notes from the gean - the haiku foundation – test distracted by the murmur of my heart brendan...

Notes from the Gean No.6, September 2010

Welcome to Notes from the Gean the haiku journal

Brought to you by Gean Tree Press

featuring haiku, tanka, haiga, & more.

Mission Statement:

We seek to encourage excellence, experimentation and education

within haiku and its related genres. We believe this is best

accomplished by example and not imitation. Our aim is for authenticity

above all else. We therefore solicit your finest examples of haiku, tanka,

haiga, haibun and renga/renku so that we may "hear" your voices

speak.

The Editors

For details on how to submit to Notes from the Gean please check our

SUBMISSIONS page.

cover artwork Melinda B. Hipple

Magazine content copyright © 2010 Gean Tree Press. All Rights Reserved. Individual works copyright © the artist/artists.

http://www.geantreepress.com/

http://www.geantreepress.com/subs


contents

haiku

pp.4-31

Editor: Lorin Ford - Australia

tanka

pp.32-40

haiga

pp.41-76

Editor: Melinda B. Hipple - USA

haibun pp.77-95

Editor: Ray Rasmussen - Canada

renga/ renku

pp.96-115

Editor-in-Chief / Resources: Colin Stewart Jones - Scotland


white pine bonsai —

the view from his office

on the fourteenth floor

David Ash - U.S.A

morning shadows

a band of blue jays

take flight

G.R. LeBlanc - Canada

in an urban sky

birds shift in unison —

drifting ice

G.R. LeBlanc - Canada

cold night

a twig outside the window

raps

Jan Dobb - Australia

frozen dawn

just one gum leaf

shivers



winter day

white sun flies through

cockatoo wings


cloud mountain

over

mountain

Michael Ketchek - U.S.A

motionless stars

I open the window

to feel the wind

Michael Ketchek - U.S.A

winter and winter

after the blue snow settles —

wild call, white like noise

Desmond Kon Zhicheng-Mingdé - Singapore

remaining snow —

a parrot sings on and on

to the dawn sun

Narayanan Raghunathan – India


grandfather's yearbook

the black and white photos

of white people

Gregory Hopkins - U.S.A

equinox

part of me

still with her


her first swim

I breathe a prayer

into her floaties


beach sands...

beyond the sway of her hips

the surging sea

Kala Ramesh - India

chameleon...

its head splits

from the branch

Kala Ramesh - India


her hair

centre-parts

in the wind

a spring lantern

Kala Ramesh - India

funeral:

even now his face

remains a mask

Kala Ramesh - India

winter rain

one black umbrella

at his graveside

Mark Lonergan - Ireland

torrential rain

umbrellas mushroom

in the park


mirror-like water

at last a frog

shatters it



how much farther

his offspring leap

old bullfrog

Bill Cooper - U.S.A

Trevi fountain

daughters too young

to guess their return

Bill Cooper - U.S.A

war letters

learning what

he left out

Bill Cooper - U.S.A

sea oats...

leaning over

the long pier

Bill Cooper - U.S.A

crossing the border

with flimsy papers

a gust

Bill Cooper - U.S.A


River eddy

someone else's route map

slowly dissolves

J. Zimmerman - U.S.A

Rusty Cadillac

filigreed with spider webs —

a church bell tolls

J. Zimmerman - U.S.A

evening Mass

a fading reflection

behind the altar

Mary Davila - U.S.A

inhaling the scent

of her new prayer book

First Communion

Mary Davila - U.S.A

cherry petals

in the fresh cut grass. . .

her mind drifts

Mary Davila - U.S.A


his quick

fingers on the keyboard

blossoms falling

Chen-ou Liu - Canada

autumn dawn

alone with what the night

has left me


single married single again a rushing river


the ruins

of the lockkeeper's house

first few spots of rain

Brendan Slater - Netherlands

IQ test

distracted by the murmur

of my heart

Brendan Slater - Netherlands

clearing sky —

I take his airbrushed photo

out of the frame

Nathalie Buckland - Australia


summer market

all the shades

of mango chutney


city apartment

as rush hour eases

...the sound of ducks


morning news

a bellbird calls

a bellbird replies

Cynthia Rowe - Australia

reunion photo

he sends me

the seafood platter


mud flat

the quiver

of crab holes

Beverley George - Australia


longest night

the reading pile

grows shorter

Beverley George - Australia

the tune

of an old love song

desert rain

Melissa Spurr - U.S.A

chill breeze

the sun and a coyote

at my back


this long war

the infection settles

in my chest


just before

the doctor's surgery

my arrhythmia

stops

Owen Bullock - New Zealand


not part

of the renga

the haijin's wife

walks in the garden


dreams of avant garde

fields of emeralds —

a few words left

on waking


no one

behind him

mountain path


impatient

I tip the incense

from the ash


sundown —

tobacco ash stamped

into the sand

Neal Whitman - U.S.A


A new planet

forms from the gas of a star —

I plant tulip bulbs

Jack Galmitz - U.S.A

Wintry dawn —

a white horse walks

through the barn door


Nothing I can do

can separate me from you —

green hill


Hyacinths appear —

why do we want

what we cannot share?


Watching waves form —

my son holds

his son



Grandma's way...

the hems of clean sheets

caught by the wind

Kirsty Karkow - U.S.A

the netsuke

she loved and treasured...

April yard sale


dreams of lions —

the wild nor-easter

wakes me up


deep in a book...

the swish of hailstones

on the rhododendrons

Diane Mayr - U.S.A

Christmas lights...

one by one, they turn off

his machines

Michele L. Harvey - U.S.A


they whisper

between themselves

river rocks


heat lightning

the rasp of unknown insects

keeping time


in this stifling heat

odours

of our history

Geoffrey Winch - U.K

predictions of drought

peach pies bubble

in the oven

Carolyn Hall - U.S.A

up with the birds...

just so many ways

to cook eggplant



with such a loud voice photos of the dead


after bushfires

her landscape paintings

koala grey

Myra King - Australia

the summer

behind the summer

cosmos in the wind

Michael Lindenhofer - Austria

windfall on the road

sidestepping

wasps

Michael Lindenhofer - Austria

into the silence

the grasshopper sings

into the night

John Barlow - U.K

sunlight slanting through cloud the misty hills

John Barlow - U.K


everywhere

in the stone circle

the mountain wind

John Barlow - U.K

a crow stalls

low over the brow

wind-whipped snow

John Barlow - U.K

oystercatchers put up by a merlin the mudflattened sun

John Barlow - U.K

the sparrow builds

her nest among the sacks

full moon

Gautam Nadkarni - India

May Day

the red betel nut spittle

on white walls


summer noon

the counting of lampposts

from the bus stop



shade tree

filling in

for a friend


hoot of an owl

the space between the fir trees

filling up with fog


Japanese garden

a leaf drifting through

my mind

Bill Kenney - U.S.A

a friend has died

dandelions

everywhere

Bill Kenney - U.S.A

sultry afternoon...

