a long walk the stars and I head home baby birds me and their big mouth raindrop just couldn't wait to tell me thunder starts to say something then changes its mind the rain washing the wind out of my hair black-eyed susans nodding to everything the wind says feathers dipped in sunrise - robin a streak of wind suddenly stops to become a dragonfly my head is full of flowers I can smell all day these cherry blossoms who lost their way - white moths memories of weeds behind the garage where I crept and crawled still too thick to cut day moon some of the stars pretend they're flowers the parts that wore away from you and I so we could fit running off that way in my backpack bread a little peanut butter and no reasons the last stars stay awake with me until morning holes in the kale clouds of butterflies apologize two buffalo in a pen next to a rundown diner on I40 the not so wild west stares with the blackest eyes it is the road twisting and turning that takes me to wherever I think I'm going this moon who only tells me one side of the story I find an old lecture my father gave me in my son's drawer the marks on the wall where time keeps getting shorter and shorter as a kid I played in Basho's old pond until the frogs turned into stars she tells me to call if things change and hands me her number (this loose change I keep in my pocket) one by one plucking out the thorns from my bed of roses my neighbor's dog turns up his woofer to scare off the tweeters this old oak tree broadcasting sparrows in surround-sound the way rain smells like hope high on top this mountain with gentle eyes walking slowly
gazing at stars through the top of the Genbaku dome these ghosts of the morning light (Hiroshima, Monday August 6th, 1945 at 8:15am) those few seconds the river lets go --waterfall in the desert we wait until the ocean falls from the sky watching her clean sheets hung out in the rain my mind sets sail I fall from now into the night of the future (the past makes such beautiful stars..) we are two steel rails never touching or glancing back as we pass high above the canyon static on my phone a crow lands on a cell tower dog on his heels the cat squeezes through the fence --goal! I blow into the sky and watch the clouds move dandelion seed caught on a thorn and something's lost ".. Hokku is not a matter of just absorbing the basic principles and techniques in a week or a month or a year; it is rather a matter of beginning to live hokku, so that between one's writing and one's living there is no difference. And that is the work of a lifetime." -David Coomler Hokku is the origin of haiku, coming from the time of Basho. It was originally the short verse in a renga, and also the verse used in haiga. I think David Coomler's thought about hokku also describes how I (and many other micropoets) feel about modern day haiku and tanka. (see the original)
~ kaze kaoru jujohu wa shiroki hana no umi The breeze is fragrant - up in a tree is the white flower sea -by @Hata3jp ~ these starflowers from a japanese man I only talked to one time hanging on a tree the cicada the cicada left behind I want to believe that this empty nest means they're flying a million words and he can't find three.. new moon already broken you are the only window I can't see through the shell of a cicada buzzing in my hand the whole world is a temple all you have to do is go outside and ring the bell grasshopper holds me in my hand until I fly away grasshoppers growing in the dirt irises with purple wings flying in the garden I tell her to go fetch sunday (saturday is such a good dog) new moon empty oyster sky tattered scarecrow in a wheelchair no one left to chase off a field of dandelions blowing me away |