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GHAZALS
PAN YARD LIME* 2005
gillena cox
January, the moon's full in the night sky
Smaller lights of twinkling stars
A cooling gentle breeze
Intimates his aftershave cologne
Pulsating sounds from the steel band
In the pan yard filling the night space
The rich blend of food and prattle
Excites every music connoisseur's palate
Conscious, each of one's own space
Yet unconsciously swaying to this one rhythm
Communion of pan music
Season of Carnival
His empty plate, except for a few grains of rice
Tonight's moon is still a full moon
*The word "Lime" is used here in the Trinidad and
Tobago dialect sense, and it refers not to a fruit, but to an activity of
people getting together in common consensus to have fun. See this link for
more "Trini" dialect
words.
NIGHT GHAZAL
Abra (Barbara Mackay)
Come, take my hand and we will walk the elbow of night
I will lead you beyond blackness into the glow of night.
In the east a glacier appears and walks forward on the land
white and blue icebergs glitter as the sun nips the toe of night.
In the framed mirror I watch myself dance the fandango
I am naked and wanton protected by the soul of night.
How is it that I have come to love what I once feared
those ghosts and goblins formed by the shadows night.
Once I had a great love who walked across the sky
by day, now he lives in the hollow of night.
Crows wing in and perch on the limbs of a tree and I
Abra glimpse their blackness just before the swallow of night.
EXODUS
Ruth Holzer
Shmuel-called-Shepsel, he got out,
far from the Tsar when the Great War broke out.
Bumping under burlap sacks on the road to Yashinovka,
through rain and flame, Chaya got six children out.
Her parents, may peace be upon them,
lay in the Goniadz graveyard, a narrow way out.
Pioneer cousins tugged on their boots,
hiked to distant Palestine, singing their way out.
The last horse in the village stumbled and balked,
but pulled the wagon of life, bringing invisible Ruth out.
TURNING THIRTEEN
Sue Stanford
over the puddles, over summer clouds
cricket cheers reverberate: the lingering light
the last daydreamer rehearses a love scene
startled, she slips the words up her sleeve
cheap mascara reddens her eyes
at the year end disco girls dance with girls
that song, she feels as though she had written it
MSN, the art teacher's pregnant
a tampon explodes in a jar of tap water
mixed feelings she marks off the end of Term Four
crossroads: which way did they go?
for an instant a baton connects separating runners
HAIBUN
JERSEY DEVIL
Robin M. Buehler
Cursed is thee; this child within. Not even planned, yet it grows!
It grows, and I count the days. The days 'til I rid thee from me, flesh
of my flesh. Bone of my bone. This thirteenth child I wish gone
from me.
cursed since conception
Mother Leeds' thirteenth child
grows inside
Leaves rustle, giving way to his first taken steps. Be gone, wretched
creature. I cast my eyes away from thee, never to lay them on thy
winged and hoofed limbs. Be gone, I say! Be gone from my sight!
He flies
deep into the woods
forever damned
My thirteenth child. What have I done? But to cast thee
out into the New Jersey wilderness and defend thyself,
alone. What will come of thee?
He lives on,
if only in folklore,
the Jersey Devil
THE MOGAMI
C W Hawes
A night of rain in early July. The windswept torrents beat against the
eastern windows, accompanied by occasional booms of thunder and brilliant
flashes of lightning. I am reading Basho's Oku no Hosomichi while
drinking cherry-flavored green tea. When I reach the part where the poet
writes of the Mogami River, my wife calls to me from the basement asking me to
help her bail water.
streams swollen
with heavy summer rains -
my leaky house!
NIAGARA FALLS
Robin D. Gill
like water off
a whale’s tail
And a Japanese dressed all in white praying for something stands on the sea
surface below . . .
like brushwork
rain pours down from
the whale’s tail
When it rains, it pours! I imagine Japanese in a Hiroshige print or a
Hokusai with clothing held over their heads in a run for shelter and, yes, a
photo of a Morton Salt container in a whale’s tail montage.
the whale’s tail
has anyone called it
a time-rain?
A whaling dingy would not make much of a yadori for that shigure
but, anyway, the water from a whale’s tail could fill a book of poetry
couldn’t it!
ISSA JOINS A HAIKU GROUP
Mary King
Hello, my name is Kobayashi Issa and I am a new member to this group. I
would like to humbly offer this haiku:
The moon and flowers,
forty-nine years,
walking around, wasting time.
C&C is always appreciated.