fingering

the wind chimes

Bill Kenney - U.S.A


undisturbed

in the cornfield...

a yellow bird

Keith A. Simmonds -Trinidad & Tobago

giant clouds

loitering in the sky...

summer solstice

Keith A. Simmonds -Trinidad & Tobago

starfish find

the child gazes

at the sky

Victor P. Gendrano - U.S.A

the children's swing

stops swinging

foreclosed house

Victor P. Gendrano - U.S.A

clouds quicken

...pencilling in

the wrong solution

Helen Buckingham - U.K


summer's end

scratching our names

on the trunk of the sundial

Helen Buckingham - U.K

summer twilight

a firefly comes

then goes...

Paul Cordeiro - U.S.A

autumn leaves —

giving away

most of my books

Ruth Holzer - U.S.A

the blind dog

sleeping with her eyes open —

autumn fog

Ruth Holzer - U.S.A

autumn quiet

the beagle chews

a bookmark to shreds

Paul Cordeiro - U.S.A


the black dog's head

between its paws

late autumn sun

Jo McInerney - Australia

faded suntans

hydrangeas bronzing

in the cooler air

Catherine J.S. Lee - U.S.A

circus poster

a red squirrel lopes

along the power line


fall regatta

a pair of gulls

racing the clouds


magpies

rising from the willows

into twilight

Brett Brady - U.S.A


dewdrops...

every blade of grass

a prairie moon

Brett Brady - U.S.A

ghetto moon —

long long cello notes

from somewhere soft

Brett Brady - U.S.A

vase of jonquils...

clearing from the cellar

that reek of dead rat

Rodney Williams - Australia

new moustache —

his other

mid-life crisis


one white panel

in a darkened yard...

the dog star barks



housing boom

another crow flies off

with a twig

Susan Constable - Canada

first day in the garden...

I turn another worm

upside down

Susan Constable - Canada

the glow

on my child's skin

buttercup


in her memory

I release a housefly

into the yard


the grizzled dog

heaving with sleep

first frost

Billie Dee - U.S.A


after the rain

the unscented breath

of camellias

Billie Dee - U.S.A

choosing a blouse

to match the day

jacaranda

Billie Dee - U.S.A

afternoon stillness...

fish rise to prick

summer clouds

Jennifer Gomoll Popolis - U.S.A

dolphin voices —

red sun settles into

the Marshes of Glynn

Peggy Willis Lyles - U.S.A

enough snow

to hush the children —

dusk closing in



the quilt's imperfect pattern Leonids


child's play —

salt from a lost ocean

for the robin's tail


spring thunder

young magicians

reappear


blowing bubbles

some I pop

some I let go

Adelaide B. Shaw - U.S.A

woodland phlox —

wet grass sticking

to my clothes


a ripe plum —

the skin slips off

with the first bite



almost dinnertime —

low rumbles from

the gathering storm

Nancy Nitrio - U.S.A

sunset dissolving

in tranquil waters —

a man with an oar

Narayanan Raghunathan - India

sparrows are all over —

still, the light snow

on the mountain

Narayanan Raghunathan - India

first warm day a skylark singing from the sun

Martin Lucas - U.K

the warbler's song

a jumble of notes —

willow fluff

Martin Lucas - U.K


looking back

from the buttercup meadow

the doe's eyes

Martin Lucas - U.K

the thought of a shadow —

a lighthouse bell

sounding through mist

Martin Lucas - U.K

shafts of light...

the rocks on the spit

are redshanks

Martin Lucas - U.K

darkening sky

homing parrots splatter

the asphalt

Quendryth Young - Australia

swimming hole

the man in the wheelchair

throws a stick

Quendryth Young - Australia


split-second reaction

I swat

a lightning bug

Peter Newton - U.S.A

long rain ends

...the night filling

with crickets

Ann K. Schwader - U.S.A

last quarter

of the harvest moon

moving on

Ann K. Schwader - U.S.A

empty café

a cool breeze leafs through

the dessert menu

Rafal Zabratynski - Poland

string of tail lights

the Great Bear

still ahead

Rafal Zabratynski - Poland


evening cars

an endless river

beyond the winter trees

Frances Jones - U.S.A

sunlight lengthens

across the floor

a spider runs to one o'clock


Denver airport

walking the long trail

to Gate 88


anchor haul —

turtles lumbering

back to sea

Garry Eaton - Canada

winter morning

from the open fridge

a dim light

Garry Eaton - Canada


no longer a blur

I breathe in

mountain colours

Kari Thornton - U.S.A


summer trees

waving across

a winking moon;

unashamed

I shed my clothes

Adelaide B. Shaw - USA

strangely erotic

watching skin disappear

under bra, panties

stockings, skirt, blouse

as you dress each morning

Michael Ketchek - USA

my life

arranged the way he likes it

then that flower

with the ruffled edge

drew me from the path

Michele L. Harvey - USA

in the roar

of this waterfall

I am deaf

to all past voices —

there is now only you

Amelia Fielden - Australia


neatly in line

his size 12 work boots

catching cobwebs

like the dusty akubra

hanging on rusted nails

Barbara A Taylor - Australia

she hates it

how i cannot control

my compulsions

a perfectly straight line

of empty pill bottles

Brendan Slater - The Netherlands

many a time

have I set out

with empty pockets

this day

also

Ruth Holtzer - USA

spattering gravel

you drive away

still angry

in thin slippers

I feel the chill

Ruth Holtzer – USA


Cycling in a thin dress

through the World's Fair Forest —

St. Louis summers

perfumed with jasmine

and melting tar

J. Zimmerman - USA

Those nimble birds

scrambling the wind above chimneys

and urban forest

are they swifts or swallows. . .

or just this world's debris?

J. Zimmerman - USA

I am a creature

of twilight times. . .

though one night

glancing out the window

geese against the moon

Naomi Beth Wakan - Canada

a wrinkled

face in the clouds

in the lake —

me?

it is, and yet. . .

