__ An invented response to a friend's post, some might consider it crude, but 'tis "nature's mark" of "ownership," and less crude than that seen on the internet, or on TV, the stage, movies, or in some photos of "Celebrities." __ Too, this old dog has left his "nature's mark", its "ownership" of the new car. Smiles! _m the old dog fully inspects this new car a wet tire
__ In our world, we must never overlook the importance of gracious motherhood, with love to those who have well-guided us all; I touch her photo and silently I wish and say, Happy Mother's Day, Mom_! heartful smile shown by her final photo I touch
__ Continuing to positively look forward we wish spring would arrive more quickly, as the housecats wish beyond the window glass. A slight change to this seasonal look forward, recently seen at the Haikuniverse site. humming birds discuss this flower garden housecats wish
__ We had huddled in those recent severe winter storm winds, and we've cuddled through the heat losses, then stepped forward to face the severe weather dilemmas without "whining" as some have done. Kathy and I overcame that discomfort; but wait, I must admit that "K" and I did_ "wine" somewhat_! Smiles. _m snow charges from storm stressed trees natures turbine
__ Preparing for the next Green Season, my Hungarian grandmother's preparations were the promises, as she referred to them, of tomorrow's garden, winter kept in her Mason jars. Those promises were never broken. Smiles. _m seeds promise in her mason jars spring
__ That evil number shan't consume us, or our time. The clock tick, most near that vile number is >6:59< but it soon steps onward to... seven of the clock, that "Lucky Number!" __ That "Lucky Number," blocks the dire devil digits, and if we attack, and subtract this "Lucky Number Seven" from that Satanic 666, what do we suppose our numerical remainder will be? >?< time's path with each new tick of life a symbol _m
__ Each holiday season, we look through both tears and smiles to our families of the past... that have given us... today. This was first seen on December 17th, 2oo9; KandI, offer our best holidayand seasonal wishes_ to you all! _m this lost voice questions in black and white photo album
__ A recent post by Jens at his Ashi blog, and within my night-sight memories, this imagined sight was generated. __ The spinnaker: a quarter moon as it sails across the night's sea, filled with the wind of stars. _m night sea the moon sail fills with stars spinnaker
Coming soon. __ Coastal river pools are subject to nature, and will ice over during freezing nights at high tide. When the tide recedes, a ring of ice clings to that stone and waits for the tide to rise again. _m river ice halos a lonely stone rising tide
__ This, an edit of an instant's Cinquain comment I left at Gillena's nifty blog, Lunch Break, as listed in my blog list. Yes, hear is hear as we may hear... the hammering waves; the sands return. _m The seas grind stone to sand with years of hammered waves then move its toil from hear, to there, to here.
__ Once seen in Wareham, a shred of newspaper flown by the onshore winds; the -black and white- of its headline print, brought thoughts of a Herring Gull. newspaper shred flies through this onshore wind a herring gull
__ At the age of fifteen, one of the many things I didn't know was... how little I'd know... when I reached the age of seventy-five. " The shadow knows_!" _m back arched this kitten threatens its foe shadow's hiss
__ Very odd to hear thunder and see lightning during a snow storm, today was that rarity. Perhaps 'twas political confrontations among the 'flakes' as their ideals clashed? flakes dispute in thunderous snowfall crossing winds
Kathy and I, during an evening walk in early Spring: 2013. We are, at home. __ An evening stroll at pondside with walking sticks at hand; we speak in silent glances. Head nods point to swans an the far shore, and our smiles find a Great Blue wading into the sunset. We see an otter drawing its swim path wake, and a raccoon awaiting moonrise. Then, an owl tilted its head our way to delve our thoughts, and happily it sensed our good intent. natures home with the sounds of traveled wings humming birds
Best wises for a Grand and Happy New Year... to all in our world_! __ A new year; by seeing across the fence we learn, adjust, and freshen our newer pathways. closed gates as the past paints tomorrow fence teacher _m
Thanks (for) giving... my friends, I offer good holiday wishes to you all_! __ Over the barber shop floor, I can't wait 'til I step on my freshly cut hair and feel the youth... of tomorrow's haircut_! Smiles_! _m old men step over their fresh cut hair young boys
Departure 21 A leaf falls And settles into The fallen. Brewing... Through calm and storm, Seasons steep This tea _that feeds the trees ___from which it came, _____follows an infinite purpose; More leaves fall.