Sincerely,
Issa
Hello, Issa, and welcome to the group. May I say respectfully that it
sounds as if the moon and flowers have been walking around and wasting time
for forty-nine years. Perhaps they have but that probably is not what
you had in mind. Maybe if you were to rewrite it as follows:
my hometown
many cousins -
peach blossoms
Feel free to discard this suggestion if it does not suit. Must go
now--I think I may be coming down with a cough.
Best regards,
Shiki
Dear Issa, may I echo the welcoming words of my good friend, Shiki. I
just love your haiku, how long have you been writing? Since you've asked
for c&c, I will suggest just this very tiny adjustment to what you've
written:
The butterfly is perfuming
its wings in the scent
of the orchid
I have tried to keep the gist of what you were saying, while adding what I
think might give it just a bit more interest. But as my good friend
Shiki said, this suggestion is yours to keep or discard. I'm sorry I
can't write more at the moment, but there is a humungous frog that keeps
jumping into the pond and the splashing noise is driving me crazy.
All the best,
Basho
Dear Issa my man,
As I was saying to Dean in another life on another plane entirely, you can't
have birth without existence and you can't have death without birth. So
just relax, have another drink and it will come to you. Or maybe it
won't but being there is the same as not being there.
Catch you on the rebound,
Jack Kerouac
Dear Shiki, Basho, and Mr. Kerouac,
Thank you all for your most interesting comments and suggestions. They were
all very helpful to me, and I may just adopt one or two. I'm enjoying
reading all of the work posted here and hope to post another haiku tomorrow,
if time permits. You know how it is, though: moon, plum blossoms, this,
that, and the day goes.
All the best,
Issa
SEQUENCES
FOUR SEDOKA
Don Ammons
From a dreamed silence
an unseen hand brushes my cheek.
"Yes," her eyes smile. "I am here."
Heat spirals me down,
a moth to flame, an ego
burnt to smoldering, white-gray ash.
Summer rain splatters
asphalt, rivers of oily grime
down culverts. I lift my face
to sky, rain; close my
eyes, try to forget the street
paved city – country clay roads
Yellow rape fields. Flat.
Climbing hills. Falling away.
Bright yellow glaring eyes. And
over yellow fields
a strong sulfur smell of burnt
coal – Yellow flaming yellow!
From a restless sleep
the icy touch of a black
shrouded shade chills me awake.
"Who are you?’ "Regret."
A long silence. The clock ticks.
I wait. Finally – "Which one?"
AFTER "RECESS REMEMBERED"
A pastel by J. G. McGill
Richard N. Bentley
The country schoolyard
Contains three worlds:
Night, day and the twilight
Within the night.
The passions and aspirations
Of children at recess
Move among the swings
With malevolence and power.
Leapfrog. Jumprope. Hopscotch.
Open graves. No one has
A shape or a color, or a name.
Our imagery breaks down.
See the moon shining
On the broken schoolhouse roof.
You adore the vision, but
You will be startled
Less by the vision than
By your remembrance of a scream
Heard in a dark stairwell
Fifty years ago.
A JUNE OF TANKA
Tom Clausen
my eye comes to rest
on a hole in the tree,
perhaps made by a woodpecker
this way an emptiness
finds me here and there
a storm coming up
and as I take in
the laundry off the line
it occurs to me
this is a moment to savor
I remind my son
that generally I try
to get along with everyone
and avoid fights
and no, I can't "take him"
this ebb and flow
of cards playing War
with my daughter...
I can't see the woman
she will become
yes, when I just work
for my family
it sort of works
but when I don't work for them
it doesn't work!