Chen-ou Liu / Canada


her haunting song

rustles a memory

of a former life;

a time of mists and fog

sweeping through the heather

Adelaide B. Shaw - USA

rain wall

curtains the bridge

my veranda weeps

while I rail

against this fading moon


banged up

for something i didn't do

every night

the squeaks from the bunk above

the whistling of the guards


tonight

the tender moon

is waning

i mould myself around you

breathe when you breathe



unmoved

by our dancing

the monk's dog

rises slowly

to sniff the gong

Shona Bridge - Australia

i let the full moon

shroud me

in healing light. . .

finally accepting

my cancer diagnosis

Pamela A. Babusci - USA

starless sky

i stir the windchimes

to convince myself

i am not alone

in this vast universe

Pamela A. Babusci - USA

once described

as dancing through life. . .

it's true

even my newest shoes

are worn down at the heels



the knot-hole

in the floor board

sometimes

some things

should be forgiven


a crazy man

can't be argued with

he said

from his tractor, pulling up

the last tree in his yard


the tooth

I wasn't ready to lose

quite yet —

like love it served me well

until the pain

Cathy Drinkwater Better - USA

first kiss

at thirteen —

"that wasn't so bad,

now was it?"

I asked him



long ago

I wore your father's

college sweatshirt

until it was as threadbare

as our love


sun hidden

clouds move on

diamonds

tumble headlong

into the river

miriam chaikin – USA

the day comes down

sets out on its way

fingers reach out

from everywhere

trying to hold it back

miriam chaikin - USA

the first weekend

since mother's funeral —

these hills

surrounding our hometown

all echo in silence

Rodney Williams / Australia


bird's nest

high in a bare poplar. . .

death notice

for an old love

last seen by a grave

Rodney Williams / Australia

the pressure mounts

to find answers flickering

across the screen

a bird in the ash tree

calls: "fly away and sing..."

Merrill Ann Gonzales - USA

sublime smiles

the painting portrays

I adjust to live

rewinding the coil of time

in the shadows of my loneliness

P K Padhy - India

bomb-ravaged field

sixty-five years later

a monument to peace

becoming another

stop for tourists

Victor P. Gendrano - USA


bleeding

in the darkness

of the womb

her heart weeps for the child

she has never seen

Kala Remesh (__kala) - India

at the end

her passing

was peaceful

no secrets revealed

no unexpected truths



an'ya, USA


Haiku - Susan Constable, Canada

Photograph - David Constable, Canada


Susan Constable, Canada


Haiku - Susan Constable, Canada

Photograph - David Constable, Canada


Tanka first published in Magnapoets, Issue 5, January 2010



Aubrie Cox, USA


Haiku - Andrea Cecon, Italy

Photograph - Aubrie Cox, USA


Haiku - Garrett Derman, USA

Photograph - Aubrie Cox, USA


Aubrie Cox, USA


Mary Davila, USA


Ramona Linke, Germany


Image from the Hokusai school, from Library of Congress collection.

Diane Mayr, USA


Image by unknown artist, from Library of Congress collection.

Diane Mayr, USA


Maureen Sexton, Australia


Adelaide B. Shaw, USA


Brendan Slater, The Netherlands


Neal Whitman and Marty Klein, USA


Marjorie A Buettner, USA

Without Her

Her life spills over on side tables and magazine-littered chairs along with a bed never used, the curtain

never drawn and a roommate who sleeps all the time. I tell my children to remember to touch her as

much as possible, kiss her and hug her for it is in touch that we become human; it is in touch that we

become divine. But all she wants to do is smoke, so we go outside to share a cool 40 degree

temperature with three smoking women; all of their oxygen tanks wait for them in the entry way, their

conversation riddled with cough.

These are hard memories to wake up to this morning and the sky — layered in warring clouds —

carries its own secrets, binding the day to a congealed memory.

winter sunlight--

a prowl of unknown tracks in the snow


Wende Skidmore DuFlon, Guatemala

Todos los Santos

cloud forest mist

a small casket follows a large one

No one seems to notice when we enter the hospital's pediatric area. Children with big bellies and thin

extremities sit on cots or on parents' laps. The children's scalps show through thinning hair — their

brown eyes look but do not see. My attention is drawn to a man cradling a small boy, using a syringe

to feed him slowly. Once he finishes I greet him with a touch on the shoulder and commend him for

being the only father here among mothers. He turns his weathered face up to me and says that one

cannot choose....one does what one has to do....one does what God directs because only he knows

why.

son on his shoulders

and a wreath of plastic roses...

All Souls' Day


Michele Harvey, USA

Father's Day

He told me about how coyotes gnaw themselves free.

oncoming dusk

gin bottles overflow

the recycling bin


Helen E. Herr, Canada

cruising

my heart flushes on "Puerto Vallarta's" sand bows to the senorita breathes deep fiesta twirls white lace

castanets "Coctel de langosta" and deviled eggs, words drifting on waves between swaths on Canadian

prairie

moon

pulls tides


Ruth Holzer, USA

Amsterdam

I wasn't there for the Rembrandts or the Anne Frank House, but because a sailor I had met in Venice

described his city to me in such lively detail that I had to see it. He told me about his favorite

coffeehouse, the art gallery where his charcoal drawings had been exhibited, and his girlfriend Beate

whom he asked me to visit. It was winter when I stopped there on my dilatory way home: sky the

color of smoke, frozen canals, empty flower boxes at the windows of the houseboats.

In the art gallery I find Beate who offers to put me up in the apartment they had shared. I touch the

books we had talked about through many long nights. She thinks he's coming back. I don’t tell her he's

already in Hong Kong. In my pocket, his onyx signet ring, a ship upon on the sea.

harbor lights...

a rough passage west for Grandmother


Nancy Hull, Canada

Today is ...

The family has agreed it's time, so Mum and I visit the seniors' residence. At first glance it resembles a

hotel. A smiling face behind the front desk greets us and indicates chairs, with sturdy arms, to relax in

while we wait for the manager. On our tour we are shown what looks like a linen-clad resturant. A

large print menu posted at the door offers a variety of soft bland foods. We move down a brightly lit

corridor with railings on each wall and pass the guests who are wearing mostly easy care polyester and

are pushing walkers. One women has a beautiful hand knit sweater draped over her stooped shoulders.

I want to compliment her on it but I hesitate. Would I have to speak loudly? Would I startle her? Would

she understand me?

Inside the model suite I point out to Mum the mature maple trees and flower garden outside the

window. We both carefully avoid mentioning the parking lot and construction site beyond them. On

leaving the building a sign informs us, TODAY IS : SUNDAY.

