Tag: haibun
-
22.02.22 The Grave of Arigdor Kara
The Grave of Arigdor Kara He returned to cool soil, and took his own truth with him. A cup of poetry beside his faith. They buried him below a granite slab, now lichen skimmed and shadow roots. The rabbi said his was a short lived bliss. Now strangers mark his passing, walk by his grave. […]
-
10.02.22 Mother of Dragons
No Gods, No Monsters, Just The Mother of Dragons Is that you, Daenerys Targaryen, in a flame-red frock, and riding the air like a dragon? Is that you burning down the place? What I know of her comes from catching that final episode of Game of Thrones. For eight years, I watched something else. Or […]
-
9.02.22: Thames Walk
SE1 Thames Walk: This city is my familiar. Its lights falling in twinkling pieces across the bridge and through the rain. Side streets. Alleys with ancient names. The sound of my footfall joins the river’s echoes — clattering dishes, cutlery, table-talk, riverside cafés. A couple want a romantic photo, asking politely. He hands me his […]
-
4.02.22: The Russian Girl
The Russian Girl at the Duck Pond There’s too much looking on bright side, she says. She has rod-straight black hair and a Russian accent that makes me nostalgic for Rocky the Flying Squirrel, and Boris and Natasha – not everything was bleak and fatalistic during the Cold War. And she says, lots of people, […]
-
1.02.22: dVerse Haibun
Winter Digs In The way dark digs itself out of soil, or the way February always shivers as ice settles on the straight lines and arches of its letters, and the way the sunrise swells, red and sore as neglect, and yet we always expect morning to reign over us with hope and generosity . […]
-
dVerse: Tuesday Poetics Haibun
The Table of Imaginary Dreams Until we knocked walls down, this was the dining room. Now it’s a bright corner with a heavy oak table, chairs that won’t slide easily under the table when you’re sitting on them. And there, an old milk bottle with a few flowers bending from the stem. Even in winter […]
-
dVerse Poets Haibun Monday
I want to believe in tenderness that’s gentle as a candle, tender as a single vine growing up a tree, the sweet tones of a sparrow’s song, but I can’t stop looking at those crows across the street, balanced like pegs on a telephone line, and clawing at the roof ridges, clinging to the bare […]
-
Miz Quickly’s Day 11: Monday
11 October, Monday: Not by choice, my alarm lets me sleep through all its noise until 8:30. That’s every day, not just today, and then I smell coffee. It starts brewing at 8. Perhaps it’s the coffee that wakes me up. I think coffee is supposed to do that. A few stretches, and I shower. […]
-
for dVerse Poets: Haibun Monday
It’s Just Words Someone once said that I was a prolific. As a writer. At the time, I thought it a compliment. Years later, I’m not sure that’s a good thing. Being prolific. It’s like standing in a bucket of your own sweat. Being overcome by noise. Your own noise. So you can’t hear your […]
-
31 August dVerse: Back to School
Elementary I’ve become vaguely dubious about the roller blinds in our classroom. My teacher pulls the blinds down every Wednesday at noon, just before the air raid siren blares, and I don’t see how curling into a ball under my lift-top desk with my back to the window helps me survive a nuclear bomb. And our […]
It's Still Life 