Rituals
Small house. Narrow space. Competing schedules. When the day comes to an end, I carry my three-year old into a dark room where, more often than not, his older sister is already asleep, turn my phone’s flashlight on, and choose a book … or two … or three.
light reading
under the blanket tent
brown bear brown bear
Waiting
Car parked on the side of the road, I wait for my wife to finish work. Sometimes it takes five minutes. Sometimes ten. Next to a cinder block wall that hides a cemetery, there is an old tree. It leans slightly to the right, out over the road. Its roots buckle and crack the sidewalk that was paved around it. I look at it. It looks back. A gentle wind stirs.
quiet today
the old tree
waves to me
Muddy
Driving, everything that I want to say, falls into place. Then, in the space it takes to walk from my car and into the house, everything comes undone.
the slow drizzle of rain
one by one my words
become a puddle
This
Cold in the long shadows, I shiver, my head down, watching the quick feet of my dog. He doesn’t stop to smell anything. He just scurries forward, occasionally looking back, as if to say, Can we go home yet? Sure, I think. Why not. And then …
greeting me
as I turn the corner
morning sun
Limits
Talking. Yelling. Laughing. Playing. Dawn to Dusk. All day long. Endless conversations and monologues. Statements of appeal: Daddy, look at me. Daddy, look at me. No, Daddy, look at me. But suddenly, all that noise is muted.
the silence that falls
between hungry kids …
late lunch
Pit Stop
How many times have I seen them and not noticed them? Not noticed them? More like forgotten about them. Or not paid attention to them. That seems more accurate. How many times have I seen them, stood on them, walked over them, and not paid attention to them? Countless times. And then today, for some reason, here they are, louder than ever. And I find myself thinking, It’s so hard to believe that all of that really happened.
stickers on the floor …
reminders of
social distancing
Rusted
Living halfway around the world from where I grew up, sometimes I am stunned by the similarities that, out of nowhere, present themselves. A sudden smell. A random song. An awkward social interaction. A new but old product. A popular TV show. The merging of traffic. Trending ideologies. Etc.
old train tracks …
leading me back
to my childhood
All poems and images are original. If you have any comments, feedback, or suggestions, please feel free to share them.
to and end *typo <3
Not on your work! Your words are too beautiful for typos.
*nods... still reading
Typos? Here? You must be crazy!-)
Thanks for pointing them out. It’s amazing how good they are at hiding in plain site.
I'll do my best to be your other eyes
Sometimes eyes can be flaky
Same when I am out walking. But you say it better <3
You always make me wistful, pensive and weepy in the best possible way.
Such talent.
Keep writing 🌱
*typo - "sometimes I (am) stunned" & A(n) awkward social interaction
That’s such a nice thing to say. Thank you!
Stunning. You make the mundane stretch of a domestic life beautiful. The silence in between the shouting kids, the demands. Echoes of the past - I still get annoyed if people stand an inch behiind me, silently screaming THERE ARE FUCKING STICKERS, DUDE! You speak to how our thoughts drift even whilst busy with the day to day - into history, poetry, beauty - and death.
These days, I feel like I’m spending a little too much time in the drift. Being present is sometimes a springboard into the imagination:-)
It very much is. Less phones, more daydream in the spaces between..
Good to see you back! I love the explanation followed by the poetry, very interesting and makes it very clear. That last one I truly understood, having lived many years of my life overseas the smallest thing can trigger memories of your past from childhood. It's the weirdest thing, but I still have it happen today! Life passes by so quickly, it's hard to believe so many years have already passed!
Those sudden trips to the past or to things associated with a life lived before moving abroad are generally powerful and often surreal. They make you realize how just how much you’ve done.
The second half of life … or third … or quarter … let’s enjoy it.
I love reading these. I love the setups and the words below them.
Thanks. I’m always torn about adding the lead-ins because I want the poems to stand in their own, but in this blog post format, I’ve come to feel that the lead-ins are necessary.
I hope they’re written in a way that doesn’t take away from the poems. Sometimes it’s hard for me to tell.
It doesn't take away from the poems for me, in fact, I love it done this way. It's almost like seeing an artist's art process, you get a glimpse of where the final product came from, where the artist's mind was at the time of creation.
box car blue
words settle
thoughts whirl
Let's make sure we do remember, so we are not so stupid as to allow it all to happen again.
Unfortunately, the truth tellers will sound like lunatics and those who haven’t already had the experience themselves will play their part again … at some point.
If the same thing starts happening again this decade, we might see a different outcome. That would be interesting, but probably not very peaceful.
I believe the event was conditioning, among other things. Folks did stuff that harmed themselves and their children and their businesses,their schools, their communities. It will be easy to get us to do that again, we've been trained. I will have to be louder in my objections, and bolder in my non-compliance. Last time, even though I didn't do all that nonsense, I also kept my mouth somewhat shut when I saw the hostility I received.
It is so nice to have your work to savor again.
This was beautiful. I was caught up in the relatable rhythm. Creative non-fiction meets poetry. I've not seen this done before. It's a highly effective framework, and creative tool. Your post moved me - made me wistful... and I'm still very much living this life with two teenage boys.
Haibun is a very old art form. I won’t pretend to know all the details of it or its history, but I’m pretty sure it’s as old as haiku itself. @dbooster is the guy to ask about that.
Two teenage boys, you’re head must be spinning;-)
I’m glad to hear this made you wistful. You’re the second person to have used that word. It strikes me as quite the compliment. Thank you!
It really is wistful. I had this sense of longing for and missing something I hadn't lost yet... it was more a sense of time passing and knowing my kids are growing up so fast - wanting to hold on to every moment and make it last. So proud of their growing independence, yet feeling that tug and ache as you realise you are not needed in the same way anymore. Each time they 'change' it's like saying goodbye to a version of them and me that I won't see again. So, there is a reminiscence that overlays the excitement of new things and the new ever-growing little people I get to know all over again. Time stretchers required, please! That's just how your post hit for me... Be mindful of every moment - including every lego-trodden squeal - It's bitter-sweet this parenting thing :-)
I had not heard of Haibun before - I am definitely going to explore that. I love learning new things, so thank you so much for sharing this.
I have always liked 'haiku' but had never heard of 'haibun' before today. I like these, very much! Even the prose seems to have a gentle rhythm to it, and expresses so much in so few syllables. I am grateful to @riverflows for reblogging, as this post was one of the highlights of my day! 😊
Wow. Thank you. Writing and sharing is such a funny thing. Why do we do it? I don’t know. Is it worth the time it takes (and sometimes heartache)? I don’t know.
Lately, I’ve been subscribing more and more to the idea that we all have unique perspectives and experiences and if we don’t share them, those perspectives and experiences that are uniquely ours will disappear from the world forever, never to return again. In that sense, it’s almost our duty to create and share those creations.
Your comment seems to validate this way of thinking.
Haibun, as far as I know, is as old as haiku itself. I think that it encompasses basically any kind of prose that is paired with one or more haiku, but to be honest, I’m not entirely sure.
I’m not a stickler for rules.