Monday morning

too many grey hairs

in my brush


Roger Jones, USA

Burying My Parents

Afterwards, my sisters and I at the dinner table discuss the funeral, and what happens next. We know

what they would say: "Don’t worry." Or "We're together; take care of yourselves"; or "Use the money

wisely — do what you feel you need to." Walking back into their lives — the Forties, Fifties and beyond

— we recount how it all transpired, year by year, all of it lived out, one moment at a time. The part

before we were here; the part after we each arrived. How it all somehow led to this day.

church grounds

the gathering congregation of shadows


Chen-ou Liu, Canada

A Canadian Story

In memory of my friend and teacher, Paul Crudden

In 2004, I volunteered at a long-term care center as a friendly visitor for one of its residents, Paul

Crudden. His illness made him speak with difficulty, but it didn't stop him from conversing. Once a

week I would show him how to use the Internet and we'd discuss Chinese language and culture about

which he was insatiably interested.

We sometimes met at my home where we'd watch and discuss films. Paul had worked in Hollywood

and I had been a film critic in Taiwan. There seemed to be a karmic link between us.

words

from the twisted mouth heartbeats

One day I visited him, and he sensed that I was upset. Guessing the issue, he said, "Chen-ou, don't

worry about your English. Both of us have speaking problems, but many people around us have

listening problems."

the last visit...

grasping at the air his bony hand

Paul's acceptance and encouragement made the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms relevant to

me. He passed away on Oct., 30, 2005. Two years later, I received my Canadian citizenship.

late Paul

puts his hand on my shoulder... snow on snow


Ed Markowski, USA

Lumber Jack

Sleight Of Hand

The Mission Street Magician Missing Both

I'm standing in the checkout line at Phil's Shop & Sip on the outskirts of Thief River Falls waiting to pay

for a Dr Pepper, two Slim Jims, a bag of Doritos, and a Moon Pie behind this bearded giant in a red

flannel shirt. I take a good long look ..... Nope, never seen him before in my life, not at the Arctic Cat

Plant, the Black Cat Bar, China King, Dee's Place Johnies Joint, the Lantern or Suzy's Sundance. Then,

quicker than a trout to a fly, I get this feeling that I've known Lumber Jack all my life, but I can't place

him. I take a second look. If Lumber Jack was a pine tree, he'd touch Mars. If he was Route 59, he'd

go eight lanes easy with a median and two wide shoulders. Adding everything up, looks to me like

Lumber Jack's gotta go at least seven foot, four-hundred.

Phil's wife Ilse Anne is getting ready to play Jingle Bells on the cash register keys when Lumber Jack

starts hoisting his booty out of the shopping cart. I can't see through or around this mountain, but I

can hear her counting up his items out loud same as she does every time she runs the register ........

"Let's see, ya got five loaves of Wonder Bread ya do, four cases of Grain Belt long necks, ya do, three

half gallons Bacardi Dark, two cans King Oscar Kipper Snacks in mustard sauce ya do, and one Dutch

Masters Mint Panatela."

I notice the descending numerical order of Lumber Jack's items. I figure the stranger might be an

obsessive compulsive, a control freak, or some kind of hyper active guy who actually needs the booze

so he can color inside the lines. On the other hand, he's got about ten thousand board feet worth of

sawdust settled in his hair and beard, a helluva sun tan, and he's built rock solid. Lumber Jack could be

a lumber jack, might work at Peterson's Lumber Yard, could be a house builder, cabinet maker, or

carpenter, so I ain't about to lay any money down on who this familiar stranger is or what he might do

to pay the bills.

Looking at it from in front of and behind the eight ball, I says to myself, whatever, it takes all kinds,

every color of the rainbow, variety is the spice of life, every drop a different flavor, geese, grapes,

groundhogs, guns, and gals, that's the glory and glamour of God's creation.

It all comes down to who ever Lumber Jack is, where ever he comes from, and whatever he does is ok

by me. So, I find the remote and change the TV station in my mind. Now I'm watching my joy, Ilse

Anne unbutton her blouse and my Levis in the kitchen of Phil's double wide. Me and Ilse Anne are

about to do it on the kitchen table a second time when Lumber Jack leaps into a gold medal winning

triple axel. After he spins and lands, his left eye holds me hostage in a stream of white light, his right

eye freezes Ilse Anne in a beam of blue.

Lumber Jack points at the beer and booze, "That ? That's for a little welcome home party I'm throwing

for myself. I've been away for awhile."

Ilse Anne says, "Well then welcome home soldier. Everyone in town, even the Chippewa up at the

Seven Clans Casino appreciates what you boys are doing in Eye Rock and Trashghanistan to keep Thief

River Falls a hummus free town."

Lumber Jack says, "If my enemies were that easy, I wouldn't have come back."

I ain't said a word, and I ain't about to because I'm still tuned in to the Ilse Anne Bergstrom Triple XXX

Variety Hour. I'm her only guest and co-star. In this episode, we walk into Jorma Lampinen's grocery

store. Jorma's not there, neither is his wife Jani, not one customer. Ilse Anne walks over to the freezer,

un-wraps a cherry popsicle, licks the popsicle, licks her lips, and says, "It's good but it doesn't taste as

sweet as yo" ........ Then, something crackles and my silver screen goes blank like a blizzard.

Lumber Jack shoots Ilse and me some pretty menacing eye tracers, shakes his head no. A few tears

form, fall, and disappear. Lumber Jack reaches into his shirt pocket, "Here, maybe this'll help both of

you. It saved my life. Because of this, I'm still alive." Lumber Jack hands me a religious tract that's


printed on egg yolk yellow paper, and the Dutch Master's mint panatela.

"Read it, Heed it, Feed it, and Weed it. Then you can smoke that Victory Cigar." Lumber Jack picks up

his welcome home party favors, and he's out the door quicker than butter dripping down an ear of hot

sweet corn.

I spread Lumber Jack's words of wisdom on the check out counter. Me and Ilse get an eyefull.

On page one ......

Christ is wind surfing on a magnificent cumulus cloud ...... He's wearing skin tight black and orange

tiger stripe Speedos. He's holding a cardboard sign ....... DESTINATION EARTH OR BUST ..... I'M

BAAAAACK BABY ! I'M ALL THE WAY BAAAAAACK ! BE PREPARED ..... NO DOUBT DOUBTERS THE END

TIMES ARE UPON US ...... ARE YOU READY ???

On page two ......

John Wayne is wearing a Jesus mask, Jesus is wearing a John Wayne mask. They're floating in mid air,

above the Arrowhead Drive-In marquee out on Route 32. Jesus and John have they're six shooters

drawn ..... They're wearing chaps, sparkling spurs, snakeskin boots, dusty denim, black Stetsons, and

red flannel shirts.