amazing to think that once
I had time in my life
to lay out sunbathing,
totally oblivious to
what on earth I was doing
LILAC BANNER
Elizabeth Howard
at the Hiwassee Refuge
a whooping crane
comes and goes with the sandhills
yet the big white body
belies its disguise
Canada goose
perches on the railing
one leg tucked up, heron-like--
sudden sunspots on the lake
blot its silhouette
sandhill cranes
high in the sky
trailing a lilac banner
announcing spring--
my scarf waves at them
plastic bags
hung in the barbed wire
wings flap in the wind
snowy egrets
dancing
like broad-winged hawks
cranes form a kettle
seem directionless
yet wind northward
in tune with destiny
SEASONS OF HEALING
Laryalee Fraser
obituary –
words hover over
my coffee cup
I reach for the telephone
swallowing the taste of guilt
painting the porch
where our laughter once circled
my arm stretches –
between these peeling boards
the soft brush of an echo
play time
with my grandchildren
drawing pictures
I paint my own childhood
in brighter colors
this slow journey
feeling my way through shadows
gold forsythia
frames your photo, announcing
a new season of healing
folds of sunlight
in a peach-tipped rose
her shy smile
with grandmotherly pride
I focus the camera
LEAVING MONTARA
Ruth Holzer
the cabbie waits –
we finish
a long goodbye
eucalyptus too –
it must give way
to freeway
changing my flight –
tricky game
of aircraft roulette
another
limp salad –
stuck in Dallas
landing at midnight –
how cold
it is here
ECLIPSE OF THE HEART
Thelma Mariano
at first light
I awaken in your arms
remembering
all those deliberations
and my plan to say goodbye
thoughts of you
as he saunters towards me
a black cat
now lying at my feet
wanting to be stroked
those age-old questions
about love surface again
the river tonight
as inky as the moon
now in full eclipse
if the night could speak
it would whisper your name
instead this silence
as I lie next to you
wishing for what you cannot give
the low timbre
of your voice in the darkness
of my room
leaves a resonance
long after you are gone
missing you
even though it's over
I walk past
the frozen patch of ground
where I last saw roses bloom
MOU OSHIMAI DA
Tim McGovern
Koibito,
snow falls
on the stone lantern,
and I whisper
"cherry blossoms".
In my palm
my offering
melts,
gone with a breath
like a dream of you.
Aijinchan,
all I can offer
will vanish,
shall we be
snowflakes together?
LATE SHOW
Kevin Paul Miller
night in the city
on a crowded street
fedoras and fenders
hardboiled detective
standing in the shadows
lights another Lucky
Friday night fights
bums eating
leather
high on a rooftop
beat poets write wild verse
jazz fills the air
sirens mix
with saxophones
the city never sleeps
WEATHER PATTERNS
Dru Philippou
teenage boys
midges swarming
in the humid air
chameleon mimics wind
trembles down
the coral’s mouth
Lobo Peak
lonely hiker
howling in the mist
rain on corrugated roof
a hundred scuttling
fiddler crabs
peeling onions
layer by layer
weeping you in winter
compost pile
last year’s rotted wishes
spring to life
NOW AND THEN A GLIMPSE
Carol Purington
Sixteen candles
the gift of singleness placed
in my hands by God
wrapped in stiff paper
tied with white ribbon
Rain lands softly
on the black lamb's fleecy back
no sunrise
this Easter morning
but the empty tomb
Now and then a glimpse
on a dutiful postcard
snowcapped mountains
shining with the brightness
of the face of God
A west wind
shudders the farmhouse
I feast on comfort food
beside the garden catalogs
a book about heaven
Moonlight
and the white of snow-smooth fields
I've said goodnight
found forgiveness
for the day's crooked trail
SAMPLING
Werner Reichhold
preset curvature
at the East-West parable
light distortions
tales lure my finger
to a dimmed screen
a new password curls up
on the tip of a touch
presidential preference
the cursor's menu
points to insecurity
what you follow in fog
is not a firefly
it's the winged move
of a banana moon
peeling itself out of light
then almost dark
Euphrates & Tigris
keep washing waters
the cradle's red cedar
swings sleep on a baby's eye
eye of a Sufi
neither blink nor a linear
astonishment
on a sandy stage the dancers'
whirl well beyond slow oil.
WOODEN SEAT
Anna Rugis
Part 3
he never looked up
until that solar eclipse
but she was lonely
a dangerous companion
she made him do it
in five hundred years
when they have learned to bargain
there’ll be a title
and it will be the searching
that they don t think of
on this wooden seat
he will build they tell stories
it s just an impulse
to have somewhere to put them
everything glistens
HERE
Anna Rugis
my saints and I live
under a tree and
drink with owls
we do this because
we are no longer
insecure
we are beautiful
in accordance, we
change ourselves
we no longer need
houses with sound roofs
as rain falls
straight through our beauty
the
recognition
seen by
light
THIS IS HOW YOU CHANGE
Anna Rugis
the curve of my hands
the elegance
of fern fronds
a position of
poise preceding
non-action
I ask for guidance
turn the palms upward
my disconsolence
two shallow pools in
the half light
put away your tools
in time to gather
a new dew
you can be one of
a new breed who can
transform it
into a sweet grace
and something tender
like water cress
the weeds and the stones
you used to banish
will come back
and bless you with their
moans of gratitude
and relief
you see how it is?
