__ 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
__Recently, I thought I had seen two TV shows entitled 'Big Bother;' I was incorrect, I had actually watched two political conventions. But, as academic politicos continually imply, my ineptitude is due to my lower intellect, that of the proletariat. Perhaps the Orwellian era has arrived_?
__Silly perhaps, but one often wonders to where... moral reality has gone. _m
__I was a ten year old Cub Scout aspiring to become a Boy Scout, when I asked my Mom and Dad if I could begin to carry a pocket knife. At that time we all knew and valued the differences between tools and weapons, the hammer, a saw, an axe, or a knife, and on and on, and on. In a short period of time, I was given the nod from Dad and Mom, and received their approval to carry that tool; that was sixty-four years ago. deep questions in the forest of the young a broad trail __I became that 'Scout' and carried my pocket knives through these many years. But now, as things are in the "crippling days," before I leave my home place, I'm sure to set my pocket knife on the 'dry-sink'... pedantically I leave it home. Paranoia seeps in, as I'd not wish to be seen using that tool, then replacing that knife to my pocket. I could easily be charged with the feloniously concealing of a harmful and deadly weapon. Paranoia sires Pedanticism!
__As our nights slowly lighten into mornings, there are points in that waning darkness where we may all have heard this: birds that call to the sun, with pleas that it will rise. _m morning jays call to this warm day light sunrise
__With my inability to properly categorize haiku/senryu within their modernistic senses, I'll simply label this as maiku; some may see it as senryu, while others might call it haiku, and I'm sure many would term this... junk. Other opinions, supersede mine. __Time's changes are -suddenly seen- as indicated below: old log cabin hidden in these ancient woods a satellite dish
__A picnic lunch at Windmill Point as we watched the changing tides converge in Hull Gut, and those... sleepy gulls. Tides and gulls act the same during any season; no kigo. clashing tides they churn in envious jousts sleepy gulls
__These early 'forsythia flakes', as seen through a cloud of 'snowblossoms'. Well that's backwards, and yes the flowers are there... but it's snowing! __I'll try again, 'forsythia blossoms', as seen behind this cloud of 'snowflakes'. Those sharp yellow blooms just seemed to spear their way through that snowfall. Smiles_! _m forsythia spears with their sharp yellow blooms a snow shower
__In silence and with one leg retracted, Gulls stand on their other leg to rest, as shallow as their rest may be. To test the depth of their rest, toss out a bit of that donut in your hand, then you will see and hear... "The Flock Frolics!" _m herring gulls to their warm breeze doze I toss a crumb
__My mind is my antique shop, my porridge filled with the worthy memories of these valuable trinkets of the past. Trinkets, that I see as trophies. _m antique shop in this porridge of my mind old trinkets
__I am the splash that missed this funnel's gaping mouth; free, and not locked into this bottle of someone elses preset rules, I trickle down this glassn' side, and evaporate into my own adventure. a free drop travels its chosen path the bird flys
__A sound aroused me last night, and my "newly awakened" thought was that, that clamor was the thunder of a summer storm. Reality quickly recovered, the thunder was the rumble of a distant snowplow. thunder storm rumbles through this night snowplows
__Oooo! Troublesome near and on the Cape; we were home before the problems. I so often think that >snow is a smaller problem< then some of the drivers. new snow floats through this quiet night train whistle
To you all, best wishes for a grand family Christmas_! Today... the eve of Christmas Eve. __The family values of Christmas... far exceed the values of commerce. warm words the family gathers eve of Eve