Tag Archives: published

Body language


Sixty years ago, she swallowed her grandmother’s most valuable possession: a ring, the only object to have survived the forced expulsion from their ancestral lands. The very ring that her grandmother, every night before bed, kissed and raised to the sky as if God needed the daily reminder that he had let her down.

Since that day of the half-accidental ingestion, and for two years afterward, the child was forced to use a potty, so that her grandmother could search its contents for the ring. To no avail.

In the summer of 2021, however, the ring exited the girl—now a grandmother herself—as if of its own volition. Effortlessly. The symbol of her family’s pain that her muscles had smothered, had been released. She heard the sound and to her astonishment, saw the ring lying at the bottom of the toilet bowl. Feeling nauseous, and while trying to steady herself, she accidentally pulled the chain that flushed away her long-held secret. She caught a glimpse of the ring before it disappeared in the swirling water to join the big, open sea.

letting go—
hunger for Scheherazade’s
stories

*

In Drifting Sands Haibun, issue 14, March 2022

For What We are About to Receive

Haibuphoria!

“For What We are About to Receive” my haibun on Drifting Sands— A journal of Haibun and Tanka Prose, Issue 13 (edited by Adelaide B. Shaw) is now online in both Web and PDF versions. https://drifting-sands-haibun.org/…/for-what-we-are…

The whole issue of wonderful haibun is available here:Web: https://drifting-sands-haibun.org/ Enjoy!

Beyond Me in CHO 17.1

Beyond Me
There is a point at which thought unravels, where cosmic dust swims on waves our brains are not equipped to comprehend. This is the reason we learn to speak of concrete things caught by the senses – the fragrance of flowers, light and shadow, bird song, the weight of snow. Holding tight to the literal, we learn to survive.

Betelgeuse. . .
on my third cup
of strong coffee

In Contemporary Haibun Online

Lullaby in MacQueens Quinterly

My heartfelt thanks to editor Clare MacQueen for publishing this haibun
in issue 7 of MacQueen’s Quinterly. It had originally appeared in the
Wales Haiku Journal.

Lullaby

It’s at its loudest in the early morning hours. Before light dissolves darkness, before the neighbour leaves for work, before the birds start singing, his laboured breathing comes over the baby monitor whispering, gurgling, rattling, spluttering….

I lie awake listening to the crack of thunder, the roaring waterfall, the sounds of the sea emitted from his chest. A car starting, the exhaust backfiring, the train leaving station. The boat reversing in the harbour. Light rain. A soft meow. His breathing renders a whole world. In this soundscape, I make out the stories he told me when years ago he put me to bed.

Soon, light dispels the apparitions, and his breath comes over the monitor soft, steady, regular, lulling me to sleep.

music of the spheres
how we became
human

Portrait

painting Maria Pierides

A woman reading a letter in the light pouring through an unseen window. Hair pulled back from the forehead, she is pictured in the style of her favorite painter against an expanse of soft yellows. Areas of blue for the shadows, the armchair and her top allude to hidden layers.

camera obscura

the temptation to see

depth

Her upper body is turned towards the light, held by it, trapped by it. Arrested in the moment, her Parkinson’s is invisible. In a minute or two, she’ll have to change position, align her spine, prevent stiffness from setting in.

Amsterdam to Delft…

in their seats now, the old couple

remove their face masks

This is a good day. In the early hours of the morning, she’d lain listening to the woodpecker hammering time. As the hours rolled in, she made fabric out of wool, squeezed poetry out of the daily grind, mailed her loved ones. Read their letters…

lapis lazuli…

shifting attention

to what matters

Portrait, Maria Pierides

This haibun, a collaboration with artist and daughter Maria Pierides, appeared in the project Love in the Time of Covid

here

Maria Pierides’s art is for sale from Saatchi Art and from her website

JuxtaSix

A Happy New Year 2021 to all my friends! A year filled with Health, Love, Creativity, Happiness, and Peace!

Meanwhile, still in 2020, JuxtaSix: The Journal of Haiku Research and Scholarship, the print issue, is available! I just received my print copy from Amazon. It is a very interesting and well-presented issue. I am happy to say it includes an article on Haiku and the Brain that I co-authored. Many thanks to the editors, and reviewers, and well-done to my fellow authors!

“So that we remember” wins first place in the MacQueen’s Quinterly Ekphrastic Challenge

Thrilled to have won first place in MacQueen’s Quinterly Ekphrastic Challenge “The Magician”!

A heartfelt thank you to Clare MacQueen for selecting my haibun “So that we remember” and congratulations to all participants in the contest!
Read “So that we remember” here: http://www.macqueensquinterly.com/MacQ3/Pierides-Remember.aspx

For the background to the contest and full results see here: http://www.macqueensquinterly.com/Contests/Magician-Results.aspx

‘Intertextuality’ in What I Hear When Not Listening

I am very pleased to see my haibun diptych ‘Intertextuality,’ originally published in Sonic Boom 4, included in this Anthology! Grateful to editor Shloka Shankar!

Sonic Boom writes:

We are delighted to announce the publication of our second anthology, ‘What I Hear When Not Listening: Best of The Poetry Shack & Fiction, Vol. I.’

Featuring work by 41 contributors to our journal between the years 2014 and 2019, this collection brings together the best pieces that were published under The Poetry Shack and Fiction sections of the journal from issues one through fifteen.

Order your copy here

‘Noir’ in MacQueen’s Quinterly

Issue 2 of MacQueen’s Quinterly is out and I am delighted to have a haibun triptych included! Many thanks to editor Clare MacQueen! Read “Noir” here and below:

Noir [A Triptych]

Snow white

A small room, white walls, white lino floor. Sheets like snow. Her deep breathing. Hair the color of frost. Beads of sweat on her forehead, in the folds of her neck. She is dreaming.

crow’s call
a night unlike
any other

and her life

A small room. Unmade bed, a chair toppled over. Two plastic cups on the floor. Walls of indistinct colour. The Book of Sand open at the foot of the bed.

no one here
lives like a princess—
mushy peas for tea

as it might have been

A room 5’x5′. No curtains. Aretha Franklin’s “I say a Little Prayer” from the room next door. Birds. On the pavement outside her window, fag ends and chewing gum.

diaphanous—
lives of others in frequencies
I can hear