all your unyielding
vanities
have blunted your will
sharpened your wish
to remove
any last tension
a hatchet through
spider web
when the animal
begins to glow like
Apollo
and the hunter and
the gatherer have
digested
they will fall into
a kind of slumber
be dissolved
another degree
of the same process
into light
this is how you change
turn your hands into
cockle shells
I'M NO RIVER
R.K. Singh
The sun couldn't help
nor fish protest:
river has no sex
so it dried up
trapped in its own banks
The otter watches
a duck walking on
the frozen river
icicles drop bit by bit
from a lone tree
At the river
she folds her arms and legs
resting her head
upon her knees and sits
as an island
I couldn't understand
what's Hindu about having
fish and onion
after prayers by the river
in the temple courtyard
I'm no river
flowing toward the sea:
I must find my way
asking strangers in strange places
sensing soul, using insight
SHADOW OF AGE
R.K. Singh
Enveloping
all of the moon at night –
white chrysanthemums
the half moon
on her neck reminds of love
before departure
the sun not yet set
but the full moon rises
as if in a hurry
a star shines bright
beside the crescent moon
she fakes a smile
shadow of age
on the wall –
second full moon
whiteness of the moon
and rocks howl with the wind
December in the veins
after the party
empty chairs in the lawn –
new moon and I
the sky couldn't retain
all of the moon now entering
my house through the window
setting moon
leaves behind sparkle
on the waves
noisy birds
don't let me sleep:
midnight moon.
graphic by John M. Bennett
AUTUMN LEAVES: JAZZ POPS FOR JACK
First String
Richard Stevenson
Zucchini chubber!
From across the alley
guitar runs and riffs
"So What?"
The languid hips in it –
that’s it!
The emerald hour
Coltrane stretches the notes
on "Miles’ Mode"
Coals to Newcastle
a paper wasp with green plans
in a rolled leaf
apples pink-cheeked
plump finches titter a bit,
peck out the bass
cymbal sizzle breeze
blue jay screeches wee-eee! wee-ee!
and down come the leaves
Heads up, Ornette!
Autumn leaves got nothin’
on blue boppin’ jay!
softer than cymbals
splayed sprinkler streams
on zucchini leaves
Turn down the blaster!
Rap’s got nothin’ on
this sprinkler patter
quick pitter patter
around the kit, this sprinkler’s
chick a chick so-oo hip!
a stiff breeze
red-cheeked apples
drop snicker snack
rock in the park
action dachshund’s just gotta
do his solo too!
rock steady dachshund
you just can’t compete
with electric blues
Second String: Coltrane Pops
Coltrane’s "Greensleeves"
the old cat curls up
next to my laptop
Coltrane’s soprano
searching among chords
cat’s ears swivel too
The classic quartet’s
"It’s Easy To Remember"
old cat’s eyes close
‘Trane’s "Out of This World"
keeps the cat’s ears piqued
and peepers open
Tyner comps under
the silver splash of cymbals,
Coltrane’s alley sax
searching paper bags and cans
out in these mean bass streets
Tyner’s finch fingers
titter in the cymbal splash
of falling waters
while ‘Trane’s tenor weeps
of home from a farther shore
‘Trane’s acetylene torch
slowly seals seams of "Miles’ Mode"
this gun metal day
‘Trane! You’re so sly
even the discordant notes don’t
make the cat’s ears flinch
Tyner cavorts now
cat’s ears trained
on the laptop fence
Rim shot! Cymbal splash!
Cat’s ear pivots toward
the sun-splashed shores.
Who’s rowing this awful boat
toward the Godhead now?
Tyner comps
under scintillating cymbal splash,
bass’s heron reach
Coltrane mellow on
"Nancy ( With The Laughing Face)"
cat stretches a paw
What’s new? Honey?
Cat’s pure marmalade
in his jar of dreams.
Coltrane’s tenor torch probes
for holes between the notes
"Up Against The Wall"
the classic quartet acquits it –
self most seamlessly
Trane’s tenor travels
down seamless silver track
cat just licks his paws.
"I Wish I Knew"
Tyner’s keys keep crooning
under horn quest
Love, you call it
the first movement in which
Tyner tickles God
sometimes a cat yowls
not now, your sax searching
for alley scraps
a cat yowling,
some might say, but a light
came on, didn’t it?
discordant, harsh
yet the acetylene blues
cut through steel
Rim shot! Splash!
You take the tiller on tenor,
stars’ canopy
acceding passage
of your pea green boat
Joy, the third movement
your horn’s mother calling you
from the back porch still
Cats in heat
caterwaul from God’s alley
for moon’s milk saucer
The big C
man, you hadda know;
you hadda blow!
Tenor terrorist!
