand. Now it is winter. The saltings dim grey and dirty brown, freezing crystals on the scrub.
Hard as I try. My first walk to the Point fromCleyBeach. Before I knew about tide tables, I set off walking the deep shingle spit, bruising calves and blackening nails. I did reach the end, the sea and the tern’s nests. The feeling of space and the sense of infinity. The tide withdrew to sea while I rested, leaving casts of lugworms, deserts of sand behind. Buccinum and Hydrobia shells. Leaving the bottom of the sea to me. Its cruelty.
A baby seal washed up dead, lying in pools of water, alongside sparkling stones and Flustra fronds the colour of hope. Why, where is the…, what can I…? Too late. It was, I was, too late. I walked back barefoot, the seal receding with each step, ebbing away. The boom of the sea and the spray. The wind sculpted sounds, I licked salt off my lips.
Hard as I try. Sea holly, sandwort and sand sedge cling to shifting dunes. I can’t remember the beach at Blakeney Point. Only that seal, that wind, and my impotence.
76/100 Days of Summer
For Blakeny Point, see here
The Beach at Blakeney Point, in Gathering Diamonds from the Well, ed. Brian Docherty, Laurence Scott, and Katie Willis (London: New Gallery Books 2007)
whistling through a blade of grass poems I might write
NaHaiWriMo prompt: grass (Melissa Allen)
34/100 Days of Summer