On the Arrowhead's marquee in pulsating gold letters ..... COMING SOON TO A THEATRE NEAR YOU

..... THE COMING ATTRACTION HELLYWOOD COULDN'T CREATE ..... THE COMING ATTRACTION OF ALL

TIME .... THE COMING ATTRACTION OF ALL COMING ATTRACTIONS ..... THE SEQUEL THE ENTIRE

WORLD HAS BEEN WAITING FOR ..... THE COMING ATTRACTION THAT WILL SMITE THE WORLD SIN

INDUSTRY AND BRING IT TO A CATACLYSMIC CLIMAX!!!!!

On page three .....

TICKETS FOR THE GLORY TRAIN ARE STILL AVAILABLE BUT GOING FAST. DON' T DELAY. DON'T BE

LEFT WAITING AT THE STATION !!!! CALL 1-800-I REPENT ..... NOW !!! OUR OPERATERS ARE

WAITING TO TAKE YOUR CALL !!!

On page four .....

THE QUESTION YOU AND ONLY YOU CAN ANSWER ...... WHERE WILL YOU SPEND ETERNITY ???

Well, I really believe God touched me or tapped me on the shoulder right then and there in front of Ilse

at the Shop & Sip because after I answered "WHERE WILL YOU SPEND ETERNITY ???" with ALL THE

WAY INSIDE ILSE FOR EVER AND EVER AMEN, something was revealed to me that I'd been wondering

about since I was smaller than a minnow ........ The true wonder of Wonder Bread is the millions of

people around the world who've been fooled into believing that Wonder Bread is really bread.

Now I wonder if he'd of done what he done way back when if all he had to work with was five loaves of

Wonder Bread and two cans of King Oscar Kipper Snacks in mustard sauce. If I ever run across Lumber

Jack again at Phil's, Deb's Snow Shoe Tavern or anyplace else, I'm gonna ask him.

Sunset Apples Segue Into Fireflies


Mike Montreuil, Canada

You Remember

You place your book on the living room table and take another sip of your afternoon tea. All is quiet

except for the drone of the ceiling fan. Across the room, there is the photo of a smiling little girl, role

playing with her small plastic phone. You clearly remember that afternoon, when you took your grand-

daughter's picture with the new camera she had just given you for Christmas.

a light flickers

your dog growls —

winter storm

Power has been cut-off. You have never been through this type of moment alone. But you remember

that in one of the kitchen cupboards, there is a flashlight, matches and candles. Everything is

happening like they said it would during that TV show you saw many years ago.

the wind howls

rain and snow

from a crueler place

You take a quick glance at the kitchen table and laugh at the bills lying beside a newly lit candle. Those

are things you would need to burn if the electricity does not return. In between gusts of wind, you

wonder what you should save, just in case. Should it be the flowers from your lover or the silver spoon

collection you cherish? You select a knife and Grandma's old tea pot. Moments later, loud noises are

heard from the neighbor's place an acre away. Then, all becomes quiet again.

A cold cup of tea —

an empty pop can rolls down the road


Linda Papanicolaou, USA

Rainbow

"David, look at your teacher and say good morning," his aide instructs him as they enter class.

Grasping his chin, she turns his face towards mine. Sometimes he greets me with a special fist bump

he reserves for those he likes and trusts, but this morning his eyes are already pulling him past me to

the origami paper.

waking moon

the little peace crane's

outspread wings


Zane Parks, USA

Ain't No Sunshine

As we watch from the balcony, a drake circles his mate. He watched as she settled into the grass and

with a flutter became still. At first we thought she was going to lay a clutch of eggs, but there's been

no movement for some time now. The drake circles her body again and again and then abruptly takes

wing.

cast on the pond

sack of new-born kittens

and nursing mom


Kala Ramesh, India

The Third Note

I was twelve years old when I first heard the musician, affectionately called Flute Maali, play. The

concert hall was packed, the silence complete, as we waited for that first note.

a firefly trails

the stillness of mountain treetops

It was a known fact that he often came onto the dais drunk. The flask from which he took frequent sips

was rumoured to be whiskey. Sometimes, he would arrive hours late, and after the long wait, it would

be announced that the musician had actually arrived and would be on stage in a few moments.

At times, if the quality of the first note was not to his liking, his face would droop with disappointment

and the audience would respond with a soft moan.

Today, his bamboo flute perfectly touches the third note on the scale, the majestic Gandhar. Emotions

leap in the silence after the note, as the musician gently coaxes the beauty of the raga into our very

being.

the sunflower faces the sun rises


Shirley Serviss, Canada

Another Man Bites the Dust

As I read the paper this morning I notice that a man with the last name "Dust" has died. I can't help

myself; I laugh. Ashes to ashes; dust to dust. Surely that's a line that can't be used at his funeral.

Dust was a man with a family and "it is with great sadness" that they "announce his passing."

Obituaries are published as advertisements in this newspaper so the wording provided is inviolate.

This was not the case in the small city where I worked as a reporter. There, they were printed as public

service announcements and I spent long afternoons in the empty newsroom killing everyone off in

good Canadian Press style. No one passed away, left peacefully, departed this vale of tears, went home

to Jesus or was called by the Lord to return to her eternal home. They died. I made sure of it as I

typed the obituaries sent to us from families and funeral homes.

dead

a four-letter word


Adelaide B. Shaw, USA

THE WOMAN IN PINK

In a café, a woman with long bleached hair, heavy make-up, dressed in pink: slacks, shirt, spiky

sandals. She reads aloud her horoscope.

“You will soon meet your dream man.”

Looking at her young son, she says, “Henry, you’re my dream man, aren’t you?”

Henry shrugs, frowns and walks away.

beading sweat

a teacup rattles on its saucer


Theresa Williams, USA

Spring Passage, May...