You come out blazing bullets,
spray the audience
raw as a dog’s nose
chasing down rabbits
tenor hound howling
blackboard finger notes
got the bare moon bone
clamped in your jaws
sugar is sweet
taproot tenor sucks and shucks
huckleberry wine
sheets of sound
so many rain/sleet notes
so many windows
Big C
Chasin’ the Trane
finches in the eaves
Look out, Jericho!
Got an ax that’ll blow
leaves off the trees;
gotta a blow torch
and acetylene will!
TRUE LOVE
Marie Summers
blind date
a rosebud droops
upon arrival
daisy petals
in the afternoon breeze. . .
he loves me
under Orion . . .
on one knee her beau
professes his love
June wedding
ice sculptures melt
into the hors d'oeuvres
moonlit current. . .
the bridesmaid's dress billows
in the breeze
sugar moon
the wedding cake
half eaten
SUMMER WIND
Marie Summers
heat lightning
the snow geese chatter
on the shore
summer storm –
sailboat masts clag
in the whitecaps
thick fog
rising off the pond. . .
flock of geese
upside-down dingy
I laugh to myself
"Slowpoke"
finish line
the catamaran zips past
a blue heron
MOONGLOW
Marie Summers
moonrise
a newborn cries
for milk
moonlight
a quilt on the clothes line
covered in frost
daysleeper. . .
cigarette smoke curls
around the moon
moonlight
on peach roses –
her sleeping form
crescent moon
dad's fingernail clippings
on the floor
night fishing
moon ripples caught
on my hook
blue streaks –
the road home
in the moonlight
SINGLE POEMS
how can I tell
you about them
in the light of day
the fruit I gathered
from the orchard of sleep?
June Moreau
hidden flower
behind a veil of green
a blushing bride
Robin M. Buehler
baby's breathe
upon mother's left breast
sweet surrender
Robin M. Buehler
her scent lingers
longer after her departure –
that wild rose!
Robin M. Buehler
once ocean-scented
these postcards mailed
long ago
when you thought
even the sand was new
Jeanne Emrich
even here
on this city sidewalk
the ants are busy
and I stroll along
as though I've nothing to do
C W Hawes
can even your
practiced hands
fold me
to the strange geometries
of this
another new life with you
Eva LaFollette
I leave the spider...
as I remove
the haiku strips
hanging from
the branches
K. Ramesh
propositioned
by the scantily-clad girl
on my evening walk
I give her my last twenty
and continue walking
C W Hawes
summer evening-
standing among
the fallen leaves
I watch the tender ones
in the tree
K. Ramesh
mother in the kitchen-
the scent of a burnt
match stick first,
then, the aroma of tea
fills the evening
K. Ramesh
the sorrow
contained in velvet petals
of crimson dahlia
is a far from praise
to mankind
Aya Yuhki
Springtime
smell of flowers
as the sun
frolics in the playground
even at night!
Lanie Shanzyra P. Rebancos
while driving home the
moon
hidden by dark clouds edged with white light
softly illumines the field of dying corn
C W Hawes
there are ships
for sailing
ships for thinking
and the waters
are very deep
June Moreau
darning wool socks
kept in a basket
one by one
recalling the winters
i have worn them
Giselle Maya
Leaves on fire
crackles
as the heat touches
its stem –
toasted!
Lanie Shanzyra P. Rebancos
on shores
of the pond
it belongs
to the mist of silence -
the white heron
June Moreau
on an evening
of autumn passing
a butterfly
flits kissing
a deep red dahlia
Aya Yuhki
MOVING
C W Hawes
my best friend in fourth grade
people thought we were siamese twins
then some seven years later we were strangers
she wept bitterly
my eleventh grade sweetheart when I said
my dad took a job today in Ohio
confined
in a jet plane
black hatred
and passionate love
fly together
Aya Yuhki
Chinatown Alley –
click
of Mahjong.
alexis rotella
Carts filled with fruits
in the street
greet every villagers
with their vivid hues –
a dash of rainbow.
Lanie Shanzyra P. Rebancos
bent pitch fork
the metalsmith has no time
for small repairs
quinces slowly ripen
among emerald leaves
Giselle Maya
READING A NEWS ARTICLE ON AIRLINE TRAVEL
C W Hawes
that woman arrested
for carrying a concealed weapon
they agreed finally it was a bookmark
the windbell’s cord
broken and mended
again and again
fierce winter storms
sweep the garden
Giselle Maya
transparent twilight
over the field of dahlias
a praying mantis
died
in the chilly dew
Aya Yuhki
I will keep
a deep attachment
as my partner
until the day I leave this planet
with seas and mountains marred
Aya Yuhki
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