__ I have discovered how nonacademic I have become, as I read remarks about that that some people refer to as haiku. Nowlets see: 1,no seasonal hints; 2, no nature;3, humans involved in the verse but not as mere observers; 4, politics/religion in some... and that all seems like senryu in my depleted and sour mind. Now, are haiku and senryu one and the same? Newspeak?
__ Inept, I cannot describe these below. _m
mountain side as tree limbs blush times path * cows follow this hay-bale cart times path
Departure 20 __This... was scribbled in November of 2002. _m
SUBWAY HERO I had been there many times before, And shrank in the clash of it all; Breathing in the smells and sights Of this cavern, this grimy hall.
The stretch of countless rushing trains, Burned rubber, and electric sweat; Pulsing through this living cell, In foulest dust beset.
Above the grinding, toneless clatter, A lonely voice was heard; Cutting through this screeching din, Saying but a single word.
"Repent," he coughed and blubbered through His spirit sodden lips; A broken, beaten, filthy beast, That spat through lathered drips.
"Repent," he wheezed, and again that word, Echoed through this oily hall; And every step he took my way, Surged my memory's crawl.
"Repent," he neighed as he reached my feet, Whiskey bleeding from each eye; He caught my gaze, then hid his face, Then spewed his crippled sigh.
"Repent," he mumbled, then spilled away, Wretched, reeking and worn; Siding off in greasy steps, He vanished, within his scorn.
Stunned, I followed those sodden eyes, For what was there was known; And I listened for that single word "Repent," this drunkard's drone.
I searched and searched through noise and filth, To find this wasted soul; I rummaged every crack and den, And every wretched hole.
I found my kin, in the muck and lice, Curled in a fetal ball; And I prayed he seemed again to me, As he did when I was small.
He waved me off, and spat out words, Preaching me in err; That I should turn and walk away, And leave him to his lair.
Not a brother, he said to me Don't sorrow for my fall; Go you back... to your life of ease, I'm no brother after all.
Go quickly to your wife and young, And leave me to my cave; A rotting soul I am, you've seen, Just searching for my grave.
Against my will, I honored his, Stealing courage, I stepped my length; And I heard his anxious, whispered plea; Brother, leave with me your strength. _ I've returned, uncounted times, To this subway's sour gloom; To search for him, within this beast, Before he found his tomb.
But not the word, nor sight I'd see Within this cavern's sore; Of brother or beast, or broken man, That wasted soul once more.
Then one day, in horror's grasp, "Repent," I heard, and I spun about; To a brilliant light in my brother's eyes, That beast... he had cast out!
When last we met, his shining words, You gave as I did plea; You took your leave, but left your strength, And with it, I burst free!
This was my grave, this subway vault, But hope, in your leaving fell; To the strength you left, as you stepped away, Your faith, has fought my spell.
I pass that faith in tearless fight, To my brothers barrowed near; That they may broach their hollow hell, To slay that beast of fear. _ _
When I return to this evil place, To search within its reek; I listen for his single word, his hymn Is the sound I seek.
"Repent," bursts through this mortal clamor, And with his messaged call; My Brother is again to me... the hero, He was... when I was small.
Just two obstructions to finding the truth. This, from 2011 __Politicsis a mound of sand, and its truth, a single grain within that hill; our hope is to find one grain of hidden truth. we seek that single grain of truth winds rise
__ Politics, is a river that deposits myths on the far shore, and fantasies on the near, while its truth rushes onward to deeper seas. truth of lies in the roil of tidal waves we swimmers