Traveling south to visit the gravesite of my husband's father, dead one year today: Now everything

reminds us of pilgrimage. The barn with "Jesus" painted on the roof, three crosses strung with white

lights near Sandy Creek in West Virginia, even the cottonwood seeds floating around our truck as we

wait in a traffic jam.

spring arrived here

some time ago the dying peonies


Carol Pearce-Worthington, USA

King of Light

Last skate of the night lights dimming without warning he swoops over to me goes down on one knee

and holds out his hand. His tan face is chiseled from the limestone of river bluffs. His skates gleam

white as mine in the artificial moonlight. I am 16. Mother has said stay away from him he's too old for

you. I take his hand. He pulls me into the pools of blue light that pour from the tent ceiling. We zoom

backward twirl forward dip into the center out around corners moving fast his hand gripping mine his

arm holding my waist spinning like dervishes forward backward laughing blue on my lips I don't care

blue whirling through my hair in this moonlight circle waltz I wish it would never end never I would

skate off with him anywhere. Anywhere. But the waltz is all too short; he drops my hand, my waist,

bows, turns, and speeds away into the crowd of nonlights of dark thoughts of time of years a road

where I can't follow turn spin or glide. I unlace my white skates, set them into their green metal case,

and flip the latches.

two crickets call

a door closes in the night hallway


Rafal Zabratynski, Poland

ASTEROID

Surfing through TV channels, I come across a programme on the circumstances of life's appearance on

the Earth. A scientist explains that life came into existence as a result of an asteroid plunging into an

ocean. That event generated sufficient energy to bond chemical elements of the ocean with the iron of

the asteroid which in turn caused the appearance of bricks of life — amino acids.

night spring rain

the pitter-patter between whispers


Seamless Light — An Autumn Renga

Introduction

The ever evolving inter-mingling-s, merging-s and fusions of infinite cosmoses of perception of infinite

nameless gestalts of cognitions, conjure every cosmic moment. In a sense of divine ecstasy we can

asseverate that every moment of this universe essentially involves the whole seamless universes of

eternity. Yet in the perfect uniqueness of each moment as revealed to each of us we discover the

universe again and again in innumerable ways. Great fortuitous events often align together surprising

us greatly and we have a haiku if we may tentatively find the words of expression.

Renga is essentially more and hence less probable: here two or more people align their perceptions to

create a sequence of ku also discovering (re-inventing) many subtler nuances of poetry by way of this

cosmic association. Positioned in the renga, the ku endows itself with an inner resonance enhanced by

the mutual assonance of the individual ku-s and the individual poetic dictions and directions of the

participating poets.

There is a hidden fatality involving many parameters that creates a Renga: how people meet and

collaborate to create a Renga. The internet has been a source of new impetus for Renga. because it

creates myriad possibilities of like-minded poets coming together.

Here in this case Rebba Singh and I (Narayanan Raghunathan) collaborated to create this renga. We

had known each other for about two years via our interactions on the site Wonder Haiku

Worlds. (http://www.wonderhaikuworlds.com/)

I invited Rebba to make the Hokku. We continued alternately. We did not adhere to the syllable

pattern of 5-7-5 followed by 7-7, since it would have made the whole process somewhat restrained and

awkward. We adhered to the format of three lines followed by two lines of various syllable patterns

mostly lesser than 5/7/5 and 7/7. This is especially relevant since Japanese ' on ' is a shorter sound

unit than a syllable as has been noted by various scholars. We continued for awhile and then I sent

Rebba my set of Haiku which I had written earlier using the kigo listed by William J. Higginson. This

helped us with a healthy use of autumn kigo-s. We decided to attempt the Hyakuin of 100 ku-s.

Two non-autumn kigo-s have prominently appeared in this renga: butterfly and rainbow. But in the

context we have granted them an autumn acceptability and a universal metaphysical one. We have

avoided repeating the same word in the few ku-s following every ku. We also allowed the use of the

same kigo after enough(!) length had passed on.

We have also rarely used two kigo-s in the same ku. We have completely avoided haramiku: a stanza

prepared beforehand. Tentatively, Iwas the sosho: sabaki and tried to remain as unobtrusive as

possible.

"The essence of renga is in the idea of "change" (henka). Basho described this as "newness"

(atarashimi), and as "refraining from stepping back." The fun is in the change, the new, the different,

and the interesting verses of others." We earnestly hope that you find this renga fresh and interesting,

mysterious reader incognito hiding in this vast universe!

Notes —

* renju: The members of a renga gathering.

* ichiza: Literally, "one seating". Describes the group when the renju are seated and the renga has

begun.

* sosho: May also be called sabaki. The coordinator of an ichiza, he or she is responsible for the

completion of a renga. Has the authority to dismiss an improper verse. The most experienced of the

renju should be the sosho to keep the renga interesting.

Reference —

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Renga

Narayanan Raghunathan

http://www.wonderhaikuworlds.com/

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Renga


Participants:

r: n:

Rebba Singh Narayanan Raghunathan

copper sky —

a yellow butterfly trails

the autumn breeze /r

a solitary gong echoes

on the green mountain /n

early sunset

sudden lightning reveals

unseen colours /r

a distant ship horns

dreams into the sky /n

nippy breeze

fluttering feathers

migrating birds /r

a rainbow arches

on the seamless ocean /n

a leaf anchors

on a placid thought

mermaid's den /r

autumn stream

ants on a long voyage /n

setting sun

marigold garland

on warm waters /r

vast starry ciborium

the last black coffee /n

young twilight

questions a lantern's glow

overnight journey /r

a full moon sky

a whispering river /n

pensive pearls

clasp a slender throat

pure serenity /r

diwaali fireworks

children scream light /n

cloudburst

fountains of sparklers

inky blue sky /r

camp fire crackling

pure mandolin notes /n


an era of light

meditative stars twinkle

lulling the mind /r

foggy dawn

butterflies appear disappear /n

marmalade

glows on crisp toast

chrysanthemums /r

jingling cow bells echo

in morning breeze /n

a wicker chair

by the tin shed, a chuckle

fresh water stream /r

aroma of potato stew

the cat sniffs grass /n

dash of cinnamon

in my tea

spoonful of sugar please /r

the milky way shifts

in the fragrant breeze /n

a devoted snail

caressing grounded leaves

finds a niche to sleep /r

pine crickets pine

for a hidden dawn /n

swaying grasses

beckon the heavens to walk

miles and miles /r

tattered lotus shines

a sun in the pond /n

amber winds brush

exotic orange skies

autumn deepens /r

morning birds sing

rice planting song /n

slight chill,

wrapped in a light green-shawl

rustling leaves /r

red dragonflies etch

vast labyrinth designs /n

remembering

last october again —

yellowing poplars /r

autumn drizzle


rainbow umbrellas /n

replacing

wooden clogs

with warm moccasins /r

a cloud conceals

the crescent moon /n

fluorescent road sign

arrow pointing nowhere

a herd of deer /r

verdant forest depths

insects astir in music /n

listening to

infinite raaga-s

mortals grasp immortality /r

at the end of the tunnel

a new autumn dawn /n

misty morn

a blue butterfly spreads

her luminous wings /r

orchids gather sunlight

for a lost spectral bird /n

flowering meadows

ageless bliss-space for

the flame children /r

wild temple bells blaze

in the autumn storm /n

at the deity's feet

a devotee weeps

for more and more /r

many fallen apples

a little girl picks up one /n

sipping cider

autumn's waters roll

a pebble's dream /r

seven dragonflies array

in a military formation /n

a quail in the garden

dusk descends before

my evening tea /r

falling willow leaves

raga desh on the flute /n [50]

morning glories

abloom in pure abandon —

a green butterfly /n


wading

sunlight playing

with wind in the reeds /r

a herd of deer move

across the twilight sky

a cool fragrance of light /n

chrysanthemums curl

softening spaces between /r

sunlight scatters

breeze on violet flowers

refreshing coffee /n

dewy moss

soothing bare

feet /r

a snail descends

the golden mountain

a parrot ascends air /n

braiding

knotgrass

counting days into weeks /r

sardines dreaming

infinity in magic waters

endless rhythms /n

velvety darkness deepens

a maroon cock's-comb's feel /r

incense breeze

infinite flame temples

under the stars /n

crickets' silences

a symphony of light /r

tattered lotus blooms

golden sunlight

dazzles

the vast universes /n

pears with cream choclate

children off to school /r

migrating birds

at the forest pond

shuffling sunlight /n

picking mushrooms

parasols close leaning precariously /r

rice-fields flow

as green breeze shifts

cosmic directions /n

wagtails arrive

tipping staccato octaves /r


a crow sits onvtop

of a mountain of potatoes

a cow wags its tail /n

ripening breeze

herons wait

expectantly /r

harvest moon

one-handed old man

plays a toy harp /n

above closed

eyes

orchids branch anew, sun pruned /r

daylight lightning

the drizzle winds free

in cold sunlight /n

blue bell flowers bow

chiming in ones and twos /r

many-red sky

an autumn sun dissolves

in the ocean hum /n

the remaining heat

green birds in

evening calm /r

a snail still

on the moss wall

aroma

of baking bread /n

gazing at sun warmed tiles

a rich autumn tan /r

first rice cooked

in saffron nut-paste

(with paneer kofta) /n

brussels sprouts salad

and a diet coke sigh /r

an ant stands

on a mushroom

head

surveys his universe /n

fallen leaves soak

in god-touched dew /r

autumn contemplation

memories of childhood

with my brother now gone /n

woven straw

a soft glow the colour of dreams /r


reed cutting

wild winds echo

a vast epiphany /n

irrepressible flames

stretch this autumn waltz /r

a scarecrow

watches over

haystacks

crows peck randomly /n

strumming on leafless trees

a sunlit serenade /r

crickets' crazy

symphony

the crescent moon

on the breeze mountain /n

orange desert sunset blooms

mizmaze of sacred dreams /r

morning glories

blaze divine

music

temple bells echo /n

trailing a cosmos of light

on seamless sands of time /r

autumn waters

we drink the water

from the silvery stream /n

the ambrosial nectar

flows from him, only him /r

last geese

at the kitchen window

she scatters

paddy grains /n

closing the autumn ku-book

I place a red maple leaf here! /r

orchid farm

dragonflies breeze light

on rainbow wings /n

it's a long long night

dimming the lamplight /r

traversing infinite

milky way universes

we reach our home /n

flowering meadow

all dancing like children /n&r


Over the Cherry Trees


A spring one line junicho begun 13 and completed 23 April 2010.

Our hokku is a haiku by Taneda Santoka translated by Valeria Simonova-Cecon.

Sabaki:

Renju

val:

s:

v:

a:

j: o:

Valeria Simonova-Cecon

Valeria Simonova-Cecon, Italy

Svetlana Kiolo, Russia

Veronika Ikonnikova, Russia

Asya Delone, Russia

Juli Shurhina, Ukraine Olga Shovman, Israel/UK

over the cherry trees in full bloom a prison /Taneda Santoka

long spring empty conversations /val

at night on the crossroad I sow dragon teeth /v

a horse snorts in dead silence /s

the wind is bringing mint scent sage scent /o

down the hipline the myrrh trickles /a

longed-for intimacy my heart gripped in languor /j

moonlight dispels the mist inside me /a

some chanterelles in the green moss what a joy! /o

tram bell outside... just a dream? /j

matrix has you white frost on the window /v

off to work locking the inner world /s


Cherry Blossom

The form is a four verse renku pattern called a Yotsumono ('Four

Topics').

Composed at The Haiku Bandit Society May 14th - May 24th

2010

jm:

jec: l:

John Merryfield, USA

John Carley, England Lorin Ford, Australia

cherry blossom

drifts by my mouth

and disappears /jm

loving every moment

a mayfly /jec

each and every

glass of water

full of gratitude /jm

the syrup all spun

into fairy floss /l


Strung Out

The form is a four verse renku pattern called a Yotsumono ('Four Topics').

Composed at The Haiku Bandit Society May 14th - May 24th 2010

jm:

jec: l:

John Merryfield, USA

John Carley, England Lorin Ford, Australia

all the blackbirds

eye balling each other

strung out /jm

surfing debt on a

slow fuse to China /jec

satellite dishes

pointing south

dance with the stars /jm

etched on the emu's egg

yam dreaming /l


Winter Whites and Cool Silences

(A modern Hyakuin)

Sabaki:

Renju

n: r:

Narayanan Raghunathan

Narayanan Raghunathan Rebba Singh

winter drizzle —

a child's cry from

far far away /n

withered lotus floats

on a bed of yellowing leaves /r

returning flowers

a golden dawn arises

in stray birds' songs /n

short day spent arguing

lingering taste of coffee /r

cold breeze

brings a twilight sun

fragrant light echoes /n

bed bugs in the forest rest house

sleeping on the floor /r

withered field

a green bird pecks

the morning earth /n

aroma of sasanqua

in bowls of vermillion tea /r

wild ducks

wade, the jungle-river

sunlight on water /n

winter night tossing turning

waiting for it to get bright /r [10]

distant temple bells

last yellow butterfly

in first snow /n

shutting windows

keeping out the north wind /r

breeze shifts angles

on winter-grasses

still little green here and there /n


icy shower chatters teeth

peeling drenched clothing /r

fireplace

Dhrupad in bhoop

with pine fragrance /n

moaning and groaning

the tree witherer repents /r

sunlight shifts in a cool breeze

a horned grebe

chick on its back /n

bare limbs

little spring spreading its december wings /r

porridge with raisins

distant Himalaya's shine

ancient dreams anew /n

tea flowers, tea leaves

flock in the cup patiently /r [20]

she scatters grains

for the cold sparrows

joyous twittering /n

the road inches closer

the foot of winter mountains /r

twilight sun

on the distant cottage

rainbow on snow /n

shuffling through his letters

finds one that makes her weep /r

fallen leaves drift

along the cool stream

sound of water /n

bulrushes in the breeze

water-fowl...hide and seek /r

an eagle lands

takes off into the sky

a still windmill /n

oysters clamp their laughing

mouths...clap an oceanic jig /r

frost on the glass window

she draws a mickey mouse

makes a face at him /n

shadows waltz the winter grove

stepping on each others toes /r [30]

morning coffee

ancient dreams turn into


a cool breeze /n

the sun shines warmth

into the terracotta bird-bath /r

himalayan breeze

echoes vast snowlight

valley of late flowers /n

eternity breathing

eternal breath by just being /r

infinite universes

erupt in pure joy

endless beginnings /n

flock of sun-birds twitter

in sunlight and fresh air /r

seamless snow

churchbells echo

an ode to infinity /n

faint hum of mantarams

playing on a husky breeze /r

infinite flames

dance cool rainbow hymns

many butterflies too /n

gentle waves lap the shores

in depths of promises /r [40]

Christmas stars

balloons and children

midnight carols /n

leafless trees lit along branches

walk arm in arm /r

morning mist

the santa-claus plays

the lute and sings /n

under the fir tree

a single anklet /r

bonfire flames

ancient dreams flutter

new golden wings /n

a chill in the air

warmth within /r

winter moon still

in the pond

he sings darbari kanada /n

trying to silence her anklet

tiptoes from tree to tree /r

mandarin ducks


dance in twilight fog

sunlight in waters /n

a long night ahead

nothing but temple bells /r [50]

sandalwood incense

swirling heavenward

as sacred dreams ascend /r

astral ciborium whirls rhythms

in spiralling formations /n

jasmines tremble

on silky hair as she sings

perfect metrical airs /r

winter rains and lightning

the silent organ moans /n

mystical tunes

himalayan dawn-light

echoes vast silences /r&n

the valley of flowers

covered with snow /n

a trickle of water

glowing in cool light

a rare bird lands /r

a child draws a circle

smiles at the sky /n

clouds of mist drift

with the breeze caressing

rosy cheeks /r

winter mountains

the path winds on and on /n [60]

I stop occasionally

to pick daises...forgetting

its not the season /r

temple festival

dance to drums and trumpets /n

the elephant lifts

his trunk to a bejewelled forehead

in salaam /r

mountain bridge

all becomes nearly invisible /n

thick fog

I walk in circles looking

for my ancient guide /r

a horse and rider

appear from the sky /n


her ruby red dress

caught on a thorn

droplets of blood /r

Christmas lights

the silence of the stars /n

warmth of a manger

adorable smiles

mother and child /r

wise men from the east

with incense and henna /n [70]

kneeling down

looking closer

miracles never cease /r

Bethlehem to Golgotha

the endless parable /n

walking on water

on the deep seas

deeper yet to see /r

John is murdered

The veil of Jerusalem rips asunder /n

it is foretold:

yet few take heed

of the divine word /r

crown of thorns adorns

agony of Magdalene /n

first witness

to the resurrection

devotion redeems /r

another Christmas over

the star still glitters /n

riding free

under the sacred blue moon

the new year breeze /r

first dawn unfolds

the vast new cosmos /n [80]

with His grace

seeing all in all

all ways /r

first purchase

apples for the children /n

watching roses

budding to bloom

fog swirls on dew /r

new-year sun

God it is not green! /n


icy cold waters

babbler sits on the edge

should I should I not... /r

first dream

endless voyages /n

waiting waiting

waters surge forth

then ebb away /r

first coffee

the white swan still /n

fresh green peas

pinch of hing & chopped ginger

frying with puffed rice /r

withering lotus

new shoots in the pond /n [90]

the sun stays longer

just when I think

it is gone /r

early plum blossoms

early twittering birds /n

yellowing mustard

flowers make me sneeze

remembrances /r

basant panchami

distant dholak rhythms /n

step after step

with the resonant beat

thawing snow streams /r

icicles drip in light

invoke a liquid silence /n

one cricket, then two

then all together

ecstatic in chorus /r

isle of the blessed

beatific Buddhas in bliss /n

gently swaying

in the twilight breeze

sunny moon beams /r

pebble on water circles

then an eternal stillness /n [100]


Toes in the Sand

A Shisan Renga

Composed during the Bath Japanese Festival with Writing Events Bath in May 2010.

Bath Literature Festival (May 2010) Literature Director: Alan Summers.

Sabaki:

Scribe:

Renju

Alan Summers

Susan Shand

Frances Trosborg

Ailín Kelleher

Julie Dimond

Liz Brownlee

Elanora Ferry

Margaret Beverland

Karen Hoy

Susan Ashworth

Alex Wilson

Jude Higgins

Olivia Minton

toes in the sand

near the sea looking

on the horizon

the bubble and hiss

of the coffee

a sparrow

waits

for my crumbs

roadsweeper

shares a crafty fag

at the back

of the Royal Crescent

lights go out

new uniforms and pencil cases

last night

I dreamt I went to Mr B's

brown paper and sealing wax

"never let me go"

Kazuo Ishigura

a different sort of love

is

forbidden colours

on the way to the match

always smiling

http://www.mrbsemporium.com/

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Never_Let_Me_Go


a stolen hour

in the shadow

of Hawthorn

wind it up

and close the door


Pathways Renga

This renga was created July 19th, 2009 in a National Health Service (NHS) Medium Secure Unit

with Alan Summers as sabaki, and artist and nesa Development Worker

Deborah Aguirre Jones as renga scribe.

The renga was composed by residents and staff members.

squatting

the frog observes

the clouds

Chiyo-ni (1703-1775)

daffodils

as they blow in the wind

comforting rain

beating

on the window

before the chance

has passed

you are

my heart's

desire

you're all loved up

then you’re down

a drag of a cigarette

and smoke fades in the light

wet leaves

soon be Hallowe'en

crocuses

beneath

the full moon

coffee brewing

time for a chat

big lunch

yum yum yum

burp

walking free

you blossom like a rose


Geert Verbeke - Flanders, Belgium

notes from the gean - the haiku foundation – test distracted by the murmur of my heart brendan...

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